The Siege of Oceansford: Open War for the Mighty

[Repster]

Both. You throw our the attack with what you feel comfortable with, we bring the defense.

You start with an intro. The basic "I am here. I intend to wreck your house.". Everything else will come with the flow of battle.

As for your question regarding amount of characters... COPY PASTE ATTACK!

"Your army may be as sizable as you'd like, and your Lord may be of any nature; in fact, you may choose a character of your own if you desire, just to have the attacking general be somebody more than just a king with a blade at his side."

"The fun of this is the benefit of raiding, destroying, and fighting, as well as having the option to be personally running multiple battles in-topic. Hell, use as many characters as you'd like, and invite somebody to join you in the battle against my Oceansford keep."

"Anything goes in terms of armies, but since this is a classic, crenelated-walls-and-towers castle with archers and swordsmen as defense, try to stave away from the use of incredibly futuristic weaponry or deus ex machinas. Catapults, battering rams, ballistas, trebuchets; its all fair game. I'll even allow for cannons. Just no LAZERS PEW PEW"

"^^I actually kind of want to close off allies for now, since I'd like to odds to be heavily against us, and I already have Rep and 1-up."

[Vapor]

The concept of a rogue is frequently romanticised. People love the concept of a lone warrior, traveling wherever he will, going by his own rules, being nobody's *****. But it's not easy, reflected Johannes, being lonely and struggling to survive without anyone's help; he'd been a rogue for about 181 years. The rest of his team knew this as well-- Ven made himself an outcast just weeks after he was created, Trevellyan had been alone his entire life, and Zarjav had spent countless years wandering in search of an extraordinary challenge.

Johannes, standing on a rock with a view of the castle of Oceansize Oceansford from not a mile away, turned around to speak to his team. he took a moment to reflect upon them.

Ven was simply an abomination. A so-called living pumpkinheaded scarecrow, with the power of fire and a soul of sorcery. He was renowned in many local folklores as a bringer of doom, with his habits of arson and other forms of destruction out of mischief or spite raging across various countrysides. He looked impatient as he waited for Johannes to begin speaking. Johannes slightly regretted taking him on, but knew he would be a valuable addition.

Trevellyan had his eyes closed and a serene face, standing perfectly straight with his hands on the hilt of his mystic sword, Heliossune, stuck in the ground in front of him. The Moon God was always an aloof, alienated type. Johannes had met him years ago on the plane of astral projection. They had in fact battled there, but soon became friends; or the closest thing to "friendship" that two lonely rogues could come to. His cool-shaded bluish skin, long pale hair and white/blue robe looked very out of place here, in this mediaevalish land; but he looked out of place most anywhere.

Zarjav was one of the strangest things that Johannes had ever seen, and could barely be called a living being. He was made of living quicksilver, powered by an inner electricity; and such things, according to reason, shouldn't exist. Especially in the form of an upright-standing, man-like lion. But he did, and he was an incredible fighter, harnessing his morphing and electric powers to their mightiest extents. He, too, was mysterious, aloof, and cryptic; but there was a bond of great respect between him and Johannes.

And Johannes reflected upon himself, too. He was old, old, oldoldold, with a beard whiter than the arcitc snow; Johannes Engelbrecht had wandered the Earth for around two centuries, and had become an incredibly hardened warrior in that time. However, despite his journeys into mysticism and meditation, most of his possessions he carried in his huge trenchcoat concealing his impressive figure were your usual mechanic's tools or your usual pedestrian weapons- Hammer, screwdriver, wrench, dagger, pistol, sawed-off shotgun. The one exception was the 7-foot long mechanical claymore on his back - the Machinesable, with several powers in addition to its already impressive swordness. With his pale, icy blue eyes he gazed at his compatriots, and began to speak-

"The castle of Oceansize Oceansford has stood here for many years, for most of its history it has been trampled on mercilessly by passing armies. However, in the last twenty years, a new lord has taken control and is protecting the castle vigilantly, powerfully and with pride. I know you're all here for similar reasons to mine- you want a fight. a good fight. a fight that you and your enemies will remember forever; a fight that may go down in history. The four of us, alone, are about to approach an army of hundreds- and we will emerge victorious."

Trevellyan broke his trance and picked up Heliossune. Zarjav's skin crackled with lightning. Ven yawned, muttered and grabbed his mystic scythe from his belt. Johannes drew the Machinesabel from its sheath in one smooth movement- for him, almost 100 pounds with one hand was no problem. He turned and faced the castle, eyes ablaze.

