And now for something completely different...

Its all WOK here.

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And now for something completely different...

Post by Count Henri » Mon Feb 24, 2003 3:20 pm

Count Henri normally liked the sound GCA made as they flew towards their targets. Well normally he did because normally they were going the other way.

He sighed and yelled "Incoming" again. Troops behind him dived for makeshift shelters as the barrage crashed around them. Evolution was definately in action around him he reflected as the missiles made sure that those too slow or obese to find shelter wouldn't be competing for anything again, except possibly than the best burial plot.

The only living thing visible was the White Dragon. Well the label on the potion said 'White Dragon' but Henri was growing more and more convinced it was little more than a sligtly bemused Goanna dipped in White-out. He knew he must stop buying the potions from "Honest Al's Slightly Used Creature Shoppe" but the prices were so cheap it was hard not to. At least this was better than that Black Dragon potion that had turned out to be a Chameleon on psychodelic drugs that would change colour in time to its hallucinations. The random changes to the PATT it caused had been most disconcerting to the Troops and what the Hell bonus was a Pink dragon worth? Though it had been a nice shade of pink he thought wistfully.

Well it was no good standing around being shot at all day, it was time to do something. "Lieutenant !" he bellowed and the man leapt straight to his feet and saluted. While militarily correct it was not a wise move in a GCA storm thought Henri as he brushed some flecks of the mans blood off his tabard.

Oh well time for another field promotion...
"He who has relied least on fortune is established the strongest."
-The Prince by Machiavelli

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Post by SmashFace » Mon Feb 24, 2003 3:25 pm

Hmm, when i saw the subject i thought it was going to be something about a Monty Python skit... :roll:
God of WOK

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Post by Brykovian » Mon Feb 24, 2003 4:10 pm

Brykovian was hunkered behind a quickly-assembled wooden wall when he heard the Count yell his name. He could also hear the twoks and thuds of GCAs continuing to pummel the other side of the wall.

"Yes ... sir ... ?" Brykovian called out from behind his wall without moving.

No response.

"Sir? ... SIR!"

Count Henri appeared at the corner of the wall and dove in next to Brykovian. The Count recovered from his dive, sat up straight with his back against the wall, and brushed the dust from his uniform. Casually, he turned to look at Brykovian. There was mischief glinting in Count Henri's eyes. "I have an idea," he said matter-of-factly.

Brykovian sighed deeply ... he'd heard these words from the Count before ...
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Post by Dameon » Mon Feb 24, 2003 11:55 pm

On a hill overlooking the Scholar encampment in the plains below, Dameon looked around with satisfaction. He congratulated himself on hiring Deberra to run his factories, they would produce GCAs for half price and didn't have an annoying union to deal with, unlike those bloodsucking Peelow. His mass produced GCAs were raining down on the Scholar encampment as their soldiers retreated behind hastily-erected barriers.

The Ar-Sereg crossbowman continued their relentless assault, although they weren't hitting much now that the Scholars were hiding. The mages who had cast the Morale spells that had held sway over his troops for the last two days were resting somewhere, exhausted from their effort, but no matter- the forced march was over now and the ambush was going off exactly as planned.

He spared a brief moment of regret for leaving the bulk of his catapults and knights behind in the Sereg mountains, but the mages couldn't have possibly covered everybody. He did manage to bring enough soldiers to cover for his pikeman on the off chance that enemies reached their line, however, he certainly had no intention of risking a direct assault, for the Scholars forces outnumbered him by quite a bit, although their advantage was shrinking with each GCA that found its mark.

Seeing that the surviving Scholar soldiers had all taken shelter now, and that the GCAs were hitting more wood than anything at the moment, Dameon raised his hand.

"Hold your fire! Only release when you have acquired a target!"

As the rain of GCAs lessened significnatly, Dameon settled in for a long wait. With the advantage of higher ground the Scholar archers could not reach him, and his crossbowman needed to conserve GCAs in case the soldiers below mounted a charge. He knew that the main body of the knights was about two days away yet, but that was closer than any help for the Scholars according to his spies.

If the Scholars didn't do anything stupid like charge and let themselves be eliminated by his crossbowman, they'd find themselves up to their necks in knights eventually. Dameon knew that the Scholar commander, Henri, would certainly try something before that point- and he rather looked forward to seeing what it was. Henri was something of a tactical genius- somewhat erratic at times but often brilliant. Dameon saw no way out of this cage he had crafted for him, but the good count might surprise him yet.
"A Knight is sworn to valor, his heart knows only virtue, his blade defends the helpless, his might upholds the weak, his word speaks only truth, his wrath outdoes the wicked."

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Ec to the rescue.

Post by Ecrivian » Tue Feb 25, 2003 1:03 am

Moving his troops on the double quick from the south Ecrivian's forces reinforce the Scholar position and fan out to unleash hell upon the protected Ar-Sereg position. The heavenly sounds of GCA's release into Supreme Commander Henri's ears as his mercenaries prove to be excellent marksmen hitting the Ar-Sereg Bowmen.

