i decided to write up the story of blackfyre after the server closed. I never really finished it, but I might if you guys want me to 
Some bits have been exaggerated for dramatic effect. For the times I wasn't online I have mostly missed out, and I may not have every detail correct.
I couldn't remember all the RP names, so if you know them, tell me and I will pop it in the next chapter.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1- A Lord without A Hall
The sun rose above the glittering elven city of Brist. Rays of light, like glittering arrows struck the polished marble bricks of the city’s outer walls. The tired night watch trudged down from the walls to rest, and let the city guards take over sentry duty. The early morning market goers bustled to and fro amongst the cramped stalls. Already you could hear the cries of the stall owners, and the hooting and clucking of farm animals. Above all of this, in the peaceful gardens, the silence was broken only by the trickle of a fountain, and the footsteps of a man, striding through the grasses and flowers of the great garden. The man strides over the ornate shrubbery and settles down onto a marble bench, opposite a ragged wayfarer, who has stopped to rest. The wayfarer wears a torn red tunic, with a chain link vest clearly visible underneath. On the tunic is the faded image of a sigil. The sigil shows a dragon curled in a circle, attempting to eat its own tail. His hair is a matted, greasy brown, and his eyes have a strange hint of purple to them. He is clearly human, unlike the elf that has just positioned himself to his right.
The elf is taller than the wayfarer, with long, immaculate, flowing brown hair. He wears a red tunic, without the dragon sigil. “My lord?” He cautiously asks the wayfarer. “Are you sure any have come to answer your call?” The wayfarer stands, and gases down into the city below him. “They will come.” He says with almost royal authority. He strolls over to the gardens walls, to stare at the market, searching for those likely to join him. Suddenly, two elves appear at the gardens entrance. Both are clad in green rangers gear, and have bows and quivers strapped to their backs. “My lord?” Asks the first. “Friends!” The wayfarer approaches the elves, arms wide in a gesture of fellowship. “Welcome friends, my name is Aegon Blackfyre, and you are the first to arrive.” “I’m Elerith, and my friend is Finwe.” Elerith and Finwe bow in unison, the tips of their cloaks stroking the ground. “Brothers, you need not bow so soon, for I am not yet a lord.” “You are Aegon Blackfyre, a legend of the demon wars, and we bow to the warrior we fought along side, not to our king.” Aegon nods in appreciation, before realisations dawns across his face. “Ah yes, you were one of the rangers my legion fought alongside in the north, you fight well, I am happy to have you with us. Unfortunately, I do not know your friend.” “Finwe was a traveling elf I met whilst on the road. I have not seen archery skills the like to his all of my days.” “Welcome Finwe, yours skills will be greatly useful in the days to come.”
The two elves stroll off into the garden, whilst the elf garbed in red returns. “My lord, it has been 2 hours, surely none more will come.” “You show little faith Tywin. A bad friend is he who departs as soon as the road darkens.” “Wise words my lord, however I am not without mortal needs. If you seek me, I shall be in the market, enjoying my breakfast.” “Very well, when you return, you shall see I have an army to rival Ithilien.” “I hope with you my Lord. I will return soon.” As Tywin descends the stairs into the market, he brushes past a small group of 4. The group is a mix of elves and men, all dressed in different garments. The leader steps forward. “My Lord Aegon, we are here to serve you.” “And you are welcome to brothers! Though I must ask your names.” “I am Robas Hawkwind, this is Lord Vale Ryswell, Plerp and Lord Timothy Greenwood.” “I welcome you all, we need strong workers and smiths such as you if we are to become a great kingdom!”
Over the next hours, a large force gathers, all ready to serve under the banner of Blackfyre. Tywin returns, marvelling in disbelief at the small army Aegon has managed to assemble. “My lord!” “Yes Tywin?” “Is everyone here? For the day grows ever shorter, and we must march.” “Quite right, though I feel like someone is missing.” Aegon whistles to attract the attention of the crowd, and then bellows: “Form up! You are men of Blackfyre now, so act like it!” The crowds nimbly dart into a line, all standing to attention. “You are all fine warriors and workers, but you must earn your place in the kingdom we are building!” Suddenly, his speech is interrupted by a gasp from the Gardens entrance. A figure stands there, dripping blood, barely able to stand. “Good Gods, Yannar!” Aegon runs to the man, who collapses at his feet. “Help him!” he creams, and Necros and Elerith rush to help Yannar up. “My lord.” He mutters feebly. “You are badly wounded my old friend, we must get you medicine. Who here has skill at herbs?” “I do!” replies Finwe. “Prepare and infusion to help Yannar. He must be ready to march by sunset.” “It will be done my lord.”
As Finwe rushes off to prepare the cure, Aegon stoops to talk to Yannar. “What happened old friend?” “I was ambushed by orks on the path through the mountains, I was badly wounded but I managed to escape with my life.” “Finwe will soon have herbs to sooth your pain. You should be ready to march with us by nightfall.” “I am ready to leave now my lord, but I will take the elf’s medicine.” Soon, Finwe returned with the infusion, and by sunset, the entire host of Blackfyre was assembled in the city Gardens. The sun setting behind the mighty force created a beautiful sight, and as it shone onto Aegon’s face, he dreamt of hope, and his kingdom restored. “Men of Blackfyre! I am a lord, without a hall!”