"We will be victorious," he whispered to himself as he and the rest of the rogues made a run towards the castle.

[1-up Salesman]

To put it simply, the man was nervous. They all were. They all felt it, all at once. And they all had the same worries. He ran his hand through his red hair, and gripped the hilt of his sword. It made him feel stronger, like he was safe, even though they all knew that they weren't, because they all knew someone was coming.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to run away and never return. And it took alot to scare a soldier like that. Especially this one particular soldier. He could feel it- more than anyone else. The ability to sense was in his blood, so to speak. He was literally created with it.

Ronan the Hunter was not the average soldier. He wasn't exactly even a soldier. He was chosen- created by the Mages of the White Valley to fight off the evil that they felt was coming. Given the ability to sense what was near, and what was to come, he went where he felt he was needed. And that's where he was right now.

Tricking his way in, making himself look as if he were a simple soldier, he waited for them to arrive.

[Fairlight Excalibur]

How did I get myself into this mess?

Rafael Zorland found himself asking this question on a fairly regular basis. But this time, the intergalactic lawman was in a far more precarious position than usual. He was riding triumphantly into battle, atop the siege engine Deathstrike, surrounded by an army of soldiers, mercenaries, wizards, and an armada of siege engines under his command. The steam powered engine of destruction chugged along across the wide open plains, slowly closing the distance between his advancing army and their target, Oceansford Castle. The castle loomed in the distance, promising to give any who approached a fight they would not soon forget.

The weapons platform itself was three stories tall, with the command center where he was seated on the highest deck. From this vantage point, he could see clearly to the far end of the plains they were crossing, and also keep an eye on the rest of the soldiers that were assigned to him. Down on the second deck were the main missile weapons - two ballistas and a catapult. These particular ballistas were far larger than their counterparts that rolled alongside the titanic Deathstrike, and they possessed a firepower and range matched by few other weapons of their day. The catapult on the rear of the vehicle was likewise over sized, capable of hurling massive boulders almost twice the distance of any ordinary catapult. The black, flammable tar that coated their rocks and arrows meant that the victims were in for a nasty surprise was ignited.

The third deck was the most heavily armored, with iron skirting hanging around it on all sides. This armor protected the newly invented steam engine that propelled the monstrosity slowly across the foot and half tall grass, and also concealed the crew that reloaded the missile weapons from underneath. Inside this lower story were enough rice and beans to last their battalion several weeks, so long as they were rationed properly.

As Rafael scanned the battlefield to be, he watched the progress of the other units that marched alongside his, a mixture of soldiers, horses, and massive medieval siege engines that promised to deliver loads of primitive demolition. Each unit had its own specialties: some were faster and had more horses, some were heavily armed and armored, some had more siege engines than others. Yet, all were dangerous, and all were hungry for battle. It had been too long since a great war had been waged, and these men were ready to prove themselves as the mightiest army in existence.

To Rafael's immediate right, (North) a band of black-clad mercenaries marched at a steady clip, with their various weapons and implements of death ready to be drawn at a moments notice. Their unit was smaller in number, but from the rumors he had heard, they were top notch, and their smaller numbers were offset by superior training. A horseman rode toward the front, proudly displaying the banner of the Black Tiger Brigade. Their leader, Rikon Bladestorm, rode at the forefront, a man whose presence was somehow imposing regardless of his mediocre stature. Perhaps it was his piercing stare that unnerved his enemies? Or the pair of swords that were slung across his back? Whatever the case may be, this mercenary was certainly one to be avoided.

On the other side of the Deathstrike marched the personal forces of General Velmuth, a mountain of a man standing nearly seven feet tall. He wielded an almost humorously massive battle ax that looked like it must be impossible to actually swing, as well as a smaller sword on his hip in the event that a more manageable weapon became necessary. His force was very large, second only to Rafael's battalion, and they were both well-trained and well-equipped. They wore dark green armor and carried spears, crossbows, long swords, and axes, depending on their preference.

Far beyond General Velmuth's forces marched Captain Harlock's cavalry, whose forces were nearly identical to those of Velmuth's army save for the high percentage of horses. Harlock was Velmuth's most trusted captain, and they had been through countless battles together back in the Farmer's Rebellion, but had seen very little action since. Still, these military men were warriors at heart, and although it had been some time since they engaged in actual combat, they were itching to dust off their swords and take to the battlefield once more.

