[WoR] The Fellowship of the Ring

[Cracklord]

It has been said that the gods play games with the fates of men, with the world as the prize. Perhaps, perhaps not. But who can guess the will of them?
It is best to simply shoulder your fate, and live as best you can.

It was dark, and white stars were shining when Frodo and his companions came at last to the Green-way crossing and drew near the village. They came to the west-gate and found it shut, but at the door of the lodge beyond it, there was a man sitting. He jumped up and fetched a lantern, and looked over the gate at them in surprise.
"What do you want and where do you come from?" he asked gruffly.
"We are making for the inn here," answered Frodo. "We are traveling east, and can go no further tonight.
"Hobbits! Four Hobbits! And what's more, out of the shire by their talk," said the gatekeeper softly, as if speaking to himself. He stared at them darkly for a moment, and then slowly opened the gate and let them ride through.

Good Characters
Marcus Andronicus
You come to a halt. There is a small village, with a palisade wall, a tower with a bell, and fires burning merrily in the houses. Your men are hungry, tired, and confused, this is definitely not the borders of Rome.

Aang
Within the Southern Air Temple, there is a clamor as a stranger arrives. A huge black horse with an evil look, that he has somehow negotiated up the stairs and the mountainside. The air feels colder and the sky darker as he draws close.
"Send the child to me." He demands, in a voice that is high and cruel. "So that I may speak to him. My master has many questions for the boy who is the Avatar of the world."

Robin Hood
Your men are relaxing against in their improvised homes, when he enters. It's Faramir, looking especially noble. At times, you have wondered how he manages it, he is filthy after all, sweating and covered in scratches, as well as in desperate need of a bath, and yet he still seems especially princely.
"Robin? Robin my friend?" He calls out before arriving.
You would not go so far as to call him your friend. The two of you are aware of each other it is true, but for the most part you leave each other alone, him concentrating on his harassment of Saurons forces, and you on your own cause, as well as striking on the Dark lord when the opportunity presents itself.
"I have a favor to ask you." He states, and waits for your men to emerge.

Leifr Eiríksson
The mist part for the carved dragon of the ships figurehead, long oars silent as they dip into the ocean and emerge. The wind is still, and the ship moves slowly.
You squint, but you can barely see a few meters ahead, the fog hiding the world from you. then there is a jolt, and the ship comes to a stop.
Men get to their feet, staring about, wild eyed and anxious. What could this be? Have you hit a reef? But you leap from the prow, and laugh with delight. Soil. Rich, moist, loamy soil beneath you hands.
Land. Land! You did it. You found the edge of the world!

Oliver Cromwell
The door opens, and the liveried, white robed servant beckons you in. The room is impressive, the size of a house, with an awe inspiring throne on a raised dias in the center of the room. The ruler, however, is sitting on a plain chair beside it. he looks up when you approach, and you stagger back as his hard gaze falls apon you. He's a hard man, wise, cruel as he needs to be and tougher then any. He's ancient, but his back is unbowed and his furnace burns hot. His shoulders are still broad under his robe.
"So. Your the newcomer." He says. "Tell me about yourself."

Samantha Sane
To your surprise, what you had taken for a statue reveals itself to be a man, fast asleep. He looks kind, but likewise stern, and hard. In his hands he holds a magnificent sword, and he is dressed in a red tabbard with a golden dragon.
He seems confused, as though uncertain where he is or how he got here.

The Dread Pirate Roberts
A captain with neither a ship nor a crew remains a captain, if a poor one. For that is what you are, a man of some means and exceptional ability, regretfully with nothing but the sword on you hip and the clothes on your back.
But wealth is like that. You can't take it with you. A ship cannot sail on land, as as land is the place where your love is, then land is where you must go. Your crew shall no doubt pass the time spending your money and wasting your stockpile, but what can you do. A fortune is no good to anyone sitting around. Money was meant to stay in circulation, that way everyone is happy.

King Arthur
On a table stone, hands clasped around the sword he bore in life sleeps Arthur Pendragon, in all the majesty and power of his life. The wound in his side where Mordred had struck his treacherous blow has long since closed, but the scabbard had never been recovered.
His beard has grown, a wild, tangled thing of spun gold, and his hair has grown with it. Abruptly, he awakes, a bright figure standing before him.
He is on a hill. The ruins of a tower surround him, and and rugged foothills and lesser hills, trees and scrub surround. He has no idea where he is.

Evil Characters
Raphael Sorel
Convinced that the chaos of war was no place to live a meaningful life, Raphael took Amy and came here, miles from anywhere. Avoiding war-torn lands, they moved to a town in the countryside. But even with the new surroundings, you could not get Amy to open her heart to the world. Even though her life in the slums strengthened the 10-year old girl's wariness of life and gave her a tenacious will to live, it erased any sense of hope she had for the future.
Assuming a false name, you befriended a rich merchant to obtain the means to take care of the young girl. You employed cunning to gain the trust of the lord and those around him. And when the opportunity arose, you poisoned the noble, disposed of his body, and spread word that the lord had "left on a long journey." Your generosity and affable nature had convinced them, and at Last, Amy was beginning to to show signs of recovery.
And then he came. A man in a dark cloak, all bound up, who radiated power. Once you had faced Nightmare, but even he had been no match for this figure in terms of presence. "I am the Lord of The Nazghul, servant of the dark lord. And thoust is his creature, though you know it not. From now, I take you into my service." So compelling had he been, that you'd forgotten everything, even Amy, and only desired to serve him.
"Some shirefolk will come this way. Detain them until I return, and I will give you the future you desire." With that he'd gone.

Lord Strahd
((Nothing for you yet))

Riku
((You arrive later))

Dorian Gray
Saruman told you to wait here, so wait you will. You don't like the venerable old bastard, his knowing smile, or his way of making you do exactly what he wants, and bowing on his whims, but you have no choice. After all, he has your painting.
Before sending you out, he took the time to bring you to the last tree in the fortress, where a man was being nailed to it's twisted limbs. He'd smiled, and talked casually, and been the very soul of courtesy, but his meaning was clear. Do not fail me, Dorian.
So here you are. The hobbits will be here shortly. When they do, you are to win their confidence, by any means necessary. Impersonate a fellow named 'Aragorn', and lead them to Isengard. If necessary, drop the name 'Gandalf'.
The serving maid leans over provocatively, and gives you a wink and a smile. You are sure you'll be able to find... something, to keep yourself occupied.

Chained Bloodlust
An inexorable will draws you from the grave, and presses the morningstar into your hands. Without being able to say exactly how, you know your prey nears. The power you seek. You do not altogether understand what it is, but you can feel it, and it draws you, calls out to you in a sirens song that is irresistible.

The Wicked Witch of the West
Power. Power beyond your dreams. All in the hands of a little hobbit, defenseless, wandering in the wilderness. Perhaps Gandalf is still with him. You don't dare a confrontation, the Istarii would sweep you magic aside like straws on the wind. But your chance will come. And then, it all will be yours.
The mountains are your home for now, blue with the mist that never stops. You hate the clammy feeling, like caustic acid, but you persevere. You've spent your entire life persevering. You can wait a little longer.
You gaze into the crystal ball, and fight the urge to cackle. They are all alone, coming into the town now. You dare not strike them in the town, but they must leave, and then you will be waiting for them.

[doliest]

Gray
Dorean's fingers tap the table as he drank another beer that could be more accurately compared to what came out of a horse. He hated small towns; aside from the odd bar maid there was nothing to amuse himself with, and if not for that crotchety old wizard. If he ever caught the man alone outside his domain, he'd make sure to pay him back for this mission, and anything else he sent him on. Now a large town, some place with a real night life? That was the place to be. Especially since if he got bored, he could go...hunting. He sighs and looks up at the door, keeping an eye open for the hobbits.

Dorean looks over at the barmaid, licking his lips suggestively as she moves. He knew people, of that there was no doubt. He had more years on him than that aged old wizard or any being on the planet, short of Sauron himself. Unlike those idiots, though, he knew exactly how a life should be spent. Life was about your joy, and damn anything else. Saruman didn't know that. He spent all his time planning. Sauron was the same, stuck in that eye form because he wanted the world. Fool. Neither of them knew the simple pleasure Dorean engaged in as his words danced along with the woman's in a beautiful pattern of lies and lust. The words danced their way straight out the door, and into a nearby stable as he pressed up against her and he engaged in an act he'd practiced all his life, and one he never quite got tired of, murder. He kept her distracted with the kiss, before he pulled back, and slammed her head against the wood until she stopped fighting, and after a moment he hid the body under the straw. It was crude, not to mention basic, but it would keep him happy until those blasted hobbits showed up.

Dorean grinned as he moved back into the bar and resumed his seat. Anyone who payed attention would assume they had a good, short time. He definitely had.

[industrious]

The Dread Pirate Roberts

"Remember, my friends. Return for me in Minas Tirith six months hence. I will be waiting for you!"

And with a wink and a wave, The Dread Pirate is off on solid ground once more. Humming an old traveler's song (that he had picked up from a pair in Australia), he sets off on his journey, a tune in his ears, a sword at his hip, a mask on his face, and true love in his heart.

The Wicked Witch of the West

Green hands, wrinkled with age to be little more than claws, reach across the table. A black hat sits on a shelf; slowly, lovingly, the Witch grasps the thing, squeezing it so the accumulated dust is scattered to the air, and reverently places it upon her head.

The hands stroke the crystal ball once more, caressing via proxy the hobbit known as Frodo. And deep in the mines of Moria, where the orcs and goblins dwell, the sound of shrill and harsh cackling can still be heard.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane
Samantha jumps back a bit in surprise. "Well thats rather strange innit? A sleeping man over on this here table stone. 'An a warrior at that. Wonder what hes doin in a place like this without a camp of some sort." Samantha steps back to where she was to get a better look at the sleeping person that gave her such a start.

Chained Bloodlust
Chained Bloodlust opens his glowing red eyes, deceased flesh from a hero long past hanging limply from his jawbone. He eyes his surroundings hungrily for a fresh meal, hopefully something still young and fresh, one with plenty of meat and blood. His built in nightvision swoops around from side to side, looking for his prey eagerly.

[Executor]

The Romans

It had been a week since... the Storm. A week since Centurion Marcus Andronicus of the 12th Legion had lost his way in the most otherworldy storm he had ever seen in his twelve years with the Legions. They had been deep in Gaul, in the parts without roads, and where no map had ever been drawn. Deep in the savage lands of the most savage people on Earth. The 12th had covered a lot of ground that day, and Marcus' century was just making it into camp when the Storm hit. It had begun with a sudden sharp wind from the West, blowing hard and growing steadily, till the roar of it drowned out every word anyone spoke, even the shouts and screams of the terrified. The clouds seemed to charge back and forth across the sky like disciplined cavalry, the earth shook violently, lightning streaked through the gathering darkness, thunder roared like a thousand lions. Veteran Roman soldiers, men who had seen a thousand horrors, despaired and threw down their arms and shouted that it was the end of all things. And in the centre of all the chaos, Marcus looked to the skies, and he saw a figure, with a beard of the purest white, who seemed to be directing the storm. He saw Olympian Jupiter himself, and Jupiter looked down upon Marcus, and stretched his great arm towards him, and there was a crash of thunder, and Marcus saw no more.

That was a week ago.

When Marcus had awoken, he was in a small woody clearing, with eight other soldiers of his Legion, and two Cretan archers who had been auxilaries in Caesar's army. They now stood behind him as he looked up at the stout wooden gate of the village that many days marching along an unknown road had brought them too. The rain beat down hard on them, and the legionaries had wrapped their dark red military cloaks around themselves, both for warmth and to protect their mail armour from rusting. The Cretans, wearing only leather and wool, were less daunted by the rain, but carried their bows unstrung to preserve the strings. Across every man's shoulder was a forked staff, designed by the great Gaius Marius to help the men carry their considerable burden of gear on the march, while their shields were slung across their backs. The ten men, even the otherwise indomitable Centurion Andronicus, looked very weary, very muddy, and very far from home.

"Where are we, sir?" asked Lucius, one of the legionaries. He was a tall man, the largest of their small band, and could've been made optio a dozen times if he didn't refuse every promotion he received.

"I don't know, Lucius. Not Roman territory, that's for sure" Marcus snapped back, the usually calm centurion's nerves having grown frayed around the edges over the last few days. There were a few grumblings amongst the men, the usually flawless Roman discipline being unraveled by the stress of being lost, coupled with the centurion's testiness since the Storm. Marcus silenced the grumbling by raising his swagger stick, the twisted stick of vinewood that every centurion carried as a symbol of his authority. However, instead of striking one of the men with it, as many centurions would've, Marcus used it to knock on the gate three times. Within a few seconds, a slat opened and an old, weathered and not particularly attractive face of a man appeared in it.

"Why, you be a strange looking bunch, ain't you? Ten of you eh? What business do you 'ave in the village o' Bree?" the man said. Though his accent was strange, somehow Marcus could understand the words, though something in his mind told him that this man did not speak Latin or any tongue Marcus knew. Still, he answered:

"I am a centurion of the 12th Legion of the Roman Army, sir. My men have been seperated from our legion, we are tired and hungry, and we are looking for an inn," Marcus replied, trying to sound confident, despite everything. The gatekeeper looked puzzled for a moment.

"Well, sir, I ain't ever heard of no 12th Legion, nor any Roman Army, nor any Roma for that matter. But, if you 'ave the coin for it-" at this Marcus nodded, every man had a small purse of denarii and sesterces hanging from his belt "-then I suppose it won't do no hurt to let you in" the gatekeeper finished, an opened a small sally-port in the main gate, and stood aside to let pass into Bree.

"Hey Stelios, the gatekeeper, his face reminds me of your mother" one of the Cretans archer said to the other in his curious Greek accent, as soon as the gatekeeper had returned to the gatehouse.

"Funny Delios, I think he looks more like your wife" Stelios shot back, not missing a beat, as the small band of soldiers passed onto the muddy main street of Bree. The villagers looked at them with suspicious, wary eyes, never having seen anything that looked like the ten Roman soldiers. Marcus led them along the street that the old man had indicated, until he came to a brick building about two stories tall. Outside the door, there hung a sign, with a prancing horse, and words that read: "The Prancing Pony by Barliman Butterbur". Not caring who Barliman Butterbur was, or what his inn was called, Marcus opened the door and led his men, grateful only to be out of the rain.

___________________________________

Arthur Pendragon

If there was one thing that Arthur, awoken from his slumber after so many centuries, was sure of, it was this: He was no longer on Avalon. Avalon had been fair and green and prosperous, kept immortal and ageless by faerie-magic. Wherever he was now, it was not Avalon. He lay in the middle of a circle of stones which seemed to suggest that it had once been a great tower. The sky above him was gray and seemed heavy with rain, but no rain fell. As he sat up and looked around, the landscape was gray and scrubby, reminding him of the marches of Scotland. His eyes were blearly with centuries of sleep, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a very old friend standing next to his table...

"Merlin!" he exclaimed, sitting up, with the excitement of youth returning to his face, despite the golden beard. But, alas, it was just a trick of his eyes, and the youthfulness of Arthur's face drained, and a kingly sternness returned to his features. However, he quickly became aware that he was not alone. Turning his head, he saw a woman, dressed unlike any woman he had ever seen. For one, she wore trousers, completely unproper for a lady. She was dressed mostly in wool and leather, with a blue jacket, and brown pants, along with two very tall brown boots which reached her upper legs at the top of them. Over her shoulders, Arthur spotted two sword hilts, with black leather-wrapped handles. Slowly, he sat up completely, and swung his armoured legs over the side of the table, and then stood up. For a moment, he wobbled a little, still unsteady after sleeping for uncounted centuries, but he managed not to fall, and drew himself up to his full height of three inches over six feet. Then, with a sudden fluid burst of speed, he set his right hand on Excalibur's familiar jeweled hilt, his left grasping the simple leather scabbard which now held the Sword of Kings, ready to draw it out at a moment's notice.

"Who are you and where am I?" Arthur said, his blue eyes now glinting and hardened like two dark sapphires, his tone challenging. He felt power flowing into him through Excalibur's ancient and hallowed blade, power such as he had not known since the glory days of Camelot. The elves and faeries of Avalon had told him that, when the times were dark again, and Britain's need was dire, he would awaken to come to his people's aid. What, then, was happening in Britain? What dread had come upon his people? All these things raced through the King's mind as he stared down the stranger.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane
Seeing the man jump up with his hand on a greatsword, Samantha jumps back a second time because of him, slightly more scared than before. "By the Spire! Thats the second time youve made me jump! I should be asking you the same question, but I'm Samantha Sane, and this 'ere 'stabl'shment is Weathatop." She says, watching the strange man that looks like he's from one of the old tales to make sure he doesn't make any sudden movements.

[Taenarius]

((OOC: I read that we could have characters reply to ours, so I hope that is still correct. I think I still need prompting plot-wise, however.))

Oliver Cromwell

The man that entered the throne room of Minas Tirith was an odd sight. His clothes were simple, a black doublet and breeches, brown knee-high boots with 'buckets' at their top and butterfly-styled buckles. His neck was enshrouded by a stiff, wide white collar, and he carried a black, wide brimmed hat in his left arm. By his belt was a mortuary sword, a half-basket hilted straight blade used by cavalry. Perhaps his most noticeable features were his face, with wavy, grey-brown hair, dark blue eyes, long nose and neat, short moustache and small beard just below his lip, next to a wart. In fact, the man had two warts on his face, the second being above his right eyebrow. Oliver Cromwell was forty-seven years old, he was a Member of Parliament in the England torn by Civil War, and he was a military commander of cavalry in his New Model Army. He had been, just last year, victorious against the Royalists at Naseby, and was supposed to be mopping up resistance to Parliamentarian forces in Devon and Cornwall. However, a strange set of circumstances, which the Puritan could only ascribe to God's will, had taken him far from England, or indeed anywhere on Earth he had ever heard of, along with ten of his cavalrymen, to a place that was both wondrous and daunting to the man. He had established, over the course of a week or so, that the land he had stumbled into, at first getting lost and then bewildered by the change in familiar scenery, was called Gondor, and was called a realm of Men. Other names like 'Minas Tirith' had worked their way to Oliver's understanding of his whereabouts, but now he was to clarify his situation once and for all.

The throne of Minas Tirith was not occupied, that much was certain. Cromwell was not entirely familiar with the customs of the country, but thought it a curiosity that God had delivered him to a land with no King upon the throne. However, he understood the importance of the man beside the throne completely, and so began with a short bow. His motions were simple, and seemed to conserve the man's energy, rather than any grand gestures. He spoke with a mixed accent, with hints of his native Cambridgeshire upbringing, which had similarity withs Estuary English, with a slight mix of London, from his years in Parliament. His voice was course, but his tone respectful, if authoritative, like any good politician's. "I am Lieutenant-General Oliver Cromwell. I have been called to the employment of Lieutenant-General of Cavalry, and the Second-in-Command of the New Model Army. I also have had the honour of serving as a Member of Parliament." Here Cromwell drew breath, and proceeded to the more difficult part of explaining these names. "I expect not that these names are familiar, sir. The land of which I speak is a great distance hence. The Lord hath sent me here for His own purposes. If it so pleases you, honourable sir, I believe the reason that I have been brought here, is to serve the Lord's purpose, I would think to endeavour to discharge some duty for your venerable Nation."

The man on the chair listened patiently, and there was a pause as Cromwell finished speaking. Finally, he spoke again. "So, a General, a man of some... significance. The eyes of the White Tower have never seen a New Model Army, however the ten horsemen with which you ride are a small credit to your story. This distant land, is ruled by Men?" The steward's mind was turning over Cromwell's proposal. The General had mentioned his 'Lord' wanting him to serve Gondor, and an army of Men in the bargain, so Oliver had indicated. Gondor was a proud realm, that kept the forces of Mordor at bay, and remained the seat of the strength of Men in Middle-Earth. Yet there were stirrings, rumours, turmoil abroad. The man beside the throne knew Gondor was not as powerful, not nearly as powerful as he should like, not with the Eye on its doorstep, so to speak. News of another Army of Men, with a commander willing to fight for him was certainly a momentous occasion. So, the steward decided to learn more, with a view to how he could turn this to Gondor's advantage. "Tell me more of your army." he commanded. Oliver replied, "The New Model Army hath twenty-two thousand men, that is eleven regiments of cavalry, much like my troops here in Minas Tirith, each of six-hundred men. Our infantry hath twelve regiments, each of twelve-hundred men. Our cavalry fight with sword and pistol, our men are capable of using pike, matchlock or sword, and it pleases me to say in confidence, that their formations and discipline are exemplary. They know what they fight for, and love what they know, sir." What Oliver could not answer for, however, was whereabouts this force was, though it did not trouble him, whom believed that such things were in God's hands now.

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr Eiríksson

Leifr had sailed out to be the first Norseman to set foot on the fabled land, little did he know that the land he had reached was far more magnificent and odd than he could imagine in his wildest imagination.
He spoke to the crew that was left after this long journey, only ten of the thirty five had made it, in the guttural tongue of the natives of their far northern homelands from which he hailed

"Come down men, today the gods have seen our strength and let the ocean lead us to the Fabled Land West Of Greenland! Let us honour the sacrifices of those whom the waters have taken to drown in the blood of Ymir and continue onward into that which none have braved to seek ever before!"

His speak would have left confusion in the hearts of many, but to the Norsemen on the mighty ship it was a rousing speak that reminded them of why they had come and of the gods which had chosen them to reach this land.

Three men were left to guard the ship from what creatures might roam this land, the rest journeyed out to explore this new world. To search for a place to find a place to settle for the winter they knew was coming.

[darkblade]

Aang

The man shouts to bare stone walls as the temple has been deserted for a century. Well almost, a bald tattooed child sits in front of him deep in meditation. Without even looking up the child responds, "Your master will have to come here himself and ask them then."

It would have been mildly intimidating if it weren't for the Giant Sky Bison that floated up to the man and licked his body in its entirety in one swoop of the tongue. This causes the boy to open his eyes and giggle slightly. "Appa, I was trying to scare off this guy and you had to go ruin it."

The boy stands to his feet, he stands barely four feet tall. He holds a staff in his hands with one weighted end pointing at the man. The intent to use it to beat the man senseless with it if he should prove untrustworthy is clear. "Well since Appa ruined the moment for both of us, tell me who your master is."

***

Rapheal Sorel

((Amy was beginning to what?))

A creature of the Dark Lord? This tidbit of information comes as no surprise to Rapheal, the curse Nightmare inflicted upon him had indeed shifted him into something somehow both more and less than human. The cursed noble looks at Amy playing with her servants as he considers what the cloaked "Lord of the Nazghul" had said. He'd make Rapheal's dream a reality if Rapheal aided him in the capture of a few Shirefolk. Rapheal had fed on some of those so called Hobbits a while back, their blood had this delicious nutty flavour but it wasn't as well suited to quenching his thirst as the blood of human women. All in all even if what the strange man had promised was all lies, Rapheal would not lose anything by taking care of a few insignificant Hobbits.

That night as the sun began to set Rapheal makes his way to the house of the guard. None of the guards got so much as a chance to scream as Rapheal slit their throats and left them to die. It was a beautifully simple plan really. No one would question the presence of a merchant's aide on the city walls watching for an expected trader and on such a quiet night no one would need to call for the city guard. No one would suspect that their trusted merchant, "Larwence Melvern" had killed the Guard and took their place for something as insignificant as a bunch of shirefolk.

[industrious]

The Dread Pirate Wesley

He approaches the city gates, and admires the sight before him. Marble spires ascend into the clouds, and gilded patterns swirl with them. A remnant of a better time. A reminder of what has been lost. And also...probably not where Buttercup was.

But he had little choice but to enter the city. He had no provisions, and a full wallet, and the world was too large a place to wander about without such things. Also, there were guards pointing spears at his neck.

"Halt, in the name of Gondor!" One of them seemed braver than the others. Or more verbose.

"Greetings, fair guardsman. I wish to enter your beautiful city."
Of course he did. He was only headed in that direction when they caught him. And while he could easily have defeated all four of them, it was considered polite to not kill the civil servants of a town you intend to visit. Unless you were in the midst of piracy.

"You move like a Ranger. Fast and fluid and elegant. But you dress in black, and worse-you wear a mask on your head. Speak! For the servants of Sauron are not welcome in Gondor!"

Ah. So that was the problem.

"I wear the mask because I find them comfortable. And the only one I serve is named Buttercup. THe most beautiful lass in all of Florin."

"Oh." The spears drop down. "One of those. Another lunatic."

"Hardly. Merely in love."

"Like I said: a lunatic. Take him to Lord Imrahil. What is your name, madman?"

As they marched him into the city, Wesley decided to tell an half-truth. While his name was commonplace, his title was...less so. Infamous, really. Which was the point.

"Wesley."

[Cracklord]

Leifr Eiríksson
There is no sign of habitation here, the river flows fast and strong into the sea. If you choose, you could sail up the river, though it would be hard work and closing banks or shallow waters may beach you.
Your men take out their last rations, but you don't worry too much. They'll be easy to replenish, no more salted fish for you.
Some warriors are removing their armor and weapons, and unslinging their shields from the side of the boat. Another mentions that they should make a sacrifice to the gods of the sea and sky for the safe voyage.
The land ahead is grassy meadows and forests, of the sort found in the lowlands of Brittan. They seem untouched, perhaps nobody has come here before. Thunderclouds are gathering in the sky above, and it occurs to you that you should find shelter. Will you go North or East?

Marcus Andronicus
The barman greets you by the door. He is aging, somewhat portly, with a wide, open face that is perpetually ruddy from sampling his own brew, slightly hunched shoulders and a welcome smile.
"Good evening masters." He says respectfully, reaching up to remove his hat, and then slapping his head as he realizes he isn't wearing one. "Butterbur is my name. Barliman Butterbur. Not often we see soldiers in these parts. Why, last time it happened was my grandfathers time. Bad business that was, but needed to be done. Though I don't suppose you'd know about that, being outsiders... or travelers, I should say. You'd be from Gondor then? Or from Dale, though I don't suppose I know what would bring you so far South. Let me offer you a table by the window and a drink on the house, and I'll see if I can put you up for the night. Business is doing so well I don't know what to do with meself, but I daresay I can squeeze you in a room, as long as a few of you don't mind sleeping on the floor. I'll have Nob run you all baths. Nob! Nob! Get over here Nob, you wooly-footed slowcoach! Where is he.... Anyway, until then I'm sure we'll all appreciate you're fine company."
Filtering out the stream of talk and observations, you notice a rugged, dark man eying you with more then passing interest. Despite his ragged clothing and scraggly appearance, he has the bearing of an officer and you fight an urge to snap of a salute. He places the stem of his pipe in his mouth, still not taking his eyes off you.
The rest of the crowd is far more relaxed, and the company fine, singing, dancing and story telling to appreciative cheers and exclamations. They are all good company, and a welcome break.

Oliver Cromwell
Denathor gets to his feet, and steps over to you, his eyes like chips of flint.
"These are dark times. Hard and fierce, with our forces harried every step. And fight as hard as we might, Lord Cromwell, we are losing." You fall into step beside him, and he leads you to the edge of the cliff that overlooks the city. "What do you see? Oh, the city has been reinforced, but before my ancestors renamed it City of the Guard in the old tongue, this was a seat of learning, not a fortress. But it wouldn't matter even if it was. We cannot match the enemies forces, we can barely afford to lose a single soldier. The men who live behind us give much praise, but little help, as we bleed for their freedom. And we bear it uncomplaining, but it will be our downfall."
He turns and looks at you. "You claim to be a warrior, and a leader of men, yet you are all but alone. But at this, the last hour of Gondor, I cannot turn away any aid. So I give you your command. Your men are yours, do do with as you see fit, and should you show merit perhaps I shall make a captain of you. For now, kneel."
He draws a fine sword, an heirloom that had belonged to his grandfather, and had been wielded by Ecthelion before him. "I dub thee Knight of the White Tower, and Guard of the Citadel, with all the duties and privileges thereof." He says, before returning the blade to his hip.
"Much good may it do you."
With that he turns and makes his way back to the throne.
The servant who saw you in returns to see you out. "Forgive him, he is a fine man and a good ruler, but he suffers under many burdens. These times have taken a toll on us all."

Gray
You look up, but it's ten, strangely dressed soldiers who troop in, shaking rain of their cloaks. The innkeeper, a fat, balding, cheerful man with a red face and a seemingly unending stream of chatter is talking to them politely, making observation, small talk and polite questions.
Five minutes later, the hobbits arrive. Butterbur is still seeing to the soldiers, so nobody greets them at the front door, and they mill around, seeming unsure what to do. Finally, a dark haired one in expensive clothes taps on the bar for attention.

The Wicked Witch of the West
As you peer into your crystal ball, you feel something. A creeping darkness, at the edges. You try to determine the source, and see at last determine it. The ball focuses on an attractive young man, meticulously groomed and vaguely bored looking.
Somehow you know the second you see him that he desires what will be yours.
((Given that the men of the west are the finest and greatest warriors, proud and free, she's going to sound like such a moron.))

Chained Bloodlust
Night is falling, and the trail leads to a walled town near a bend in the river. As you approach, you see a tall, dark man, proud and clad in leather whittling something with a knife. His bright eyes seem focused on it, though you doubt it will be possible to take him unawares. He sits on a cloak, with his back against a tree, a sheathed sword rests within reach, and a small fire twinkles merrily nearby.
You can smell what he is from here. The blood of Numenor sings strongly in his veins, still. Like all the Ranges, the 'Men of the West', he is an opponent for your kind to fear. He has it in him to be a hero, and may already be on that path.
Yet despite this, he is one and you are many.
((No, that's not Aragorn. Badguys wandering around here meet rangers, it's only logical.))