Some bits have been exaggerated for dramatic effect. For the times I wasn't online I have mostly missed out, and I may not have every detail correct.
I couldn't remember all the RP names, so if you know them, tell me and I will pop it in the next chapter.
Enjoy!
Chapter 1- A Lord without A Hall
The sun rose above the glittering elven city of Brist. Rays of light, like glittering arrows struck the polished marble bricks of the city’s outer walls. The tired night watch trudged down from the walls to rest, and let the city guards take over sentry duty. The early morning market goers bustled to and fro amongst the cramped stalls. Already you could hear the cries of the stall owners, and the hooting and clucking of farm animals. Above all of this, in the peaceful gardens, the silence was broken only by the trickle of a fountain, and the footsteps of a man, striding through the grasses and flowers of the great garden. The man strides over the ornate shrubbery and settles down onto a marble bench, opposite a ragged wayfarer, who has stopped to rest. The wayfarer wears a torn red tunic, with a chain link vest clearly visible underneath. On the tunic is the faded image of a sigil. The sigil shows a dragon curled in a circle, attempting to eat its own tail. His hair is a matted, greasy brown, and his eyes have a strange hint of purple to them. He is clearly human, unlike the elf that has just positioned himself to his right.
The elf is taller than the wayfarer, with long, immaculate, flowing brown hair. He wears a red tunic, without the dragon sigil. “My lord?” He cautiously asks the wayfarer. “Are you sure any have come to answer your call?” The wayfarer stands, and gases down into the city below him. “They will come.” He says with almost royal authority. He strolls over to the gardens walls, to stare at the market, searching for those likely to join him. Suddenly, two elves appear at the gardens entrance. Both are clad in green rangers gear, and have bows and quivers strapped to their backs. “My lord?” Asks the first. “Friends!” The wayfarer approaches the elves, arms wide in a gesture of fellowship. “Welcome friends, my name is Aegon Blackfyre, and you are the first to arrive.” “I’m Elerith, and my friend is Finwe.” Elerith and Finwe bow in unison, the tips of their cloaks stroking the ground. “Brothers, you need not bow so soon, for I am not yet a lord.” “You are Aegon Blackfyre, a legend of the demon wars, and we bow to the warrior we fought along side, not to our king.” Aegon nods in appreciation, before realisations dawns across his face. “Ah yes, you were one of the rangers my legion fought alongside in the north, you fight well, I am happy to have you with us. Unfortunately, I do not know your friend.” “Finwe was a traveling elf I met whilst on the road. I have not seen archery skills the like to his all of my days.” “Welcome Finwe, yours skills will be greatly useful in the days to come.”
The two elves stroll off into the garden, whilst the elf garbed in red returns. “My lord, it has been 2 hours, surely none more will come.” “You show little faith Tywin. A bad friend is he who departs as soon as the road darkens.” “Wise words my lord, however I am not without mortal needs. If you seek me, I shall be in the market, enjoying my breakfast.” “Very well, when you return, you shall see I have an army to rival Ithilien.” “I hope with you my Lord. I will return soon.” As Tywin descends the stairs into the market, he brushes past a small group of 4. The group is a mix of elves and men, all dressed in different garments. The leader steps forward. “My Lord Aegon, we are here to serve you.” “And you are welcome to brothers! Though I must ask your names.” “I am Robas Hawkwind, this is Lord Vale Ryswell, Plerp and Lord Timothy Greenwood.” “I welcome you all, we need strong workers and smiths such as you if we are to become a great kingdom!”
Over the next hours, a large force gathers, all ready to serve under the banner of Blackfyre. Tywin returns, marvelling in disbelief at the small army Aegon has managed to assemble. “My lord!” “Yes Tywin?” “Is everyone here? For the day grows ever shorter, and we must march.” “Quite right, though I feel like someone is missing.” Aegon whistles to attract the attention of the crowd, and then bellows: “Form up! You are men of Blackfyre now, so act like it!” The crowds nimbly dart into a line, all standing to attention. “You are all fine warriors and workers, but you must earn your place in the kingdom we are building!” Suddenly, his speech is interrupted by a gasp from the Gardens entrance. A figure stands there, dripping blood, barely able to stand. “Good Gods, Yannar!” Aegon runs to the man, who collapses at his feet. “Help him!” he creams, and Necros and Elerith rush to help Yannar up. “My lord.” He mutters feebly. “You are badly wounded my old friend, we must get you medicine. Who here has skill at herbs?” “I do!” replies Finwe. “Prepare and infusion to help Yannar. He must be ready to march by sunset.” “It will be done my lord.”
As Finwe rushes off to prepare the cure, Aegon stoops to talk to Yannar. “What happened old friend?” “I was ambushed by orks on the path through the mountains, I was badly wounded but I managed to escape with my life.” “Finwe will soon have herbs to sooth your pain. You should be ready to march with us by nightfall.” “I am ready to leave now my lord, but I will take the elf’s medicine.” Soon, Finwe returned with the infusion, and by sunset, the entire host of Blackfyre was assembled in the city Gardens. The sun setting behind the mighty force created a beautiful sight, and as it shone onto Aegon’s face, he dreamt of hope, and his kingdom restored. “Men of Blackfyre! I am a lord, without a hall!”