Back in the other direction, on the far side of Bladestorm's small force, marched the fifth and final battalion in the Desertvale Army, the soldiers of Prince Targus. His army wore brown colors, and rather than solid armor, they wore brown leather outfits and carried smaller weapons. Their battalion was far lighter, faster, and more mobile than any of the other squads, and they could relocate to any portion of the battlefield at a moments notice. Prince Targus was not, in fact, from Desertvale. He hailed from Falconridge, a kingdom to the distant south, but chose to ally with the forces of Desertvale in order that he might win the hand of Princess Airelyn, as the king of Desertvale had decreed.

Rafael's eyes wandered back to his own forces both on board the Deathstrike and off. In front of the doom machine lumbered a twenty-five foot tall ogre, which carried a seven hundred pound boulder in its left hand. The stone was anchored to a chain, which was in turn wrapped around the wrist of the ogre. Gonthor, the ogre, loved to throw the stone through walls, buildings, and people just for entertainment's sake, and then proceed to reel the deadly yo-yo back to himself for another toss. The armies of Desertvale hoped to use this ogre's strength to bash a hole in the wall of Oceansford Castle, allowing their troops to pour in through the opening.

Gonthor was not alone; a large contingent of the same green-armored soldiers that Velmuth commanded had been dispatched for Rafael to command. Perhaps the most unnerving of all was The Triad, a group of wizards who stood on the second story of the Deathstrike. They wore elegant robes and big headdresses, each one with a different color scheme. Their hoods cast shadows which hung down over their faces, obscuring their looks of impatience and disgust. He could not tell them apart, so he simply called them Red, Blue, and Gold. Every once in a while, they would turn their heads in his direction, and although he could not see their eyes, he still knew he was being watched.

Bringing up the rear behind Rafael's group was Captain Uprain, whose unit was mostly siege engines of one sort or another. His men were primarily archers, both longbow and crossbow wielders. He himself was a Robin Hood-caliber marksman, known for precision and deadly accuracy even in strong winds and over long distances. Along with his troops traveled a few oddities, large siege engines that had never been seen before. Their uses remained unknown as of yet save to a scant few.

Rafael's finally stopped letting his eyes wander and simply looked ahead. Oceansford Castle was coming into view, now mere hours away. His chance to escape this conflict was gone. For now, his options were fight or die. But how had a space faring officer ended up here in the first place? And how had he ended up in command of thousands of medieval soldiers? He mentally recounted the events that had occurred within the last forty-eight hours...




[Begin Transmission]

RAZOR,

Heavy radiation has been detected coming from an unnamed star at coordinates 42,13,86,47, Delta Quadrant. You are to proceed there immediately and determine if the radiation is harmful to nearby systems, as well as the orbital integrity of the star and any gravitational side effects on the neighboring systems. Further action will be determined according to your findings.

[End Transmission]

Simple enough.

Rafael (or Razor, as his codename dictated) did not think much of his newest assignment. Investigating environmental imbalances may be the easiest assignment one can receive, but they are also the most boring. He was all set to get in, get it over with, and get out. The fact that he was very well paid for his services was of little consolation once monotony set in. He pushed the throttle lever ever so slightly forward, subconsciously accelerating his small spacecraft long after he normally would have stopped.

When he finally reached his destination, it took him little more than three hours to take all the necessary readings and measure the radiation levels in the system. It was an incredibly boring three hours, however, and when he was finally finished with this number crunching, he was eager for new orders – hopefully, some that would take him away from this system. He liked a little challenge every now and then, and this mindless data gathering was eating away at his patience. This was the third errand boy task he had been given this week.

After submitting his findings via the computer, he slowly cruised to a distance where the radiation would not affect him. The last thing he needed was to get sick from radiation poisoning. He was almost home free. As he walked to the rear of the ship, he stopped by his vending machine to snag a drink.


Suddenly, a crashing sound blocked out all other noises, and the entire ship rocked forward, knocking Rafael onto the floor without warning. A flashing red warning light blinked furiously along with the blaring alarm tones that shrieked all around the ship as Rafael rolled on the floor, narrowly avoiding the vending machine as it tipped over and crashed on the floor next to him. The glass cover of the machine shattered and out came the contents of the machine, soda cans, potato chips, cookies, frozen burritos.... Rafael was now surrounded by a whirlwind of unhealthy processed snack items. He flailed uselessly, trying to stand up, but the turbulence was so intense that he could not gain his balance, and the pile of junk food just made it more frustrating.