Ecrivian strides to Henri's bunker and informs him of the following:
"Sir, permission to speak freely sir."
SCH: "Permission granted."
Ec: "It is good to see you old friend, it seems that your position however has been compromised."
SCH: "Aye, that it has. Thank you for coming, your crossbowmen are..."
Ec: "Rest assured friend, my crossbowmen are the most highly trained in all the land. They hit their marks without fail."
SCH: "Hmm. Yes. Thank you again."
Ec: "Are you going to need the suicide bombers? My mages have been working around the clock to perfect the dragon potion."
SCH: "Ahh, the suicide bombers won't be necessary."
Ec: "If you need, simply say the word, and I will call upon my allies to help us thwart this uprising lead by none other than the devils spawn himself Dameon."
SCH: "Let it go man. If you turn this into a personal vandetta then you will lose your head and your troops. Just because Dameon had your family murdered, its the past, let it go."

Ecrivian sighs, and nods his head.

Ec: "Any further orders, sir?"
SCH: "Not at this time, just keep those crossbowmen firing. I'll let you know when they change."
Ecrivian salutes and turns to return to his lines.
War determines not who is right, but who is left. We shall see in the days ahead whom of you appear atop the pile of corpses.

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Post by Strider » Tue Feb 25, 2003 2:15 am

Strider felt like he had been run over by a fleet of catapults and a black golem to boot. The ride had been long and the weather and mud had made it seem even longer. His mount staggered up the path as Dameon's picket guards allowed him passage, its strength sapped by the rutted, muddy roads behind them.

"Thank God I took my best horse", thought Strider, "I think I would have walked half the way without him". Although that may have been for the best, the news he had born over the journey was not good and destined to rouse the anger of his former clan liege. Dameon's anger was a quick and cruel beast and Strider didn't enjoy the thought of what could happen to the messenger this time.

He handed the reins to one of Dameon's servants. The horse suddenly keeled over, exhausted from its labors.

"I think he's spent, milord!", the servant cried.

"Poor beast", said Strider, "for all of your toils and service, it seems a cold fate to see your end in a cookpot. See that he meets a gentle end, servant." With that, Strider wearily strode into Dameon's tent.

It was a familiar scene. Dameon had control of the high ground and had pinned the enemy forces at the moment, yet the commander continued to pace while issuing orders to several on his staff. He never seemed to want food nor sleep while on the battlefield. Strider yearned for both, but would do his duty first before finding a meal and maybe even a willing wench at one of the campfires outside.

Dameon saw Strider and quickly walked over to greet him warmly. "Welcome to the front. It's been a while since you've seen it, I suppose." quipped Dameon with a wry smile.

Strider shifted uneasily and replied, "It's good to see you again Dameon, but I fear my news is not good."

With that Dameon's smile disappeared. "Tell me.", said Dameon.

Strider explained that the reinforcements due to the front were to be delayed. The weather had turned terrible in the mountains after Dameon had left. First, a flurry of snow had fallen for a few days only to be replaced only by a warm driving rain. The result had been a to turn the once well kept Sereg roads into a quagmire. Many a catapult had blocked the roads due to broken axles and the like and the way had been slow going for Dameon's cavalry. The snowmelt had caused an additional problem. The main bridge from the Sereg mountains had been damaged by the flooding, again slowing the progress of the main body of Dameon's troops.

"I knew it would be important to get you this news in person, Dameon. Your knights will be delayed at least another four days.", said Strider.

Dameon began to pace again with eyes blazing, "Please tell me that's the worst of your news."

"There's something else, Dameon", spoke Strider, "Count Henri has called his banners and allies from afar and is looking to employ several mercenaries. With the amount of gold he has been willing to part with for your head, some mercs are sure to come. There are even rumours that Thin King has left exile..."

"Enough." , roared Dameon. Yet the anger did not seem to be in his eyes anymore. Strider had seen that cunning look enough to know that a plan was beginning to unfold in the commander's mind. And Strider knew that meant that he woiuldn't be looking for any fires or wenches tonight or anytime soon. There would be more work to do.

"What do you require, Dameon", Strider replied wearily.

"Ah ha!", Dameon laughed, "it seems the mercenary has remembered a bit of his courtesy from long ago! I never thought to see it again in you, Strider!"

"As long as the price is right!", countered Strider, yet he knew that he would help Dameon with or without the gold. He owed much to the commander.

"I'll send for you shortly, Strider." stated Dameon, "In the meantime, select a good horse. You've got a long road ahead. I'll have things ready here shortly. Is there anything else you can tell me?"

"Yes", said Strider, "Don't eat any meat prepared by your servants tonight. You'll thank me later." And with a smirk on his face, Strider strode quickly towards the stables. He couldn't help but chuckle at the white face of Dameon's servant as he left.
Never laugh at live dragons...

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Post by Brykovian » Tue Feb 25, 2003 3:49 am

The pounding of inbound GCAs reduced itself to nothing just in time for Count Henri's cold, evil chuckle to be heard in the newly silent air. Brykovian held a hand over his eyes and was shaking his head. Of course, the Count's chuckle became infectious and soon Brykovian too was laughing, although his was a laugh of irony and uncertainty.