King Arthur and Samantha Sane
The hour grows late. While the ruins are small cover, the heavens have opened and it is raining already. You hear an ominous rumble of thunder, and the two of you are in the open with no shelter.

Rapheal Sorel
Your mistake was waiting for nightfall. The sun makes you sluggish, lethargic and slow, and if you remain in it long enough, you find it quite impossible to stand, or think. The rain helps, but not enough.
The hobbits arrived an hour before dusk, and you missed them. This only occurs to you an hour after it is too late to catch them. By then, they've arrived at the inn, and you sigh in frustration. Then you think of Amy, and know you have to find some way to get them out. But how? You can't risk harming them, so force is out of the question, and besides, in an inn full of people...
If only there was some way to convince them to stay the night in your home...

Aang
The doors abruptly swing open, and the dark figure steps in.
He wears an odd helm that reminds one of a crown, and is swaddled and bundled in heavy robes. His face was pale and bloodless, reminding you of tales of vampires. Even his voice is unsettling, a silibant hissing, like a snake.
"My master is Lord Sauron. I am the foremost of his servants, ans speak with his voice. I am to be addressed as the Mouth of Sauron. He speaks through me. Know, prince, that he desires your friendship. He shall give you protection from your enemies, and knowledge beyond your dreams. He shall even reunite you with your friends, who have already accepted his invitation and come to meet with him, and with your assistance, the lands at last will have peace. All he asks in return is that you close the Red Horn gates of Cahradras, and then accompany me to meet with him. But he bids me warn you that you must come at once, for dark things and dark deeds are afoot, and he would have your council."
He offers then a smile.

The Dread Pirate Wesley
Imrahil is a tall, fair, lordly man, with the shoulders of a warrior and the waist of a dancer. He is clad in a white shirt and breeches, with a belt of gold, his long, silken hair flowing past his shoulders and a broadsword belted at his hip. This may be a peaceful part of the world, but his country is at war and he will not allow himself to forget it, even in times like this.
He is standing in a courtyard, watching the sun play across leaves and children play in the trimmed grass. He holds a goblet of wine, and favors a faint smile. It is a nice smile, of a man content with the world and his place in it. The sort of smile you can appreciate.
"You don't look like a servant of the shadow. Moreover, I imagine a servant of the shadow would go to greater lengths to conceal himself, rather then marching baldly into my city." He says, his gaze flickering over you.
"You have the build and confidence of a ranger, but are much too fair to be of the blood. So you are something else." He waves the guards away. "If he'd rather not reveal himself, that is surely his business. I have read those of Harad conceal their faces for religious reasons. Those who do not worship the shadow, at any rate. So he is no doubt one of them."
He winks, and the guards bow and leave. He saunters over you, in the manner of two men sharing a private joke, and waves you in, where he gestures to a bench to seat yourself. "All frivolity aside, why are you wearing a mask? An unfortunate wound, perhaps?"

[Gimliggamer]

Chained Bloodlust
The Numenor. The curse of his kind. He would be doing all of his kind a favor by wiping this one out. But did he owe them one? No. He would not do this for his kind. He would do this for himself. This one was full of blood, constantly pulsing through his veins. His fresh flesh looked supple and appetizing, his gear a boon to his fellows. This one would die tonight, and it would become bloody, no body would be left. He hefted his morningstar in his right hand, his shield in his left, and began slowly approaching the doomed ranger, an age old war chant seeping with menace escaping his deceased lips. Seven skeleton warriors slowly popped up from the Earth, joining their master in the kill. Suddenly, an evil warcry echoed from all of their mouths as they charged their prey, swinging axes, swords, maces, and morningstars, they all become one, one became many. This human would die now.

[doliest]

Dorean
Finally. If they were any later, he'd have probably been able to do more with that bar maid then that crude, simple kill. He moves closer to them, making sure to avoid the soldiers; they'd simply get in the way. He moves forward, with the charming smile that had led many a maiden for a night they would never forget....or remember, once the blackness engulfed them forever. In a collected voice he looks at them and says, "My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I'm an old friend of Gandalf and was told to meet you here." Lying was always so simple for Dorean; many people worry about tells or seeming nervous, but that was never an issue for him. These people could never see past his eyes and charming smile. To them, he was a kind, noble man. To him, they were an amusing toy that he would soon take the time to break.

[Cracklord]

Dorean
Their reactions are mixed. One seems relieved, the older one who rapped the table. The other two look to him for direction, confused at this eventuality. And the bigger one, soft around the middle but with strong shoulders glowers at you suspiciously.
"Remember what Gandalf said, Mister Frodo." He says. Frodo, if that's what his name was nods reluctantly. "Why couldn't Gandalf come himself, mister... Aragorn, was it?" He says, and some of the relief has faded. "He said to meet him here, after all."

Chained Bloodlust
The Ranger leaps to his feet, keeping his back to the tree and pulling a burning brand from the fire with his others. His teeth clench, and his eyes narrow, but he's not scarred. Merely... determined. You have to admire that.
Then, rather then wait for you to come to him, he strikes, the burning log hitting the first of the skeletons sending it sprawling, his sword slashing at the others to ward them away.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean looks at the little hobbit, "He sent me ahead to guide you to your destination. He was held up by Sauron's forces." The first step of lying was stay the perfect point between vague and descriptive. It had to be simplistic enough that nothing was contradictory, but descriptive enough that it had some ring of truth to it.

[Gimliggamer]

Chained Bloodlust
The skeletal warrior that was sent sprawling merely gets back up, no emotion or fear except for the one, primal instinct that every creature inherits. Anger. Survival. He cannot stand all of us. They think as one. The Chain of Bloodlust grows strong within us. We shall win. He shall fall. The swarm him all at once, some warrior blindly flinging themselves at him, swords slashing and stabbing in a crazy and unpredictable pattern, the rest, the leader of them included, thrust their shields out and charge, swinging their respective weapons at their doomed enemy.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

Rapheal is annoyed, as would you if you just lost your objective due to a medical condition. In his world none would dare travel during the day, when the Sun can harm his kind.

All those men he killed all for nothing, a foolish waste of a perfectly good cover identity, now after this he would have to move again before anyone could trace the murders back to him. In quite a huff he makes his way towards the Inn, where fortune has decided to stab him in the back once more. The Hobbits are already talking to a strangely well dressed man, obviously of noble blood. This would not do at all but shy of physically engaging the man there was little that could be done. Even combat was out of the question since the Inn had been infested by a foreign army.

Instead Rapheal enters the inn and takes a seat at the closest table to the Hobbits and tries to listen in on their conversation.

***

Aang

"I have never heard of your master but I have already brought peace to the nations and I have all the knowledge I require. So I am not very impressed by your offer." Aang says defiantly in the face of the cloaked man.

"Now if you'll excuse me I am a hundred years behind in my meditation." Aang sits back down on the floor and begins to cross his legs. He closes his eyes but they open a moment later at look at the man intently "Did you say my friends already accepted your invitation?"

[Cracklord]

Aang
"I did." The man says. "And peace you have brought. And yet it is a fragile thing, this peace you have made. Already it crumbles at the seams, and the drums of war beat again. Is it truly what you desire, to spend your life putting down wars? Or would you rather come East, and talk with my master. I leave it in your hands. Work with us, and we can achieve anything at all. Refuse, and things will not go so well..."
He spurs his horse, and it gallops down the mountainside until it is out of sight, leaving you much to reflect on.

Dorean
The halfling that seems to be the leader nods, and walks confidently over to your table. The less trusting one however is shaking his head. "How could the Darklord do anything to him? He said he was going to go see the head of his order, and if he's anything like master Gandalf I should think it was the safest place around."
Just the same he stumps after you, and the youngest of the hobbits, who have ordered four pints of beer, are sitting contentedly, hands in their belts.

Chained Bloodlust
He fights to the bitter end, not letting out so much as a scream as you fall on him. The rangers are hard men, and spend every day in the wilderness knowing it might be their last.
No, it would take more then the prospect of death to make the last sons of Numenor flinch, that was something they made peace with long ago.
He leaps back and drives his sword into another, lashing out and hewing as he would a tree. It's not enough, and you bring him down by weight of numbers.

[Gimliggamer]

Chained Bloodlust
The defeated warriors draw themselves back together by sheer force of will, becoming warriors again as they sink into the ground, their emotions all flowing back to their leader, the chain that keeps their Bloodlust together. Chained Bloodlust now begins feasting on the dead Ranger that had put up such an admirable fight, bathing in the ecstacy of the blood of his enemy. After he finishes eating, his hunger and thirst quenched, the rangers weapons and armor scavenged for his army, he now sets about finding a way into the walled town.

[Taenarius]

Oliver Cromwell

Oliver calmly accepted Denethor's dubbing, barely murmuring a few polite words as the steward returned to the throne. Oliver was not precisely certain, word-for-word, what his newfound duties and privileges were as a Knight of this realm, but he knew that it was a matter of political expediency that he hold some Gondorian rank, for the title of Lieutenant-General of the New Model Army only had meaning for ten other people in the city. Therefore, all Oliver could assume, was that he had been guided by God and commanded by Denethor to do all he could to maintain the defence of Gondor, as he saw fit, so the steward said. In return, Cromwell knew that there was at least one more door open to him in the city. The black-clad man affixed his wide-brimmed hat over his wavy brown hair, and looked, somewhat nervously, out over the cliff. The scale of the city's construction dazzled Oliver, the cold air and wind, overlooking the plains below, in which the great walls and masonry of Minas Tirith stood. Cromwell turned from the sight, and made to leave the courtyard, glancing at the tree that stood in its centre. Denethor had not gone into detail about the enemies of his country, but Oliver could all too well relate to the defence of freedom, or at least his concept of the word.

The cavalryman walked through the city's winding, stony roads, taking in all around him. Most of what he saw were what he took as peasants, about their business, selling, buying, talking. Some threw a curious look at the stranger's unusual dress. The more perceptive were able to detect from his stride and head held high, in his formal attire, that he was not one of their social standing. Cromwell's reaction to finding himself in such an unfamiliar city, was to look as confident as possible, keeping his face set in an expression of idle seriousness, being not surprise, dismayed nor pleased at any sight, no matter how wondrous. He noted, on his walk, the soldiers here and there, in their shiny armour, all uniform. It struck him as a curiosity that they all wore precisely the same armour. Armies of his knowledge were never so provided for, each officer or man providing his own equipment. In fact, it had been an innovation of the New Model Army to wear all red buff coats with breastplates over them, and pot helmets. The Royalist Army they faced in battle had no such uniformity of equipment, and so Gondor's appearance of wealth and professional organisation appealed to the Lieutenant-General's military sensibilities.

Oliver reached the Inn, in which his men were staying. Their horses safely stabled, Cromwell's ten cavalry troopers had little to do beside explore the city. So, it was not particularly unusual that there was only one of the troopers in the building when Cromwell entered. The trooper's name was William Rossiter, and he told Cromwell that he had been left for the rather dubious duty of guarding the horses. Ordinarily Oliver would have raised an eyebrow to that, but the troopers were on edge, not knowing where in the world, let alone England, they had come to, trusting their commander to see them through. "Rossiter, I intend to see more of this city," Cromwell explained, "When the other troopers return, you may inform them that your General hath been made a Knight, thus we have some official position in Gondorian society, which I believe to be at our advantage." Rossiter nodded, and Oliver departed from their lodgings. They had arrived in dark and confusion, and so the Englishman knew very little of his surrounds. He set off again, trying to become familiar with his immediate environment. In his mind, he was thinking about Denethor's words, his understanding of how and why he had arrived, and what lay ahead. The steward had, in a sense, given Cromwell the means to come and go from Minas Tirith with his men, as he wished, as he saw fit to defend Gondor. Given this, Cromwell could now come to grips with the country, and made it a point of interest, as he walked, to see if he could purchase reliable maps of the land.

[doliest]

Dorean
"Dark creatures trek these lands. Horrific creatures from the depths of Mordor. Gandalf was too recognizable to these creatures, so he told me to meet you and lead you to your destination. Now do any of you have some of that Hobbit pipeweed? I'm in sore need of some." That last part was true. 'Pipeweed' which seemed almost exactly like tobacco was a vice Dorean rather enjoyed indulging in. He sat them down at his table, "Now you still have the Ring Gandalf gave you, correct?" Because if you don't, I will be using each of you to take out the anger over what Saruman will do to me. Well would do if he could catch me.

[industrious]

The Dread Pirate Wesley

The Dread Pirate Roberts is not intimidated by titles and tokens of authority. Wesley used to be; a young naive man seeking his fortune was guaranteed to be. It was practically in the rules of the universe. Years spent under the tutelage of the former Dread Pirate soon saw to that.

Yet there was still some spark of idealism that remained within the young man. There had to be, for it was true love that had saved him at sea, and which had guided and motivated all his actions. He had been content as Roberts. But he had been happier as the stable boy Wesley.

And he was an excellent judge of character, now. Picking out an entirely new crew for the Revenge required him to be. The Prince seemed a fine man, a true nobleman. Unlike what he had heard about the ruler of Minas Tirith. Small wonder, then, why Dol Amoth's fleet had been relatively untouched by his actions(there was that one time, but it didn't count. At least, not to him).

"Thankfully, nothing of the sort, my lord. When I first ventured into the wider world, I did so to seek my fortune. My true love and I wished to be wed, but had no money to do so. And until the day when we are finally reunited, no man (or woman) shall see my face, save that of dear Buttercup."

The Wicked Witch of the West

((She is completely genre blind. And allergic to water. And it's raining. She can't do a thing until they leave the village.))

[Falgorn]

Robin Hood
A whizzing sound is heard, as an arrow flies by Faramir's face. The arrow hits its mark - a bullyseye, painted on a tree a good distance away from Robin Hood. "You really should be more careful." The archer says, ignoring the fact that he almost hit Faramir. "What is it you need? As you can see, I'm somehwat busy at the moment." Robin Hood says, knocking and firing another arrow.
He whistles for his men to grab their bows, for Robin expects that Faramir has a mission that requires his skills, for those are the "favors" Faramir usually asks of the noble archer. "Spit it out, now, what is it?"

[darkblade]

Aang

Aang resumes his meditation, this is bigger than him, bigger than anyone really. He needs to commune with the previous Avatars. As he focuses on drawing the spirits out thousands upon thousands of spirits spectres manifest before him. A council of the wisest men and women across all of time.

"I need to once again ask advice of you all." Aang begins as he explains about the cloaked man who sounded like death and his demands.

"This is nonsense, why would you trust someone like that with offers of peace. Need I remind you of the Fire Lord's offers of bringing peace by cleansing an entire nation from the world." the painted warrior Avatar Koyshi replies sternly.

"But if I don't trust him then it stands to reason that he kidnapped my friends. I'll have to stop him." Aang says, almost as though it were a question of his duties.

"That would indeed be a noble course of action." the woman says.

"But I don't know anything of what he was asking or his master this 'Sauron'." Aang says "What can I do when I don't even know my enemy?"

The word Sauron causes the spirit of Avatar Ryoko to shiver slightly, he was the Avatar who failed to defeat the Fire Lord Sozzin, who would go on to kill Aang's Air Nomad people. He bares the greatest shame among his kin. Slowly he begins to speak "I...know of this Sauron. When I was traveling to learn of the other elements he sent men to offer Sozzin great gifts of power, to tempt him. He may have helped sway him to the side of darkness."

"So he is trying to do the same to me now, a hundred years later?" Aang asks.

"Precisely. I would advise you to travel East to confront this sorcerer in person." Ryoko said darkly and with that final word the spirts fade back into Aang who is left alone in the abandoned temple.

What else was the young Avatar to do but to heed the advice of his predecessors? Without much preparation he mounts Appa and flies away from the abandoned temple out East to where the mysterious rider of Sauron directed him.

[Executor]

The Romans

One of the men, by the name of Faustus Janarius, began to voice an objection to sleeping on the floor, but Marcus silenced that with the simple gesture of crossing his arms so that the tip of his swagger stick projected above his shoulder, and all of the men standing behind him could see it. Faustus fell silent, and Marcus smiled at Barliman as if nothing had happened.

"A room and a round of drinks would be excellent, thank you sir" Marcus said, and then led his men in following Barliman up the stairs to the upper floor of the Prancing Pony. He had two rooms available, with four beds each, so a few of the legionaries would have to sleep on the floor, as Barliman had said, but other than that the rooms were simple but comfortable. Nob finally appeared shortly after the men began to unload their gear. He seemed to be some kind of... servant child. Marcus concluded that he must be Barliman's son, helping his father with his business. He also concluded that children in this land had exceptionally large and hairy feet. Whatever the case, Nob provided the Romans with basins and tubs of warm water, to their everlasting gratitude. As soon as Nob disappeared down the hall to another of Barliman's calls, Marcus turned to his men.

"Alright boys, you have 20 minutes to wash and shave. Undress uniform tonight, tunics and swords. Meet downstairs when you're all washed up, and we'll see what food Mr. Butterbur can provide us" He said. He was met with a chorus of 'Yes sir' from the men, and then they disappeared into their rooms to spend a happy 20 minutes washing off the dirt and grime of a week of muddy marching. With a bit of the soap Nob had provided, a bronze straight razor from his pack, and a lot of hot water, Marcus carefully shaved away seven days growth of brown beard from his face. He smiled at himself in the mirror and rubbed a hand on his newly smooth face, to make sure he hadn't missed any patches of hair. He looked like a proper Roman again, that was for sure. He put on the cleanest and driest dark red tunic he could find in his pack, and around the waist he buckled on his belt, his sword hanging on the left side of his body, in contrast to the regular legionaries who wore theirs on the right.

When he came downstairs, he found that his men had already claimed a long wooden table, and were sitting with mugs of ale and plates heaped with roast pork and vegetables and warm, fresh bread. One of the servers laid out a similar plate for Marcus as he sat down at the head of the table, and the Centurion dug into the food with the voraciosness of a man who had eaten nothing but hardtack and cold meat for the last seven days. Some of the vegetables seemed strange to Marcus, but he shoveled them into his mouth anyways, too hungry to care about what they were. All of it was delicious, and the ale especially so. Normally, Marcus did not drink beers or ales, most Romans considered them vulgar, but considering the circumstances, he was willing to overlook that, and he took long, hearty gulps of it.

They ate in silence, with the large mouthfuls of soldiers who had gone hungry for many days. The only noise were the small "mmm"s and the sound of sucking on greasy fingers. Finally, Lucius spoke up, after swallowing his last mouthful of pork and bread.

"That man in the hooded cloak over there, he's been staring at us this whole time" Lucius said, and pointed towards a distant corner of the mainroom. Marcus twisted and looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, there was a man, wrapped in a dark green cloak even more travel-stained than Marcus' own. The man was lean and very tall, with long legs resting on a stool in front of him, shaggy dark hair with grey flecks, eyes as grey as an iron blade, and, from what Marcus could see through the shadows of the man's hood, a stern face. He looked like a grim fighting man, which made his wearing of effeminate trousers made Marcus snicker a little. In fact, he looked further around to room to sear that everyone was wearing trousers and that his men were the only ones in proper tunics. True, they had their cold weather trousers all safely folded in their packs, but they rarely wore such vulgar clothes. He snickered a little bit more, but suppressed it as an over odder habit of the man suddenly caught his attention. In his mouth, the man was holding something: A long wooden stem with a small bowl at the end of it, which seemed to be... smoking. Then the man removed the stem from his mouth and blew out a long stream of smoke, and then put the stem back in his mouth again. The centurion arched an eyebrow at this, and then stood up from his stool.

"I'll see what he wants" Marcus said to his men, who did not reply, still preoccupied by the food in front of them. He walked across the dark, smoky room, beside the intense heat of the roaring fire, and came to stand before the cloaked man, while resting a hand on the round pommel of his gladius.

"Excuse me sir, but one of my men noticed that you are staring at us. Can I ask why?" Marcus asked.




((I'll reply as King Arthur after Gimliggamer does something as Samantha Sane))

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr Eiríksson

The men that had been chosen by Leifr to protect their ship stayed behind while Leifr and the seven others prepared to journey east along the river, on search of a more habitable spot for their winter settlement. Just before they leave Leifr makes his decision on the question regarding the gods, he turns to face the man who had spoken about it

"You are right, Olaf. Njörd, hod of the sea and wind, deserves our gratefulness for having led us safely across the wild seas between Greenland and here.

In his honour I therefore name our landing spot and the first place to have seen Norsemen on this foreign land, Njördvollar!"

We will offer for his approval once we have built our first settlement

The men once again roared in agreement and the eight explorers began walking down the side of the river after mead had been drunk in celebration

(IE I pick East :smalltongue:)

[Cracklord]

The Romans
The man puts his pipe aside, and lowers his legs from the stool to stare frankly at you. You find your estimation of him growing at his silence, he is clearly a careful man, who is likewise assessing you as you assess him.
"Forgive me." He says after a moment. His voice is slow and quiet, the sort of voice one develops when used to being listened to and obeyed. Most officers shout and bluster, even yourself at times, but emperor's learn the value of silence.
Then you wonder why the comparison came from, the man is wild, dark and scruffy, far from any leader you've ever seen.
"But you are a mystery. In this part of the world, any fighting men are a rare sight, and you especially so. I recognize neither your armaments, nor your uniforms." He says, then raises his hand to signal for a drink.
"And mysteries get you killed." He gestures with his pipe at Dorian Gray. "Take that man. He's either a con man, in which case it's not my business, or a servant of the enemy.

Robin Hood
"We all take risks." He replies mildly. He flinched at the arrow, but regained his composure in an instant. "Though mine was a small one. I've never known you to miss a target."
That said, he strides over to you, pulling back his hood to reveal his handsome face growing grizzled from the wilds and the stress. he's not thirty, and already has the beginnings of grey in his hair. Then again, you doubt you look much better yourself.
"I am in fact here to warn you, Robin. The kings of Khand's first son is marching to war. with him is a considerable escort, of course, but also no shortage of gold, jewels and other rarities. And while you are a man of principle, and, I think at least, honor, you will no doubt find a better use for a few of them. They have to ravel through a certain gully that we are both familiar with..."

Chained Bloodlust
You feel your strength grow and your powers expand with each bite. By the time that you are done, you feel stronger then you have in a long time. You do not know how long, you do not count nights any more then you count anything.
And yet, your hunger is not sated, and the desire that burns in you only seems to increase.
You sniff the air, and feel a tang on it, a tang of nascent power just beyond your grasp.

Dorean
One of the hobbit shivers at your violent imagery. The youngest of the two are clearly convinced, but the leaders... servant, or whatever, is a skeptic. Fortunately he has been reduced to grumbling discontentedly.
They hand you a pipe, a long stemmed one, and a pouch of the stuff, that smells particularly fresh. It is. Amongst the best weed you've ever smoked.
"So what should we do?" Asks the oldest, confused.

Raphael
You hear everything. Given what you know of the situation, it's likely he works for some... third party. And he seems to be winning them into his confidence.
In a way, this is a good thing. It would be the easiest thing in the world to trail them for a few days, kill him and them and take th ring from their bodies. You have had little opportunity to practice, but are more then confident in your abilities.
...Except there is a chance, however small, that you will lose them. As your hunt for souledge shows, while you were the most dedicated of hunters you were far from the best, and could very well lose them. Worse, it would mean leaving Amy behind. The poor girl has suffered more then enough, abandoning her in town, possibly to answer for your crimes would be more then you can bear.
No. You have to act now.

The Dread Pirate Wesley
Imrahil gives you a smile. "Ah. A romantic. Well, sir, I am sorry to say I have never heard of this Buttercup, to be honest I couldn't even tell you for sure that she's in Gondor, but I certainly hope you find her someday. If you would take some advice, many families are fleeing Gondor despite the danger, as the lord of the black land stretches out his arm." The garden seems to grow colder and the shadows deeper as he says that.
"Who knows where you will find her. But if she loves you as much as you say, and I do not doubt your word, my good man, perhaps you should make her come to you. Win fame an renown so all the four corners of the world sing you praises, and when she hears of it she will know where to look."

Oliver Cromwell
You explore the city, finding much of interest. It's clearly fairly advanced, not the backwater savages you initially took them for. Foundries and forges are burning night and day with the fires of industry, as people prepare for the coming war. What have occurred so far are skirmishers and minor scuffles, but soon this... Sauron will muster his true might, and throw it against these white walls.
And you are not sure they can hold. You eat a somber meal with your returned soldiers, all of whom are likewise quiet, and get a good nights sleep. In the morning, there is a page waiting for you. It looks like Denathor has decided what to do with you.

Leifr Eiríksson
You head along the river, that gives both a point of reference in helping you find your way back to the ship, and a limitless supply of fresh water. You are on the Northern side, and considering it's width and powerful current, you tremble at the thought of having to ford it.
The land is rugged and hilly, with unending gullies and a rough landscape. It is wearying to make your way through it.
After a days hard march, you come to a campsite, and your men begin to lower themselves. There is no nearby lumber, game, or room for farmland, so you will have to keep moving the next day. After so long at sea, the thought of doing all this walking again is miserable, but the spirit of adventure burns brightly in you.
It's lte at night when your designated lookout kicks you awake. He's noticed, burning a few miles away from yous, a fire.
Somebody else is already living here.

Morgan Le Fay
Saruman is pacing the throne room, hands twisting around each other, ignoring you, as he is wont to when focused on a problem. When one presents itself, he focuses himself to the exclusion of all else. "Nothing." He says, his beautiful voice somewhat hoarse from, you suspect, shouting.
When he chooses, he can charm the birds out of the tree and into his hand, but clearly it's not enough in situation like this.
"Mithrandir is a stubborn fool. He can't see how hopeless this is without the ring. We can't win on out own." He stops, and stairs at you, his hooded eyes thoughtful.
"Perhaps a woman's touch..." He doesn't mean it literally, of course. The Istarri have no interest in that area, or if they do they've used it up a long time ago.
"Well, it can't hurt to try." He says, and raises his voice. "My lady, once more I have need of your wisdom and considerable abilities. My quarrel with my brother sees no resolution, and he is obstinately refusing any compromise, any appeasement. I have learned enough to send out Dorian, but I would have to be a fool to make do with only that. Go up and see if you can persuade him to stop being stubborn."

[doliest]

Dorean
"We should start our travels to...." Saruman hadn't given him a destination. Lovely. The man would die. Slowly. Great, he needed a location. Saruman's base? Obviously not. Another city...,"Minas Tirith. Gandalf will meet us in Minas Tirith with orders of what to do with the ring." Dorean looks down for a moment, savoring the pipe weed, "You hobbits really know how to grow this stuff; heavenly. Where was I? Oh yes, and show me the ring to prove you have it. Now."

[darkblade]

Rapheal

"Yes that is it foolish "Aaragon" play right into my hands." Thinks Rapheal who has to fight of the urge to chuckle manically. All he needs to do is wait for one of two senarios. One, the Hobbits and their new ally will go find themselves rooms for the night where he can sneak in and steal the ring at their most vulnerable, or they will set about on their journey now in which case he will simply challenge their protector on the streets, with the guard all dead and hidden until the changing of the shift at dawn no one would intrude upon their duel so late at night.

[Cracklord]

Dorean
The hobbits glance at each other in confusion. None of them have even left the Shire, and to them godor, let alone the white city, is just a theoretical thing that exists on maps, but not in real life. The thought of going to Rivendel is hard enough for them to comprehend.
Frodo reaches his hand into his pocket, indecision playing across his features - then takes it out. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you." He says, suspicion and uncertainty returning to his voice.
You suspect you've over played your hand.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean's eyes narrow, "If I wanted the ring for myself, I could have it. Now." With that Dorean takes another blow of the pipe, "Still, this much effort at least means you have it. Regardless, we must travel to Minis Tirith. It is where Gandalf said our journey was to lead when he last crossed paths with me. We should get going, best to travel by night and sleep by day, for the enemies servants are strongest at night." Dorean resists the urge to chuckle, he'd heard that last part in a play somewhere, how fitting he put it to use now. With that he gets up and attempts to lead them out of the bar and into the streets.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

((You got to be screwing with him on purpose...))

The fool even plans on traveling at night when Rapheal is at his strongest to challenge him, this will be easier than he thought.

[bvdk99]

The Romans
The man puts his pipe aside, and lowers his legs from the stool to stare frankly at you. You find your estimation of him growing at his silence, he is clearly a careful man, who is likewise assessing you as you assess him.
"Forgive me." He says after a moment. His voice is slow and quiet, the sort of voice one develops when used to being listened to and obeyed. Most officers shout and bluster, even yourself at times, but emperor's learn the value of silence.
Then you wonder why the comparison came from, the man is wild, dark and scruffy, far from any leader you've ever seen.
"But you are a mystery. In this part of the world, any fighting men are a rare sight, and you especially so. I recognize neither your armaments, nor your uniforms." He says, then raises his hand to signal for a drink.
"And mysteries get you killed." He gestures with his pipe at Dorian Gray. "Take that man. He's either a con man, in which case it's not my business, or a servant of the enemy.

Robin Hood
"We all take risks." He replies mildly. He flinched at the arrow, but regained his composure in an instant. "Though mine was a small one. I've never known you to miss a target."
That said, he strides over to you, pulling back his hood to reveal his handsome face growing grizzled from the wilds and the stress. he's not thirty, and already has the beginnings of grey in his hair. Then again, you doubt you look much better yourself.
"I am in fact here to warn you, Robin. The kings of Khand's first son is marching to war. with him is a considerable escort, of course, but also no shortage of gold, jewels and other rarities. And while you are a man of principle, and, I think at least, honor, you will no doubt find a better use for a few of them. They have to ravel through a certain gully that we are both familiar with..."

