Duel in the Dungeon

[Moonitic]

Ed. Note: Ok, since there's something brewing, it's time to gather at least PART of the story together. If you haven't been informed that your assistance has been requested in the dungeon, sit back & enjoy the ride...or write from your own point of view outside this sensitive arena. Hee hee...I love secrets!
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The princess and the dark prince stood some distance apart, yet they could feel the barely checked anger within each other. Lady Moon, now calling herself Princess Buffy, had fallen under a botched love spell that turned her evil. Deliciously evil. She had come to rescue Zarcon, brother to King Arcon. Together, they would plot to take over Arconia once and for all.

And now, on with the show...

[Iwant2bafencer]

Did I miss something here? Last I checked the king was still on his was down thee after mysteriously going uncontious in the hall way. Angel, Serana, Me, and I thought Nækos were trying to find the royal couple with no success. Then I thought the dark prince (I can only assume you mean James.) Was well silent at the ball last I saw.
When did a duel start? When were other people called to the dungeon?
Where is the stuff that says all this?
Or, am I just going insane and going the wrong dirrection with everything?
When can I stop asking questions?
Thats about it.

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Carpe Diem

[lochinvar]

[Yet more Ed. notes]

Rosaline:

No, you haven't missed anything--at least, I don't think so.

Arcon is headed for the dungeon. Lochinvar is headed for the dungeon (read the last post in "Let the Ball Begin").

I believe, if I'm not mistaken, that Angelo is headed for the dungeons, also. (A few posts earlier, or maybe in "Moon Troubles and Meekal Mistakes".) But I'm not certain of this. Maybe it's Naekos I'm thinking of. Anyway...

Lady Moon (or Buffy, if you will) is already in the dungeon, as is Zarcon, and Meekal. And, I think Tellurine. But of that I'm not certain.

In other words, there's a big brouhaha brewing in the benighted regions of the dungeon.(Ah, I tickled myself with that one!)

I imagine that, as soon as the fireworks start, all the rest of you will make beelines for the dungeons, too. I know I would, in your shoes.

(Except for Jo. I can't speak for her, as she is concussed and bedridden at the moment.

And, nobody is quite sure where the queen is--least of all Zelda! But I'm quite certain she will be along, presently.)

In any case, what Moon is asking is that, when you get to the dungeon, please don't interact with Zarcon, Moon, Arcon, Lochinvar, or Naekos (I think). She has something specific in mind for us. Not quite sure what, but I expect she'll let us know when we arrive.

[ 09-12-2001: Message edited by: lochinvar ]


[ 09-13-2001: Message edited by: lochinvar ]

[Zelda]

The Queen after getting throughly lost in the back passages of the castle while trying to avoid the intruders finally emerged in a hallway near the kitchens. There seemed to be a commotion coming from underneath her feet.

"OF COURSE!" she cried outaloud. "The dungeons!!!" Making sure that her sword was still in her belt the Queen ran towards the nearest set of steps. The dank smell of water and rotting hay rose up to her meet her.

"I though we fixed the drainage down here" the queen muttered to herself as she carefully picked her way down the moss covered stairs. Water was ozing out of the rough hewn rock which formed the walls enclosing the staircase. The reasons for this were many. But primarly thus....
when the castle at Arconia was built, there was no dungeon. It was a recent additon, only a 100 years old or so. It was the old quarry which provided the rock which built the castle. for teh Castle was built of the finest bluestone, quarried from under the earth by willing hands.

As the Queen walked into the bowels of the earth she heard voices. She couldnt make the words out, but one distinctly sounded like Lady Moon.

Suddenly the Queen heard voices behind her. They sounded like Arcon and a company of Guards, but she wasnt sure. So she slipped into a niche which was carved into the rock and waited.

[Moonitic]

ok, let me clarify why I did this: Right now, there are two separated threads going on. THIS thread is to join the action that WILL take place in the dungeon (where Moon & Zarcon are now, as well as where more will be). Yes, some of it is being orchestrated as opposed to ad lib, but I think people will enjoy it. It's to make it a lot easier to read, instead of jumping from thread to thread to keep up with the story.

[Willow]

Willow was nervous. Something was going to happen. She could feel it in her bones. The hair on the back of her neck had stood up. She desperately wished Nicholas would return to the castle. He had gone to his Kingdom, intent on bringing more soldiers back to help defend Arconia. Moon was nearby. She could sense it. Something was going to happen, something that would start in the deepest recesses of the castle. Sighing, Willow picked up the weapon Moon had used to kill the wolf. Slipping it into a wrist sheath, she began to slip down towards the dungeon.