Suddenly the sounds of GCAs being launched filled the air and the two men hit the dirt out of reaction.

"What the hell is that?!" the Count yelled to all within range. Then he looked at Brykovian with curiousity, "I didn't have any GCAs left ... is this something of your engineering?"

Brykovian looked around and shrugged, "Not that I'm aware of ... my Mages and engineers didn't think they have anything new for another day or so."

A soldier approached. "A mercinary has approached your tent, sir. He wishes to speak with you."

Henri shrugged at Brykovian and followed the soldier over to his tent, unconsciously stepping in stride to the thwump-thwump rhythm of the GCA launches.

Brykovian peeked around his wooden wall and watched a number of the mercenary GCAs fly their way toward the Sereg-held highgrounds. He followed the trajectory of a few flights, then smiled and nodded -- the design was sound and the operators skilled.

The Count returned with a bemused look in his eyes. "That's Ecrivian's troops."

"Where'd they come from? How did they know we were here? Does he owe you a favor?"

Henri just shrugged, but showed no sign of relief. "Ecrivian has been in plenty of battles, but his reputation for success isn't overly ..." He let the rest of that sentence fade.

Brykovian gained a similar bemused look. "But this is a good thing, right? A bit of support when we needed a breather?"

Finally, the Count snorted a laugh. "Either that or ..."

"Or he's just pissing Dameon off some more? Great!" Brykovian once again had his hand up to his eyes as he shook his head.

Henri put a hand on his fellow Scholar's shoulder. "Don't fret, Builder ... did you figure out a way to get my idea to work?"

Brykovian looked up to see the Count once again smirking.
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Post by Count Henri » Tue Feb 25, 2003 5:03 am

The sound of the GCAs in flight was beginning to get on Dameons nerves. For 2 days his troops had exchanged fire with the Mercenaries supporting Henri. For two long days he's waited for the Knights to show up and finish this. Now they appeared at the rear of his camp and finally Dameon allowed himself to smile...

The attack was a textbook one. Infantry in the center with Cavalry wings to encircle the foe. The fact it turned out that there were no foes sent Dameon into a rage.

"Explain it again." he growled to the Sereg engineer.

The man bore the 'please dont kill me look' so common to those who bear bad news as he said "Well the crossbows were nailed to the barricades with waterskins and counterweights tied to the triggers. The waterskins had small holes in them that dribbled out the water. Once it got to a point the other weight would pull the trigger." He almost added "a brilliant idea" but realised this might be a terminal mistake. Instead he a said "showing a total disregard for honourable combat that Henri is so famous for."

Dameon merely grunted before turning to one of his mages. "You are sure Henri went south?"

The bloated figure in robes burped and nodded "Yes M'lord. Ecrivians forces went east with Wagons. Very heavily laden wagons I should add."

"Hmmm that'd be Henris gold I expect" his hand clunching and unclenching on his sword hilt. "Still he is on foot and our Cavalry will overtake him in a day or so. Break camp and head south, its time to settle this."

***

Quite some ways away Henri looked out from over the walls of NameStolenfromaNovel and studiously ignored the sounds of sawing and hammering from behind him. Bryk approached, making sure to make enough noise as not to startle the man. Given that he had 2 pistol grip crossbows in his hands it seemed the best option.

"ummm Sir the work you ordered is almost done. I don't really understand what we're doing but it is almost finished."

"Excellent." said Henri in a strangly silibant voice as he turned and gave Bryk on of those manic smiles he had so come to dread. The crossbows were holstered and Henri lit up a large cigar.
He eyed Bryk critically for a moment and then, blowing a bluish stream of smoke past the mans ear, asked "You'd be about a size 16 in a dress wouldn't you?"
"He who has relied least on fortune is established the strongest."
-The Prince by Machiavelli

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Post by Dameon » Tue Feb 25, 2003 6:05 am

Dameon took Strider aside as camp was being broken and the pursuit organized.

"Now that Ecrivian has shown his face again, I would like to see him buried six feet under, joining his bastard father and brother who betrayed me and cost me victory at T'Kara. As much as I yearn to see him dead, however, he is not worth my time to track down. Fortunately, the wagons he guards should provide plenty of incentive for others to do that for me. Such a fat treasure heading east is bound to attract somebody's attention- I want you to see to it that it is somebody competent."

Strider leaned back in his saddle with a smile on his face. "There are a few warrior clans in the east that might be quite interested to learn exactly what Ecrivian is guarding. I'll see to it that they are....alerted."

Dameon nodded sharply. "Good. Once you have done that, circle back and lead the catapults to NameStolenFromaNovel. I will need them there to break Henri's defenses. Do not tarry, if we wait too long the Scholar reinforcments may arrive."

"Can't we hire some additional troops to delay them?"

Dameon shook his head. "They are sure to be lead by either Egbert or Thin King, powerful mages. It would take more money than I have to persuade mercenaries to get in their way."

Strider thought on that for a moment. "What of the Brotherhood? Religious zealots are often the best kind of soldiers to find and AllOne only knows that they need little incentive to go after the Scholars, not after the Scholars desecrated their temples in Pao Lung."