Chained Bloodlust
You feel your strength grow and your powers expand with each bite. By the time that you are done, you feel stronger then you have in a long time. You do not know how long, you do not count nights any more then you count anything.
And yet, your hunger is not sated, and the desire that burns in you only seems to increase.
You sniff the air, and feel a tang on it, a tang of nascent power just beyond your grasp.

Dorean
One of the hobbit shivers at your violent imagery. The youngest of the two are clearly convinced, but the leaders... servant, or whatever, is a skeptic. Fortunately he has been reduced to grumbling discontentedly.
They hand you a pipe, a long stemmed one, and a pouch of the stuff, that smells particularly fresh. It is. Amongst the best weed you've ever smoked.
"So what should we do?" Asks the oldest, confused.

Raphael
You hear everything. Given what you know of the situation, it's likely he works for some... third party. And he seems to be winning them into his confidence.
In a way, this is a good thing. It would be the easiest thing in the world to trail them for a few days, kill him and them and take th ring from their bodies. You have had little opportunity to practice, but are more then confident in your abilities.
...Except there is a chance, however small, that you will lose them. As your hunt for souledge shows, while you were the most dedicated of hunters you were far from the best, and could very well lose them. Worse, it would mean leaving Amy behind. The poor girl has suffered more then enough, abandoning her in town, possibly to answer for your crimes would be more then you can bear.
No. You have to act now.

The Dread Pirate Wesley
Imrahil gives you a smile. "Ah. A romantic. Well, sir, I am sorry to say I have never heard of this Buttercup, to be honest I couldn't even tell you for sure that she's in Gondor, but I certainly hope you find her someday. If you would take some advice, many families are fleeing Gondor despite the danger, as the lord of the black land stretches out his arm." The garden seems to grow colder and the shadows deeper as he says that.
"Who knows where you will find her. But if she loves you as much as you say, and I do not doubt your word, my good man, perhaps you should make her come to you. Win fame an renown so all the four corners of the world sing you praises, and when she hears of it she will know where to look."

Oliver Cromwell
You explore the city, finding much of interest. It's clearly fairly advanced, not the backwater savages you initially took them for. Foundries and forges are burning night and day with the fires of industry, as people prepare for the coming war. What have occurred so far are skirmishers and minor scuffles, but soon this... Sauron will muster his true might, and throw it against these white walls.
And you are not sure they can hold. You eat a somber meal with your returned soldiers, all of whom are likewise quiet, and get a good nights sleep. In the morning, there is a page waiting for you. It looks like Denathor has decided what to do with you.

Leifr Eiríksson
You head along the river, that gives both a point of reference in helping you find your way back to the ship, and a limitless supply of fresh water. You are on the Northern side, and considering it's width and powerful current, you tremble at the thought of having to ford it.
The land is rugged and hilly, with unending gullies and a rough landscape. It is wearying to make your way through it.
After a days hard march, you come to a campsite, and your men begin to lower themselves. There is no nearby lumber, game, or room for farmland, so you will have to keep moving the next day. After so long at sea, the thought of doing all this walking again is miserable, but the spirit of adventure burns brightly in you.
It's lte at night when your designated lookout kicks you awake. He's noticed, burning a few miles away from yous, a fire.
Somebody else is already living here.

Morgan Le Fay
Saruman is pacing the throne room, hands twisting around each other, ignoring you, as he is wont to when focused on a problem. When one presents itself, he focuses himself to the exclusion of all else. "Nothing." He says, his beautiful voice somewhat hoarse from, you suspect, shouting.
When he chooses, he can charm the birds out of the tree and into his hand, but clearly it's not enough in situation like this.
"Mithrandir is a stubborn fool. He can't see how hopeless this is without the ring. We can't win on out own." He stops, and stairs at you, his hooded eyes thoughtful.
"Perhaps a woman's touch..." He doesn't mean it literally, of course. The Istarri have no interest in that area, or if they do they've used it up a long time ago.
"Well, it can't hurt to try." He says, and raises his voice. "My lady, once more I have need of your wisdom and considerable abilities. My quarrel with my brother sees no resolution, and he is obstinately refusing any compromise, any appeasement. I have learned enough to send out Dorian, but I would have to be a fool to make do with only that. Go up and see if you can persuade him to stop being stubborn."

Morgan nods, and spreads her arms. Her black cloak wrapped around her arms looks almost like black bird's wings, as, in an eruption of shadow, she disappears from the room. She immediately reappears on top of the tower, and regards Gandalf with slight distaste.
"It appears that the famed Stormcrow is caught in my ally's little trap. How very amusing. But no, that is not what I am here to muse about. No, I have visited you for another reason, my grizzled friend. Saruman informs me of your distasteful stoic and stubborn attitude recently. Is there no offer from Saruman, or Lord Sauron, even, that you will accept?"

[Cracklord]

Morgan
Imprisonment has not been kind to the Grey Istarri. His wounds sustained by Saruman's hand are still bleeding, his beard is caked with blood and his robes are sodden and musty. And he smells. But the defiance has not left his eyes. If anything, it has hardened.
"If you are here to discuss surrendering to me, perhaps I can oblige you." Gandalf says, infuriatingly calm. "I can forgive your lapses, even now. But do not fool yourself. Wisdom you have, and it should not be so readily cast aside for the sake of ambition. Sauron will use you both and cast you aside, as he has done to so many. Even if you do use his ring to overthrow him, you victory will be an empty, hollow thing, fleeting as a mortal life. It will twist you, steal your mind, and in time you will return it to him." He says.
Unsteadily, he gets to his feet, shaking a little.

Dorean
It works. They calm, and Frodo speaks. "I am sorry to have doubted you, sir, but the road is long and foes seem plentiful. Why, they can reach us on our own doorsteps. And knowing who to trust and who not to..." He shivers, is hand slipping into his pocket again.
"When shall we leave? I thought we could at least stay the night..."

[bvdk99]

Morgan
Imprisonment has not been kind to the Grey Istarri. His wounds sustained by Saruman's hand are still bleeding, his beard is caked with blood and his robes are sodden and musty. And he smells. But the defiance has not left his eyes. If anything, it has hardened.
"If you are here to discuss surrendering to me, perhaps I can oblige you." Gandalf says, infuriatingly calm. "I can fogive your lapses, even now. But don't fool yourself. Sauron will use you both and cast you aside. Even if you do use his ring to overthrow him, you victory will be an empty, hollow thing. It will twist you, steal your mind, and in time you will return it to him." He says.
Unsteadily, he gets to his feet, shaking a little.

"No, you don't understand, you old fool," she says, with a touch of bittersweet affection. "Sauron, Saruman, and I are allies. If either one attempts to cast me aside, they shall face my full wrath. Sauron is too weak to face Saruman and I combined, and neither of us are foolish enough to try to kill the other."

[doliest]

Dorean
"We leave now. We will sleep during the day, because the Black Riders are weakest in the day, while it may be tiring, a long rest awaits in the morning, where they cannot strike while we sleep." Not to mention so no one will notice if I slit your throats in the morn while you sleep heavily. Too bad it means sleeping on the ground for a day. Dorean then puts out the pipe and gives it back to the hobbit, "If you get to tired we will stop, but we don't want to be in a village at night. The Riders have many men they may use here." He then gets up and attempts to lead them out of the inn.

[Cracklord]

Morgan
"And once I called Saruman a brother. We discussed the workings of the world, and the machinations of the enemy wherever we found them. Not fourty years ago he led the White Council and together we drove the necromancer from Dol Gulgar. And now?" He sighs. "You cannot even bend a powerless old man to your will. How do you think to dominate the enemy's weapon? He has ensnared better men then any of us, and ha powers beyond the combined might of the old world. Old man I may be, as prone to foolishness as any, but I still see the folly of what you try to do. And I pray for the sakes of you and the wold that you learn it before it's too late."
He looks up at the sky. "A storm is coming. The sun chooses not to shine on Orthanc these days." He says.

Romans
Aragorn watches the man lead them out, and excuses himself. "I'm sorry to cut short this meeting, but I don't like the feel of that man over there. The wisest man I ever knew once told me the best liars are hidden by honest faces."

Dorian
The follow you, shouldering their packs and paying Butterbur for the drinks. They even pick up your tab, which you felt was generous.
Then they walk towards the stables to pick up their ponies.

[bvdk99]

Morgan
"And once I called Saruman a brother. We discussed the workings of the world, and the machinations of the enemy wherever we found them. Not fourty years ago he led the White Council and together we drove the necromancer from Dol Gulgar. And now?" He sighs. "You cannot even bend a powerless old man to your will. How do you think to dominate the enemy's weapon? He has ensnared better men then any of us, and ha powers beyond the combined might of the old world. Old man I may be, as prone to foolishness as any, but I still see the folly of what you try to do. And I pray for the sakes of you and the wold that you learn it before it's too late."
He looks up at the sky. "A storm is coming. The sun chooses not to shine on Orthanc these days." He says.

Morgan narrows her eyes. "Think what you may, Stormcrow, but keep in mind that I'm much more cunning than you would imagine.

[Cracklord]

Gandalf
"For all your subtleties, Morgan, you have not the cunning to know not to join the losing side." He replies, still gazing at the sky. "Nor the wisdom to know that some victories are empty. At your power I may be, lost, alone and stranded, but I will never submit to you. I can see in your 'friend' where that path leads. Do your worst."

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean grins as he moves inside and retrieves his own horse, remembering fondly the death of that barmaid, not to mention his free p***-water. Something he definitely wouldn't have paid for. Frankly, he should have gotten compensation for drinking it. As his thoughts drift on the horse, he starts trying to remember the barmaids name....what had it been again? Not like it mattered, nor where he'd stashed her body. With that, he raises himself up on the horse and rides out into the streets with the hobbits.

[bvdk99]

Gandalf
"For all your subtleties, Morgan, you have not the cunning to know not to join the losing side." He replies, still gazing at the sky. "Nor the wisdom to know that some victories are empty. At your power I may be, lost, alone and stranded, but I will never submit to you. I can see in your 'friend' where that path leads. Do your worst."

She narrows her eyes and raises her hand; it starts to glow with jet-black energy. Suddenly, though, the energy disappears, and she lowers her hand. "On secound thought, I shan't waste my energy on such an utterly useless cause. Goodbye, Gandalf."

She teleports back into the room, and explains what happened to Saruman.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

About damn time they get on their way, Rapheal thinks as he makes his way to the streets. "It certainly took you long enough to leave that Inn, Aaragon."

Standin the hard copplestone Rapheal draws flamberg, his innacurately named sword and holds it threatingly at the man and the Hobbits. "The Rider told me to keep the Hobbits here but I'm feeling merciful, give me the Ring and I will let some of you live."

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean laughs flat out at the man. A sword? Dorean had faced worse before leaving England, much less with Saruman. He pulls out his own blade, a well-fashioned blade, and getting off his horse, smiles at the man, "I fear not the Black Riders, so why should I fear a lowly whelp such as you?" He noticed a moment afterwards that he'd slipped back into the English dialect that Saruman had warned him not to use lest he draw attention to himself, but on the other hand, screw the old codger.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

"I think you will find me more powerful than I seem." Rapheal flashes the man his fangs as he does so. Although since the man is not afraid of the Riders he obviously is not the superstiuos kind that would be frightened off by such cheap tricks. So Rapheal follows it up with a powerful lunge.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean looks down as the sword rips into his body and looks up at Sorel, "You don't seem to understand, but I'm a heartless monster." With that he pulls back off the sword as the wound starts healing up and Dorean thrusts his own sword at Sorel.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

"That makes two of us." Rapheal takes the sword to his shoulder but unlike Dorrean he rolls to the right and strikes at the Immortal's sword hand, to disarm him.

"Well obviously you aren't in league with the good wizard. Care to share your name oh worthy adversary?"

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean, with all the skill of a trained duelist with quite a bit of life experience, brings the sword up for a block, "I am who I say I am, and I am aligned with the wizard against Sauron. Not all of us monsters wish the world destroyed. Some of us would like to enjoy pipe weed, wine, and attractive barmaids." Dorean then tries to force Sorel's sword back, "So how do we determine who wins our duel? Neither of us are exactly going to feel this in the morn'."

[Executor]

Romans

Marcus watches the man follow the other, more well-dressed individual out. More than a decade in the Legion had not made him foolhardy, and he could see what the hooded man saw about the other man. Something didn't smell right about the well-dressed younger man who seemed to be leaving the tavern with four... children. Marcus grimaced in disgust. Paederasty was not unknown in Rome, that was true, but was generally frowned upon. And with children of all things! Not even adolescents but children! No, the hooded man was right, there was something that felt... off about that man. He watched the hooded man follow the suspicious one out of the tavern, and then return to his table and tapped four of his legionaries on their shoulders.

"Lucius, Gaius, Gnaeus, Sergius, go upstairs and get your shields and helmets. Bring down mine too, please. Stelios, get your bow and some arrows, and string it. There's a man outside who, I suspect, is doing something wholly unnatural with four children. And you know me, I don't want any fight to be an even one" He said. The men groaned a little at having to leave their meals, but quickly obliged, with a few jokes about their centurion's over-developed sense of Roman honour. They came back downstairs and handed Marcus his bronze helmet with it's distinctive crest of red-dyed horsehair. He put it on his head and tied the straps of the cheek guards beneath his chin, and then took up the familiar weight of his scutum in his left hand. With a smooth motion, Stelios strung his recurve bow, and then tested the string with a quick pull on it. He nodded at Marcus as he drew an arrow and nocked it. The rest of the men nodded as they drew swords. Marcus opened the door, to see that the rain had slackened by not stopped, and led his small group out into the street. He peered down the street to see the well-dressed man at some kind of stand off with another man. Quietly, the Romans lined up behind them, and the five of them, with Marcus in the centre, locked their shields together, their sword blades projecting in between the edges of the shields. Stelios ran up the balcony of a nearby house and pulled his bowstring back to his cheek, sharp eyes trained on the back of the well-dressed man's neck. Marcus couldn't see his cloaked friend from earlier, but suspected that the man had ways of going unseen, if he wished.

"Excuse me gentlemen!" Marcus bellowed out with the parade square voice of a seasoned centurion.

"Where exactly do you think you're going with those children?" he asked, now deadly quiet.

____________________________________

Arthur

The rain beat down cold and hard, and Arthur turned his face to the skies. It felt good to feel rain again, after all the countless centuries asleep. He realized that he hadn't been shaving for all those centuries either, and that he had a very long beard now, which he felt with a chuckle as he turned his gaze back towards strangely dressed woman. He released Excalibur's hilt, deciding that, as she hadn't drawn either of her swords yet, she had no intention of hurting him. Arthur felt the power of the Sword slowly drain out of him after releasing Excalibur's hilt, leaving him feeling strangely... empty, as it had always done.

"Weathertop, you say? I see why it is so named" he said with a laugh, his initial suspicion quickly dying down. It had always been his nature to be trusting and friendly, he had been famous for his modest and kindly nature with every one of his subjects, from the most powerful baron to the lowliest peasant. Looking around, Arthur spotted a small arch still standing amongst the ruins, that gave a little shelter from the rain. He walked over to it, and sat against the wall underneath it.

"I pray thee, madam, join me beneath this arch and explain what has brought me hither?" Arthur called to the woman from his dry seat.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean, secure in his regenerative immortality, looks over at the screaming man, and then over at the hobbits, "Bad eye sight chap, they're hobbits. Short folk? Smoke weed?" Suddenly guessing what the man is implying, Dorean starts laughing, "Oh, I get it. No, these aren't children, and I don't want them for that."

[industrious]

Wesley

"Thank you, Lord Imrahil. I would beg your council then. For a time, I was a sailor, but a life at sea is dangerous, and my love is too grand to be contained by a vessel. But how then, to win fame? People know of you, and they curse your name in Australia, but how to do as you have done? I am not noble-born by any stretch of the imagination. I am but a man."

[darkblade]

Rapheal

"Thats true, this will be a very long night." Rapheal says reluctantly, a shame really this could have been so much easier. At that moment the centurions arrive outside and start to threaten the immortals.

"Well, quite frankly I just wanted their jewelry, this man was about to kidnap them and take them half way across the world."

[doliest]

Dorean
"They're coming with me willingly and I'm taking them to safety so we can stop the potential end of the world; the one caused by your boss I hasten to add." Dorean chimes in, never loosing his jolly tone. Of course, his boss likely wanted something very similar, but he'd never mention that. Or that he was planning to kill his boss, yank his portrait back, and pawn the ring.

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr Eiríksson

Leifr looks at the fire. His face showing no fear nor worry.

"So someone is already here! Come men! Let us see what people the Vallas have placed in this mysterious land!"

The group of vikings all march on without think much about order, confident that they can deal with strangers as well as jotun*, should the need arrive.


*Giants

[Falgorn]

Robin Hood
The archer smiles upon hearing the news. "It doesn't seem that hard to do, just take out his guard from afar, then take the gold." Robin knows that it will be harder than that, though. It always is harder.

"Do you have a specific plan? Or did you just want me and my men to run up as a distraction, while you take the jewels and the credit?" Robin smirks at Faramir, since this was obviously a joke. Faramir wasn't one to steal the spotlight, it just wasn't the way Faramir was. "If, and only if, you have no plan, I suppose I could create one. I warn you, though, it might fun, something I know you are unaccustomed to." Robin Hood smirks again, letting a final arrow fly into the bullseye.

Robin Hood steps away from the makeshift archery range, and one of his Merry Men, trying to be adventurous, takes his place, firing an arrow that goes completely off mark. The Merry Men laugh at the poor fellow, until Robin shoots them a disiplinary look.

"Come, Faramir, let us discuss this matter elsewhere."

[Cracklord]

Wesley
At this, Lord Imrahil smiles. "Nobility is relative... Wesley." He replies. "I've seen greedy and foolish lords, and men far more suited to rulership who never get the chance. I've even met a man who carved out his own kingdom." He smiles at the mention of Australia, but does not make the usual inquiries.
"The Dark Lord stretches out his arm again, and it is good to see a little happiness in all the darkness. I hope you are reunited with your love." He sighs.
"I fear, however, that if you seek her I cannot spare men. I can offer you a fast horse, and provisions, if you will have them. And I can offer you my sincerest well wishes, if you will accept them."

Romans, Dorean, Raphael
The confrontation is drawing crowds, and many of them are fearful, a few of them are hooting encouragement, but others are fingering well worn cudgels or bawling their hands into fists. Most spilled out of the bar, and are in varying degrees of intoxication.
Dorean is the first to notice that the hobbits have backed to the edge of the circle, and have drawn their blades out, razor sharp, leaf-bladed weapons of an odd make. But there is only three of them, the leader is missing.
And the hooded figure Marcus spoke to is nowhere to be seen.

Morgan Le Fay
"He never could see sense." Saruman replies, after listening to your summary without a word. Like everything else about him, Saruman has a way of listening that makes you feel important, and want to recite your life story, but at the same time inadequate before this brilliant mans attention.
"So he has made his decision. And yet we had best keep him alive, it would b a shame to waste what he knows, and he might still decide to be more useful." His lips twitch, but you can't deduce his meaning. "And killing him is a line I'd prefer not to cross beyond greatest need."

Leifr Eiríksson
As you approach, you realize several things. First, the fire is a lot larger then you expected, and further away as well. And as you approach, you begin to hear low, guttural voices, raised in anger or complaint.

Robin Hood
Faramir follows you aside. With a regretful look, he rubs his hand through his hair again. "I will not be accompanying you, my friend. As you know, my father judges you an 'asset' despite you unlawful behavior, so turns a blind eye to various complaints and you." He chuckles.
"As much as it no doubt gals him to do it." Then he turns serious. "But in absence of my brother, I am being recalled to Osgiliath until such a time as he returns to command the garrison there. Madril will remain and take charge in my absence. This will be our last work together, Robin."

[bvdk99]

Wesley
At this, Lord Imrahil smiles. "Nobility is relative... Wesley." He replies. "I've seen greedy and foolish lords, and men far more suited to rulership who never get the chance. I've even met a man who carved out his own kingdom." He smiles at the mention of Australia, but does not make the usual inquiries.
"The Dark Lord stretches out his arm again, and it is good to see a little happiness in all the darkness. I hope you are reunited with your love." He sighs.
"I fear, however, that if you seek her I cannot spare men. I can offer you a fast horse, and provisions, if you will have them. And I can offer you my sincerest well wishes, if you will accept them."

Romans, Dorean, Raphael
The confrontation is drawing crowds, and many of them are fearful, a few of them are hooting encouragement, but others are fingering well worn cudgels or bawling their hands into fists. Most spilled out of the bar, and are in varying degrees of intoxication.
Dorean is the first to notice that the hobbits have backed to the edge of the circle, and have drawn their blades out, razor sharp, leaf-bladed weapons of an odd make. But there is only three of them, the leader is missing.
And the hooded figure Marcus spoke to is nowhere to be seen.

Morgan Le Fay
"He never could see sense." Saruman replies, after listening to your summary without a word. Like everything else about him, Saruman has a way of listening that makes you feel important, and want to recite your life story, but at the same time inadequate before this brilliant mans attention.
"So he has made his decision. And yet we had best keep him alive, it would b a shame to waste what he knows, and he might still decide to be more useful." His lips twitch, but you can't deduce his meaning. "And killing him is a line I'd prefer not to cross beyond greatest need."

Leifr Eiríksson
As you approach, you realize several things. First, the fire is a lot larger then you expected, and further away as well. And as you approach, you begin to hear low, guttural voices, raised in anger or complaint.

Robin Hood
Faramir follows you aside. With a regretful look, he rubs his hand through his hair again. "I will not be accompanying you, my friend. As you know, my father judges you an 'asset' despite you unlawful behavior, so turns a blind eye to various complaints and you." He chuckles.
"As much as it no doubt gals him to do it." Then he turns serious. "But in absence of my brother, I am being recalled to Osgiliath until such a time as he returns to command the garrison there. Madril will remain and take charge in my absence. This will be our last work together, Robin."

"He's a stubborn old man, and true to his word. He shan't tell us a thing, I fear... Hm, let us see..."

From her robes, she produces a pristine mirror. Holding it up for both of them to see, she says, "Gandalf the Grey". *coughmoth?cough* :smallbiggrin:

(Obviously, the mirror is a scrying device. In the glass, they should see what Gandalf is doing.)

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean turns his head back again. Great; the leader hobbit was gone. He completely loses interest in Sorel and the legion and moves over to the three, "Where. Did. He. Go?" He was not going to die because of a little hobbit. There were ways to get them to tell him exactly what he wanted if they didn't answer, and all of them were fun. For him.

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr Eiríksson

Leifr signals for his men to keep quiet and sneaks closer, even vikings know that you don't come charging into strangers' camp.

His men follows a bit behind him, weapons ready and horns prepared to warn the three back at the ship.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

The main hobbit had escaped, this would not do at all. Rapheal, sheathes his sword and attempts to blend into the crowd and sneak off while Dorrean is otherwise occupied. From there he will attempt to find the missing Hobbit who no doubt is the one carrying the trinket, or if that fails get himself and Amy as far from Bree as possible before the Black Riders return to punish his failure.

[Cracklord]

Dorean
Sam his hand remarkably steady, holds the sword infront of him like an amulet, as though trying to ward you away.
"I knew we couldn't trust you." He says accusingly.

Raphael
Your fancy clothes and the fact that the attention of the crowd is focused on you makes it difficult. Fortunately, you are considered to be a part of the village, if a little strange, so everyone is more willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and turn on Dorean.

Leifr Eiríksson
As you creep closer, you see the figures. They are large, hunched and encased in steel plates, crude armor. Great slabs of muscle complete the picture. There are perhaps thirty of them, and they all look dangerous.
There words are still difficult to make out, but from their body language they seem on the brink of violence with each other.

Morgan Le Fay
Saruman nods approvingly, and marches down the stairway. There is much that requires his attention. He has an army to build.
Gandalf has slumped back down, as though your brief interaction left him drained. The rain has started, and he turns his head up to gaze at the sky. He's shivering slightly, the cold seeping through his robes and running across his skin.
Suddenly he moves, as though catching something delicate, and opens his hand to reveal a moth. He stares at it for a moment, then releases it, watching it fly away.
You have no idea what just occurred, but it seems significant in a way you can't quite define.

[bvdk99]

Dorean
Sam his hand remarkably steady, holds the sword infront of him like an amulet, as though trying to ward you away.
"I knew we couldn't trust you." He says accusingly.

Raphael
Your fancy clothes and the fact that the attention of the crowd is focused on you makes it difficult. Fortunately, you are considered to be a part of the village, if a little strange, so everyone is more willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and turn on Dorean.

Leifr Eiríksson
As you creep closer, you see the figures. They are large, hunched and encased in steel plates, crude armor. Great slabs of muscle complete the picture. There are perhaps thirty of them, and they all look dangerous.
There words are still difficult to make out, but from their body language they seem on the brink of violence with each other.

Morgan Le Fay
Saruman nods approvingly, and marches down the stairway. There is much that requires his attention. He has an army to build.
Gandalf has slumped back down, as though your brief interaction left him drained. The rain has started, and he turns his head up to gaze at the sky. He's shivering slightly, the cold seeping through his robes and running across his skin.
Suddenly he moves, as though catching something delicate, and opens his hand to reveal a moth. He stares at it for a moment, then releases it, watching it fly away.
You have no idea what just occurred, but it seems significant in a way you can't quite define.

Morgan, slightly suspicious and with nothing better to do, does the shadow-teleportation thing again and arrives back on the roof, surveying Gandalf, eyes narrowed.

((Um, I have something to say about the Merlin/Morgan/Gandalf thing: Merlin and Morgan were supposed to be about equal; I think Morgan even killed Merlin in myth, or something along those lines, so if Merlin's matched with Gandalf, shouldn't Morgan be as well?))

[Cracklord]

Morgan
((then how come he wins every time? A place on the scale is not a matter of raw power, it's also a matter of intelligence, wisdom, position, experience, luck, men willing to follow you, everything.))
Gandalf surveys you, eyes winkling beneath his bushy brows. He doesn't speak, he just keeps on watching you. His composure still hasn't cracked, you may as well be equals on equal footing.

[bvdk99]

Morgan
((then how come he wins every time? A place on the scale is not a matter of raw power, it's also a matter of intelligence, wisdom, position, experience, luck, everything.))
Gandalf surveys you, eyes winkling beneath his bushy brows. He doesn't speak, he just keeps on watching you. His composure still hasn't cracked, you may as well be equals on equal footing.

Morgan watches him. "You're up to something, aren't you?"

[Cracklord]

Morgan
He does not insult your intelligence by denying this. Instead he inclines his head, still watching you.
"What do you want, Morgan?" He asks. This is a new line of attack, and an unfamiliar one.
"Your obvious charms are all you need for power. Is it that you want to rule?" He gets to his feet again. "Or is it about proving you are better then me, and Saruman, and all the rest. Is it about being the best, Morgan?"

[bvdk99]

Morgan
He does not insult your intelligence by denying this. Instead he inclines his head, still watching you.
"What do you want, Morgan?" He asks. This is a new line of attack, and an unfamiliar one.
"Your obvious charms are all you need for power. Is it that you want to rule?" He gets to his feet again. "Or is it about proving you are better then me, and Saruman, and all the rest. Is it about being the best, Morgan?"

"Very good questions, my friend. But, if I revealed to you my true intentions, I'd be stabbing myself in the back, wouldn't I?"

[waterpenguin43]

Glinda
Glinda floats down to Weathertop in her pink bubble, looking about for anything living and/or threatening. She is still in the bubble.

[Cracklord]

Morgan
"Only if you fear an old, broken man, deprived of his power and trapped atop your tower, whose only escape would be to give in to despair and toss himself to the ground below."
He says with a small smile. "You know I will not take you into my confidence unless you take me into yours, Morgan."

Rikku
The darkness recedes, and you find yourself staring up at a vast monstrosity that makes you tremble. He is greater than a mountain, crowned with smoke and fire, and the light of his eyes would burn a lesser being to madness.
Encased in black steel, one hand clutches a hammer the size of a castle, the other lies aside. His legs are scarred, which weep blood. Humans heal, but gods are not designed to be hurt, and so have no way of recovering. He still feels those wounds as though they had just been made.
"You are the one I seek." He intones, his voice deep as the dwarves ever mined.

Glinda
It is raining, softly, more of a light drizzle, and below are two individuals taking shelter, a man in armor with a long, golden bead, and a woman in leather. Both are armed and look more then capable of handling themselves. But you don't recognize either.

[bvdk99]

Morgan
"Only if you fear an old, broken man, deprived of his power and trapped atop your tower, whose only escape would be to give in to despair and toss himself to the ground below."
He says with a small smile. "You know I will not take you into my confidence unless you take me into yours, Morgan."

Rikku
The darkness recedes, and you find yourself staring up at a vast monstrosity that makes you tremble. He is greater than a mountain, crowned with smoke and fire, and the light of his eyes would burn a lesser being to madness.
Encased in black steel, one hand clutches a hammer the size of a castle, the other lies aside. His legs are scarred, which weep blood. Humans heal, but gods are not designed to be hurt, and so have no way of recovering. He still feels those wounds as though they had just been made.
"You are the one I seek." He intones, his voice deep as the dwarves ever mined.

