The Crimson Banquet

[Zezimus 1523]

 

A thick blizzard whistled from the north as hundreds of men trudged through the thick snows of Hanseti. Fires crackled and a dim light shone from within the halls of the Dreadfort as songs were sung and the feast had begun. In honour of the new Lord's assumption of leadership over House Blackmont, nobles had been called from all across the lands to partake in the celebrations. Lord Tiberius Blackmont II stood at the forefront of the table, adorned in a newly forged set of plated armour, his father's most trusted bannerman standing guard at either side of him.

 

The tables within the Dreadfort's feasting hall were covered in an assortment of foods, wines and ales from across the lands while the banners of House Blackmont draped proudly from the walls. Men of all sorts who named themselves loyal to House Blackmont took their seats, digging into whatever food they could lay their hands on. The conceited Lord Tiberius now sat at the head of the table, his hands clasped out in front of him as he looked down upon his underlings.

 

 

As the celebrations continued, a Blackmont bannerman named Xander rose from his chair, a mug of ale gripped between his fingers. "I propose a toast... A toast to our new Lord! May he forever reign over us..." With those words, Tiberius took a chalice of red wine and lifted it to his lips. "To my own good health!" he exclaimed before taking a short sip. For a moment, he simply stood silently, a cold rush of pain passing through his body. Gripping ahold of his chest, he lurched forward off of his chair, a trail of blood dripping from the tip of his tongue. Men stood without a word as their Lord's chalk white face lay flat upon the table.

 

As whispers and murmurs begun to fill the room, the men of Blackmont looked around, eyes glowing with a sense of both doubt and anguish. No one truly knew who had plotted their Lord's demise, though no eyes looked to the young Lucius Blackmont as he sat, shrouded in darkness at the back of the hall, a slight smirk forming across his face. Some shouted "It was the Hansetians," others quickly pointed the finger at men within the very room in which they stood. It was not long before blades were drawn and men stepped back to the walls, glaring silently at those around them. Within moments, one of the bannerman had thrusted his blade through the centre of another's chest, blood spurting from the wounds. The silence was immediately broken and with a sudden momentum, the hall erupted into cries of battle as blades clashed and blood was shed. The fowl stench of death reeked from all around them.

 

 

A blood red moon shone through the clouds as from within the Dreadfort, the cries of battle could be heard echoing into the night. As hours passed, corpses lay throughout the narrow hallways and a foreboding silence passed throughout the fort... Only the strongest had survived. Lucius Blackmont steadily crept from his hiding place, beneath the table, shoving his way through the corpses of the dead. A thick smoke now lingered as within the lower chambers, a fire had begun to spread. Lucius crawled along the floor, stopping only for a moment as he let out a loud choaking sound as the smoke passed into his lungs. When he eventually reached the outside, his garments were covered in black soot. He turned his head around, only to gaze upon the Dreadfort set aflame, bricks toppling as the supports had begun to give way. A sense of delight filled the young boy's face as he lifted himself to his feet, slowly pacing away from the destruction.

 

Not far away, the Captain of House Blackmont, Drelik Letholdus stood admist the ruins of the Dreadfort, his hand clenched in rage as fires continued to burn through his old home. The surviving Bannermen stood around him, a grim look upon their faces. Though House Blackmont was beaten from the deaths of both Augustus and now Tiberius, they would rebuild and rise from the ashes once more, more powerful than ever. Augustus's youngest son, the last Blackmont and heir to the Lordship still remained, his face stained with ash and blood. Power was all Lucius desired and he would seize it, regardless of who or what stood in his way.

[Gorum© 623]

Gorum looks to his left and sniffs the air.

 

" Something foul is here. "

[ĔṀĔŔĨĨČĶ 519]

Kaelys Shivers on one of his morning walks. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as he looks north to the direction of the Dreadfort and sees the smoke rising over the horizon.

 

For some reason he didn't get the feeling of happiness or joy he thought he would get from seeing the Dreadfort aflame.

 

Normally he would make a snide remark or a sarcastic comment, but not this time. He continued on his walk, not able to shake the feeling something foul lays ahead.

[Drelik 865]

*A cool breeze rolls through Malinor*

[Urahra 5777]

And it remains a universal constant that nothing good ever happens to Lorin.

 

Ever.

[mmat 7460]

Drake stands over the smoldering ruins of the Dreadfort just outside of Castle Greywynn, taking in a deep breath of air, before speaking to himself, grinning. "My only regret is that I didn't do it myself."

[Aislin 4354]

Screaming. The screaming of men as they paint their home with the flesh and blood of their very own brothers. Swords clashed against one another, the ringing traveling down the halls only as fast as the screams that succeeded them. Gronkk stood amongst these men, bone in hand, confused on who to slay. Men all looked the same to him, and armored men even more so. An arrow pierces the shoulder of the man next to him, Shorty is what he believes the man's name to be. He turns to Shorty, ripping the arrow out of his shoulder and freeing him from the chair which he was pinned to. A nod follows, the familiar nod between allies in combat, and within a brief moment both Shorty and Gronkk have found themselves with their own foes to deal with. Fight hard, brother, Gronkk thinks to himself (in a dumber fashion) as he crushes the puny skull of the unfamiliar elf in front of his hulking build. As warm blood spatters his manboobs, Gronkk scans the perimeter for any points of interest. His gaze's attention is demanded by the blood-curling howl of a childless mother, causing Gronkk to immediately rush over to the short, pretty woman holding his late Lord's corpse. The Great Hall has begun to collapse around them, and despite Gronkk's pleas the woman will not budge. The battle-hardened Orc turns away from the mother and son out of instinct, grabbing the hostile Dwarf by the neck and crushing it with ease. Time has run out, Gronkk realizes, so he slings Lord Blackmont over his shoulders and grabs the woman by the arm, forcing her to follow.

 

Familiar faces follow these two, including Shorty. The customary nod is exchanged between Shorty and Gronkk as they press on through the halls, felling the enemies of Lady Lorin Blackmont and her fallen son. As they begin descending the steps, a dozen foes turn the corner and cease their route up the steps when they are met by the widest Orc they'd ever lay their eyes upon. Without hesitation, Gronkk lowers his thick, armored shoulder and does not break pace, barreling through these faceless, nameless, heartless foes. He beckons for his allies to follow without turning his head back, having confidence that they follow him.

 

Upon reaching the main gate of Dreadfort, Gronkk stops and turns to Lorin. It appears that senior Blackmont members have joined her side. Gronkk meets the gaze of the most senior man and shouts to him, telling him to get the pretty lady out. He hands Lord Blackmont off to the largest man, and briefly meets the gaze of Lorin as she is ushered out of the collapsing fort by her escort.

 

Bone in hand, Gronkk turns his back to his only means of escape. He had just witnessed his Liege Lord being murdered in cold blood, poisoned by a coward. "No," Gronkk whispered to himself as he lowered his dented visor over his face, "No one will leave the Dreadfort tonight."

[WuHanXianShi14 0]

Art had not seen another soul for nearly a month, wandering forests of what had once belonged to Malin. Chance behold he had stumbled across the forests nearing Hanseti, and by extension the Dreadfort.

He blinked at the sight of smoke. The sight was odd to him, having not seen such a thing since putting himself in his own solitary isolation. And yet, he managed a smile. He walked further back into the woods, wouldn't want to be discovered after all. But he seemed to be in a much lighter mood.

[3andD 1722]

Rhom Grayhammer flexes his muscles very strong.

[SirSnowMan 318]

*Scav DIDN'T accidentally kill two of his friends.* 

[Thatpyrodude 2008]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.