Dameon shrugged. "The Brotherhood has always been something of a mystery.....but it cannot hurt to send them a messenger. They chafe under the heal of the oppression of the Ivory Tower of the Scholars as much as any. Even if they decline to help, there are yet others- including one who has been exiled by Henri's hand but is already moving to return."

Strider raised his eyebrow. "Can you really trust him? If you thought Ecrivian was erratic....."

Dameon laughed. "The enemy of my enemy is also my friend, and as you well know war makes strange bedfellows. I shall keep the main army together and let the mages rest, we will need their skills soon enough. Now, we both have our jobs cut out for us. Thank you again, old friend, and Allspeed."

Strider threw off a jaunty salute at Dameon before turning north and starting his journey. Dameon looked around at his men, who were ready to do and looking to him. "Onward! And forward! For our fathers and sons I shall lead you all to victory!"
"A Knight is sworn to valor, his heart knows only virtue, his blade defends the helpless, his might upholds the weak, his word speaks only truth, his wrath outdoes the wicked."

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Post by trewqh » Tue Feb 25, 2003 5:26 pm

:popcorn: :D

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Post by Brykovian » Tue Feb 25, 2003 8:05 pm

Brykovian stood on a short stool with his arms out to his sides. A pair of Count Henri's servants moved around him, randomly measuring, wrapping fabric around him, and holding up samples against him and looking at the Count for approval. Henri would pause, consider, then give a quick gesture which sent the two women feverously moving about the room again.

"So where have you been hiding these women, Count?"

Henri shrugged and walked over toward the window to survey the horizon again. "A man and his secrets, you know ..."

"I'm beginning to know a little too well," Brykovian said under his breath. The Count only chuckled -- another thing that Brykovian was getting to know a little too well.

"How long did you figure those automated crossbows would delay them?" Henri asked without taking his eyes off the horizon.

"Until Dameon finally decided to send the infantry. Probably a day or two ... depending, of course. I'm just happy I was finally able to pry those launchers from the hands of Ec's men! They might not be the brightest band of fighters, but they're sure loyal ... and really love the battle."

The Count whirled on his heals and paced across the room to another window. "And a battle they're sure to find, being so obviously weighed down with all of that gold."

"Not so much gold, sir," Brykovian replied, lifting his arms up once again to allow the servants to wrap him in fabric.

Henri turned and blinked at his chief engineer. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm not sure where they got the impression about how much gold you had available to pay them ... but I got the feeling they were expecting more than what we could part with," Brykovian answered, stepping down off the stool to allow one of the women to attach something to his head.

The Count pointed to the woman. "Make sure you can't make out his face," he said, then pulled a chair up next to Brykovian and sat. "So what did you put in their wagons?"

"Well ..." Brykovian started, then looked around the room as if trying to find words to help, "Remember how we didn't have time to bury all of our dead?" Henri slowly nodded. "I put enough coins on top of everything so that's all that could be seen at a glance ... and enough to give a good jingle when moving."

Henri stood and returned back to the window.

"So it kind of looks like they have a lot of gold in those wagons ..." Brykovian trailed off and bowed his head to allow more fabric to be pinned on.

The Count's chuckle started again. "And in a couple days travel they will begin to smell the truth!"
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Post by Strider » Tue Feb 25, 2003 9:29 pm

"Ya sees, m'lord!", cried the Hobgob, "Proof that I's comes from the site of a great battle. They's just some of hundreds that's be found there! Ecrivian's force must have been waylaid!" The Hobgob looked pleased with himself.

Strider took a moment to cover his mouth and nose with his cloak. It wasn't due to the stink of the corpses at his feet. He had always hated the Hobgob. They're dirty, they smell and they were never to be fully trusted. But, they made for some of the best spies around. Strider still only used them on occasions when absoultely needed.

The Hobgob had been sent to trail Ecrivian's convoy. Instead, he found hundreds of bodies strewn across the road. But, Strider doubted it was due to a battle. Dameon rarely left his flanks open to marauding bands, and only on occasions when it suited his purposes when he did. The corpses that the Hobgob had brought back did bear the wounds of battle, probably GCA wounds. But the Hobgob had failed to notice that the facial features of the soldiers were very similar. It had been rumored that the Scholars "genetically tailored", whatever that meant, their rank and file troops. Strider almost had to laugh, these corpses all bore a resemblance to the Count. Strider had heard of the Count's vanity, but this was even audacious for his reputation. Unfortunately, mused Strider, I doubt the Count will be as easy to kill as these poor wretches before us.

Strider smelled a Scholar trick. Fortunately, the trick seemed to be played upon a Scholar ally this time. One could never trust the Scholars. For all their wit and acumen, they seemed hell bent to follow the longings of the followers of the Dark Stone and the like: power. Ecrivian might learn the lesson, but Strider feared that his well known hate for Dameon would cloud his thinking. Very clever, thought Strider, I would be impressed if it wasn't to further the Scholars' goals. Strider had seen the destruction that could reap far too often.