Glinda
It is raining, softly, more of a light drizzle, and below are two individuals taking shelter, a man in armor with a long, golden bead, and a woman in leather. Both are armed and look more then capable of handling themselves. But you don't recognize either.

"Hm, fine then. Lord Sauron, Saruman and I shall rule Middle-Earth for all of eternity."

[waterpenguin43]

Glinda
It is raining, softly, more of a light drizzle, and below are two individuals taking shelter, a man in armor with a long, golden bead, and a woman in leather. Both are armed and look more then capable of handling themselves. But you don't recognize either.

Her bubble protecting her from the rain, Glinda softly lowers herself to a level where she is hovering quietly over the ground. She approaches the two figures and her bubble vanishes in a sparkle of silver light.
Glinda waves her wand and a small silver sparkle glimmers momentarily around her cerulean dress, making it waterproof.
Are you two in need of assistance? she asks calmly, her blonde hair billowing behind her in the wind.

[Cracklord]

Gandalf
He raises an eyebrow. "Indeed? Such a lofty dream." You can't tell if he's mocking you. "Personally, I find power to be a hollow, empty thing. I prefer the comfort of friends or companions, and the delight of wisdom shared. But clearly I am just an old fool, as you have won, and here I am." Now he is clearly mocking you. "But we both know Saruman desires to supplant Sauron. Perhaps he can, he has studied Ringlore like no other. But only one can wield that power at a time." He sits back.

[Creed]

Riku (Rikku is from Final Fantasy and is a girl, so that extra K is important!:smalltongue:)

Riku felt the awesome power eminating from this creature of absolute darkness, power he had never before felt from his former master, Ansem.
The boy from the darkness took a knee before the dark being.
"I live to serve, Lord of Darkness." he said solemnly, his remaining Heartless shifting around him like a group of tribal dancers.

[Falgorn]

Robin Hood
Robin Hood sighs, looking at Faramir. "Hmm, well, this is it, then. I must say, we had a few good adventures together, Faramir." Robin Hood smiles, reminiscing on earlier days, with gold, plunder, drink, and dead Orcs. "Try not to get too happy in the cities. I might have to visit you next."

With a wink, Robin Hood tips his hat towards the fellow ranger. "Goodbye, Faramir. May fortune smile upon you." He whistles for his men, once more, and tells them the news.

Little John, Robin's second-in-command, steps up. "Well, Faramir, it was good working with you, even if you were just a stick in the mud." The band of men chuckle from the joke, and, one by one, each of the archer's shares their little quip about service with Faramir.

Robin, after telling his men to go back to work, looks at Faramir a last time. "Hope to see you again. But you best be hurrying, don't want to be late, do you?"

[bvdk99]

Gandalf
He raises an eyebrow. "Indeed? Such a lofty dream." You can't tell if he's mocking you. "Personally, I find power to be a hollow, empty thing. I prefer the comfort of friends or companions, and the delight of wisdom shared. But clearly I am just an old fool, as you have won, and here I am." Now he is clearly mocking you. "But we both know Saruman desires to supplant Sauron. Perhaps he can, he has studied Ringlore like no other. But only one can wield that power at a time." He sits back.

She is silent.

[Cracklord]

Riku
((I don't have a lot of interest in that sort of fantasy, so I'll have to take your word for it.))
Morgoth's eye roves over you, and he seems to like what he sees. "I am imprisoned here." He says, indicating the darkness. "You will use that to free me." Again, it is not a request. Morgoth does not ask, he demands.

Gandalf
He falls silent himself, and waits, as patient as a mountain.

Robin
"No. No, I suppose I don't." With that he replaces his hood, and begins returning through the forest towards Henneth Annûn, his own, rather better hidden and more defensible hideout.
He gets thirty feet before he notices his purse has been cut, but he just laughs and keeps on going. They'd find someone who could use it better then he could.

[waterpenguin43]

Morgan, slightly suspicious and with nothing better to do, does the shadow-teleportation thing again and arrives back on the roof, surveying Gandalf, eyes narrowed.

((Um, I have something to say about the Merlin/Morgan/Gandalf thing: Merlin and Morgan were supposed to be about equal; I think Morgan even killed Merlin in myth, or something along those lines, so if Merlin's matched with Gandalf, shouldn't Morgan be as well?))

(she imprisoned him in a crystal, if I remember correctly)

[doliest]

Dorean
"I just told them I was going to protect you. What part of that sentence didn't you trust, hobbit?" For now, Dorean suppresses the urge to slice through all three hobbits and using their blood as bathing water. He did here some woman had tried that, maybe it would be interesting. His eyes twitch around, keeping an eye open for the one with the ring.

[Creed]

Riku

"I will do as I can, sire. But if a being as grand as you are is able to free you from your bonds, what chance do I have?"
In his many masters, Riku had learned flattery to be one of the best ways to escape a sticky situation.
But this one was different. Riku had never felt fear since his binding to the shadows, but this was the closest the shadowling had ever been to pure terror.

[Gimliggamer]

Arthur

-snip-

"I pray thee, madam, join me beneath this arch and explain what has brought me hither?" Arthur called to the woman from his dry seat.

Samantha Sane

Samantha goes and sits next to Arthur. "I'll assume you aren't from 'round here, 'cause you talk kinda funny. Sadly, I don't know 'ow you got here, I just found you here sleeping on that tablet over there. I was just exploring this strange land that I have found myself in an' I stumbled onto you." She tries to explain. Kind of badly.



Chained Bloodlust
-snip-
You sniff the air, and feel a tang on it, a tang of nascent power just beyond your grasp.


Chained Bloodlust
Ah, power, more power. His ever thirsting goal, something to always get more of. The age-old warrior tries to follow the scent to the source.

[Cracklord]

Riku
"Within my prison I can do little, but from without it is different." He stops. "That tool is what I have searched for these long ages, a way to travel through worlds. And using it, it shall be possible to free me."

Dorean
You are not as convincing as you should be. Some of your anger must show. Sam holds the sword up higher, working up the courage to use it.
But killing for your first time is hard, it takes so long to see beyond that fear. You don't think he'll find the strength.

Samantha
As you speak, you see what appears to be a floating pink bubble drift down. It vanishes in a sparkle of soft light, and a beautiful, if vaguely otherworldly, woman appears before you in an intricate dress, holding what appears to be a wand.

Chained Bloodlust
You begin to drag your way on it, the vitality of the ranger strengthening you, speeding you, and making you hunger all the more.
A town looms ahead. But as you approach, something holds you back. You turn, to see a figure wrapped in dark robes, atop a black horse, watching the town.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane

Samantha quietly gasps in surprise. "Damn. That's the third time t'day." She carefully watches the woman. It's always the ones you least suspect.

[doliest]

Dorean
"Put down the sword little hobbit. I'm still on your side; were I not I would have let the vampire kill you and stolen the ring from him. He's bound to be easier to track than hobbits." Dorean is beginning to lose his patience. Everything relies on this ring, including his own life.

[Cracklord]

Dorean
"I heard what you said." Sam replies. "Every word." With that, he drives the blade at your gut. Sam is well fed and soft, though his hands are calloused from tools and hard work, and his arms are stronger then you give him credit for.
The strike itself is neither elegant nor skillful, it is in fact largely clumsy.

[Creed]

Riku

"Sire, I fear the power I posses over the Shadow Corridor, if that is truely what you refer to, is limited. I can barely pass myself through it, much less your magnificence. My power, however, can be bolstered by the collection of sorrow-ridden souls in the form of these creatures you see around me, the Heartless. By collecting more of them, I can increase my own power and possibly open the corridor wider, possibly even large enough to let your Dark Majesty through. But a many souls it will take if I am to accomplish it."

[waterpenguin43]

Samantha Sane

Her bubble protecting her from the rain, she softly lowers herself to a level where she is hovering quietly over the ground. She approaches the two figures and her bubble vanishes in a sparkle of silver light.
She waves her wand and a small silver sparkle glimmers momentarily around her cerulean dress, making it waterproof.
Are you two in need of assistance? she asks calmly, her blonde hair billowing behind her in the wind.

This is what happened next.

[doliest]

Dorean
"Did ye' forget that I'm a heartless monster?" Dorean pulls himself off of the blade with a smile as he begins regenerating again. He looks down at the hobbit, "Now, I'm still on your side, but if you continues to fight..." Dorean let's the words hang in the air like a condemned man.

[Cracklord]

Riku
"You will do as you see fit." Morgoth replies. With that, you are gone.
The god does not reply, and fades away.
You are standing on a barren, stony plain, an endless weary gray expanse that seemed to unfold forever under a sullen dun-colored sky, full of roiling clouds. The ground gradually slopes upward, and ahead you see the Black Tower through the thick, smoky air.
First thing to hit you is the sheer scale of the place. Despite it's name, Barad Dûr didn't consist of one tower, but many, a black spiky edifice that looked as if it must cover miles (it does). A single tower that looms over all the others, one that seemed to pulse with reddish light at the top.

Sam
The hobbit was chosen as Frodo's companion not by his master, nor even by Gandalf, but by blind chance, that he should happen to be caught spying, and have the opportunity to do so at that moment.
And yet, had they searched the entire Shire, they couldn't have found a better man for the task. Sam doesn't back down an inch despite being more then a little intimidated.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane

Samantha watches the oddly dressed woman who wears fancy dresses instead of pants and a shirt. Must be some kind of wizard. She makes a mental note not to tick her off. "I don't think so, unless you know why we are here.....?"

[Creed]

Riku

The boy of shadows smiled as his Heartless slid into his own shadow.
His blade, Oblivion, settled smoothly at his hip. He had no idea of the terrain of this world.
From instinct, the boy ran towards the spikey compound.
A new world, and he was the only Heartless on it. A world of souls to corrupt.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean gives a grim smirk, and wordlessly brings his sword in a swift swiping motion intended to decapitate the little hobbit. It was time for Dorean to have his fun.

[bvdk99]

Riku
"You will do as you see fit." Morgoth replies. With that, you are gone.
The god does not reply, and fades away.
You are standing on a barren, stony plain, an endless weary gray expanse that seemed to unfold forever under a sullen dun-colored sky, full of roiling clouds. The ground gradually slopes upward, and ahead you see the Black Tower through the thick, smoky air.
First thing to hit you is the sheer scale of the place. Despite it's name, Barad Dûr didn't consist of one tower, but many, a black spiky edifice that looked as if it must cover miles (it does). A single tower that looms over all the others, one that seemed to pulse with reddish light at the top.

Sam
The hobbit was chosen as Frodo's companion not by his master, nor even by Gandalf, but by blind chance, that he should happen to be caught spying, and have the opportunity to do so at that moment.
And yet, had they searched the entire Shire, they couldn't have found a better man for the task. Sam doesn't back down an inch despite being more then a little intimidated.

Morgan
Sam and Frodo should notice a quaint-looking cottage nearby. Morgan, disguised as a beautiful peasant comes out of the door, a splendid, freshly baked pie in her hands. She walks over to the hobbits.
"My dear you look hungry. Would you like a slice of pie?"

Fairy Godmother
A small blue bird is slowly flying towards Weathertop, struggling through the rain. As an especially large raindrop hits it, it squawks daintily and instantaneously transforms into a plump, motherly figure wearing a pointed light blue hat and a light blue gown, holding a long wand with a star at the tip.
Oh, goodness! she says, lifting the hem of her robes above the sodden ground. She looks up, and seeing the rain-distorted figure of Glinda in the distance, calls out.
Glinda, my dear! Is that you?

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane

Samantha watches as yet another strangely dressed woman descends from the sky. Oh dear. Even more wizards. This does not bode well. She thinks as she carefully watches the two women.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean looks at Morgan, not recognizing her, if he's even met her, "I don't believe in giving the condemned a last meal."

[waterpenguin43]

Samantha Sane

Samantha watches the oddly dressed woman who wears fancy dresses instead of pants and a shirt. Must be some kind of wizard. She makes a mental note not to tick her off. "I don't think so, unless you know why we are here.....?"

Well, why are you here? she asks. When she sees the FG, she looks around and smiles. Oh, hello! It's been ages since I've seen you!

[bvdk99]

Well, why are you here? she asks. When she sees the FG, she looks around and smiles. Oh, hello! It's been ages since I've seen you!

(Glinda can call her by her real name, Greta.)

Oh, it's so wonderful to see you, my dear friend! she cries, jogging up the hill, something that looks quite funny. To add to the humour, she sounds like Julia Child. :smallamused::smalltongue:
Unfortunately, I have grim news to discuss with you, dear... Oh, who are these two fine specimens? she says, regarding Samantha and Arthur. Would either of you like a biscuit?

[Cracklord]

Dorean
An arrow takes you in the throat, knocking you back. Another takes you in the shoulder, nearly making you fumble your sword.
The hooded man from before emerges, another arrow already notched.
"Get behind me. We're leaving." He tells the hobbits, the crowd parting for him. When they reach him, he begins backing away, still keeping the arrow pointed at you, his eyes not flickering for a second.

Morgan
You start aside, as Saruman arrives, holding his own staff. Gandalfs is in the towers armory, far beyond his reach, unless he summons it to himself again. In a very real way, a wizard's staff is part of him, the device they use to draw the essence that makes up their spirit and into this world. Without his staff, he's only Gandalf the Grey, not Olórin the Istarri.
He stares at you, hooded eyes narrowing slightly, then turns his attention to the man who was once his friend. He swings his staff, and Gandalf is sent flying by the force of his will. "My old friend. What good does this do either of us? Spite becomes you not, either I get the ring, or Sauron does. Which would you prefer?"
"You would be a tyrant no better then he is, Saruman." Gandalf replies, gasping as the air is forced from his lungs.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane
"Umm.....whats a biscuit?" Samantha asks, confused. Must be some wizard spell or something or another.

Chained Bloodlust

Chained Bloodlust slowly approaches the hooed figure, to see whether or not it is edible. His small army slowly pops up around him, hissing and making various other evil and menacing sounds.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean twitches his eyes down as the regeneration takes longer to force things out. A moment later, with the arrow(presumably) forced out he says, "Oh please," and charges forward, trying to get a good slice at the man before he can get off another arrow.

[Creed]

Riku

The boy was exausted from his trek, and began to walk towards the spire. His soul was drawn to it, and it was clearly of great importance. He had felt the same spiritual tug when he had been close to the entrance to Kingdom Hearts. Obviously the tower had something to do with the sorrow of many, a focus for the power that would allow Riku's new master to enter this world.
He hoped it was occupied by the enemy. Then he could collect souls and claim the focus point at the same time.

((Overconfidant much?:smalltongue:))

[bvdk99]

Samantha Sane
"Umm.....whats a biscuit?" Samantha asks, confused. Must be some wizard spell or something or another.

Chained Bloodlust

Chained Bloodlust slowly approaches the hooed figure, to see whether or not it is edible. His small army slowly pops up around him, hissing and making various other evil and menacing sounds.

Hm.. how about an apple? After all, an apple a day keeps the doctor away, my dear! she says cheerily, handing Samantha an apple while waiting for Glinda's response.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane
Samantha eyes the apple curiously to see if she can appraise it of poison. "Whats a doctor?" She asks curiously.

[Executor]

The Romans

"I've had enough of this, STELIOS!" Marcus shouts. The Cretan did not need to even hear the order, he knew what the command was. He loosed his shaft, and his aim was true. The string of his recurve bow twanged melodiously as the arrow sped through the rain and struck the 'heartless monster' squarely in the side of the neck. Keeping their shields locked together, the four legionaries jogged over to the 'hobbits' rapidly, their swords gleaming wickedly in the torchlight of the surrounding Breelanders. Holding his scutum horizontally, Marcus punched forward with it and drove the lower edge of rolled iron into the man's gut, to wind him and knock him backwards, if he somehow survived the arrow through his neck. The force of a heavy scutum's iron edge driving into your gut would at least hurt the 'heartless monster', if it didn't kill him.

"Behind us, little ones, quickly" Marcus snapped at the hobbits, while Stelios nocked another arrow and trained it on the well-dressed man once again.

______________________________________________

King Arthur

"You would be correct, madam, but I honestly do not know where 'here' is" Arthur replied, removing Excalibur's scabbard from his belt and holding it against his chest, to be more comfortable. It was at that moment that an incident of exceeding eccentricity occured. From the rainy skies about them, there descended an incandescent sphere of glowing pink. As it approached the ground, it dissolved to reveal a blonde woman of great beauty, in a long dress. And then, from the east, there came a small blue bird, which transformed into another woman.

So I am in the land of the Fair Folk Arthur thought to himself, and then he stood up from beneath the arch and called over to the strange women.

"Hullo! I pray thee, tell me, do ye fair ladies hail from the Happy Isle of Avalon?" he asked, the rain darkening and matting his golden hair to his head.

[bvdk99]

Samantha Sane
Samantha eyes the apple curiously to see if she can appraise it of poison. "Whats a doctor?" She asks curiously.

It's not poisoned, my dear. I picked it myself, just this morning, in fact... A doctor, a medic, a healer, they're all the same, love.

Edit: She turns to Arthur. I do not "come" from anywhere, dear. But I am always here to help, and here I will stay.

[waterpenguin43]

(Glinda can call her by her real name, Greta.)

Oh, it's so wonderful to see you, my dear friend! she cries, jogging up the hill, something that looks quite funny. To add to the humour, she sounds like Julia Child. :smallamused::smalltongue:
Unfortunately, I have grim news to discuss with you, dear... Oh, who are these two fine specimens? she says, regarding Samantha and Arthur. Would either of you like a biscuit?

Oh dear! What's wrong!? she says, conjuring a pretty pink flower in front of Samantha at the same time.

[Cracklord]

Dorean and Marcus
Dorean is fast and smooth, dancing past Marcus's shield bash so that he only strikes a glancing blow, which unsteadies him, but not as much as it should have, and continuing his charge. At the last second, the man steps aside, dropping the hunting bow, and his hand grabs Dorean's wrist, forcing it around, and the sword from his fingers. Aragorns right hand balls into a fist, which he drives into Dorean's gut.
The hobbits, following Aragorn's lead, have vanished back into the stable, and are already saddling their ponies, the Romans supporting them.
"My thanks." Aragorn replies softly, still holding Dorean in place. "If you would be so kind as to relieve me of this, perhaps we can question him?"

Chained Bloodlust
The robed figure turns, and you feel a great evil emanating from it, that washes over your own. A mailed hand emerges from the dark folds of the cloak, and gestures at Bree. "Bagginssss..." It hisses in a spine chilling whisper.

Riku
The gate is shut. But it creaks open slowly at your pounding, and you make your way in. It appears deserted, this bit at least, though overhead you can hear the ringing sounds of industry. A set of wrought iron steps is before you, stretching on into the distance beyond sight.

[bvdk99]

Oh dear! What's wrong!? she says, conjuring a pretty pink flower in front of Samantha at the same time.

(Just a moment, I'm waiting for Cracklord's response to something OOC..)

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane
"Well you never know with you wizard types." Samantha mumbles. She takes a bite out of the apple, remembering the saying that she was taught. An apple a day keeps evil at bay.

Chained Bloodlust

Chained Bloodlust realizes he most likely will not win this fight, his warriors forming a protective circle around him, shields out. The blood runes on his mace pulse once as he fully absorbs the power of the ranger. He sends out an equally bone chilling whisper. "Powweerrrrrr...Hunngerrrr...."

[Creed]

Riku

Riku was determined to make a good, or bad, first impression on these people. His Heartless minions fled from his own shadow, dancing around him as he started up the stairs. The beings were far from the intimidating Armor Masters and Gargoyles he commanded in Hollow Bastion, but they were only the start of his new Heartless army. Eventually, he would have all the souls he would ever need. Some day. But Riku had time to wait.

[bvdk99]

Samantha Sane
"Well you never know with you wizard types." Samantha mumbles. She takes a bite out of the apple, remembering the saying that she was taught. An apple a day keeps evil at bay.

Chained Bloodlust

Chained Bloodlust realizes he most likely will not win this fight, his warriors forming a protective circle around him, shields out. The blood runes on his mace pulse once as he fully absorbs the power of the ranger. He sends out an equally bone chilling whisper. "Powweerrrrrr...Hunngerrrr...."

I'm a fairy, dear.
She turns to Glinda.
Gandalf has been captured by that awful tyrant, Saruman. We musn't worry, however, for a lovely little moth informed me that Gandalf has sent for Gwehyr to rescue him!

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean sighs, more annoyed than angry. He had time, and nothing they did would hold him. He could track down the hobbits and filch the ring, or slay Saruman. He'd prefer the second, but was realistic enough to stick to the first.

[waterpenguin43]

I'm a fairy, dear.
She turns to Glinda.
Gandalf has been captured by that awful tyrant, Saruman. We musn't worry, however, for a lovely little moth informed me that Gandalf has sent for Gwehyr to rescue him!

Well, thank goodness! However, I think we ought to send after Saruman once we get a decent collection of allies!

[bvdk99]

Well, thank goodness! However, I think we ought to send after Saruman once we get a decent collection of allies!

I agree, my dear! I'm sure Radagast would be on our side; I've known him for quite some time, and he's a dear friend! Shall I send a messenger?

[Cracklord]

Dorean
"You called yourself Aragorn. To me, that is a surprise, as the last time I met him he was going in the other direction. And Aragorn would not allow himself to be so easily beaten. Who are you, and whom do you serve?

Chained Bloodlust
It hisses, the hiss making the lesser hollowmen quake and prostrate themselves. Only you remain standing, but it's an effort of will. "Bagginsssss..." It hisses again, pointing. As it does, it occurs to you that it is gesturing in the direction of the power you've felt calling to you.

[waterpenguin43]

I agree, my dear! I'm sure Radagast would be on our side; I've known him for quite some time, and he's a dear friend! Shall I send a messenger?

Yes, but we'll need the ents as well! Luckily, I have connections with them. And we'll need humans, she says. An idea comes into her mind. She turns around to face Arthur and Samantha. Will you join us?

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean smiles, "Me, myself, and I. I wouldn't have been captured had everyone not ganged up one me. Actually, can someone get my sword? It's worth more than all your lives. A dear, departed friend gave it too me. As for my name? It is Gray; Dorean Gray." He's clearly enjoying this, and to him, interrogation seems to mean 'make fun of your captors,'

[Gimliggamer]

Chained Bloodlust
Chained Bloodlust and his compatriots begin to slowly walk towards the direction the hooded rider was pointing at, eager to devour the source of power, yet slightly fearful of the black rider.

Samanthat Sane

Samantha notices the fairie's conversation. " That depends. How fast can you travel?" She asks, an adventurous glint in her eyes.

[bvdk99]

Yes, but we'll need the ents as well! Luckily, I have connections with them. And we'll need humans, she says. An idea comes into her mind. She turns around to face Arthur and Samantha. Will you join us?

She approaches a nearby bird, and whispers to it: Go to Radagast the Brown, and tell him this: "It's Greta, your old friend. Come to Weathertop as fast as you can!" She sends the bird off to find Radagast.

[Cracklord]

Dorean
Aragorn does not respond for a moment, then his grip tightens and his eyes narrow. "Well, Dorian, you are unlike any of the enemies servants I have ever seen." Aragorn replies. Then he lets you go, but plants his boot securely over the sword.

Chained Bloodlust
Without another word, the Nazghul spurs his great horse and thunders towards the town, four other, likewise dark cloaked figures joining him on his mad rush.

[waterpenguin43]

Samanthat Sane

Samantha notices the fairie's conversation. " That depends. How fast can you travel?" She asks, an adventurous glint in her eyes.

Very fast. I can conjure pink bubbles that we can fly in!

[doliest]

Dorean
"Because I'm not a servant of Sauron. As I said, not everyone wants to see the world end." Dorean turns an about and looks at Aragorn, "Who are you anyway? And why are you getting aid from," Dorean looks over at the legion, "Ceaser and his friends?"

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane
"I wasn't planning on flying." She says. She whistles, and a sleek black horse trots up next to her. It looks already saddled and ready to go.

Chained Bloodlust

Chained Bloodlust and his friends begin to run after, silently following the riders.

[waterpenguin43]

Samantha Sane
"I wasn't planning on flying." She says. She whistles, and a sleek black horse trots up next to her. It looks already saddled and ready to go.

Her eyes widen. Well, that's fine, I'll just fly and you can ride.

[bvdk99]

Her eyes widen. Well, that's fine, I'll just fly and you can ride.

And I'll fly too, in bird form, you see! Greta chimes in.

Then, she turns around, and waves her wand. The air shimmers and a window (not literal) should appear, showing Radagast. If it works, she says into the window, Radagast? He should hear her.

[industrious]

NOT Elphaba

The Wicked Witch of the West snaps her fingers as she feels the blight of a familiar, hated presence. Glinda, that nasty little do-gooder. And on her land, her soil, too. The witch knew that this was not Oz. That the West that she ruled with an iron fist was not the West of the Shire and Rivendell. But in her warped and twisted mind, that fact was irrelevent.

She snaps her fingers, and summons two of the cowering, sniveling goblins that have come to worship her.

"Go to Weathertop with fifty of your kind. Kill the witches. Kill the king. Kill the woman. Kill EVERYONE!"

More laughter. Lots of laughter. If she had ever gone to school, she would have gotten an "A" in cackling, both in tone and duration.

Wesley

"Thank you, Lord Imrahil. May the Shadow never fall upon these lands. And if you ever have need of me, then go to the harbor, and give one of the sailors there this."

In the Lord's hand, he places a sealed envelope. On it's back, in black wax, is the Secret Crest of the Dread Pirate Roberts. All pirates had a secret seal to talk to other pirates. It just made sense. A great deal of things make sense when the beverage of choice is rum.

With his newly acquired possessions, Wesley continues riding northwest. Towards Rohan, and Isengard.

[waterpenguin43]

NOT Elphaba

The Wicked Witch of the West snaps her fingers as she feels the blight of a familiar, hated presence. Glinda, that nasty little do-gooder. And on her land, her soil, too. The witch knew that this was not Oz. That the West that she ruled with an iron fist was not the West of the Shire and Rivendell. But in her warped and twisted mind, that fact was irrelevent.

She snaps her fingers, and summons two of the cowering, sniveling goblins that have come to worship her.

"Go to Weathertop with fifty of your kind. Kill the witches. Kill the king. Kill the woman. Kill EVERYONE!"

More laughter. Lots of laughter. If she had ever gone to school, she would have gotten an "A" in cackling, both in tone and duration.

Glinda hears from a distance. she waves her hand, and pink binoculars appear. She sighs. It's that tragic girl. The one with the dead sister, who was crushed by a house. The girl who gave her the Grimmerie. Elpheba! she calls, while flying towards her in a pink bubble.

[bvdk99]

Cracklord's offline, so I'll assume the window didn't work.

Greta shrugs and summons a nice rocking chair in which she sits. From her robe, she produces two knitting needles and some thread, and procceeds to quietly knit while rocking in her chair. :smallbiggrin::smallbiggrin::smallbiggrin:

Edit: @WP: The Wicked Witch of the West is in the Misty Mountains, far away from Weathertop. She can only see Glinda thanks to her crystal ball. Also, binoculars didn't exist then.

[waterpenguin43]

Cracklord's offline, so I'll assume the window didn't work.

Greta shrugs and summons a nice rocking chair in which she sits. From her robe, she produces two knitting needles and some thread, and procceeds to quietly knit while rocking in her chair. :smallbiggrin::smallbiggrin::smallbiggrin:

Edit: @WP: The Wicked Witch of the West is in the Misty Mountains, far away from Weathertop. She can only see Glinda thanks to her crystal ball. Also, binoculars didn't exist then.

Oh, never mind, then.

[Cracklord]

Bree
"Call me... Strider. And if we ever meet again, I'll make sure you don't get the opportunity to follow me." He lets you go, and kicks you in the gut.
It is at that exact moment when Four Ringwraiths and eleven ghouls smash down the gate and charge into the village, hunting. Anyone unfortunate enough to get caught in their way are cut down before they can do more then cry out.
"Damn it." Aragorn swears, forgetting all about Dorian, and making his way over to Marcus. "Take as many as you can save, and head down the King's road. I'll take the one they're after, and vanish into the wilds." He says, in the sudden tone of one used to having his commands obeyed. It cements your previous impression, this man is used to being obeyed.
"Don't argue, officer, you're the only man I can trust to do this. They aren't after you."

Riku
At the top of the shadows is... nothing. Just a dark room, black as pitch, with just enough light to make out shadows. It is cold, so cold it's painful, and the air feels heavy. You stare around, and suddenly the shadows begin to run together, merging to form a figure.
After a moment, he stands before you, towering above you and wearing power like a cloak. He is dressed in a hooded robe hiding all of him and shadowing his face, concealing his form bar two hands.
If a pair of hands could be described as perfect, such a description would still not suffice. Long fingers that might have been manicured by angels, flesh that was smoother than buttermilk and whiter than snow, but in some indescribable way seemed strong. The only blemish, only detraction from this was a single missing finger on the right hand. The index one. Somehow, this only made all the more perfect, as this scar made it real, tangible.
But the hands weren’t human, or even elven. The shape was wrong, too long, to thin, to pale and to graceful and lithe.
"Who are you to come within my domain?" Said a voice, pleasant, although a hint of sarcasm, and downright cruelty could bubble up without warning.
You shiver, though not from the cold.

Aang
You begin to tire as you leave the mountains that hold your temple and head East. A plain stretches ahead, and a long river. You are at the end of your endurance when you see the house ahead. It has magnificent gardens, and stables, and a huge, broad chested man wearing naught but a pair of breaches stands at the doorway, leaning on an axe bigger then you. He is magnificently muscled, and covered in hair. And he has hard eyes, though not unkind ones.
A magnificent white horse whinnies softly beside him at you approach, and he nods, not taking his eyes off you.