[lochinvar]

By the time Lochinvar reached the palace entrance, the fighting had moved elsewhere. Two guards remained, nursing wounds.

One leaned against the wall, using his teeth to finish knotting a make-shift wrapping around his forearm. The other sat doubled over, his hand pressed to his side where an ugly red stain was spreading. Along the wall on the opposite side of the door, an unmoving form in a dark cloak lay sprawled.

The seated guard looked up, alarm quickly replaced by recognition. He was one of the guards who had been with Arcon during and immediately after the ball. "The king…" he managed to squeeze past clenched teeth.

Loch leaned over the man. "What about the king?"

"…down there…I saw him go past…," the man said, nodding toward the entryway.

The entry was formed by two parallel arches, separated by a space that formed a kind of foyer. A lamp hung from the center of the barrel-vaulting in this intermediate chamber. In one wall between the two main arches, a smaller doorway opened onto the top of a flight of stone steps that spiraled down into black. Shouts, cries, and the clash of weapons drifted faintly from the dark opening.

"Was he alone? Who was with him?" Loch asked.

"…Other guards…four, I think…"

Cursing under his breath, Loch grabbed a torch from a nearby store, thrust it into the lamp until it caught, and started down the stairs with a clatter.

"Wait…," the guard gasped, then coughed. "The queen…"

But Loch was already gone.

[ 09-13-2001: Message edited by: lochinvar ]

[lochinvar]

The steps were worn, slick with damp. He reached the bottom where rotting rushes crumbled underfoot, and started off through the narrow passageways toward the sound of fighting.

The workmanship was rough, here. In some places the walls appeared to have been simply scraped from the earth; in others, crudely dressed stones were indifferently fitted, inadequate mortar crumbling from the joints. Water wept from many places in walls and ceiling.

It was a bad place for a fight. The corridors were narrow, the footing uncertain, the light sketchy at best, and the walls didn't look very secure. Swords would be awkward here; with no room to swing, it would be mostly point work. And infighting. A long blade might be as much hindrance as help.

Transferring the torch to his left hand, he slid the dirk from its sheath.

The sounds were near. He rounded the corner, and ran straight into a scene of nightmare.

[lochinvar]

A dozen or so shapes were swarming, struggling, striking across a wide place in the passageway. Some few wore the livery of the King's Guard; the others were uniformly swathed in dark cloaks.

Outnumbered, the Guards nonetheless held their own; the space was too narrow for their opponents to outflank them. Lurid shadows leaped and fell from a number of torches set irregularly about; the shape of the battle was impossible to assess, alternately revealed, then shrouded by the bodies moving back and forth.

Of Arcon, there was no sign.

Jamming his own torch into a crack in the wall, Lochinvar launched himself into the melee.

[lochinvar]

Combat-TRUE combat-is an amalgam of terror, rage, chaos, and utter desperation.

It is ugly, brutal, savage, a gut-wrenching, mind-twisting, adrenaline-drenched descent into purified Hell. It resembles the practice yards no more than soap resembles cheese.

There is no elegance, no finesse, no honor, and no style. There are no rules-only a confused, mad, violent swirl of stabbing, chopping, gouging, grunting, pushing, cutting, kicking, punching, biting, hair pulling, and head-butting. And screaming.

The winner is whoever is alive, and standing, at the end. Victory goes often to those who are swift and skilled-but equally as often to those who are merely ruthless and vicious…and, most often of all, to those who are just plain lucky.

Loch partly deflected a sword blade that drove at him out of the darkness, felt it slide along his arm, pushing up the sleeve of his mail, parting the cloth and flesh underneath. He pushed inside the other's reach, drove in and up with the knife, trying for the throat. The man moved his head, but not enough-the blade entered along the jaw, sliced upward across the cheek, scraped teeth, and stopped against the cheekbone. Warm blood splashed across his hand. The man dropped the sword, reeled away.

He turned and slashed across the hamstring of a dark-cloak in a clinch with one of the guards. A scream answered. A face rose in front of him; he swung backhanded, felt flesh mash under the blow, the bones in his hand grinding painfully. The face receded.

Pain seared his calf. He staggered, stabbed blindly, down and back, felt the point strike. He drove his head into a dark shape in front of him, groping for a left-handed hold as his right dragged the blade up and forward. It sliced through something soft; a gurgle sounded close by his ear.

He stamped down on a foot, felt bones give under his weight; kneed upward into something hard, metallic, hurtful. He hissed in pain. Damn! His left hand was caught in a fold of cloth; he couldn't free it.