"These are Scholar troops.", spoke Strider, which paralyzed the Hobgob with shock for a moment. Strider was pleased, he was sick of all the shifty glances and hand wringing of the spy. "See that you tell me where Ecrivian is headed before collecting corpses in your spare time from now on."

The Hobgob retreated from the tent with much bowing and toothy, wicked glances. Strider was relieved to be rid of him, if only for the time being. His thoughts turned back to his mission.

He couldn't understand why Dameon had sent him on this errand. Strider was uncomfortable being a diplomat. He was better with his sword than his manners. And he had always hated diplomats. All their drivel over minutia while men died in the field. They were parasites in Strider's mind. Yet necessary parasites, at times. Strider had rarley met the Brotherhood or the notorious X-Wing. But, perhaps that was Dameon's aim. Being unknown to others serves well on occasion, as Strider had used to his advantage many times. Strider would do as he had been bidden, Dameon's strategy often unfolded on its own time and rarely failed.

Breaking camp the next day, Strider went to saddle his horse only to find it gone. The Hobgob must have taken it in revenge for Strider's words. Strider cursed, he would have the Hobgob's hide. After he had served his purpose, of course.

"A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse.", laughed Strider. Strider would get a horse one way or another. Rank had its benefits.
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Post by Ecrivian » Wed Feb 26, 2003 5:51 pm

Leading his troops to the east upon his trusted steed "Dixie" Ecrivian leans over to his second in commmand and asks, "Uh, did you shower since we left the lines? I mean honestly you stink." The commander shows a look of disdain on his face and replies, "Mylord, it is not I that smells it is that gold that you received from Field Marshal Brykovian. It smells of rotting carcasses." "Order the troops to hault, I shall personally inspect this gold." The long line of troops is haulted as Ecrivian circles back to his wagons of gold. A foul stench of burnt flesh and decay fills the heavy air. Ecrivian lifts some of the gold to find ripped clothing and rotting corpses. In a rage Ecrivian lifts his sword and cuts the heads off the nearest men.

Sheathing his sword the commander rides to the front of the line. Dictating to his sub commanders "Make camp for the night. Let your fires be high with the blood of Supreme Commmander Henri's troops. Light extra fires to ensure that our enemies and maurading bandits know that we've plenty of men here so that we'll not be harrassed. Have your men get plenty of sleep, we've work to do come dawn."

Ecrivian rides off into the forest, not to be seen for the next few hours. Upon his return he is covered in blood and brush. Ecrivian demounts and walks slowly to his tent. His sub commanders bewildered by his behavior decide to let it slide and sleep for there is work to be done come morning.
War determines not who is right, but who is left. We shall see in the days ahead whom of you appear atop the pile of corpses.

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Post by Count Henri » Thu Feb 27, 2003 1:17 am

Plans, Henri decided, were not even worth planning most of the time...

"How far away?" he asked again.

"I'd say about 3 hours, Sir." responded Bryk fastening his corset.

"Dangnabbit freaking really bad word." He cursed and noticed the Censor Spell was still holding. "Massielita was supposed to be here 6 hours ago not in 3 hours."

"As you say Sir." mumbled his number two lacing up the high heeled boots.

"So instead of attacking Dameon's flank just before he reaches the city he'll be approaching the city from the South at exactly the time Dameon will be coming in from the North." Henri grunted in frustration. "What delayed him I wonder?"

Bryk stopped adjusting the local headress that made him look like a defomed banana, "Well Sir I've got an agent in his wagon train posing as a local farmer. Apparently it was something about a HobGob on a stolen horse."

"Hmmmm does he know that we are actually in the city?"

"No Sir, according to the message we sent him we were going to be about 60 miles West of here to intercept and reinforcements for Dameon."

"OK then it looks like we are going to have to goto plan B. Sneaking out mixed into the refugees will be too dangerous."

"I didn't know we *had* a Plan B Sir?" replied Bryk with a growing sense of dread as he lowered the veil at the front of the headress.

Henri's grin confirmed his worse fears as the man eyed him up and down. "Yes that will do nicely. Tell me Bryk - can you pour a beer?"
"He who has relied least on fortune is established the strongest."
-The Prince by Machiavelli

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Post by Ecrivian » Mon Mar 03, 2003 9:43 pm

and with the rising of the sun the bronze war horns sound gloriously over Ecrivian's night camp. Ecrivian, now clean and shining, walks quitely to the tent of Glavius, his second in command. "Glavius, rise." "Darn woman, I just gave you sweet lovin five minutes ago...." is heard from the rustling blanket of Glavius' bed. Ecrivian drop kicks the soldier and shouts "the only thing you'll be making 'sweet love' to is the enemies sword if you continue talking like that. Now rise and have the troops ready in formation immediately. Post haste!" Glavius rises from his blanket stating "I'll get back to you later," and goes about getting the troops in formation.