NOT Elphaba
"At once mistress." The thing says, it's voice quavering, before drawing itself up and scuttling away to find it's brethren. You doubt they fear their king as much as they fear you, and even Maug pays you deference. Magic terrifies the little things.
Others give you raw, quivering chunks of grizzled meat, relatively clear of parasites. The best they have to offer.

[Creed]

Riku

His Heartless waver and slink back into Riku's form, but the boy himself stands firm.
"I am Riku, servant of a being far greater than you."

[Falgorn]

Robin Hood
The archer smiles, quickly counting his pocketed gold. "All right lads, let's see if we can get some gold from this prince." The men salute Robin, and then go about their business.

Little John steps forward, a worried look on his face. He grabs Robin, and pulls him close. "Don't you think we need a plan," he whispers. "We can't just run up to him and demand all the money he has, he has an escort!" Little John says, looking worried. Robin just pats him on the head, and knocks an arrow on his bow. "Let's see if I can shoot left-handed, eh? If I get a bullseye, you quit worrying, all right?" The arrow flies through the air, hitting it's mark. "See, no worries."

Ganondorf
Slowly, the Bandit King ascended the flight of stairs up the Dark Tower. In his heavy, black armor, it would take a while. But it would all be worth it, his service to Sauron would give him the power he requires to destroy those who defy him. "Lugbúrz," he says to himself, quietly. "Is much larger on the inside."

Ganondorf had no followers with him, he had told the Gerudo to remain in the desert, to spring traps for all those unlucky souls who go their. "Ganondorf Dragmire, Prince of Darkness..." he muses to himself, liking the sound of the title. If all goes well, he could, possibly, control the ring, and all of its power.

As tall as the tower was, it was a magnificent and powerful piece of architecture. The Eye of Sauron shoots fear across all of Middle Earth, and, though Sauron has no coporeal form, still shows his power and dominance. Ganondorf admires this, and slowly, very slowly, reaches the top of the stairs.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean looks back at the man, shrugs, and looks at the Black Riders. With a smile on his face, Dorean moves into an alley-way and keeps a constant eye on them. They could lead him to the ring with no effort on his part. The charming smile replacing the grim smirk he'd been wearing while attempting to decapitate the hobbits. Oh, if they thought he was violent before, just wait until they saw what he was going to do to them now. They would entertain him for days, of that he was sure.

[darkblade]

Aang

Aang lands Appa in the gardens and approaches the large axe weilding man. Under normal circumstances he would find somewhere without an intimitating warrior standing guard to set up camp but something led him to this place and it would be rude to the spirits to dismiss it so casually. "I am Aang, of the Air Nomads. I am on a long journey to confront the man known as Suaron. Would it be possible for me to rest here before resuming my journey in the morning?"

Aang is careful to maintain some distance between himself and the warrior, lest the warrior catch him off guard for saying something wrong.

***

Rapheal

At last the Riders arrive, perhaps this hasn't been a total failure after all. He waves his arms to catch the attention of the Riders before pointing out the Strider and Dorrean "Those men have the Hobbits, Kill them!"

With the Riders facing down his foes, Rapheal makes a dash for his home. Upon entering the manner he simply shouts up the stairs for Amy and her servants. "Come quickly, we have to get out of Town now. Bad men have come and they will kill us all."

Amy and the vampiric servants do not question him, they are far to use to incidents like this occuring everywhere they try and settle. Without a moments hesitation they decend down the stairs and follow Rapheal out the smashed gates of the Town into the wilderness.

[Taenarius]

Oliver Cromwell

Oliver dressed, a process which took some time, given his eye for being neat and tidy. Cromwell had no intention of looking scruffy upon meeting Denethor, and he certainly did not wish to get to the Tower too quickly. Oliver was not the sort of person that could be beckoned and called at a moment's notice, he was a politician, and a very obstinate one as well. So, once the General was again attired in black, hat on his head, he set off back up to the hall in which the steward of Gondor resided. The messenger had given little indication of what Denethor wanted of Oliver, but he could guess, and guess again. Checking again that his white collar was well-presented, Cromwell was again led into the hall. Oliver knew how Royalty in his own kingdom were supposed to be treated, and assumed that the ruler of Gondor would require similar deference from the man he had, only yesterday, created a Knight. So, Oliver bowed as he entered, and stiffly walked to the midst of the hall, where he bowed again, and came forward to Denethor's presence proper, where he bowed a third time. These were very stiff, shallow movements, the General did not like to bend over too far. He had not bowed to a King for a long time, having led Parliamentarian forces against Charles II, the man whom the Puritan saw as an unjust tyrant.

"Sir," Cromwell began, to break the silence, "I have word that some duty is required of me." Oliver spoke calmly and politely, his face betraying little emotion beyond mild curiosity. He considered calling the steward 'My Lord', but was not really sure if that was an appropriate title. Besides, the General did not have a love of the House of Lords in his own domain, as much as he did the King's treatment of his Parliament. Still, Cromwell was perceptive enough to know that mentioning such ideals of Parliament, in what he viewed as a politically backward state, could be very dangerous. He had no wish to convert a nation of heathens nor to subjugate its government in place of a better one, unless that was God's purpose in sending him. Oliver had already reasoned that God was sending him as a defender, not a conqueror, and unless the Lord should give him some contrary sign, Cromwell was set to believe that God watched over Gondor, despite their heathenous appearance. Oliver had resigned himself to the old adage that God works in mysterious ways. Besides, it was quite clear that God was not on the side of their enemies. Cromwell had heard tell of such tales as green-skinned men with fangs, a Great Eye, and an evil place called Mordor, that sounded like the very manifestation of Hell itself.

[Cracklord]

Ganondorf
You hear voices at the top of the stairs. Lately, Sauron has begun taking corporeal form, a shadowy, manlike shape. Like you, he is a shapeshifter, but he has yet to appear in either his warrior or wolf forms. Despite his power, he refuses to take the field.
He is a schemer, not a warrior. He has the power to win from here, so why risk it all to prove his courage?
As you complete the climb, you find him conversing with a young man, barely more then a boy really.
Riku and Ganon
"Indeed? Well if all is as you claim, I will give you a room in my tower, and any support that you wish." He replies, outwardly calm. Inwardly... you can't tell, thanks to that damn hood.
He pulls back his hood, and it's enough to make you blanch. Once he had bee called Annatar the fair. Once. His ears had been burned away; there was nothing left but a pair of weeping holes. His left eye had been boiled white in it's socket, and around it was a twisted mass of slick black flesh, hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured with by deep cracks that gleamed a terrible red whenever he moved. His right eye was red, with the slitted pupil of a cat, and no white, only a giant pupil that seems to see into your soul.

Robin Hood
The hours pass, and the sun comes and goes. At last, the predicted time arrives. The coming procession is slow, as the bodyguard moves on foot. They are heavily armored and their faces are masked. Each bristles with a collection of blades, and walk in perfect step. These are dangerous men.
Four big shouldered slaves carry what appears to be a litter, which is curtained and closed off, and a man strides along at the back, dressed in purple robes with long, lacquered fingernails. You take him for the prince.
But where is the tribute?

Aang
"You were right." The big man says to the horse, in a gruff, deep voice, almost a growl. But not an unkind voice, you think. Like a bear, aggressive and irritable, but not cruel or malicious.
"I am Beorn. And I am not in the habit of welcoming beggars onto my doorstep, but I have been known to make exceptions. What brings you onto my lands?"

Oliver Cromwell
Denathor is up, and pacing. On observing him, you don't think he is a king. No crown, no throne, and a sort of less then humble bearing nevertheless offset by competency. He reminds you more of a Prime Minister, or similar figure.
As you approach, he turns his gimlet stare on you, and at last speaks. His depression is less noticeable, you wonder if it is passing, or if it still lurks beneath the surface, waiting to come out. "A sword not in use will soon rust away. Before me I see a man I don't understand. Wait a week, and nothing will have changed. Wait a year, and perhaps Gondor will be no more, and a chance long lost. No, I would not have you go to rust before I spend the coin of your life. You have agreed to serve me, even to your death. I have taken the measure of you, and you seem an honest man. So I will make you and your horsemen my weapons." He is blunt.
"My son is returning to Osgiliath. Meet him there, where he shall use you as he will. Faramir is a good captain, but he is too soft. That is where you come in."

[Creed]

"By your words, you seem to know more about my newest master than I do. An great power named Morgoth, tall and powerful as a mountain. He has brought me to this world to open a gateway large enough for him to descend to this world. What do you know of him?"
Riku is indeed intimidated by the being, but he assumes it's a servant of his new master. The Heartless were not beautiful themselves, but Riku had come to know them as companions over time.

[Cracklord]

Riku
"He endures? Of course he would." Sauron stares. "Morgoth is a wreck. He spent the coin of his life, and became the sad relic you saw. Once we counted him the greatest of the Valar, second only to Iluvatar himself. Now he is naught but a broken corpse, trapped beyond creation, abandoned until the ending of the world. But I served him once. Perhaps I shall again."
Sauron walks forward, moving so smoothly he seems to glide, until he is staring down at you. "What does your erstwhile master ask of you?"

[Creed]

Riku
"He endures? Of course he would." Sauron stares. "Morgoth is a wreck. He spent the coin of his life, and became the sad relic you saw. Once we counted him the greatest of the Valar, second only to Iluvatar himself. Now he is naught but a broken corpse, trapped beyond creation, abandoned until the ending of the world. But I served him once. Perhaps I shall again."
Sauron walks forward, moving so smoothly he seems to glide, until he is staring down at you. "What does your erstwhile master ask of you?"

Riku's Heartless, the shadowy creatures, slink forward slightly.
"These creatures you see behind me are Heartless. Using my powers, I can turn souls that are fresh from bodies into a Heartless. The stronger the soul, the more powerful the Heartless. For example, the soul of a commoner would create one of these Heartless, called Shadows. The soul of, say, a king would create a Heartless known as an Armor Master, a huge brute of dark metal that is exceptionally difficult to defeat. The more Heartless I command, the greater my powers grow. One of my powers happens to be activating the Dark Corridor, as it is called. The Corridor can lead between worlds, and is how Morgoth plans to escape his imprisonment. He has authorized me to use any means at my disposal to release him, and the simplist way would be to find a high concentration of powerful souls to transform." Riku gains slight confidence in his statement of his abilities, hoping that makes him sound useful enough to keep alive.

[Cracklord]

Riku
Hands twitch at your words. "Then you will need victims, won't you." He says, not phrasing it like a question. "Many thousands of them." He stops as though considering something, then continues. "So you shall. And so you shall."
He then turns to Ganon, and his lips crease into what is meant to be a smile. It is a horrible sight indeed.
"Take your thieves, and go North, to Dul Gulgar. It is time to complete what Lord Angmar began. Make Mirkwood the place of shadow and darkness it was meant to be, and drive the elves from their kingdom. And take this boy. Bound in the service of their greatest enemy is a fitting end for them, is it not?"
He replaces his hood.

[Creed]

Riku
Hands twitch at your words. "Then you will need victims, won't you." He says, not phrasing it like a question. "Many thousands of them." He stops as though considering something, then continues. "So you shall. And so you shall."
He then turns to Ganon, and his lips crease into what is meant to be a smile. It is a horrible sight indeed.
"Take your thieves, and go North, to Dul Gulgar. It is time to complete what Lord Angmar began. Make Mirkwood the place of shadow and darkness it was meant to be, and drive the elves from their kingdom. And take this boy. Bound in the service of their greatest enemy is a fitting end for them, is it not?"
He replaces his hood.

Riku smirks as he shoulders Oblivion, walking slowly towards Ganon.
"I'm Riku, from a world called Hollow Bastion." he says calmly, not nearly as intimidated by this man.

[Executor]

The Romans

"...Yes, sir" Marcus said, saluting by reflex, with the clasped fist against his chest, followed by extending his arm straight outwards, parallel to the ground, hand down. He whirled around and ran back towards the Prancing Pony, his men following closely behind him, Stelios lagging in the rear as he had to come down from the balcony before he could cross the street. Marcus bashed a small, screeching, hideous creature that could only be described as a ghoul out of the way with the edge of his scutum, and the beast yelped in pain as the rolled iron edge cracked bones it's jaw. But it was not the ghouls, or whatever they were, that frightened the hardened centurion. It the riders, cloaked all in black, upon black horses. Something seemed... wrong about them, and a cold sweat started to run down Marcus' neck, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as they galloped to and fro through the town.

Marcus burst through the door of the Prancing Pony to see Barliman Butterbur, his face as pale as the moon, eyes as wide as a surprised deer, standing by the front desk. His soldiers were there too, still at their table, but looking uneasy. Stelios quickly closed the door behind him, and turned the lock.

"Boys, go upstairs and get the gear. We're going to have to leave sooner than expected" Marcus said to them, the steadiness of his voice surprising even him, given the fear that he felt welling up deep inside of him. They nodded, glad to have direction, and ran up the stairs to retrieve their armour and other equipment.

"Anyone who doesn't want to die, you can accompany us along the..." Marcus paused to remember the name that Strider had told them "King's Road! Now get ready to leave!" Marcus shouted at the room of other occupants. There was a frenzy of activity as people scrambled to obey his orders.

"Lucius, barricade the door!" he ordered next. The tall, burly soldier nodded, and then grabbed a sturdy oaken table and, lifting it as if it were light as a feather, threw it across the door, on it's side, with the table's top against the door itself. He grabbed another table and threw it behind one of Pony's large windows, to prevent any ghouls from bursting through that way, and repeated the act to all of the larger windows of the tavern. Aurelianus, one of the legionaries, came running downstairs in full armour, helmet on, with Marcus' shirt of mail in his hands. Marcus took it from him, and pulled on the familiar weight of the hauberk of metal rings, strongly riveted together, and felt comforted by it's protection. The rest of his men came downstairs, similarly attired in helmets and mail, packs on, staves and pilum shafts over their shoulders, scuta on their back, with the exceptions of the lighter equipped Stelios and Delios. They were not coming down to fight, but to flee the city, and take as many with them as possible.

"Mr. Butterbur, where's the backdoor? And also: Does this city have a postern-gate, or a sally-port, or something of that sort? Some smaller, lesser known exit?" Marcus asked the portly innkeeper, while peering out the window from over the top of one of the tables Lucius had laid behind it, watching the terror and devastation being wrought by the ghouls and riders upon the city of Bree. Slowly, but noticeably, his grip began to tighten on the hilt of his now-sheathed sword, until his knuckles were white.

[Cracklord]

The Romans
The fire upon the hearth, a moment ago burning cheerily seems to be sapped of energy, the flames now giving of a cold light, weak. The shouts and cries from outside the door fade slightly, and for a moment you feel in control again.
A sword is thrust through the door, splitting through timbers and boards of the door and barricade, driven by a terrible force. It clips Stelios's arm, and he howls in agony, clutching the wound.
You get a moments look at it. It's slightly tarnished, but not rusted, and looks ancient, and made using good steel which is very odd given the primitive design of the blade. It's the sort of style favored by the Saxons and Gauls, huge, made for two handed swings. Not a military weapon at all, they'd never be enough room to swing it, but quite deadly in the right hands and situation.
It withdraws a second later, and a thudding begins on the door, steady and unrelenting. The door is holding out, but it's only a matter of time before they give way to the darkness outside.
The scene rouses Barliman to action. "Right, of course master." He says, touching his forelock and shaking, his face ashen with terror. "There's a door around the backway that we use for deliveries. Leads to an alley that we can follow to the other end of the town. And we can get out that way if they don't beat us to it. But I don't like our odds if you don't mind me saying so. They have horses and all." The thudding stops, and more then a few of the people within let out a sigh of relief. Then there is a terrifying sound. What seems like a scream, high and cold, that makes you want to drop your weapons and curl up into a little ball. A few of the grown men who moments ago looked ready to try and help out break down sobbing, and even your men, hardened soldiers every one, turn to stare at each other, faces ashen and trembling.
It was the sound of dread, of pure, unfettered evil, of a sleepless, timeless malice that desired to cover the land in shadow. Soldiers learn to believe in evil, but this was not a sound even the cruelest of men could make. It was a terrible sound, of inhuman darkness, a soul consumed by hate, and took a long time to fade away.
Barliman straightens, still quaking but moving beyond it commendably. "You're right M'lord. We have to get out of here now. Follow me." He says, leading you behind the counter and into the kitchen. The door is where he said it would be.

[Taenarius]

Oliver found this order to be straightforward enough. During his walk in the city of Minas Tirith, he found some charts of the land, and bought them with what few coins from England he had brought. The merchants did not seem perturbed by the strange coinage, it was gold, and that was enough for them. Cromwell was confident that he could find Osgiliath now, though precisely in what state it was, the general could not say. It was supposedly visible from the courtyard outside the hall, and indeed the Englishman had noted the buildings in the distance. A few hours hard ride, he estimated, would bring him to the riverside town. So, he nodded, and said, "At once, sir. Farewell." He silently considered making some assurance that he would keep an eye on Faramir. He had five sons of his own, but three of them had since passed away. The second Oliver Cromwell had died two years previously of typhoid, whilst serving as a Parliamentarian officer. He also had four daughters, all of whom were still living. Choosing instead to maintain a lack of outward emotion, though he and Denethor both had the experience of having their sons take up arms, he bowed, and made his way from the hall.

"Prepare your arms and accoutrements, men. We are to ride to the assistance of a city but a few miles hence." The cavalrymen were already moving, putting on their breastplates and affixing their helmets. Oliver himself was putting on his full plate armour, starting with his greaves and going up, so he would not be top-heavy whilst putting on his own breastplate. Oliver's armour was blackened with a dark, glossy finish, to prevent rusting, in contrast to the Gondorian armour. He did not know how good or bad the situation was in Osgiliath, so was going prepared for an engagement with the enemy. In Oliver's mind, it was better to be ready for nothing, rather than unprepared for an attack. When he was finished, Cromwell's men hurried to their horses, Oliver following, making sure his usual stiff white collar sat neatly over the breastplate. He decided against putting on his fully-enclosed helmet just yet, he would put it on before gonig into battle proper. Instead, he left his usual black, wide-brimmed hat on his head, and grasped the reins with his brown-gloved hands. The horsemen left their lodgings in an orderly manner, the very example of New Model Army discipline. Oliver declined to go any faster than a trot in the city streets, but once clear of the impressive gateway, he dug his brown booted heels into his black horse's sides, and they were off, cantering out the city limits and on towards Osgiliath. The general had checked his charts beforehand, and knew in what direction the city lay.

[Executor]

Romans

"You're the very best of hosts, Barliman" Marcus said to the portly man, trying to keep his voice steady despite the rapid pounding of his heart, and the cold sweat on his neck that the shriek had caused. Whatever was out there, he did not want to stick around to meet it.

"Lucius, throw something else behind that door. Are you okay Stelios? Can you draw your bow?" Marcus said to the wounded Cretan, who gritted his teeth in pain as Delios tied a strip of torn tunic tightly around the wound on Stelios' forearm.

"Oh aye sir, I draw with my other arm anyways. Just hurt is-DELIOS YOU SON OF A WHORE, COULD YOU TIE THE BANDAGE TIGHTER AT ALL, PLEASE!" The angry Cretan swore loudly at his friend. Delios shrugged helplessly at his friend.

"Well forgive me for trying to prevent you from bleeding to death, you daft bastard" Delios shot back at him, as he tied off the bandage securely so it wouldn't fall off easily. Breathing a sigh of relief, Stelios stood up from the heavy bench near the door where he had been sitting to be bandaged, and took up his bow and pack once again. Lightly equipped with leather armour, and only carrying a light pack, the two Cretans were about the only members of Marcus' company who weren't burdened down by equipment, and so they would be invaluable in the escape from Bree. Each had a full quiver of arrows on their hips, and carried a curved falcata for knife-work once those were depleted.

The pounding on the door grew louder and harder, and Lucius responded by picking up the bench that Stelios had been sitting on and throwing it onto the barricade as well, to buy more time. With his men as ready as they could be, Marcus shouted to the crowds of civilians still in the common room.

"Anybody who wants to live, follow me!" he roared, and then slung his scutum over his back and followed Butterbur through the kitchen. They found the small back door, and filed out of it into the alley behind, many other patrons of the Prancing Pony, both men and hobbits, following.

"I won't force you if you want to defend your property, but I would suggest you follow us, Mr. Butterbur" Marcus said to the innkeeper as the last of the Pony's patrons exited. Picking the direction he felt would most likely lead to a postern-gate, Marcus led them down the alley, until he came to the end of the block of buildings. He held up his hand to indicate a stop to those behind him, and then peered around the corner. He spotted two of those ghoul creatures from earlier, in the process of battering down the door of some home, while the screams of the house's occupants came from inside.

"Stelios, Delios" Marcus hissed, and gestured with his hand around the corner. They nodded, guessing what he was asking, and both of them nocked an arrow and moved up to the corner. Delios looked around the corner, and then counted down from three on his fingers. As one, the pair of them stepped out from behind the wall, drew back their bowstrings, and let a pair of arrows fly. Both impacted with a solid thud into the bodies of the two ghouls, who fell to the ground, shrieking in anger and pain. Marcus led the people in scrambling across the wide, open, dangerous space of the road, until they reached the safety of another alley. This one was even narrower than the last, and the crush of people within it felt stifling.

"Is Barliman still with us? I can't see him. Does anyone here know how we can get out of this town without using the maingate?" Marcus said once they all reached the comparative safety of the alleyway.

[Cracklord]

Romans
Puffing, Barliman follows, trying to look in every direction at once. The rain is pattering down harder now, which you decide is a good thing. It's unpleasant, but masks your sounds and lowers visibility. And you need all you can get.
Their is a crash behind you, as the dark shadowy figures finally cut their way into the inn, but it won't be a problem. You've got far enough by now.
Barliman is very nearly in shock, muttering constantly to himself about how this couldn't happen, but he's just lucid enough to give directions, pointing or muttering a few words. At last, you come to a mill, where a small door leads out of the town and into the wilderness.
Perhaps forty people follow you, a few women, a few men, a few hobbits, even one or two children. Somehow you know that come morning, this will be all that remains of Bree.
Ahead, you can see the road, bending around the town. You have a long walk ahead of you.

Raphael
One of the Nazghul stops directly in front of you, and gets of his horse. His sword is dripping with gore, and his eyeless, shadowy face is focused directly at you.
Slowly, he wipes his sword clean with a dull scrape of metal, and sheathes it at his hip. In a curt, hissing voice, he asks "Where did they take it?"

King Arthur, Fairies, Samantha
There is a flash of lightning, and you see a dark figure on a horse, momentarily silhouetted against the horizon. Thunder rolls, and when lightning flashes against, it's gone.

Oliver
Around the city are great, green fields. Neither tilled nor utilized, they nonetheless make a killing ground easily in range of the city. Supplies are brought in on the river, explaining the importance of keeping Osgiliath under control. If allowed into enemy hands the city will be all but cut off from supplies.
As you approach the city, at first you take it for a twin of the one you just left, high, soaring walls, pennants and towers of white. It's only when you approach that you begin to see it's all but in ruins. The cities are too unimportant to maintain, when offset against the necessity of the war. Nobody liver there anymore, bar garrisoned soldiers, the inhabitants having fled to safer lands in Gondor.

Dorean
You collapse, a heavy blow nearly shearing off your shoulder. The Nazghul tightens his grip on the blade. "Thoust seems reluctant to die." It hisses, looking ready to strike you down again the second you try to get up.

Chained Bloodlust
The town is yours. A few try to run. You track them down and kill the. Others try to hide, but the stench of their fear leads you straight to them. Others, more desperate perhaps, try to fight.
They never had a chance.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

Rapheal backs away from the Rider, shielding Amy's eyes from the beast. "I don't know. That immortal got in my way, they snuck off when I was stuck dueling him."

***

Aang

"The Dark Lord Sauron, has taken my friends hostage and demands to see me. I have to save my friends." Aang tells Beron with a sense of strangely grim determination.

"The only problem is I don't know where to find him. I don't know you lands well or anything about Sauron beyond the fact that he employs strange men on black horses."

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean starts breathing heavily, a smile playing on his lips as he looks up at the thing, "You....idiot. We're on the same side! Look, your master's magic flows through my body, keeping me alive." F***ing Nazgul. The Dark Riders were nothing but brute force, not an ounce of thought or cunning in them.

[bvdk99]

Romans
Puffing, Barliman follows, trying to look in every direction at once. The rain is pattering down harder now, which you decide is a good thing. It's unpleasant, but masks your sounds and lowers visibility. And you need all you can get.
Their is a crash behind you, as the dark shadowy figures finally cut their way into the inn, but it won't be a problem. You've got far enough by now.
Barliman is very nearly in shock, muttering constantly to himself about how this couldn't happen, but he's just lucid enough to give directions, pointing or muttering a few words. At last, you come to a mill, where a small door leads out of the town and into the wilderness.
Perhaps forty people follow you, a few women, a few men, a few hobbits, even one or two children. Somehow you know that come morning, this will be all that remains of Bree.
Ahead, you can see the road, bending around the town. You have a long walk ahead of you.

Raphael
One of the Nazghul stops directly in front of you, and gets of his horse. His sword is dripping with gore, and his eyeless, shadowy face is focused directly at you.
Slowly, he wipes his sword clean with a dull scrape of metal, and sheathes it at his hip. In a curt, hissing voice, he asks "Where did they take it?"

King Arthur, Fairies, Samantha
There is a flash of lightning, and you see a dark figure on a horse, momentarily silhouetted against the horizon. Thunder rolls, and when lightning flashes against, it's gone.

Oliver
Around the city are great, green fields. Neither tilled nor utilized, they nonetheless make a killing ground easily in range of the city. Supplies are brought in on the river, explaining the importance of keeping Osgiliath under control. If allowed into enemy hands the city will be all but cut off from supplies.
As you approach the city, at first you take it for a twin of the one you just left, high, soaring walls, pennants and towers of white. It's only when you approach that you begin to see it's all but in ruins. The cities are too unimportant to maintain, when offset against the necessity of the war. Nobody liver there anymore, bar garrisoned soldiers, the inhabitants having fled to safer lands in Gondor.

Dorean
You collapse, a heavy blow nearly shearing off your shoulder. The Nazghul tightens his grip on the blade. "Thoust seems reluctant to die." It hisses, looking ready to strike you down again the second you try to get up.

Chained Bloodlust
The town is yours. A few try to run. You track them down and kill the. Others try to hide, but the stench of their fear leads you straight to them. Others, more desperate perhaps, try to fight.
They never had a chance.

Oh goodness! Glinda, is it the Nazgul?!

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr Eiríksson

Leifr and his men retreated further back and after much discussion that involved many a hit to the head and a few curses they decided on what was the most logical course of action for a group of vikings in a strange land when confronted with a strange overwhelming group of mysterious strangers

To barge right in and loudly ask what the Loki-born Hel was going on

"Ahoy thar! We seek no harm unless given on our trip through yer land! Who might yer be?*"

Of course, while eight men might not stand much against thirty, should it end in battle, these eight were willing to die fighting at any odds and their fearlessness could easily be seen from the group of strangers.

*I know that it would be translated but it's funnier with the accent and it kinda fit to discern Viking from Middle-Earth.

(Honestly, I can't see much that Leifr would do but barge in and ask who was camping in this place. This way it's at least entertaining :smalltongue:)

[Executor]

Romans

The sky was quite dark, and the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle, when Marcus finally ordered the halt. They were several miles from Bree now, in a small clearing surrounded by trees, just off the main road. A few of his men, Gnaeus, Lucius, Sergies and Gaius, were working on erecting the two heavy leather tents that the ten soldiers had been lucky enough to keep after the Storm, and now shared with five in each tent. Aurelianus, the two Cretans, and the rest of the legionaries were helping the civilians from Bree erect temporary shelter from the rain beneath some trees, Stelios and Delios' heavy falcatas being used like handaxes to chop away boughs to make the roofs of the makeshift leanto's that the clever Aurelianus was leading the civilans in assembling. Marcus smiled, glad to have him with them, for of all of his men, Aurelianus was without a doubt the most intelligent. He was the son of a patrician, and as such had the most education of any of them, in such varied fields as philosophy, language, architecture, engineering, drama and the natural sciences. No one exactly knew what had forced Aurelianus to join the Legions as a common soldier, but most suspected that his family, like so many formerly noble families, had been forced on hard times, perhaps by choosing the wrong side in Sulla's Civil War.

"Quite an evening, eh Lucius?" Marcus commented as he stood near to the towering Roman. Marcus was taller than most at five feet and ten inches, when most Romans were only around six inches past five feet. At a full six and a half feet however, Lucius was a giant. Most suspected he had some Gallic or German blood in him, which he inevitably brushed off with a laugh and said that his great height was a blessing from the Gods. It certainly made him a blessing to the Legion with his immense strength and the dexterity to use it well.

"Yes sir, quite an evening" Lucius replied as he straightened up from tying off his end of the tent, and stretched his back.

"Lucius, walk with me please" Marcus said, and led the giant to the edge of the little clearing. He held in his hands a long, straight bough that he had cut off one of the surrounding oak trees, and trimmed of leaves and branches, until it was a long, straight, makeshift staff. It was only a little shorter than Lucius himself.

"Do you know what this is, Lucius?" Marcus asked.

"That's a stick, sir" Lucius replied.

"No, Lucius, what I carry is a stick" Marcus replied, holding up his twisted centurion's swagger-stick to emphasize the point. "What this is, this is a staff, Lucius"

"A staff, sir?" answered the legionary.