A hand gripped his ear from behind, twisting cruelly; another clawed across his face, seeking eyes or nose. He slammed his head backward, hoped to connect with the owner of the hands. A crunching noise and a sudden spray of warmth across the back of his neck, and the hands dropped away

He grappled with a man larger than himself; swaying and straining, he was lifted from the ground. One arm encircled his waist, pinning his weapon hand; another pushed against his throat, groped for his chin, forcing his head back painfully. He twisted, kicked and shoved, tried to free the knife. Choking, he managed to get the point between them, drove inward with as much strength as he could muster. It skittered along something hard, caught, then slid deep. The pressure lifted suddenly as his opponent collapsed gasping, clutching his leg.

A hard, heavy blow took him in the side, driving his breath out, smashing the links of his mail shirt into his ribs. A torch swung from another direction narrowly missed his face; his eyes smarted from smoke and heat, his nostrils flooded with the acrid smell of singing hair-his own. He kicked out; the torch fell to the ground, guttering.

Where the hell was Arcon?

[lochinvar]

Loch backed away from the maelstrom momentarily, straining to see through the mad torchlight, searching for his friend. There…Arcon-but not Arcon.

A man who looked very like the king was retreating down the corridor, shielded by the intervening dark cloaks. Not a prisoner. Zarcon-it must be. A hand fell on his arm. He turned to strike…and checked his swing, instantly. "My…lady…" he managed, between great ragged gulps of air.

Zelda looked up at him, breath labored. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes filthy, the sword in her hand bloodied. Kings Guards pressed forward around them, taking the tide of battle further down the hallway, leaving them behind in a sudden, tiny backwater of relative calm.

Lochinvar studied the dark battle-lust in his old friends eyes. "Your mother taught you well, it would seem. How came you to be here, my lady, and where is the King?"

[ 09-13-2001: Message edited by: lochinvar ]

[Zelda]

"Wish I knew," the Queen replied, as she sheathed her bloody sword. Her eyes were bright, Lochinvar was not sure if it was tears or sweat that glistened there.

"I heard voices behind and infront of me as I came down the stairs, so I hid in one of the niches. Next thing I knew Arcon streamed past with a couple of the palace guard. Then I heard sword fighting and high tailed it into here."

Lochinvar nodded, his face thoughtful. Who did you hear infront of you?" he questioned.

"I think it was Lady Moon, but I cant be sure...I heard the mummer more then the words" the queen replied. "I do know I heard raised voices before the fight started. It was definately 2 people arguing about something.... I just dont know what."

"But what happened to the King?" Lochinvars probing questions were starting to get to the Queen.

"I dont KNOW!" she snapped. "He was here fighting with the guards and myself one minute, the next he had disappeared. I did see Lady Moon disappear down that corridor though."

"Good," Lochinvar replied. "Zelda do you have a map or Anything of these tunnels around the dungeon?"

"Not here, there may be something in the map room. But there isnt time, lets just folow them...."

So the Queen and Lochinvar took off down the pathway which the guards had disappeared down mintues ealier.

[lochinvar]

They faced each other warily at the end of the hallway, swords circling, eyes darting.

The blond girl was petite, her clothing plain. A gash on her leg, a cut on her left arm, spoke of their encounter thus far. But her determination was undiminished, and her blade didn’t waver.

The man was older, larger; a gold circlet perched incongruously on his brow. A shallow cut along his flank testified to the girl’s skill.

“Lady Moon, please…surrender,” the man said reasonably, never relaxing his guard. “Whatever grievances you have, we can discuss them. I promise you won’t be harmed. Please, Moon. You’re one of my oldest friends.”

“It’s PRINCESS BUFFY, you fat BUFFOON!” she snarled. “Soon to be QUEEN Buffy, once I rid the world of you and that laughing-stock cow you call a wife!

Friend?? You have no friends, just lackeys and toadies, like that broken-down relic Lochinvar, and that boot-licking puppy Naekos. God, what a tool HE is! Too bad; he might’ve been a proper man, but he’s too soft in the head; he’s besotted with that stupid pig Serana, when he could have had ME!

Well, I’m not groveling anymore—scribbling, bowing, scraping, ‘Yes, Your Majesty’ and ‘No, Your Majesty’ and ‘Of course, Your Majesty, right away, Your Majesty.’… Ptooie!! I SPIT on your so-called ‘majesty’! What a joke! What a farce! It’s enough to make a strong stomach PUKE!

I’m a PRINCESS, and I’ll not bow to a stinking pustule, even if it does wear a crown! I will RULE, and your memory will fade away like the smell of the rotting, maggot-ridden dogmeat you are!”

She launched herself at the king.

[Moonitic]

wow...I said all that? Wicked!