The troops in formation Ecrivian comes back from a short ride upon Dixie and addresses the troops from his mount. "Men, we've been betrayed. The gold promised to us has been washed in blood. It has no value with any of us. Clearly our enemies enemy is our friend. In this case we've now two enemies and two friends. We've two options, the first, you all go home to your families, rest, relax and wait for our enemies to slaughter us." Murmurs and dissent is felt amongst the endless ranks of troops standing in formation, Ecrivian continues, "Or, as a second option, a more noble option, we can attack our enemies and wash our hands in their blood. Take the fight back to them, fight for our homeland, our fathers, our brothers, our mothers, our sisters, our children." Ecrivian pauses for a break, nothing but silence is heard. "Well, what say you men?" A single man from the center of the legion cries forth, "Faith in skill, faith in fighting, faith in our fearless leader!" A second man shouts at the height fo this range "Three cheers for our leader!" A wave of sound crashes into Ecrivian. As silence again falls over the troops Ecrivian addresses them, "So I take it you wish to fight?" One answer is heard from the wrestless corps "Hurrah!" "Then we shall camp but one more night, any man with blacksmithy skills should present himself to his unit commander, unit commanders I want the names of the men with skills. Any man with siege eginneering experience should report to Glavius. The men without experience in either, fortify our position. Dig a trench round the encampment a great deal wide and a great deal deep, raise walls that no man could scale alone. Errect towers surpassing the flight of the eagles, we want to see our enemies approach us." Ecrivian pauses again, raises his sword high to the sun, spurs his steed, and claims "For faith!"

The troops scatter back to their units, scurrying around like little ants, soldier become engineers and foremen. By nightfall a fortress imposing as the mountains of Argmah stand upon the road just to the East of Namestolenfromanovel. "Surely Glavius, our troops will rest well tonight."
War determines not who is right, but who is left. We shall see in the days ahead whom of you appear atop the pile of corpses.

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Post by Brykovian » Tue Mar 04, 2003 7:41 pm

A man came sprinting into the pub, pointing at the woman behind the counter. "Sir, sir! News you must hear, sir!!" he shouted breathlessly as he came to an abrupt stop atop a stool at the bar.

The locals attending the pub became silent and stared at the tender. Brykovian cleared his throat and said in a falsetto, "My name is Siralena ... some of my friends," he stressed the word and shot eyefulls of fire at the man who had just entered, "like to call me 'Sir' for short." He smiled his most feminine smile, although most of the patrons couldn't even see his face due to the garrish headdress Henri's seamstresses had made for him. The pub's noice and activity level returned to its normal levels again.

Bending over the bar to get close to the other man, Brykovian returned to his naturally deep voice, and in a hush said, "What is it, Nigel?"

The other man fought back too many words as he tried to carefully explain what he had seen. "Big ... freaking ... fortress!! East ... windy road through the rock fields ... big!! Fortress ... appeared over night!"

Brykovian quickly pulled a mug of beer and pushed it in front of the man. "Slow down, Nigel. So there's a fortress to the east of here along the road that winds through the field of rocks?"

Nigel gulped the beer, then took a moment to recover his breathing. "Yes, exactly. It's really big, and wasn't there at this same time yesterday."

A strange man approached the counter. As he got nearer, Brykovian recognized him as Count Henri, despite the overly-large nose and wax-curled mustache he had chosen for a disguise. Brykovian was suddenly appreciative that his unwieldy headdress was able to hide the strange smile he was unable to surpress.

"What is this about?" the Count asked, then motioned for a beer. Brykovian filled a large silver stein for him as Nigel filled him in with the details. "Hmmm," Henri mused, "definitely not the work of Dameon ... or Massie."

"Nor Egbert, nor Thin King," added Brykovian. "Though capable of it with their wizardry, it doesn't seem their style."

Nigel resurfaced from another gulp of beer. "It's not a magical thing ... just built really fast."

"What's it made of?" Brykovian asked.

"It appears they used the rocks from the fields and roughly squared them off."

"Any mortar between the rocks?"

Henri slammed his hand down between the two men, stealing back their attention. "What does any of that matter? If they are an assalting force, why would they build a defensive fortress? We certainly have no reason to take our battle there."

Brykovian and Nigel looked at each other and shrugged. "No mortar," Nigel said quickly before Henri's hand came down on the bartop again.

"What's it matter?! It doesn't change our plans, now does it?"

"No," Brykovian said, then thought, "Unfortunately not!" He nodded to Nigel, and the man stealthily left the place.

Two new men entered the bar and the Count's low, evil chuckle returned. "I believe those two are spies sent by Dameon."

"What makes you think that?"

"One of them told me last night, while I fed them beer."

Brykovian snorted. "Just about any man will tell you they were Dameon's right hand if you feed them enough beer!"

"Well, he had some specific information that only a Sereg-type would know. In fact, I wonder if he knew all of the valuable things he had told me while the beer flowed."

"And how much of that beer flowed down your pipes, good Count?"

Henri shot back an irritated glance, "I can hold my liquor, Builder!"

Brykovian nodded with a smug smile, "Uh huh."

The disguised Count Henri headed toward the two men as they found a table. "Hello again, friends!" he said in a loud voice, then looked back toward the bar. "Barwench! A round for my friends!!"