"Indeed, a specific kind of staff, a hastile" said the centurion. Lucius' face whitened a little.

"For who, sir?"

"For you, sir" Marcus said with a smile, and extended his arm, hand open, offering the hastile to the towering soldier before him.

"I'm sorry sir, but no" Lucius answered

"I'm sorry sir, but yes. This is non-negotiable. I need an optio, Lucius, and you're the best choice by far. Cassianus is a good soldier, but a good for nothing senator's son and whoremonger, Aurelianus is the smartest of any of us, but has no leadership abilities. Sergius is great to have next to you in a fight, but he's a gambler and a scoundrel. No, Lucius, it must be you. So take the bloody staff, because I have a feeling that we're going to run into more Romans while we're in this strange land, and I need an optio I can trust." Marcus explained, his tone hardening, but still friendly and encouraging. There was a long pause as Lucius regarded the hastile staff as if it were some kind of poisonous serpent. Slowly, he took it in hand, and held it up alongside him.

"I'll go tell the men..." he said, and then turned and walked back towards the tents.

"Yes, you do that, Optio" Marcus replied with a smile, and then walked towards the cluster of civilian shelters that Aurelianus had set up. These mostly consisted of lean-to's made of tree boughs, all facing in towards a small fire that the clever patrician's son had somehow managed to start despite the rain, and was surprisingly warm as Marcus came to stand beside the golden-haired Aurelianus.

"Good man Aurelianus" Marcus said, removing an arm from the folds of his cloak to pat him on the back.

"It's quite easy, sir, when you know what you're doing" Aurelianus replied in the refined accent of the upper classes. Marcus grinned at him, and then turned towards the crowd of civilians, huddled in their lean-to's.

"Listen up" he began, speaking loud enough to be heard, but not in his parade square bellow. "I need to know what to do with you people. I am a newcomer to these lands, I don't know where this road leads, or what other towns there are near here. Do any of you know where you might be able to go and stay in safety until the enemy leaves Bree? I do not believe they were there to occupy the town, they were too few in number, I think they were raiders, looking for something, and will leave eventually. So, you know this land better than me, where will you go until they leave your home?" He asked, sharp blue eyes staring into the pale, terrified faces of the men and hobbits who had followed him.

[bvdk99]

Oh goodness! Glinda, is it the Nazgul?!

This happened, WP/Cracklord.

[waterpenguin43]

This happened, WP/Cracklord.

Oh my! I fear it is! Glinda says in shock.
Glinda draws out the Grimmerie and rapidly looks through it, searching for a spell. I'll put to use what that wretched Morrible taught me, she says as she finds a spell to call down a heavy storm and lightning. Procella, procella, erus, erus, she chants. A think storm begins brewing over the Nazgul.

[bvdk99]

Oh my! I fear it is! Glinda says in shock.
Glinda draws out the Grimmerie and rapidly looks through it, searching for a spell. I'll put to use what that wretched Morrible taught me, she says as she finds a spell to call down a heavy storm and lightning. Procella, procella, erus, erus, she chants. A think storm begins brewing over the Nazgul.

((It's Gandalf. :smallannoyed:))

Wait, my dear! There's only one of them, and what if it's not the Nazgul?

[waterpenguin43]

((It's Gandalf. :smallannoyed:))

Wait, my dear! There's only one of them, and what if it's not the Nazgul?

She stops and the storm fades. Ah, yes. Good point. I'll keep the Grimmerie on this page, however, just in case.

[Cracklord]

Raphael
It hisses in frustration, then dismounts. it returns it's sword to the scabbard, and stares around at the surrounding raid. Then, it points roughly east.
"Hunt them, as we will." It demands, then stalks away, leaving you it's horse.
Animals haven't really liked you since you became... what you are, but the horse doesn't react.
Amy takes the moment to whimper.

Aang
"Well, if you're an enemy of the Shadow in the East, you must be alright." The big man responds, softening somewhat. "Come, I'll answer all your questions and we can eat."
He leads you into a great hall, with a tremendous table big enough to seat fifteen. Rubbing his hands, he gives out a sharp whistle, and before you know it dogs trot in on their hindlegs and begin serving a hearty meal.

Dorean
Being flip with a Ringwraith is not a good idea. The Blade smashes through your ribs, and pierces your lung.
"You are immortal? Well you'll wish you were not. We have little patience for failure." He replies. Then he gets himself under control. "Where did Baggins go?"


Romans
The men begin muttering to each other, each as unsure as the next man. The sad fact is, most of them have never been more then a few miles from Bree, and the outside world, despite having lived in it, is a strange mystery to them.
The consensus is that North is 'a bad idea,' filled with 'all a manner of ghosts, ghasts and pale things that should very well be dead.' West leads to farms and small settlements, that might welcome the refugees, however they all point out that they themselves are unlikely to be safe, afterall Bree was the closest thing to a fortified town for tens of miles around.
East, on the otherhand, leads into the wilds, and 'towards the realm of the elves. Probably the safest place on the planet now, I shouldn't wonder, if the enemy can reach us here.
Barliman takes you aside, and starts running his mouth off. "When I was younger I did some traveling, and besides that I daresay I know more history then anyone else 'round here. See, we used to be part of The Lost Realm of Arnor, but the old king died and his kingdom died with him. The man it first belonged to sold himself to the enemy, then returned to claim what was his hundreds of years later. Few people still manage up there, but it's not much of a life, and those lands... they're haunted, sir. Haunted like you wouldn't believe. So it's more or less every village goes it's own way." He sighs, and rubs his thinning hair.
"Rivendell is two weeks hard march east, and the road isn't safe cause there is nobody to make it so. Trolls wander down from the mountains sometimes, there's usually a few bandits, and those black men could hunt us down very easily. No, we'll make South, for the South Downs. We've all got family or friends down that way, and they'll vouch for us."
He sighs again. "But if you don't mind me saying so, you should make east. The lord of the elves, Elrond I think his name is, he could tell you more then me, and besides, someone needs to tell him the enemy can reach his hand out even here."

Leaf
The beings all glance up, their red, narrow eyes squinting at you. It's quite clear they don't know how to act.
Then one of them gets to his feet. "You don't look like Dunlendings." It says slowly. "So who are yer?" The other orcs begin to feel arund for their weapons, not taking their eyes off you.

Weathertop
The figure is nowhere to be seen. But you know you saw something.

Wesley
Mountains. The White Mountains stretch ahead of you, a natural barrier. They are sheer, hard, and capped with snow, proud and hard.
Their is a trail that leads between them, with an enormous watch tower staring down at you, garrisoned by men.
"Halt!" One of them raises his hand to stop you. "What's your business here?"

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean looks up at the Nazgul waiting for the regeneration, something that felt almost painfully slow, "I don't know. A vampire named Sorel attacked me to try and steal the ring from the hobbits before I could. Maybe you have an ability to help find the ring?" Dorean keeps the cultured tone even as relates the story. It takes far more than a few painful injuries to shake him.

[darkblade]

Aang

Aang stares wide eyed at the dogs. He's seen many impressive things in his life but this is amazing. As he finds himself a seat he asks "How did you train them to do that?"

***

Rapheal

Rapheal sighs deeply as he approaches the horse. It seems he had been drafted into a war he wanted no part of. With the Rider gone he turns to Amy and his servants, "Head to the shire, buy yourselves a small farm with the remnants of the merchant's wealth. I will find you again when this is finished."

With that he mounts the horse and heads out into the wilderness to try and track the Strider and his Hobbit friends.

[Cracklord]

Raphael
Amy's trembling face sticks in your mind for a long time. The poor girl is terrified of being alone. But you know it's the right thing to do. You've left her before, and she will forgive you.
As you leave the village, you stare around. They came from the West, you know that for a fact. So which way did they go? South? Farms and a few small towns, hills and nowhere to hide. North? You've heard it's haunted, and easy to get lost. South? Nothing but open road.

Dorean
"It calls to us, but when it is not in use we can only do so much." He replies. "What did they tell you?"

Aang
He glares for a moment, and you prepare yourself for violence, then lets out a great booming laugh. "Trained? They are my friends!" He says, then takes a great swig of beer.

[waterpenguin43]

Weathertop
The figure is nowhere to be seen. But you know you saw something.


Glinda frowns and looks into the Grimmerie. She marks the page with the weather spell with a feather that she conjured for the purpouse. She looks for a spell that lets you see events in your past again.
(is this too powerful in your opinion, Cracklord?)
(If not:)
Aetas animadverto! Aetas... Aetas Prius... Aetas... Aetas Prius! she chants cautiously. The world fades around her and she bears the event again, and watches it over and over in her mind.
(If so:)
Aetas animadverto! Aetas... Aetas Prius... Aetas... Aetas Prius! she chants cautiously. Nothing happens. Hm... It seems that spell was a little too powerful for me.

[Cracklord]

((I only advise, I don't like to fiat.))

Glinda
It's too far away to make out features, the figure seems to have ridden down the slope away from Weathertop, out of sight. It's horse moved far faster then you'd credit it.
You don't get the feeling of cold or malice that the enemies servants give off.

[waterpenguin43]

((I only advise, I don't like to fiat.))

Glinda
It's too far away to make out features, the figure seems to have ridden down the slope away from Weathertop, out of sight. It's horse moved far faster then you'd credit it.
You don't get the feeling of cold or malice that the enemies servants give off.

She blinks and the pink glow in her eyes vanish. Well, I don't know what it was, but it wasn't one of the enemies servants. I wonder what it could have been... Well, whatever it was, it didn't want to be seen, so I'm certainly not going to follow it.

[doliest]

Dorean
"The hobbits? Nothing. They seemed lost and were trying to find 'Gandalf' whom they expected to be here. As he wasn't, I moved in. I was guiding them to an area where I could most easily expedite the ring from their possession." Dorean pauses for a moment before looking back at the Nazgul with a smile, "That means I was going to take it, by the way." Dorean attempts to get to his feet and make sure he's healed up, "Until the vampire interfered, causing the leader to run, then some man ganged up on me with several Romans, and, in my distracted state, managed to capture me for a few moments. Then you stabbed me like an imbecile."

[Cracklord]

Dorean
He stabs you again, and hisses. "And why were you here in the first place?" It asks. "You were not ordered to."

[doliest]

Dorean
A true smile graces Dorean's lips, "Ah, but I was." His eyes move around the alleyway desperately searching for a hanging lamp, or anything else he could use to light a fire.

[Cracklord]

Dorean
The nine are not stupid. He's not going to let you go long enough to get a fire going. "You are lying." He replies.

[doliest]

Dorean
"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. This town is deary and the ring means nothing to me. I'm not you or your master; my addictions are far less dangerous." That was true; definitely true. He needed something he could hit the Nazgul with.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

North, the man who lead them away smelled of a Ranger, if anyone could get them through those woods it would be, that was possible but they were trying to evade Black Riders so there would be no advantage in that harsh terrain.

South, nowhere to hide but other civilians that could be tortured for information to find them. Next to no reason to travel that way.

East, the open road would give them warning if the Riders were gaining on them and give them time to attempt to scatter and hide. That was the most sensible path. Rapheal kicks the steed and rides to the East, smelling the air for any signs of Hobbits or Rangers.

***

Aang

"Of course." Aang had known men who were able to be close to animals like this, so he is less surprised than most would be. As Aang digs into some cooked vegtables he asks, "Where am I anyways? I didn't exactly plan this quest out too well."

[bvdk99]

She blinks and the pink glow in her eyes vanish. Well, I don't know what it was, but it wasn't one of the enemies servants. I wonder what it could have been... Well, whatever it was, it didn't want to be seen, so I'm certainly not going to follow it.

We should go investigate, dear! And, even if it is a Nazgul, we can hold our own, just like the good old days! she says in her Julia Child-esque voice.

[waterpenguin43]

We should go investigate, dear! And, even if it is a Nazgul, we can hold our own, just like the good old days! she says in her Julia Child-esque voice.

(see my previous few posts, bvdk)

[industrious]

Wesley

He calls up to the men on the tower, and waves to them.

"True love and a wandering spirit! What business do you have interfering in mine?"

[bvdk99]

(see my previous few posts, bvdk)

What makes you think i didn't?

Please make Glinda respond.

[waterpenguin43]

What makes you think i didn't?

Please make Glinda respond.

((Never mind.))

Let's leave it be. It isn't the Nazgul and clearly doesn't want to be seen.

[bvdk99]

((Never mind.))

Let's leave it be. It isn't the Nazgul and clearly doesn't want to be seen.

You don't know that, though.

[waterpenguin43]

You don't know that, though.

Well, it isn't a follower of Sauron. Well, we should investigate just in case, but leave it alone as soon as we find out it's identity.

[bvdk99]

Well, it isn't a follower of Sauron. Well, we should investigate just in case, but leave it alone as soon as we find out it's identity.

(How does she know that?)

[waterpenguin43]

(How does she know that?)


Glinda
It's too far away to make out features, the figure seems to have ridden down the slope away from Weathertop, out of sight. It's horse moved far faster then you'd credit it.
You don't get the feeling of cold or malice that the enemies servants give off.

((This is how.))

[bvdk99]

Well, it isn't a follower of Sauron. Well, we should investigate just in case, but leave it alone as soon as we find out it's identity.

Greta nods and crosses her arms.

[waterpenguin43]

Greta nods and crosses her arms.
Glinda conjures a pink bubble to float in. Let's go!

[bvdk99]

Glinda conjures a pink bubble to float in. Let's go!

She quickly morphs into a blue bird and flies toward the figure.

[Executor]

Romans

Marcus stood in thought. It was now exceedingly clear to him that, wherever he was, it was not Roman territory, probably not even Europe. Like most Romans, he was a man of reason and science, he believed in what he could see and feel. Belief in the Gods was one thing, but all this talk of ghosts, wights, wraiths and trolls, it did not suit an officer of the Roman Army.

"Mr. Butterbur, I am a Roman, I believe in logic, and I do not believe in ghosts or trolls. But, given what I have seen today, I don't know what I believe in anymore. However, if you say that east is the safest route, then east we will go, to the lands of this... Elrond of Rivendell" Marcus said to Barliman, and then turned and walked back to the mass of refugees.

"I suppose I should introduce myself: My name is Marcus Andronicus, I am a centurion of the 12th Legion of the Roman Army, under the command of Gaius Julius Caesar, proconsul of Gaul. Let me make a few things clear: First, we will keep you safe, on our honour, but you are by no means bound to stay with us. If there are other towns or other routes that you feel would suit you better, feel free to take them. Second, this will not be a pleasurable trip. Mr. Butterbur has told me that Rivendell is two weeks march away. I intend to get there in half that time. Every day we will rise with the sun, dine on whatever cold meat is left from the night before, march all day, and I expect each and every one of you to match the pace of my men, four miles in an hour, and we won't stop or eat until dusk. In the evenings, my archers will catch us dinner, and the furs will be used to provide cloaks to you people for the weather. That is the only comfort I can offer you" Marcus explained to them. He would not lie to these people, these were the simple hard facts, and Marcus intended to get these people to this 'Rivendell' as quickly as humanly possible. He suspected that Barliman's idea of a 'hard march' was entirely different from the reality, and was confident that, if he pushed these people at the same pace that Caesar pushed his legions in wild Gaul, he was sure he could get to Rivendell in a shorter amount of time than Barliman predicted.

"If you wish to leave and seek safety on your own, you are free to it. I leave you to your decision" Marcus said, and with that turned and walked back to the Roman tents, pitched a short distance from the refugees' shelters. Aurelianus had started a fire between the two tents, and the men were eating a bit of their salted pork and some hardtack, which Marcus joined them for. Having take the edge off his hunger, and drinking a bit from his waterskin, he crawled into the leather tent with the others, pulled off his mail and helmet, wrapped himself in his cloak, and almost instantly fell to sleep on the cold, hard, and unpleasantly wet ground.

It seemed like Marcus had just closed his eyes when all of a sudden he was being shaken awake. He opened his eyes blearily to see the brown eyes and Greek features of Stelios.

"Sir, sir, you have to see this" The archer whispered, shaking Marcus' shoulder lightly. Grumbling, the Centurion sat up and pulled on his sandals, and pushed aside the leather flap of the tent to follow Stelios. It was early in the morning, the sky just beginning to gray, and the rain had stopped, but the grass was still wet with dew. Stelios wasn't in his usual leather cuirass, but a simple brown tunic, though his bow was in hand. Delios was squatting by the remains of last night's fire, cleaning a deer, a small doe, with his falcata.

"I was out hunting, this morning, sir, caught a deer, and... well, come with me" Stelios said, and jogged into the trees. Marcus threw a look at Delios, who shrugged. Rolling his eyes, Marcus trotted after the Cretan into the trees. The forest was still dark in the gray light of the morning, and branches whipped at his face, and the dew on leaves wet his legs as he moved through the trees after the fleeting form of the swift and wood-crafty Cretan. The Cretan finally stopped, and threw himself to the ground, near a small dip in the ground.

"Down, sir!" he hissed urgently, and Marcus copied his movements, laying belly-down on the damp underbrush. Slowly, the two of them crawled up to the lip of the small gully. As they looked through the trees before them, Marcus saw what Stelios had called him out here for. Around 50 yards distant from them, there was a procession of people, some walking, some on horses, moving through the trees. Their hair was long, and dark like the nightsky, and they were dressed all in raiments and cloaks of gray, and some rode gray horses. And as they walked, they sang, in perfect, angelic voices, but the song was slow and melancholic, and it seemed to spark a deep sadness in Marcus' soul, though he could not tell why.

"What are they?" he whispered.

"I don't know sir, nymphs maybe" Stelios whispered back.

"But there are men amongst them, and all nymphs are young women," Marcus said. He knew that there was something otherworldly about the gray-cloaked procession. What he did not know was that every member of it could hear him quite clearly.

[Creed]

Riku

Riku sat silently in a hallway of the dark compound. Waiting. He hated waiting.
Wherever this 'Mirkwood' was, he could have already have gone and subdued it by now, as he had with so many worlds. But this Dark Lord, this being who so much dark energy radiated, wanted him to take this weakling and his soldiers with him. Oh well, pawns had their purposes, and Riku needed someone to provide souls enough for him to raise his new Heartless army.
So for now, he waited.
Plotting.

[waterpenguin43]

She quickly morphs into a blue bird and flies toward the figure.

Glinda rockets off after the figure.

[bvdk99]

Glinda rockets off after the figure.

The figure's riding towards them, and the bubbles move relatively slowly, don't they? Or at least not that fast?

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr
The beings all glance up, their red, narrow eyes squinting at you. It's quite clear they don't know how to act.
Then one of them gets to his feet. "You don't look like Dunlendings." It says slowly. "So who are yer?" The other orcs begin to feel arund for their weapons, not taking their eyes off you.

Leifr looks at the red eyed creatures in front of him with a curious look, perhaps he think they're Jotuns? He doesn't show what he's thinking, though, and answers their question
"We know naught who Dunlendings are, we're new in this strange land, tha first Norsemen ta cross tha ocean to tha fabled land beyond tha lands known ta our people"
...He gestures at his followers
"we seek shelter from tha wheather, do ye know where we could find a settlement?"

[Gimliggamer]

Danica is still sitting under the arch at weathertop, waiting for the rain to stop.

Chained Bloodlust is with the Nazgul. Wherever they are.

[Cracklord]

Chained Bloodlust
You're horde has grown. Fifty new walking dead lope at you, the strongest this town had to offer. Their backs are hunched, they scuttle rather then walk, cracked, splintered teeth gnashing as they silently lope beside you. You lost a total of seven in the attack, and gained many more to replace them.
The Nazgul who ordered you to attack the town returns, striding along the ground. Unlike the others, their is a red lining in his robes, and his mail has been forged in such a way to give the metal a reddish hue.
Like dried blood.
His sword is drawn, and rests upon one shoulder. His eyeless gaze seeks you out, and holds yours, a burning cold that examines, dissects and dismisses you in a single instant.
"They have fled." He hisses, his voice making the air feel colder, even to your dead nerves. "They scamper away, and cower in the wild where they believe themselves safe from our masters hand."
He turns east. "But they can only run so far. And we shall be waiting." He swears, then turns his back and begins leading you along the King's road.

Leifr
The orc gets to his feet. He looks hostile, and abruptly barks "The white hand!" Around him, orcs are likewise straightening, and picking up their weapons.
In an instant, they have you completely surrounded, and quite a few of them are giving you cruel, hungry looks.

Morgan Le Fay
"There is but one lord of the Ring, Saruman." Gandalf says, defiant to the last. "And he does not share power."
With those parting words, he turns and throws himself from the tower. For a moment you think he has killed himself, until he rises up, borne on the back of a great Eagle and flying east.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Gandalf has left the building.

Aang
Beorn's bushy brows narrow. "You are west of the Misty Mountains. As far as you can walk in a day is my land, and there you are under my protection. But make no mistake, you are at the edge of the wild. To the North is the Withered Heath, where it is said Dragons reside still, heeding no master but their long dead one, to which the 'Shadow in the East' was but a servant. To the East is Mirkwood, home of the elves. But I warn you, the shadows lengthen within, and the necromancer works some devilry it's best not to consider."
He thumps the table, and the dogs return, bringing platters of mead, bread and rich honey.
"If you truly desire to confront the shadow, South East will take you to the black land. But it is a fools errand to go alone." He leans close, and the room seems darker. "I may be far from things, but I have ears and eyes, same as anyone. He rallies an army of millions, orcs, beasts and evil men. Striking him in the heart of his power alone is a fools errand, even the greatest of lords wouldn't attempt it."

Dorean
"Then you are a fool. You let them slip away, and the lord of the Black Land has little tolerance for failure." The dwimmerlaik replies in a cold, haughty voice. If he had a face, you suddenly suspect he would be smiling.
"But perhaps I will offer you another chance. While my lord," my, not our. He's not convinced. "has little cold mercy for the likes of you, I find myself charitable to the most pitiful of mortals. To the east is the realm of Lord Elrond, and one of the few remaining sanctuaries fr those who oppose my master. It is the last place anyone would expect to be infiltrated."
His hooded head, or rather the dark space a head should be, leans close. "Take the Ring, and return it to my keeping, and I will spare you, and give you the lands once called Arnor for your own." There is the carrot, now for the stick. The Ringwraith does not disappoint.
"Or you can instead refuse my offer, in which case I will stake you to the ground and let my new servants have their way with you. They eat the still living flesh of mortals, I daresay you will find it quite a horrible experience."

Weathertop
As you prepare your spell, lightning flashes again, and the figure can once more be seen.
This time he does not vanish, but rides closer, and gradually, details become apparent. His horse is chestnut, sleek and well muscled, with a hand tooled white leather saddle decorated with silver, but neither reigns nor bridle. tiny silver bells are braided into it's mane, and it's eyes sparkle with intelligence.
It's rider is almost painfully fair, slim as a blade and hard as a poker, with fine, patricians features, hair like spun gold and almond slanted blue eyes. He is clearly noble, and the darkness seems less oppressive, the fire brighter as he approaches.
He smiles at the two fairies, though he seems to find their presence and appearance confusing, and bows his head slightly to Arthur and Samantha, as his horse prances to a stop.
"Strangers? And strange ones indeed. Two I do not know what to make of, a man with the bearing of an ancient king, and a beautiful woman who could be from anywhere and nowhere. I am called Glorfindel, a lord of the house of Elrond Half-elven, and I hunt the servants of the enemy. It is said the nine are abroad, though what they seek this far west I do not know."

Wesley
The guards stare at you, and shrug. You have a strong bearing, are riding a stallion right from Dol Amaroth's royal stables, and are clearly not one of the enemies servants. "None, I suppose." They reply, opening the gates and letting you through, and you are into the realm of Gondor.
Endless rolling plains, farms, and what seems a fine, productive part of the world. But there is an oppressive pall over the land, one even you, a stranger, can sense. No children play in the streets, men have weapons belted to their hips, and people hurry from place to place, not wanting to be caught outdoors.

Rikku
A man approaches. He has his own aura of darkness, he is so evil, and wears black robes that put you in mind of his masters. His helmet seems part iron crown, and he wears sharp, dangerous mail beneath his robes. His bearing is tall and proud.
"I was bidden to take thee above." He says, and leads you towards the staircase. At the top is a rookery, where great, scaly beasts perch, huge, batlike folded wings and evil eyes. "Take one for thine own. My master wishes it."

[Taenarius]

Oliver Cromwell

Cromwell held up his gloved hand, indicating they should slow down, as the eleven Englishmen reached Osgiliath. The great walls looked grand, until Oliver began noticing the state the city was in. He passed a guard by explaining that he was an officer sent by the steward Denethor to renezvous with his son, Faramir, whom was captain, and in command of the defence of the city. The guard, either simply trusting or uncaring, explained where they could find Faramir quartered, and the eleven men rode on at a trot. Oliver's face betrayed the emotion of displeasure. The city was in a shocking state, clearly it had been an area of much contention for a very long time. There were no bustling citizens, not even the odd peasant; Cromwell saw only soliders glance up at him with tired eyes, before returning their attention to food, or cleaning their equipment, or simply trying to rest before the next exertion. Every once in a while, Oliver thought he could hear shouting, or running, even rumbling that was not unlike the artillery of England, though of course the General saw neither hide nor tail of any cannon. It seemed he had arrived at a lull in what he understood to be something of a protracted siege. Glancing at his men, he could see each face was worried, each keeping a wary eye on every building or alleyway. Riding on, they found the described building in which Faramir would be quartered, but instead found the captain outside, distinguishable in armour that set him apart from his soldiers.

Cromwell was familiar with military manner, and so dismounted, and approached the man whom he assumed by his uniform was the captain. it was Faramir, he was certain, he could see some slight resemblance between father and son. He adopted his best authoritative voice, which was not difficult for the politician, and said confidently, "Lieutenant-General Oliver Cromwell, cavalry. Do I have the honour of addressing Captain Faramir, whom commands the city's defence? I am sent by the honourable gentleman Denethor, to render assistance in a tactical capacity. May I enquire as to the situation?" This was mostly true, though Cromwell had twisted Denethor's words a little bit. Faramir had not been present at Denethor's meeting with Oliver, nor had he been sent any message, by horseman, pigeon or smoke signals, as far as the Englishman could tell. So, he would not know what order Denethor had given Cromwell, until Cromwell told the Captain himself. Denethor had made it unpleasantly obvious to Oliver that he intended to use the General as some kind of gopher, or pawn, to move about on the board with no autonomy at all. So, Oliver changed the order slightly, stating he was there to 'render assistance' rather than 'submit to Faramir's will', as Denethor had implied. The intent was basically the same, Oliver had every intention of fighting for Osgiliath, but he was not so willing to do so as a mere common soldier. The politician, cunningly elevating his status in Osgiliath, was also a military leader, and understood how to command and plan ahead. He knew he would be a great asset to Captain Faramir, whom to him seemed a little young to be taking charge of the whole city's defence.

[Creed]

Riku

Riku approaches one of the beasts
"And what are these beasts called, dark warrior?"

[darkblade]

Aang

Aang looks to the ground discouraged. "That's what I was afraid of."

This looks like far more a dangerous quest than the war against the former Fire Lord, he might as well give up now. There is nothing he can do alone against an army like that. Then Aang comes to memories about all those who came to help in in that previous quest. On his own he surely would have fallen there as well. Thats what he will have to do here once more.

"Are there others who oppose Suaron? Those who might aid me?"

[waterpenguin43]

Weathertop
As you prepare your spell, lightning flashes again, and the figure can once more be seen.
This time he does not vanish, but rides closer, and gradually, details become apparent. His horse is chestnut, sleek and well muscled, with a hand tooled white leather saddle decorated with silver, but neither reigns nor bridle. tiny silver bells are braided into it's mane, and it's eyes sparkle with intelligence.
It's rider is almost painfully fair, slim as a blade and hard as a poker, with fine, patricians features, hair like spun gold and almond slanted blue eyes. He is clearly noble, and the darkness seems less oppressive, the fire brighter as he approaches.
He smiles at the two fairies, though he seems to find their presence and appearance confusing, and bows his head slightly to Arthur and Samantha, as his horse prances to a stop.
"Strangers? And strange ones indeed. Two I do not know what to make of, a man with the bearing of an ancient king, and a beautiful woman who could be from anywhere and nowhere. I am called Glorfindel, a lord of the house of Elrond Half-elven, and I hunt the servants of the enemy. It is said the nine are abroad, though what they seek this far west I do not know."

Glinda blinks in surprise. Then an expression of dawning fear on her face. "You mean- the Nazgul are coming!?" she looks quite scared, but draws her courage. "Well then, I'll fight with you. I have the Grimmerie, so I could be some use in combat."
She quickly opens the page to the storm spell.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean, despite being a rather wealthy man, had never actually been much for owning or running lands. It seemed like something that took up more time than it was really worth, not to mention Saruman still had his painting. On the other hand, it was something he could get use to, and there was more than likely a few things he could...enjoy about it. As for Saruman...he needed to be dealt with, quietly. Besides, no need to ruin something good; if Saruman had a better offer, then he could have the ring. And if he didn't, Dorean could start slicing off digits until he told him where the painting was.

Dorean looks up at the Nazgul, "Fine. I don't particularly enjoy the idea of losing flesh, so...could I get directions?" He was going to really need a map, assuming these people understood scale.