[lochinvar]

Yes, Princess Buffy...QUITE wicked!

(To Be Continued...)

[lochinvar]

Arcon parried, parried, backed, stop-thrust, trying not to hit anything vital. For some strange reason he did not quite understand, he was loathe to hurt this girl.

The place where they fought was a dead-end, a passageway left unfinished for many decades; the builders had become alarmed at the instability of the earth here, and had simply abandoned the effort after only a short way. There were other areas available for expansion, and pursuing this one hadn’t been worthwhile.

She had been fleeing, seeking a way out, he pursuing. A turn in the wrong direction, and here they were—and he was between her and freedom. There was nothing left for it but to fight her way out.

No one had been more surprised than Buffy when she and Zarcon and their men had stumbled upon the king and his guards in the dungeon. The plan had called for Meekal and the others to launch an attack somewhere else, drawing off the guards and leaving Buffy to spring Zarcon from his cell. They had been hastening on their way out, arguing over the next step needed for the overthrow of Arconia.

Evidently, something had gone wrong with the plan.

The king had burst upon them from an unexpected direction; all had frozen. Arcon and Zarcon had glared at each other, angry words exchanged. Then Zarcon had ordered his men to attack.

There was no longer any reason for Buffy to continue with Zarcon; the palace had been roused, and their escape was unlikely at best. No revolution here; this vein had played out. She had to lay new plans. She needed to get out of here, and Zarcon could live or die at his own convenience. She no longer cared.

As the melee raged, she took advantage of the confusion, grabbing a torch and ducking down a side passageway. She had hoped to slip away unremarked, but, curse the luck, against all logic and reason the king had followed her.

Now they played out their dance of death, at the end of the hall, at the end of the dungeon, at the end of the world.

[lochinvar]

Buffy thrust, parried the counter-stroke, tried a low-line feint, disengaged to high-line. The blades flickered in and out like deadly serpents in the torchlight. He met every attack, turned it aside. She pressed him; he gave ground grudgingly, but, oddly, still did not attack. Part of her found this puzzling, even intriguing, but the rest of her only sought to take advantage.

Perhaps she couldn’t kill Arcon here and now, but if she could force him back far enough, she could dart down one of the cross-passages; she could escape. There would be opportunity enough to take him down once she was out of here. Just a little more…

The sound of running feet echoed behind him, the flicker of torches drawing nearer.

His allies, or hers?

[lochinvar]

Lochinvar and the queen slid to a halt, taking in the scene before them. With them was another—slight, dark-haired. The Lady Willow, all unexpectedly, had joined them.

They had come upon her in their hurried dash after the king. Moved by a premonition, she had descended by a different stair, and had since been moving through side passages, avoiding the fighting while looking for Lady Moon. She carried a shuttered lamp, which she darkened whenever she heard anyone coming.

She had been about to let them pass undisturbed; when she recognized Zelda, she had spoken out instead, and revealed herself.

Now the three studied the tableau before them.

[lochinvar]

“Arcon!” called Zelda. “Are you all right?”

The king visibly relaxed. It might have been his death approaching from behind, but he had not been able to spare a glance from Moon to see. She was too quick. At least now he knew his back was covered.

“Yes, my dear, quite all right,” he said over his shoulder. “But please, don’t come any closer. Now you’re here, perhaps we’ll be able to talk sense to this girl, convince her how useless it is to continue this madness.”

“Moon!” called out Willow. “Moon, give over! There’s no place for you to run. We’re too many. Please, give it up!”

“Now I see why you’re mother called you Willow,” answered the scornful blond. “You’re a weak reed, bowing to whatever wind blows the hardest. You’re useless. Why don’t you go back to your precious Nicholas, and be a baby-factory to HIS ambition? That’s all you’re good for…though the kind of slack-jawed grotesques that might spring from THOSE loins, I wouldn’t want to see. They’ll probably be a perfect mix of the two of you—spineless from you, and witless from him! Populate freak shows for generations, most likely.”

“Moon, it’s the spell, Meekal’s spell; can’t you see? You’re not yourself!”

“Oh, I see all right—I see that you’re a traitor to Schoolcraftia and a toe-licking dog, just like the rest. Save your breath, Willow-reed. I’d rather die free than live another day as a slave to THIS.” She indicated Arcon with a toss of her head. “And, by the way, it’s BUFFY. Have you forgotten? Or have you just decided that it wouldn’t be in your best interest to remember? What a coward you’ve become. Fetch off; I’m done talking with you.”

“C’mon, old man,” she said to Arcon, raising her head and her sword simultaneously. “Let’s finish this charade—that is, if you’ve got the stones for it…”