Brykovian cringed, then started to pull the beer.
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Post by Count Henri » Tue Mar 04, 2003 11:45 pm

It was less then 15 minutes after the agents left that GCA barrage began. The Inn emptied quickly as residents sought the safety of GCA shelters leaving Bryk and Henri alone.

From what they had gleaned from the Agents events outside the city were beginning to make sense. It seemed that Dameon had arrived some 20 minutes before Massielita and thrown up a hasty defensive position while he waited for his Infantry to catch up. Massielita in turn had begun building Catapults and GCA throwers. From the sounds of it Massielita had begun to use them...

"Hmmmm. I think 'll need to improve my disguise before Massielita enters the city. " Mused Henri as the whine of GCAs went on overhead. The odd crash indicating missiles that had fallen short. "He will recognise me if I'm not very careful and that would lead to... unpleasantness..."

Bryk, who had taken the opportunity to lift his veil and enjoy a beer, looked at Henri with an expression that said 'do tell even though I suspect what you are about to say will give me nightmares even worse then most things you've said to me over the past 2 days which will take some doing'.

Henri lit a cigar and his eyes took on an unfocussed quality as he stalked down memory lane. "Well it involves his Sister... and his Mother... Oh and a few neices... Hmmm cant forget the Sister-in-law..." he began.

Bryk didn't interrupt the story though about half way through he switched drinks. Beer was just not strong enough. What was strong enough was in an unmarked ceramic container under the bar. It tasted suspiciously like armour cleaner or possibly lamp oil but it was doing the job...

After Henri had finished Bryk gathered his thoughts and said "So let me get this straight - You've been... rather personal... with all of Massielita's female relatives except I believe his wife..."

Henri shrugged "She never did like me much."

"AND," continued Bryk "now it appears a whole generation of his relatives have been born that bear an uncanny resemblance to you..." He watched Henri nod glumly. "SO Massielita now wants your head... and other smaller parts," he paused and both of them shuddered, "delivered to him on a silver plate."

Henri smiled weakly, "Yes that about sums it up."

Bryk merely nodded and said a string of words that turned the air around his head blue with magical particles as the Censor spell tried to edit them. He then took a massive swig of the liquid that he had decided was some sort of varnish.

Henri sighed wistfullyand puffed his cigar, "It was quite a night though..."

The liquid Bryk was drinking, despite whatever purpose it had been designed for, was, they discovered, extremely flammable as it shot out of Bryks mouth and hit the end of Henris cigar.

It took them almost 10 minutes to put the spot fires out...

The noise of the barrage was lessening by then.

"OK send a runner to the Lads and tell them we are now using Plan B." said Henri. "I'm going to improve my disguise." He paused and sniffed the air "Why are your drinking Turpentine Bryk?"
"He who has relied least on fortune is established the strongest."
-The Prince by Machiavelli

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Post by Brykovian » Tue Mar 11, 2003 6:31 am

Brykovian ignored the Count's concern over his choice in beverage ... Turpentine went down pretty easily once you drank ink a number of times -- especially that indigo ink the archivers were so fond of ... rather nasty stuff.

Turning toward the door, he shouted, "RUNNER!!" down the halls and was discouraged to hear nothing in return. Henri returned a confused look as no distance footsteps could be heard approaching, as was customary.

Brykovian looked back toward the doorway and suddenly noticed a set of Scholar Runner's footwear hanging a foot or so above the floor just on the other side of the threshold. He edged up to the opening and peeked around the corner. The runner was pinned unceremoniously to the wall by a huge bolt. Brykovian sighed and followed the presumed trajectory to a conspicuous hole in the outside wall opposite the dead Runner.

Running back to the bar counter, Brykovian reached behind it and retrieved his warhammer -- Thwok'sk'll -- and quickly hid it within his dress. He adjusted his headgear, threw back the remainder of a beer and headed swiftly toward the door.

"What do you think you're doing, Builder!" Henri shouted at him.

"I am now a Runner!" he tossed over his shoulder as he sprinted out into the hallway.

The constant semi-rhythmic thudding of the GCAs and catapault rocks seemed to assist Brykovian's running pace. When he came to the corner tower to take the stairs down, he paused to look out the window and survey the scene outside. Far off to the east was the newly-built fortress that Nigel had stammered on about. Squinting, Brykovian thought he could make out Ecrivian's banners flying atop the structure -- but they should have been a number of days travel away. Down below, Massie's GCAs and catapaults were starting to cause serious damage to the city's walls -- definitely looking to soften the defenses more than kill off people, he figured. Dameon's position was starting to grow with people and activity ... had his infantry arrived already? Things were not looking good.

A giant crossbow arrow screamed into the rock just a few feet above Brykovian's window, and he jumped back and started flying down the stairs. He tended to find himself counting steps as he moved along them, but he wasn't sure how well he was doing in his task due to the number he skipped past on his way down.

Finally, reaching a couple levels below ground, Brykovian weaved his way through the labyrinth of hallways to the large chamber in which the bulk of the scholars forces were preparing. As he entered the room, someone shouted, "Attention!" and the entire place filled with the sound of armor and arms schinking into perfect posture ... followed by a beautiful silence.