[bvdk99]

Chained Bloodlust
You're horde has grown. Fifty new walking dead lope at you, the strongest this town had to offer. Their backs are hunched, they scuttle rather then walk, cracked, splintered teeth gnashing as they silently lope beside you. You lost a total of seven in the attack, and gained many more to replace them.
The Nazgul who ordered you to attack the town returns, striding along the ground. Unlike the others, their is a red lining in his robes, and his mail has been forged in such a way to give the metal a reddish hue.
Like dried blood.
His sword is drawn, and rests upon one shoulder. His eyeless gaze seeks you out, and holds yours, a burning cold that examines, dissects and dismisses you in a single instant.
"They have fled." He hisses, his voice making the air feel colder, even to your dead nerves. "They scamper away, and cower in the wild where they believe themselves safe from our masters hand."
He turns east. "But they can only run so far. And we shall be waiting." He swears, then turns his back and begins leading you along the King's road.

Leifr
The orc gets to his feet. He looks hostile, and abruptly barks "The white hand!" Around him, orcs are likewise straightening, and picking up their weapons.
In an instant, they have you completely surrounded, and quite a few of them are giving you cruel, hungry looks.

Morgan Le Fay
"There is but one lord of the Ring, Saruman." Gandalf says, defiant to the last. "And he does not share power."
With those parting words, he turns and throws himself from the tower. For a moment you think he has killed himself, until he rises up, borne on the back of a great Eagle and flying east.
Ladies and Gentlemen, Gandalf has left the building.

Aang
Beorn's bushy brows narrow. "You are west of the Misty Mountains. As far as you can walk in a day is my land, and there you are under my protection. But make no mistake, you are at the edge of the wild. To the North is the Withered Heath, where it is said Dragons reside still, heeding no master but their long dead one, to which the 'Shadow in the East' was but a servant. To the East is Mirkwood, home of the elves. But I warn you, the shadows lengthen within, and the necromancer works some devilry it's best not to consider."
He thumps the table, and the dogs return, bringing platters of mead, bread and rich honey.
"If you truly desire to confront the shadow, South East will take you to the black land. But it is a fools errand to go alone." He leans close, and the room seems darker. "I may be far from things, but I have ears and eyes, same as anyone. He rallies an army of millions, orcs, beasts and evil men. Striking him in the heart of his power alone is a fools errand, even the greatest of lords wouldn't attempt it."

Dorean
"Then you are a fool. You let them slip away, and the lord of the Black Land has little tolerance for failure." The dwimmerlaik replies in a cold, haughty voice. If he had a face, you suddenly suspect he would be smiling.
"But perhaps I will offer you another chance. While my lord," my, not our. He's not convinced. "has little cold mercy for the likes of you, I find myself charitable to the most pitiful of mortals. To the east is the realm of Lord Elrond, and one of the few remaining sanctuaries fr those who oppose my master. It is the last place anyone would expect to be infiltrated."
His hooded head, or rather the dark space a head should be, leans close. "Take the Ring, and return it to my keeping, and I will spare you, and give you the lands once called Arnor for your own." There is the carrot, now for the stick. The Ringwraith does not disappoint.
"Or you can instead refuse my offer, in which case I will stake you to the ground and let my new servants have their way with you. They eat the still living flesh of mortals, I daresay you will find it quite a horrible experience."

Weathertop
As you prepare your spell, lightning flashes again, and the figure can once more be seen.
This time he does not vanish, but rides closer, and gradually, details become apparent. His horse is chestnut, sleek and well muscled, with a hand tooled white leather saddle decorated with silver, but neither reigns nor bridle. tiny silver bells are braided into it's mane, and it's eyes sparkle with intelligence.
It's rider is almost painfully fair, slim as a blade and hard as a poker, with fine, patricians features, hair like spun gold and almond slanted blue eyes. He is clearly noble, and the darkness seems less oppressive, the fire brighter as he approaches.
He smiles at the two fairies, though he seems to find their presence and appearance confusing, and bows his head slightly to Arthur and Samantha, as his horse prances to a stop.
"Strangers? And strange ones indeed. Two I do not know what to make of, a man with the bearing of an ancient king, and a beautiful woman who could be from anywhere and nowhere. I am called Glorfindel, a lord of the house of Elrond Half-elven, and I hunt the servants of the enemy. It is said the nine are abroad, though what they seek this far west I do not know."

Wesley
The guards stare at you, and shrug. You have a strong bearing, are riding a stallion right from Dol Amaroth's royal stables, and are clearly not one of the enemies servants. "None, I suppose." They reply, opening the gates and letting you through, and you are into the realm of Gondor.
Endless rolling plains, farms, and what seems a fine, productive part of the world. But there is an oppressive pall over the land, one even you, a stranger, can sense. No children play in the streets, men have weapons belted to their hips, and people hurry from place to place, not wanting to be caught outdoors.

Rikku
A man approaches. He has his own aura of darkness, he is so evil, and wears black robes that put you in mind of his masters. His helmet seems part iron crown, and he wears sharp, dangerous mail beneath his robes. His bearing is tall and proud.
"I was bidden to take thee above." He says, and leads you towards the staircase. At the top is a rookery, where great, scaly beasts perch, huge, batlike folded wings and evil eyes. "Take one for thine own. My master wishes it."

Ooh, what a handsome young man! Greta cries, pinching Glorfindel's cheek affectionately. Just so you know, dear, I will defend my new home to the last breath!

[Cracklord]

Rikku
"Felbeasts. Misbegotten spawn of dragons." One of them lets out a throaty rumble, and snaps, taking of the arm of it's handler.

Dorean
"If we knew where they were, what would we need you for?" He replies, before removing his sword and flowing away.

Aang
"A few. Gondor'll fight to the biter end, and the elves that aren't running give what help they can." He says, taking a careless draught of mead. "But good luck with that. For make no mistake, the end is coming, and it will be bitter."

Oliver Cromwel
Faramir stares at you, in an uncomfortably intent manner. In that instant, he gives the impression of knowing, or at least seeing, everything about you. Then he smiles, and it makes him look far younger.
"No doubt father was himself. I can't blame you." Faramir says, standing up. He's dusty and careworn, as though having just made a long journey through the wilderness.
"I am Captain Faramir. And I am most grateful for your help, lieutenant-general. We need all the men we can get, and any with the obvious competency and experience your men clearly show are most appreciated."
He sighs. "We hold this city by dint of of considerable fortitude and effort, and because we cannot afford to lose it. If we do, we lose the river, and the plains infront of the city. Right now the enemy is probing, sending out questioning fingers to test our defenses, but it is only a matter of time before he draws them back into a fist, and crashes it against us. And somehow, when that day comes, we must find it in ourselves to hold."

Weathertop
Glorfindel takes the complement graciously, though he still clearly doesn't know what to make of either of you. "No, I am hunting." He says softly. "Even they fear to face me alone. I know not what they search for, but I will not let them have it."

Romans
Most of them are undecided, talking amongst themselves in low, murmuring voices. Most of them resolve to seek shelter amongst their kin, and finally turn the others around. "We're grateful for your offer and all, master Marcus, y'see, we have families, and maybe some others got out. If they did, we owe it t'them t' find them and help out."
In a way, you're quietly relieved. You don't know how many of them could have kept up the pace, and now you don't have to watch yourself leave the stragglers behind.
The strange... people, although they would look more in place carved of marble in a temple to Jupiter, continue their slow pace forward, still singing. You are certain they are not speaking latin, and yet you understand every word.
"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O Light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas."

Their are many emotions in play in the song. They sound mournful, and you get a sense of farewell, these strange, beautiful people breaking away from their homes and families, to sail to some long distant world.

[bvdk99]

Rikku
"Felbeasts. Misbegotten spawn of dragons." One of them lets out a throaty rumble, and snaps, taking of the arm of it's handler.

Dorean
"If we knew where they were, what would we need you for?" He replies, before removing his sword and flowing away.

Aang
"A few. Gondor'll fight to the biter end, and the elves that aren't running give what help they can." He says, taking a careless draught of mead. "But good luck with that. For make no mistake, the end is coming, and it will be bitter."

Oliver Cromwel
Faramir stares at you, in an uncomfortably intent manner. In that instant, he gives the impression of knowing, or at least seeing, everything about you. Then he smiles, and it makes him look far younger.
"No doubt father was himself. I can't blame you." Faramir says, standing up. He's dusty and careworn, as though having just made a long journey through the wilderness.
"I am Captain Faramir. And I am most grateful for your help, lieutenant-general. We need all the men we can get, and any with the obvious competency and experience your men clearly show are most appreciated."
He sighs. "We hold this city by dint of of considerable fortitude and effort, and because we cannot afford to lose it. If we do, we lose the river, and the plains infront of the city. Right now the enemy is probing, sending out questioning fingers to test our defenses, but it is only a matter of time before he draws them back into a fist, and crashes it against us. And somehow, when that day comes, we must find it in ourselves to hold."

Weathertop
Glorfindel takes the complement graciously, though he still clearly doesn't know what to make of either of you. "No, I am hunting." He says softly. "Even they fear to face me alone. I know not what they search for, but I will not let them have it."

Romans
Most of them are undecided, talking amongst themselves in low, murmuring voices. Most of them resolve to seek shelter amongst their kin, and finally turn the others around. "We're grateful for your offer and all, master Marcus, y'see, we have families, and maybe some others got out. If they did, we owe it t'them t' find them and help out."
In a way, you're quietly relieved. You don't know how many of them could have kept up the pace, and now you don't have to watch yourself leave the stragglers behind.
The strange... people, although they would look more in place carved of marble in a temple to Jupiter, continue their slow pace forward, still singing. You are certain they are not speaking latin, and yet you understand every word.
"Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!
O Light to us that wander here
Amid the world of woven trees!

Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!
Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee
In a far land beyond the Sea.

O stars that in the Sunless Year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!

O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!
We still remember, we who dwell
In this far land beneath the trees,
Thy starlight on the Western Seas."

Their are many emotions in play in the song. They sound mournful, and you get a sense of farewell, these strange, beautiful people breaking away from their homes and families, to sail to some long distant world.

Fairy Godmother
What a great attitude, my dear! You seem much more approachable than that sour old Elrond.

Morgan Le Fay
No! Curse you, Gandalf! she cries, watching him fly away in fury. Calming herself down, she thinks for a few moments. Then, a malicious grin appears on her face as she raises her hands and dark clouds gather to the east. Within moments, a vicious storm has brewed, complete with strong rain, blistering winds, and strong hail.

[doliest]

Dorean
Looking at the Nazgul for a moment, Dorean realized that it had said 'east,' and feeling more than a little embarrassed, he gives a curt bow to the Nazgul and dashes down the alleyway fully intending to run straight out of the village and just keep moving eastward. He needed to put as much distance as possible between himself and the entirety of the people of Bree.

[Creed]

Riku

Riku walks over to the one that just took a limb off it's handler.
"I'll take this one." the Heartless boy said calmly.

[waterpenguin43]

Weathertop
Glorfindel takes the complement graciously, though he still clearly doesn't know what to make of either of you. "No, I am hunting." He says softly. "Even they fear to face me alone. I know not what they search for, but I will not let them have it."

"Well, that's a brave attitude. If you need any help, come back here," Glinda says. I commend your bravery.

[Gimliggamer]

Sarah Sane
Sarah lights a small ball of fire on the end of her finger so that she can see the elf better through the rain. "Would you need some help with that?" She asks hopefully. "I find myself with a strange lacking of knowledge of this new land, and few quests to do for my living." She tries to explain.

Chained Bloodlust
his new followers begin to sink into the ground, one by one, to regain ther strength. He suspected they would need it. Then he began to shamble after what must have been the leader of the riders, knowing that as long as he followed them, he would gain yet more followers.

[Cracklord]

Samantha
Glorfindel seems surprised at your offer, but he nods, and offers you a smile. "Aid should never be turned down." He replies, inclining his head. "I am most grateful for your offer."

Morgan
Gwahir, lord of the eagles, was not named the windlord for nothing, and struggles mightily against the storm. But even he cannot conquer it, and at last turns West and rides the wings of the storm, returning to the mountains, it's rider still upon it's back.
"So you have chosen death." Saruman says softly to himself. He does not add his might to yours, he simply watches. "Let him go." He says at last. "We have learned all we need. Soon our army will be built, and we will take the ring for ourselves."

Riku
The black Numenorean strides over to it, takeing it's head and speaking softly in some dark tongue. "Nebabitham Maganane Netabdam daurad." It whispers, and the beast quietens.
He fits it with a bridle, saddle and reigns, then hands them to you. "He will take you to Mirkwood, fast as the winds themselves." He says, then inclines his head and backs away.

Chained Bloodlust
The rider with the red lining leaves the town, walking west, and on a hill you see another rider, more terrible yet. He seems part of the shadows himself, stretching as tall as the night in the dark, and his gaze is terrible. This is Lord Angmar, The greatest captain of the dark.
"Without a word, he turns his horse, and begins to gallop into the wilderness, the other Riders following.

[Creed]

Riku

Riku mounts the beast fearlessly, his Heartless melding into him.
"Send your master my thanks, warrior. Expect this 'Mirkwood' to be ours soon."

[Executor]

King Arthur

"Hail, and well met, Lord Glorfindel" Arthur replies to the fae-looking nobleman. Glorfindel indeed looked like he came from Avalon, yet something in his mind told Arthur that Glorfindel was not from the Blessed Isle. Something told him that he was very, very far away from his homeland, and all he held dear. Standing on that windswept hillstop, surrounded by the ruins of an ancient empire, standing alongside a fae-warrior, the oddest dressed woman he had ever seen, and two very odd faerie-ladies, Arthur suddenly felt very alone, and yearned to see his old friend Merlin again.

"My Lord Glorfindel, if it pleaseth thee, I may introduce myself: I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, once High King of Britain, now called Once and Future King of Britain" he said, drawing himself up to his full height of an inch over six feet, hand resting on Excalibur's ruby pommel.

"I do not know of these 'Nine', of which thou speaks, nor do I know where 'here', so I beg thee, please tell me what fell and weird land I have come to, and how was I taken from Avalon to this strange place?" Arthur asked, a shiver running down his back from the cold wind and rain upon the hilltop.

Romans

Marcus and Stelios lay amongst the wet underbrush for a long time, watching the procession pass by, their words drifting in the trees around them. The two soldiers were very quiet for a very long time, each lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts of home. Thoughts of a fair farm on a hill in Italy's green heartlands, or a small house on the shore of a rocky Greek island. Thoughts of the warm sun of Italy and Greece, and the fresh breeze off the Mediterrenean. In this unknown, grey, cold, rainy place, wherever it was, they missed their homes more than they had ever missed them while on campaign in Gaul. At least in Gaul, they had Caesar to lead them, and the promise of glory and plunder.

"Sir..." Stelios said softly after a long while.

"Yes Stelios?" Marcus replied.

"Where are we?" The Greek archer asked. Marcus said nothing for a long pause, and then sighed, and started to stand up.

"What are you doing?" whispered Stelios.

"I'm going to find out" Marcus answered, and he drew himself up to his full height and stepped into view of the nymphs or whatever they were. The moment he did, the singing stopped, and they cast their gray eyes towards him, though not in a look of surprise or anger, more a look of amusement, such as that of a stern father who's youngest son had just done some silly little thing. Despite that, Marcus was taken aback by the intensity of their eyes. Those eyes bored into him, and roiled and sought and found and burned and knew. Swallowing the rising lump in his throat, Marcus called out to them.

"Ave, strangers! I am Marcus, a soldier of Rome! My men and I have traveled far from the lands of the Gauls, we are lost! You are not men, that much is clear, are you nymphs or ancient gods and is this some terra incognita? Please! We just seek to know our bearings, so we can find our way home!" He yelled to them, and then awaited their answer.

[bvdk99]

Samantha
Glorfindel seems surprised at your offer, but he nods, and offers you a smile. "Aid should never be turned down." He replies, inclining his head. "I am most grateful for your offer."

Morgan
Gwahir, lord of the eagles, was not named the windlord for nothing, and struggles mightily against the storm. But even he cannot conquer it, and at last turns West and rides the wings of the storm, returning to the mountains, it's rider still upon it's back.
"So you have chosen death." Saruman says softly to himself. He does not add his might to yours, he simply watches. "Let him go." He says at last. "We have learned all we need. Soon our army will be built, and we will take the ring for ourselves."

Riku
The black Numenorean strides over to it, takeing it's head and speaking softly in some dark tongue. "Nebabitham Maganane Netabdam daurad." It whispers, and the beast quietens.
He fits it with a bridle, saddle and reigns, then hands them to you. "He will take you to Mirkwood, fast as the winds themselves." He says, then inclines his head and backs away.

Chained Bloodlust
The rider with the red lining leaves the town, walking west, and on a hill you see another rider, more terrible yet. He seems part of the shadows himself, stretching as tall as the night in the dark, and his gaze is terrible. This is Lord Angmar, The greatest captain of the dark.
"Without a word, he turns his horse, and begins to gallop into the wilderness, the other Riders following.

You're right... I shall go check on the progress of our minions. She turns away... (Wait, if there's no teleporting, how do they get off the roof.

[bvdk99]

((Sorry for the double post!))

Morgan
She walks over to the trapdoor, opens it, and sweeps down the stairs, annoyed at Gandalf's escape. Opening the main door of Orthanc, she strides into the courtyard, looking around for the head orc, or the equivalent.

[Gimliggamer]

Chained Bloodlust

Chained Bloodlust shambles after the riders, following their sent of terror and destruction. One leaves a scent like that wide in their wake.

[Falgorn]

Ganondorf
You hear voices at the top of the stairs. Lately, Sauron has begun taking corporeal form, a shadowy, manlike shape. Like you, he is a shapeshifter, but he has yet to appear in either his warrior or wolf forms. Despite his power, he refuses to take the field.
He is a schemer, not a warrior. He has the power to win from here, so why risk it all to prove his courage?
As you complete the climb, you find him conversing with a young man, barely more then a boy really.
Riku and Ganon
"Indeed? Well if all is as you claim, I will give you a room in my tower, and any support that you wish." He replies, outwardly calm. Inwardly... you can't tell, thanks to that damn hood.
He pulls back his hood, and it's enough to make you blanch. Once he had bee called Annatar the fair. Once. His ears had been burned away; there was nothing left but a pair of weeping holes. His left eye had been boiled white in it's socket, and around it was a twisted mass of slick black flesh, hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured with by deep cracks that gleamed a terrible red whenever he moved. His right eye was red, with the slitted pupil of a cat, and no white, only a giant pupil that seems to see into your soul.

Robin Hood
The hours pass, and the sun comes and goes. At last, the predicted time arrives. The coming procession is slow, as the bodyguard moves on foot. They are heavily armored and their faces are masked. Each bristles with a collection of blades, and walk in perfect step. These are dangerous men.
Four big shouldered slaves carry what appears to be a litter, which is curtained and closed off, and a man strides along at the back, dressed in purple robes with long, lacquered fingernails. You take him for the prince.
But where is the tribute?

Ganon
The dark-armored sorcerer remained silent as the Dark Lord and the boy spoke. He thought about the possibilities of power, and wondered how such a tiny, insignificant whelp, not unlike a sword-wielding hero that wears green, could have an audience with Sauron himself. As the boy finished speaking, Ganon stepped forward, kneeling in front of Sauron. "You had summoned for me, my Lord?"

Robin Hood
Robin didn't waste any time on wondering where the tribute was, for he had to spring his trap quickly. He scanned over the surronding forrest, making sure all was in place. His trap was simple, but effective. He had seen to it that a tree be sawed, so that it would fall. Before the sawing, however, he had men tie their strongest ropes around the tree, and wrap them around other trees. Robin hadn't predicted the results, but he relied on surprise. On his mark, the men would knock over the tree, and Robin Hood could look as marvelous as ever, firing arrows from a treetop in the distance, before swinging down to slay his foes.

[Cracklord]

Riku
The beast takes off with a powerful beat of it's wings, and launches you into the air, taking you west, over fields of shadow and ash to this 'Mirkwood.'

Ganon
"I have." Sauron replies, replacing his hood and turning to you. His voice is silky and seductive, rich and of perfect timbre. Not for the first time it occurs to you that it should have gone to some god of song.
"You are the bandit king, lord of thieves and assassins." He says. "Or so you are called. I desire your services. You're people are noble, and yet they were driven to the dessert and left to die, barely subsiding as they scrape a living of rocks. Where is the justice of that? I am banished to a land of shadow and darkness, with barren soil. We are alike. And we deserve better."
He glides forward, and some engine shudders, taking the entire structure and pulling it up, up, up, on tremendous chains through floor after floor until you near the top of the keep. The world stretches on forever beneath your gaze, the mountains that border the Land of shadow ringing the horizon.
"I will win, Ganon. All that remains is when. The elves flee before my might, and the strength of men is nearly spent. And when the world is mine, I will have need of lieutenants to rule in my name. I think you are worthy, Ganon."

Morgan Le Fay
You descend into a great pit, the bottom burning with the fires of industry, as weapons and armor is forged and orcs are bred. Goblins and men, enslaved or pressed into servitude by the White hand scurry to and fro, hard at work. Cells holding screaming captives can be seen on either end, and trees are hewn and torn apart for use in the constantly burning fires.
Saruman steps beside you. "Beautiful, isn't it?" He says, referring to the whir of machinery and hard work around the two of you. "This is power. Real power." His eyes are burning with a feverish light.

King Arthur
The elflord considers your words for a moment. "Your words are as strange to me as mine are to you, King." He says, the title respectful. "This is Middle Earth, realm of beasts and men. I am an elf, sailed from Valinor, also called Lyonese, many incarnations ago, and have since lived amongst my kindred and the forests of this world."
"The nine are the greatest servants of the dark lord Sauron, the shadow of the east. It is not my place to tell you his story, though I was a part to it, but he is the great enemy of our kindred, a foe against which there is little hope, even to us. Once, the nine were great kings of men, but the Darklord played upon their vulnerabilities and mortality, and offered them power and unending life. One by one they submitted to him, and became wraiths, deathless monsters that bring misery and despair wherever they go."
Bells tinkle as Asthaloth shakes his head with a snort, and Glorfindel bends down and pats his head.
"As to how you came here, I am a warrior, not a loremaster. But stranger things have happened, and will happen again."

Romans
At first, you think they are not going to answer, then a maiden and two retainers trail off and turn to stare at you. It is clear n an instant that they find you almost as strange and out of place as you find them.
Marcus had never heard it, but a wise hobbit had penned an adage that had fallen into use: "Beware questions asked to elves, for they will answer both no and yes." But had he known of it, Marcus would have found it appropriate.
In a high, musical voice, she replies. "I fear I can offer you little guidance, strangers. The lands you mention are as strange to me as these are to you. I am called Nimrodel, and I am of the elder folk, the elves you might call them. As to how you got here, only you can answer that, for it is you who traveled here, and you who know how it happened."
With that she falls silent, awaiting your response.

Dorean
The road is long, but even to your untrained eyes the trail easy to find. Before long you can see a smoky fire ahead, only slightly sheltered in the trees.

Raphael
You pass the refugees by. You saw them leave with the Ranger, and know they separated. After another hour of riding, you realize you missed them again. They have either gone South, or traveled North and vanished into the wilds.

Robin Hood
The tree collapses slowly, rather then the sudden thump you envisioned, but gathers speed and power, smashing against the ground with an easplitting crack. The guards take a single look, and lock shield and form a circle around the man in robes, a few falling back and cocking intricate crossbows.
Dangerous, professional soldiers, competent and prepared to die for their cause. Orcs would be panicking. Haradrim would charge or abandon their cago. But the Easterlings were made of sterner stuff.

[darkblade]

Rapheal

This is why Rapheal is but a cursed monster now and not the immortal weilder of Soul Edge. He is a piss poor tracker but refuses to admit it. Instead blaming his own failings on Sould Edge's magic and in this case the Ranger's skills that outweigh his own.

None the less he turns off the main path and heads North West. He will find those Hobbits and return to Amy soon.

***

Aang

"I refuse to accept that. I saved the world from the end once, I will do it again if I have to." Aang states defiantly

"I stopped Fire Lord Ozai from burning the Earth Kingdom to the ground with the help of my friends and I will stop Sauron from destroying these lands as well."

[Creed]

Riku

Riku held on as he went faster than any Heartless could go.
"Truely a marvelous creature." he muttered
And what a marvelous world, he thought.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean smirks as he moves towards the source of the fire. Where there was fire, there was usually at least one addled fool who could direct him towards 'Elrond,' not to mention give him something to do for a bit; that entire Bree trip could be adequately described with the word 'disaster.'

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr

Many would fear a force like the one the explorers were facing, many wouyld bot be vikings. Leifr and his crew knew that they stood little chamce of making it through a battle at such odds but yet they showed no fear nor remorse. Leifr draws his sword as his crew draws what weapon they own, be it spear, dagger or club.
"By Odin and Tyr! Now we'll see if the Valkyries find us worthy for Valhalla!"

[Falgorn]

Ganon
"And when you achieve victory, milord? The Gerudo will have their rightful land again?" Ganon asks, not daring to look Sauron in the eyes. Instead, he casts his gaze to the floor, respectfully answering the Dark Lord.

Upon hearing that he, Ganondorf, could be Sauron's liutenant, a gleam crosses his eyes, and a smile on his lips. "What must be done, Lord?"

((Robin Hood's will come later.))

[industrious]

Wesley

"Thank you kindly."

Wesley continues riding onwards. Not because Buttercup awaits him on the other side (he knew she was leagues elsewhere, and that he was too enamored of piracy to give it up for her as of now), but because there were places beyond, and he wished to see them. A world at land, for sometimes the sea was far too drab.

[Executor]

Romans

"But... I do not know what brought us to this land! We lost our way in a thunderstorm in Gaul, and found ourselves here, wherever here is" Marcus called back. When Marcus was young, he would often wander in the markets of Rome while his father spoke to business or political acquaintances, asking questions in youthful curiosity to the various itinerant philosophers that made their home in the beating heart of the Mediterrenean world that was the city of Rome. Being young, his questions varied on everything from morality to the scientific nature of the world. As he grew older, he learned a rule to live by when philosophers were concerned: "Never ask a philosopher a simple question, because you will never get a simple answer". And at the moment, he was quite sure that these 'elder folk' were a very philosophical people.

"My men and I are heading east, making for the lands of Elrond of Rivendell, do you know the way to his domains, and if so could you give us a map, or directions of any sort? We seek safety for the beasts who sacked the village of Bree last night. If you are heading to the west, I must tell you not to head for Bree, for it was stormed last night by strange monsters led by riders in black cloaks and upon black horses" He replied to Nimrodel, his voice carrying easily through the dense foliage of the wild forest.



Arthur

"Hmm, a loremaster thou sayest?" Arthur replied, stroking his golden-blond beard thoughtfully. He had known many such individuals in his time as King, with Merlin as the greatest. Merlin would know why and how Arthur had been brought to this 'Middle Earth', without a doubt, but Merlin was not here. It was clear, then, that Arthur had to find another loremaster for the answers he sought.

"My Lord Glorfindel, thou sayest thou art a warrior, and for 'cert, thou art mighty, but do thou knowest any whom are mighty in matters of lore? For there art many answers I seek, and I perceive that it is not by mere happenstance that I have been sent to thy world" He continued, and cast his light blue eyes towards the west, many questions troubling his mind. Not the least of which was the mention of Lyonese, the land from which Tristran, one of Arthur's knights, hailed. Not for the first time, nor for the last, Arthur wished he was still in his magic slumber.

[Cracklord]

Weathertop
Glorfindel strokes his chin. "I have lived the lifetimes of a hundred men, and I have never met anyone with the wisdom or compassion of my Lord Elrond of Rivendel. If you desire to learn more of how this came to being I would suggest you seek his counsel. But be warned, for knowledge can be cruel."
He says, then turns to the fairies. "To the two of you I would give the same advice. He can help you as he helps the king." With that he turns. "Ride with me then, pretty lady. We have shadows to hunt."

Romans
"We depart from the Lord of Imrildris, to sail away to Valinor." She replies, and a mournful look flashes across her face. "Never to return. The road you stand apon shall see you there, in time you will come to a ford. Beyond that is a valley, where is the last homely house. It is a haven, for none of the enemies servants dare to tread there."
She indicates her party. "But do not fear for us. We will take roads men havw no knowledge of, to see our woods one last time. They will not find us." She turns and catches up.
"May you find happiness and fortune in all your endeavors." In barely a moment, they're gone, vanished into the woods.

Ganon
"Gondor." Sauron replies. "It all comes down to the men of the West." He turns to you, and you can feel his gaze taking your measure. "You are to kill Denathor." He says at last. "Kill the steward of Gondor."

Leifr
The orcs are surprised by your sudden onslaught, fall back, desperately trying to get organized and form ranks. Six are dead and one injured by the time they do. But Sven was taken, already breathing his last, a sword clutched tightly in his hand with a death grip.
They look at you with a new found respect, but they don't back down.

Aang
"Your life is your own." Replies Beorn, "And it's not for me to tell you what to do with it. I can lend you a horse, and provisions if you need them. I've given my advise, and there is nothing else to be said."

Dorean
There are eight of the soldiers who interfered with you before, and perhaps forty men and women, and even a few children, who made it out of Bree. Nodody else is anywhere to be found.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean is more than a little disappointed. If the Nazgul was useless for information, the backwoods little peasants from Bree would be no help. Maybe if he just slipped one away...

No. His sword was still gone. He was under a time limit. He needed to move quickly. He slips past them, moving still eastward. He would eventually find his target. It was unlikely the Nazgul would give him a target more than a day or two away. If it was that far, it would have mentioned it, surely.

[bvdk99]

Fairy Godmother

Well, I guess Glinda and I shall stay here... Hm... Ah, Glorfindel, my dear, have you heard news of Gandalf's escape?