Normally, Brykovian enjoyed that silence, milking it for all it was worth. But today he had bad news for them. "Count Henri has ordered 'Plan B'." All of the shoulders in the room slumped and murmurs started to grow within the ranks.

Brykovian shouted, "The Count has ordered 'Plan B'! Anyone have a problem with that?!"

A young soldier in the front row raised a finger and took a half-step forward. "Well ... I don't understand--" His comment was cut short as Thwok'sk'll came down in a glancing blow along the top of his helmet. The soldier dropped to the floor with a crash.

When the silence returned, Brykovian craddled his warhammer in his hands and quietly asked, "Anyone else have a problem?"

The soldiers all quickly began making the "adjustments" to their armor that Plan B required. Brykovian nodded, moved over to a convenient chalkboard on the room's sidewall, picked up a piece of yellowing chalk and began to draw.

One soldier could be heard whispering, "This is getting to be a bad habit!"

Brykovian caught and surpressed a quick grin.
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Post by Strider » Fri Mar 21, 2003 2:17 am

[my attempt at resurrecting this thread. :P]


Who would have ever thought that bad table manners could be so useful. My mother would not be proud to discover that, thought Strider. But, it had proven true in this case.

Minutes after Strider had arrived on his diplomatic mission to the Brotherhood, Strider feared that he might not survive the meeting. All the Brotherhood were there in the grand feasting hall: Lord Fredo in his gleaming plate that people whispered he never took off, even to bathe or sleep. Goatherder in the skins of a variety of animals, some Strider had never seen before. Raw, just back from an afternoon of raiding in his longboat. Funtastick, complete with polearm from which dangled shruken heads of foes past. Even Trewq, who wore a multitude of emblems and ensignia from many clans, even, surprisingly, one from the now dead Ar-Sereg clan. There were some others there that Strider had never seen or heard of, but looked at home among this rough company. Strider had rubbed his neck subconsciously to confirm that it was still attached to his head.

The Brotherhood had insisted on feasting and drinking before hearing the words of Strider, though they had eyed him suspiciously the entire time. During that period, Strider had managed to spill several pints of ale, accidentally leave food in his beard, crack a few plates, and even accidentally let a pack of dogs in the room have some leftover bones. The silence in the hall had grown by the minute as Strider continued to baffle Ann Landers with his etiquette ineptitude. Strider tried to keep his eyes on his food and plotted several ways to leave the feast quickly before taking permanent residence on the spikes above the fortress, the polearm of Funtastick or some other nasty fate that these notorious vikings were sure to come up with after this spectacle.

The silence had suddenly gave way to a great crashing of shields, drawing of daggers and......laughter? "You truly were meant ot be one of us.", shouted Lord Fredo, "There are no womanly ways about you at the feast. May we hope to see that continues on the field of battle in the future."

Strider was shocked, but had seized the opportunity. Strider had quickly laid out Dameon's plan and the Brotherhood, with few changes, had readily accepted. Within hours, Strider was back on his horse riding south with a full belly, a healthy buzz and with the knowledge that the Brotherhood was to launch an attack on the homeland of the Scholars within days. Even Dameon couldn't have forseen this.

Strider's merry mood did not last long, however. He had left much of his forces behind to guard Dameon's flank. He could have badly used them at this moment, for as he just topped the rise he came upon a large band of pikemen headed his way. Strider had just enough time to scurry into the brush without being seen.

The casual observer may have thought Strider's shocked glance was due the sudden appearance of the armed warriors bearing curious banners. Or even the dragon that snaked along the formation with them. This was not so. Strider couldn't believe what he saw in the middle of the caravan, in a barred cage upon a wagon. It wasn't every day that you saw a king in chains.
Never laugh at live dragons...

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Post by Ecrivian » Fri Mar 21, 2003 3:08 pm

[I was waiting for someone else to put something up so it didn't look like i was dominating the thread]

And so they left their temporary fortress... to the west they had moved with the sun marching in perfect unison, footstep by footstep they progressed towards their goal. It took them two days to complete their long and arguous journey but finally they had reached their destination....

Ecrivian called for his high commanders, have the men make camp here, keep the fires low we want to maintain some element of surprise, tell the men to rest well as we fight for freedom from tyranny tomorrow.

As Ecrivian commanded the commanders went to the men to deliver the orders, however, Glavius stayed behind. "Sir, why are we at the foothills of the mountains of Ar-Sereg?" "We're here because this is where I lead you. At dawn to relieve pressure on our allies the Scholars, and to reap the benefit of vengence, the men will be paid tomorrow. Ar-Sereg foolishly keeps a rediculously large amount of their gold in their coifers at the summit of Ar-Sereg." "Ah, so I see milord, you want to refinance the war effort?" "I guess you could say that Glavius, however, let none of what said here tonight leave your lips." "Certainly milord." Night fell upon them and the fires burned dimly, more like slowly roasting coals than fires. None were to see them but Ecrivian had sent word for reinforcements. Calidus would arrive before day break.
War determines not who is right, but who is left. We shall see in the days ahead whom of you appear atop the pile of corpses.

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