Morgan le Fay

She nods, surveying the situation. It's a tad chaotic for my taste, but a great success nontheless.

[Gimliggamer]

Sarah Sane

"Indeed." Sarah says, swinging her leg over the saddle and putting her feet in the stirrups of her midnight black horse. Her twin sords remain firmly in the sheaths on her back, her long blue coat flapping dramatically in the rain and the wind. She feeds the horse an apple before they set off.

[waterpenguin43]

Weathertop
Glorfindel strokes his chin. "I have lived the lifetimes of a hundred men, and I have never met anyone with the wisdom or compassion of my Lord Elrond of Rivendel. If you desire to learn more of how this came to being I would suggest you seek his counsel. But be warned, for knowledge can be cruel."
He says, then turns to the fairies. "To the two of you I would give the same advice. He can help you as he helps the king." With that he turns. "Ride with me then, pretty lady. We have shadows to hunt."

Glinda blushes. "Why thank you. You remind me of someone I knew, or rather, used to know," Glinda says sadly.

[bvdk99]

Glinda blushes. "Why thank you. You remind me of someone I knew, or rather, used to know," Glinda says sadly.

He was talking about Samantha, my dear. :smallamused:

[waterpenguin43]

He was talking about Samantha, my dear. :smallamused:

Glinda sighs sadly. "Oh, not again."

[darkblade]

Aang

"You have been very generous but I do have one more request." Aang asks.

"I won't require your strange uni-species animal. Appa can fly me where I need to go." Aang gestures to the giant flying bison outside in the gardens.

"But it won't do me much good without a map to tell him where to fly with."

[Executor]

Romans

For a long moment, Marcus and Stelios stood and watched the Elven procession slowly disappear into the early morning fog, their divine voices fading into the distance as they went. Then all was silence, except for the breeze rustling the leaves of the trees all around them.

"Come on sir, we should get back" Stelios said at last, and the two of them turned and quickly made their way back to camp.

When they returned, the newly made Optio Lucius Pullonius was leading most of the men in breaking down their tents, while Faustus and Sergius helped the refugees break down their shelters. The bones of the stripped deer carcass lay beside the smoldering remains of the fire it had been cooked over. On the edge of the forest, Aurelianus was conversing with a few of the hobbits from Bree, who were showing him different kinds of mushrooms and berries, while the learned patrician nodded knowingly. Delios looked over to Marcus and Stelios as they entered the campsite, and then stood up from where he had been squatting next to the firepit. As they came to stand next to him, he handed both Marcus and Stelios a strip of still-warm venison each, which they gratefully bit into. The meat was tough, and a little overcooked, but it filled their stomachs and that was the main thing.

"Lucius!" Marcus called over, as he walked towards the tents after finishing the venison.

"Yes sir?" Lucius replied, holding his makeshift optio's staff in his right hand. He handed Marcus his swagger-stick as the centurion came to stand next to him.

"Once the men are done breaking down the tents, have one of them lay out all his gear on the ground, I think we're going to have to leave something behind for the march to Rivendell" Marcus said, tapping his leg with the tip of his stick as he did so.

"Yes sir" Lucius answered, nodding in understanding. Twenty minutes later, with the refugees heading back down the road to Bree, goodbyes having been said to Barliman, the tents packed away, and the sun beginning to rise over the tops of the trees, Marcus and the ten other men stood around the gear of Livianus, who had spread it out on the grass. Marcus examined it all with a critical eye. All in all, the legionary's equipment consisted of a shirt of lorica hamata ringmail, a bronze galea helmet, an oval scutum shield, a gladius, a short dagger, two heavy pila javelins, a forked staff called a sarcina, which carried Livianus' pack on it, a dark red sagum cloak, a woollen scarf, tunics and other clothes, about eight days worth of food, mostly hardtack and salted meat, a waterskin, some cooking equipment, two stakes, and a wooden shovel. Now, the question was: How to lighten the load?

"The stakes" Marcus said at last. The rest of the men turned their eyes to him.

"The stakes?" Livianus answered, his tone questioning.

"Aye, the stakes. We need to lighten the load, and they're the only thing we have no use for" explained Marcus.

"What about the shovels?" asked Aurelianus, tapping the wooden tool with his sandalled foot.

"Firepits, latrine pits, maybe even a weapon should everything else fail. No, the only things we can leave are the stakes. Take all your stakes and throw them deep into the bush, so at least it'll be unlikely that are our enemies, whoever they are, will be able to reuse them" Marcus said, and then turned and strode away towards the road as the men followed his orders, each taking their two stakes to throw deep into the forest, where they would be hard to find amongst the deadfall and underbrush. Marcus stood out on the road, stamping it with his foot. It was no longer so muddy since the sun had come out, but it was still a little soft. Turning around again, he saw that his men had completed their task, and he walked back towards them to get geared up to begin their march to Rivendell.

A few minutes later, their load now lightened, all of them stood in full marching order, armour on their chests, shields on their backs, sarcinas and javelins shouldered. They formed a ragged column on the road, with Marcus at the front, and Lucius at the rear, and then set off down the road at a brisk pace. The sun was shining fully now, and the birds were singing in every tree. Even though they were alone and very, very far from home, the spirits of the Romans began to climb, and as they marched, they began to sing an ancient marching song of the Legions:

"Some talk of Alexander and some of Hercules
Of Scipio and Lysander and such great men as these
But of all the world's great heroes there's none that can compare
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the Roman Legionnaires!"

[Falgorn]

Ganon
Ganondorf nods, head still pointed at the ground. "I will need more men to do that, won't I, Lord?" he asks, politely, not daring to tempt Sauron's favor.

Robin Hood
Robin smirks. "Never easy, is it?" He lifts up his bow, firing an arrow at one of the crossbowmen. His men, meanwhile, wait tenatively, to see if the arrow hits it mark.
The moment it makes contact, whether it be with a shield, the ground, or the man, they lift up their bows, and fire into the air, to create a rain of arrows.
Of course, this plan has tactical imperfection, seeing as above treebranches would collect a good number of arrows.

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr

Leifr nods to his dying comrade
"See you in Valhalla, Sven"
...After which the vikings press on and continue to hack and slash at the orcs with no less eagerness

[Cracklord]

Ganon
Sauron turns to stare out at the horizon. You wonder if he can see things hidden to you. "A hundred thousand men could not take the white city, Ganon. As long as men draw breath, that city will never fall. It's walls are high, it's gates strong, and it's defenders defiant even unto the last. But where a hundred thousand might die, just one might succeed. The right one."

Leifr
There is a rustling sound in the trees, and the things begin to fall back, guarding their flanks. They seem to think you have more men in the woods, and are planning to ambush them. You don't, but the gods intervene in strange ways...
Your ferocity has surprised them, they were clearly not expecting it.

Aang
"Of course." He rumbles. "Finish your meal, and spend the night. Anyone who would dare to simply walk into Mordor and challenge the shadow deserves that much."

Weathertop
"Mithrandir's imprisonment was unknown to me, but I doubt any could long hold him against his will." He replies, making his feelings clear, then turns Asthaloth and begins to ride down.

Morgan Le Fay
"They are... imperfect." Saruman responds. "Yet they have the wit to do the task I set them, which I say is enough." With that he proceeds lower.
The heat of forges grows the lower you go, until it is almost blistering. Beneath, the orcs develop, fueled by torture and magic known only to a few. One breaks away and grabs it's overseer, snapping his neck with a flick of his almost obscenely muscular arms, and Saruman smiles.

Romans
As you advance, a sight greets your eyes that shocks all of you. If the nazghul served to convince you the existence of true, malevolent evil as a force, and the elves the supernatural, this scene truly drives in the fact that you are a long way from anywhere familiar.
It does it by crossing the familiar with the strange.
An army supply wagon, one that you would find following the Romans whenever they marched to war with what could be not carried (spare equipment, tributes and the like), was on it's side, timbers splintered and goods scattered about. A tremendous, hunched figure was rooting through them.
None of you had seen the apes the Carthaginians had brought back from across the waters, but a few had heard them described, and this thing seemed akin to them, although almost scaly, mottled gray in coloring with almost obscenely sized limps and a primitive, idiot face. It looked strong enough to demolish a marble statue with a few blows of it's massive, horny fists. It towered above you, nearing the height of two men, though was too stooped and hunched to really be obvious.
It was yet to notice you, currently dragging amphora's of wine from the wreckage and stacking them in a vague pile behind it.
It was looting. It was looting a Roman cart.

Wesley
You crest a hill, and even a man as used to wonder and scintillating sights as yourself cannot help but gasp. The White city dominates the landscape, glowing like a jewel in the sun. It's great gates were open, and as you still bear the seal granted to you by Prince Imrahil their seems no time but the present to introduce yourself.

Robin Hood
You take him through the eyeslot with the sort of accuracy usually unbelievable, and the arrows fall like rain as the rest of the outlaws begin their barrage. Unfortunately, they do about as much harm to the heavily armored and cool nerved soldiers, who rise their shields an whether the shots. Fortunately, it prevents them from beginning a counter-attack, at lest for the moment.

Raphael
Your round about route leads you to a range of hills. Thanks to the overcast sky you feel alright, if unpleasant, but what you see gives you pause. five figure, one who glows slightly, and feels nearly as bad as the sun on your skin.
You remember, a healer who carried a staff and used spiritual abilities to heal and protect himself, who, when you returned to Amy at long last, healed her sickness.
This being feels far worse then he ever did.
The other two look like a children picture of fairies, there is a man with a warrior spirit, whose soul burns of faith and hope even as yours burns with Domination. And a woman, likewise a warrior, astride a black horse. The two horsemen are leaving.

Dorean
You are unable to keep pace with the legionaries. You are fit, and trim, but lazy.

[Executor]

Romans

"To the bushes!" Marcus hissed as soon as he had recovered from the shock and awe of seeing the vast beast looting through a Roman supply cart. The ten soldiers followed Marcus into the nearby undergrowth of the forest. Lucius, bringing up the rear, just managed to avoid the creature's gaze as it turned it's dull face down the road, probably hearing the scrambling of their caligae against the dirt of the road. Having seen nothing, and it's tremendously small mind suspecting nothing, the creature turned back to it's task of rummaging through the cart.

"What the hell is that!?" Livianus whispered urgently, kneeling along with the rest of the soldiers, leaning against their javelins with the butts braced against the ground.

"Looks like a beast out of Hades" answered Faustus, the most religious and superstitious out of all the men, for his brother was a priest back in Rome.

"Whatever it is, it's drinking our posca!" observed Cassianus, with an edge of anger in his voice. Marcus and the rest of the Romans peered through the leaves and boughs of the bush they hid in, and watched as the creature unplugged one of the amphorae and took a long swig. The beast grimaced, if such a hideous visage could be said to grimace, at the unfamiliar taste of the harsh, sour Roman wine.

"We can't just let it make off with our rations, however that cart got here, we need the food" Aurelianus said, his tone calmer and more even than that of Cassianus.

"How are we supposed to kill it though? I've never even seen something like that" said Gnaeus, who had been fighting with Caesar longer than any of the other men and was the most experienced of all of them, despite being only a milite and not a centurion

"Okay, battle order, no scuta, form two lines, we'll pelt it with our javelins. I'll take the first line forward, we'll cast our pila, and while we run back, Lucius you take the second line and do the same, so the thing doesn't have a chance to recover before. Stelios, Delios, I have a feeling that hide is too tough for arrows, aim for the eyes if you get a chance." Marcus said, and there were nods all around. The men set aside their packs and shields, pulled on their helmets, and seized a javelin each hand. From the concealment of the bush, Stelios and Delios slowly pulled back on their bowstrings, training their arrows on the head of the beast. Marcus felt his heart race, and sweat crawl down his back beneath his armour and tunic, as always happened before a battle. Then, they moved.

"ROMA VICTRIX!" Marcus roared as he and four others, Aurelianus, Gaius, Gnaeus and Livianus, dashed forward, each of their right arms cranked back, and their left arms out forward for balance. The beast, hearing Marcus' warcry, turned towards them, but it was too late. With a hop-skip, the five legionaries cast their javelins, which flew straight and true, and imbedded themselves heavily into the beast's flank. The ugly brute roared in pain and anger, the kind of roar that would make a brave man's blood run cold, and stood up from the cart, while Marcus and the others, the plan now forgotten, stood in awe. Any lesser animal, even one of the great elephants of Hannibal, would've fallen dead, or fled to bleed to death, when pierced with five pila. Four more javelins were added when Lucius' line ran up and delivered it's own volley, these taking the animal in the chest.

"Volley!" Marcus shouted, snapping out of his shock at the beast's extreme resilience, and the eight legionaries all threw their second javelins as a single volley, the heavy pila piercing the beast's chest and gut. There was the twang of two bowstrings, and Stelios and Delios' two arrows penetrated the animal's neck. The vast brute teetered on it's club-like toeless feet. It could fall dead, or it could throw itself upon Marcus and his men with a dying burst of hate and anger. They drew their swords and backed up, waiting for what the creature would do.


King Arthur

"My Lord Glorfindel, wait for a mere moment!" Arthur called to the Elf-lord as he saw him reining his horse around to leave Weathertop. The ancient king hurried over to the bright white horse of the Elf, and bowed his head to Glorfindel. Arthur was a proud man, but the faeries of Avalon had put him to sleep with nothing but Excalibur, his mail, and a cloak. He would need more than that if he would make the journey to Rivendell to see this Lord Elrond.

"I know it is not becoming for a king to beg like a base peasant, but I must beg thee for thy Christian charity, for I am without food or drink, or knowledge of the way to Rivendell. If thou could provide me with such things, thou would have my eternal gratitude" Arthur explained, looking at the horizon all around Weathertop. It seemed like an endless expanse of gray wilderness, every view identical to the last. Arthur imagined it would be easy to get lost in such a wilderness.

[waterpenguin43]

Weathertop
"Mithrandir's imprisonment was unknown to me, but I doubt any could long hold him against his will." He replies, making his feelings clear, then turns Asthaloth and begins to ride down.

Glinda watches him depart with a blank expression.
"Hm... that was... fascinating, she says, not quite sure what to make of the situation. She turns to look at Arthur when he runs toawrds Glorfindel. "If there's anything you need, I can provide it for you."

[bvdk99]

Glinda watches him depart with a blank expression.
"Hm... that was... fascinating, she says, not quite sure what to make of the situation. She turns to look at Arthur when he runs toawrds Glorfindel. "If there's anything you need, I can provide it for you."

Fairy Godmother
Well, not anything, my dear, she says, giggling in her Julia Child-esque way. Now, what shall we do with this Gandalf problem? Or, shall we go on a little adventure to Isengard?

Morgan le Fay
Yes, yes, it's all very efficient, but I believe we have other matters to discuss. Have you knowledge of where Gandalf has gone with Gwehyr? Morgan inquires, looking at the Orcs with mild disgust.

[waterpenguin43]

Fairy Godmother
Well, not anything, my dear, she says, giggling in her Julia Child-esque way. Now, what shall we do with this Gandalf problem? Or, shall we go on a little adventure to Isengard?

"Well, if we are to try and rescue Gandalf, we'll need some reinforcements first. We should find those "hobbit" fellows and try to join them. After all, this ring is the priority," Glinda respnds pluckily, a sweet smile on her face.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha Sane

Samantha finishes feeding her horse the apple and extinguishes the flame on her finger, begginning to ride down after the elf to go help him on his quest.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean moves down the road at a leisurely pace. Nothing to hurry him; he had no actual need for food or drink; he'd calmed down, and for now, felt no need to enjoy his usual pleasures; not every pleasure he indulged in was one of the flesh after all. It was a beautiful day, and the land was interesting to look at. So different from cobblestone streets with money houses and places of business shoulder to should so that none could breath. How far east could his destination be? If he sees a person however, he plans on stopping them; both for a little information, and a whole lot of pleasure. With that resolution firm in his mind, he starts whistling a carefree tune, letting it ring down the road and alert any travelers to his presence. He looks like a calm, carefree traveler, if not for the many cuts in his clothes. He needed to fix those, actually. It wasn't right for one of his importance to be moving in damaged clothing. Curse that vampire, and the Nazgul to while he was at it.

[bvdk99]

"Well, if we are to try and rescue Gandalf, we'll need some reinforcements first. We should find those "hobbit" fellows and try to join them. After all, this ring is the priority," Glinda respnds pluckily, a sweet smile on her face.

Fairy Godmother

(It doesn't seem like your paying much attention:)

I told you already, my dear, Gandalf has escaped from his prison atop Orthanc.

[darkblade]

Aang

Aang smiles. "Thank you for everything, if there is anything I can do to repay you before I go out in search of allies, please let me know."

***

Rapheal

Best to stay as far as possible from this Holy magic, their powers seem greater than that Asian man with the staff and that pesky Greek Swordswoman who refused to die despite their constant encounters. So he stays on the tree line as much in the shadows as possible and relies on his enhanced senses to eavesdrop on the do gooder's conversation.

[waterpenguin43]

Fairy Godmother

(It doesn't seem like your paying much attention:)

I told you already, my dear, Gandalf has escaped from his prison atop Orthanc.

((It might, but I imagined Glinda as an airy and inattentive figure.))

"Oh right! Well, where do you think he's headed?"

[bvdk99]

((It might, but I imagined Glinda as an airy and inattentive figure.))

"Oh right! Well, where do you think he's headed?"

I don't know! You don't have a way to tell, do you?? she asks.

[Cracklord]

Raphael
Gandalf. They said Gandalf.
You have been in this world long enough to pick up the names of locations and a few of the rulers, and to find out a few things. One thing that keeps on coming up is that name. Gandalf, the gray wanderer. A sage, wizard and learned man, who seems to have a hand in everything. Even if the stories are exaggerated, if only half what they say were true it's enough.
And more to the point, the hobbits who had the ring mentioned him. They said they intended to meet him at the inn.
It occurs to you that the ranger has vanished to god alone knows where. And despite your efforts over the last few days you've come no closer to locating them.
But Gandalf would know. If he left Orthanc, as these people say, he would be somewhere to the South, in the mountains. It would be easy to miss him. And yet, do you have a better chance blundering about the pathless hills and woods?

Glinda
It is this moment the moth returns, fluttering uncertainly. It is tired, having been sent further then it's tiny mind had even conceived could exist to meet Rhadaghast, then to you, then back to Rhadaghast, then back to you once more.
Slowly, it begins to explain to you that Gwahir was caught in a storm, and Gandalf along with it. They were blown miles of course, and have not been seen since by the many agents the brown wizard has paroling the skies, but none of them have seen either. And black smoke can be seen over Isengard.

Arthur, and Sane
Glorfindel considers a moment, then inclines his head and dismounts with good grace. Stepping forward he hands the bridle to you. "Asthaloth knows the way. His pace is fleet and sure, even the black steeds of the enemy cannot match him. And he knows the way home as well as I do."
He says, then considers Samantha. "It seems we do not ride together after all, lady." He says, by way of apology. "But I suspect we will draw swords together before the end. Nora lim, Asthaloth."
Before you have a chance to complain, or argue, or even thank him the horse breaks into a canter, then a trot, then a sprint, leaping across the ground without so much as a misstep.

Morgan Le Fay
Saruman is composed once more before you finish speaking. "Your storm blew him of course, but it is too much to hope for that the meddler is dead, though crushed by uncaring nature is just the fate he deserves. No, he has vanished onto the mountains, to where we cannot be sure."
He strokes his chin. "But I suspect some misfortune will befall the fool. After-all, the mountains and old roads are infested with orcs and goblins, and he is alone, starved, weary and his staff remains in my keeping until he can call it once more." He gestures imperiously to one if the goblins. "Have them fitted and armed. They have a hunt to begin."

Aang
"When you get to the borders of Mirkwood, release the horse to find it's way home." He replies. "But until then, stay as long as you like. You're too thin, for one thing." With that he claps his hands, and the dogs return to begin to clear the table.
You make your way through his manor, that seems like a log cabin scaled up, to a pleasant, earthen room, with a tub of warmish water, a cheery fire burning on the hearth, a wolf pelt rug on the ground to keep the heat, and a warm bed, if not a comfortable one.
But your sleep is not pleasent. You hear movement outside, and awake to catch a glimpse of what seems to be a group of enormous bears dancing outside through your window around a roaring blaze of a bonfire.

Romans
The huge beast stumbles, in serious pain. It's breathing is ragged, you suspect you've pierced one of it's lungs, but that alone is not enough to stop it. Some trolls can take an arrow through the eye and still charge over to kill and eat it's attackers before it's brain recognizes it's dead.
This one is unfortunately no exception.
A huge fist descends towards Gnaeus, who, unable to get out of the way, raises his shield in an attempt to ward away the blow, and that probably saves his life. The shield is broken to splinters, and his arm snapping is audible from the other end of the line. His arm flops obscenely, smashed in several places and completely out of shape, and he is set flying away by the monstrous force, to crash into the ground several meters back, mercifully unconscious.
Another arm descend at Lucius Pullonius, who manages to back out of the way, but nearly looses his balance nonetheless.
But the counter attack is swift and brutal. Your gladius's sing through the air, Lucius almost severing one of the things two fingers and making it pull it's hand back, and Aurelianus darting behind it and hamstringing it with a pair of two-handed hacks with his blade.
The thing stumbles and falls, groaning weakly, and at last it's over. Just to be sure, a few of the legionaries drive their blades into it's body. To be safe, if anything.

[waterpenguin43]

Glinda
It is this moment the moth returns, fluttering uncertainly. It is tired, having been sent further then it's tiny mind had even conceived could exist to meet Rhadaghast, then to you, then back to Rhadaghast, then back to you once more.
Slowly, it begins to explain to you that Gwahir was caught in a storm, and Gandalf along with it. They were blown miles of course, and have not been seen since by the many agents the brown wizard has paroling the skies, but none of them have seen either. And black smoke can be seen over Isengard.


"Oh dear... this does not bode well." Glinda says worriedly, her beautiful face forming a concerned expression. "Well, at any rate, you need rest, you poor thing." Glinda says. She conjures a small pink bubble around the moth for it to sleep in.

[bvdk99]

"Oh dear... this does not bode well." Glinda says worriedly, her beautiful face forming a concerned expression. "Well, at any rate, you need rest, you poor thing." Glinda says. She conjures a small pink bubble around the moth for it to sleep in.

@Cracklord/WP: It was the Fairy Godmother that sent it to Radagast. :smallannoyed:

Oh, you poor littel creature! she says affectionately.

Morgan le Fay
(Was Saruman talking to her when he said "have them fitted and armed?")

May I lead the hunt? My horse, Morgause, is one of the fastest in the land, if I'm correct, and I have wielded a sword in the past.

[Mina Kobold]

Leifr

Leifr wonders what made the bushes rustle but decidees not to question it and press forward

"By Odin!"

[Creed]

Riku

Riku sat comfortably across the Fellbeast. His Shadows happily played across the wyrm's back, in the mock play in which their corrupted hearts often engaged. Riku smiled at the thought of Mirkwood, along with so many hearts to bring under his shadowy power. And no Ansem to keep him in check. No Ansem to tell him what to do. And no clown-shoed interlopers spoiling his plans.
Yes, Riku liked this world very much.

[Cracklord]

@Cracklord/WP: It was the Fairy Godmother that sent it to Radagast. :smallannoyed:


((Very sorry. Honest mistake. And I had a big day, so I was tired.))

Riku
The forest stretches bellow you, a sea of green, and at last you see a tower built of black stone and ringed by blight. Things crawl around it, Spiders the size of houses to wraith like, ethereal shapes with no set form.
Wolves slink between the boles of dead trees, and the tower, despite being massive, seems unoccupied.

Wesley
Minus Tirith was more of a fortress then a city, though massive in size and home to tens of thousands of men. It was the greatest citadel that remained to resist the shadow, 'the tower of the guard'.Seven immense walls encircled the city, bolstered by twenty towers, each a small castle in it's own right. Black and silver banners flapped in the autumn wind from a hundred poles and the glint of weapons could be seen as hundreds of guards made their patrols along the battlements.
There was but one gate, enormous and sturdy, guarded with towers, protected by war machines wrought from blackened iron. Walls extended like buttresses around the gates, creating a killing field which bolts and arrows could be cast upon an attacker.
All in all, a scene to inspire confidence.
From here, you have not really planned as is your wont. You have the letter of introduction penned by Imrahil if you need it, but you are not sure exactly what path you wish to follow from here.

Lord Strahd
A knock rouses you from your slumber in the keep of Fornost. The ruined city around you is a relic of it's former time, as is all of Arnor since the Lord of the Nazghul wrought his ruin upon the land.
But what is left, you rule. For the most part your subjects, such as they are, cower at the thought of you and avoid you as best they can, unless they need your protection. A few of them serve you, hoping for power or immortality. So far none have lasted long, but that doesn't seem to bother them.
The knock continues, rattling the door, and while it is not a hard beating it is unrelenting, in a manner that suggests it will continue until the door is splinters beneath its fist.

Morgan Le Fay
"Of course." Saruman replies. "I would not entrust this to an orc. I need to send someone of substance. Someone I know I can depend on." His words make you feel important, an equal to this great man. You know he's working magic on you, but it doesn't bother.
It is his nature, after all.

[darkblade]

Aang

Aang sneaks out under the cover of darkness, he watches the bears to see if they have any malevolent intentions.

***

Rapheal

By the time he makes his way to Gandalf surely the Wizard would be long gone and even if Rapheal were to catch him it would be of no use. The Wizard was leagues more powerful than him. No if these warriors, fairies and good witches are allied with Gandalf and by extension the Ranger and Hobbits spying on them a bit longer would yeild the greatest results.

[Creed]

Riku

Riku laughs at his fortune as he flys to the tower. This will make a beautiful stronghold for the evil he intends to throw throughout this wood, or provide a valuable ally of evil.

[Cracklord]

Aang
They don't see you, growling and snuffing at each other in the smoky air. You think they might be communicating.

Leaf
It's the final sraw, the orcs withdraw back, soon turning into a rout.

Dorean
You come to a deserted supply wagon. Food and uniforms like the soldiers from before were wearing. An enormous beast is slumped nearby, it's hide carved up by blades.

[doliest]

Dorean
Dorean's eyes open up and his mind starts running. He moves over to the beast and lifts it's head up to see if it's still alive.

[bvdk99]

Yes, yes, thank you, my ally. An excellent choice, indeed. So, when shall I depart? And how many orcs shall I take with me? Morgan inquires.

[Gimliggamer]

Samantha sets off on her horse after the old looking man with the beard(Arthur), seeing as she might as well go with him to find some answers as well.

[darkblade]

Aang

Aang relaxes slightly. While unusual the bears don't seem to mean anyone any harm. Therefore he has no reason to bother them. Unfortunately for him his sigh of relief is incredibly loud and bears have very good sense of hearing.

[Cracklord]

Samantha
After he gets adjusted, the ancient king (Arthur, he calls himself) proves to be a fine rider and conversationalist. The time wiles away, and you find yourself back on the road and setting a fine pace towards Rivendel by nightfall.
But as dusk falls, a figure appears on the road. clothed all in black, riding an immense black horse, who seems to make the world feel colder as he closes.
He hisses at you.

Morgan Le Fay
The orc, who is still thrashing about, is suddenly transfixed by Saruman's glare. The white wizard strides up towards it, his eyes remaining locked upon it. He extends his staff to under it's chin, and still the orc doesn't so much as twitch.
"Whom do you serve?"
"Saruman." It forces out in response.
He smiles. "Arm him. And give him two score more. Make them ready to depart tonight. They will be yours to command, milady."

Riku
The steed alights on the top of the tower, and five shadowy figures surround you. They remind you of the Nazgul, bar their aura of darkness is not so complete, and their armor and intricate helmets is outside their robes.
They all bow to you, and then the castelans of Dol Gulgar lead you within the keep.
The only description Tolkien gave was 'a place of shadow, fire and ice.' Machines whir, captives scream, and you find yourself shivering with anticipation. A goblin, old and whizzened so much he's almost bent, bows even lower for you, and asks "What does the eye command, master?"

Aang
The largest, an enormous, black bear, turns at the sound, and lumbers in your direction. A bear is a big animal. To a twelve year old it scrapes the sky, and this bear was bigger then any you'd ever hear about. It's paws were bigger than your entire torso.
It grunts as it moves closer, but you can't tell if it's aggressive or not.

Fairy godmother and Glinda
The moth flutters away. It doesn't know anything else of note, save that he is somewhere in the misty mountains, and heading this way. It can't tell you where.
The hill seems a lot more empty with just the two of you.

Eternal Drifter
You stagger and fall, as you feel the world around you change. Your somewhere in the mountains, although where you can't tell. Mist traces strange patterns in the air, and they are bear of any moss or scrub you'd expect to grow.
Just bare granite and volcanic rock.
It's freezing, and while you are below the snowline you still can't stop shivering. And in the sky, the clouds are heavy with a storm coming in from the East...

[Creed]

Riku

"The Eye commands that Mirkwood be subjugated beneath his power. This land has remained out of his hands for far too long."

[Gimliggamer]

[Samantha Sane]

Samantha lights a small fire on her index finger, pointing it threateningly at the rider. "You shouldn't hiss at people. It'll get you cooked." She says, the small flame flaring. "Now if you would move aside.."

[Eternal Drifter]

Eternal Drifter

Drifting eternally... now I have drifted to realms unknown, once again... Eternal Drifter thinks. The main thing will be to find some people, where I can get some bearings... and food and shelter...

A storm gathers... I must find cover quickly...

Drifter heads west, looking for any sign of any people, and food and shelter that comes along with it.