He abandoned all hope of standing up and instead clung to the legs of a chair for stability as the ship tossed and turned, dumping his belonging off their shelves and onto the floor. He clenched his hands tighter around the chair, securing himself to the floor as debris and garbage flew everywhere inside the room, turning his ship into a maniacal popcorn machine. He was pelted by books, food, garbage, half-eaten fruit trays, chess pieces, and random assorted junk. He grit his teeth as the barrage continued for almost two minutes.

It was when the gravitational generator malfunctioned that the situation got to be extraordinarily amusing. With the artificial gravity disabled, Rafael was now floating in the air along with the assorted junk that littered the room. The turbulence had died down somewhat, so he wedged his feet against the wall for a second and propelled himself back to the cockpit. From his control panel, he could now see what the problem was. After he cleared the magazines and food off of his instrument panel, it indicated that his ship had struck a small chunk of asteroid and suffered severe damage to the stabilizers and thrusters.

Blasted radiation! It must have interfered with the scanners so that these rocks didn't show on my screen...

Although the damage to the ship was severe, the ship was the least of Rafael's worries as he looked up at his display. Indeed, the ship meant very little to him once he realized that he was headed straight for a small planet at near terminal velocity. He jerked violently on the control stick, but the ship did not respond. The thruster damage was too great, and the craft was out of his control. The small craft careened madly toward the planet, and Rafael was powerless to change its course.

Moments later, the ship entered the atmosphere of the planet and the turbulence once again resumed, though this time Rafael was belted into his seated. He gripped tightly to the armrests as the planet's atmosphere provided resistance, and the craft began heating up. He was entering too quickly, and the ship could not take much more of the abuse. Soon, the temperature rose to nearly unbearable levels. It was time to bail or get cooked.

Rafael flipped open the safety cover over the eject button and slammed his fist down on the panel. The glass frame over his head immediately shot upward, blasted off by compressed air, and Rafael's seat soon followed suit.

The slingshot effect was tremendous. Every inch of his body immediately felt the pressure as Rafael shot out of the canopy and into the air. From up in the sky, he wanted to get a good look at the planet he would be landing on, but the G-forces were so high that he could barely breathe. His eyes hurt, his body ached, his stomach reeled... he was being crushed alive by the speed of his descent. After several minutes of this high pressure torture, he finally descended to a livable height. At last, his parachute burst open and Rafael began his long, slow descent toward the soil.

That did not matter much to him, though; he was already unconscious.

[Fairlight Excalibur]

“HEEEEEEEEELLLLP!!!”



Rafael came back to reality with a start and shot to an upright position. The source of the scream was very obvious – the panicking teenage girl running through the very sparse forest, and heading directly at him. His was concerned for her only briefly – after that, his full attention was focused on the bear-like creature that was pursuing her. Rather than fur, this particular bear was covered in a hard exoskeleton material that was littered with horns and jagged edges, and its jawline was clearly that of a carnivore. It stood nearly eight feet tall, and the claws on its hands and feet left sharp indents in the greenery as it made a mad dash towards them.

Piece of cake....

Rafael's hand went instinctively to his side, aiming to grab his Disabler and put an end to this confrontation. However, a sick feeling of fear gripped him when he inserted his hand into an empty holster. He hurriedly glanced down, realizing he was unarmed. He panicked and scrambled to his feet, turning to run as he did so. The girl had already shot past him, and now the predator turned its eyes to larger prey. It dove towards Rafael, claws extended, flying through the air like a demonic can opener. Rafael hopped backwards instinctively, though a small dodging motion would not be enough to evade the incoming teeth. Oddly enough, as Rafael executed his small hop, he soared to nearly five feet in the air, clearing the underbrush and traveling a distance of ten feet before he landed.

"WHHOOOAAAA!!"

Rafael had not put much power behind his jump, yet here he was sailing through the air like one of the Mario brothers. He looked up from where he landed, trying to figure out what just happened. He still felt incredibly light, his entire body like a feather. He tested out his legs, taking a step or two, and determined that nothing was out of the ordinary save for his seemingly incredible agility.

The creature looked bewildered for a moment before it decided to continue its pursuit. It scrambled on all fours for a moment as it gained speed, then resumed its upright position and tried once again to tackle him. It moved with amazing speed, a blur of spiky nastiness, but moments before it could catch him, he jumped straight up. He disappeared above the creature, soaring up and up and up to inhuman proportions, finally catching onto a tree limb some twenty-two feet off the ground.

Not to be outdone, the creature sprung up towards the tree, digging its claws into the trunk of the tree about fourteen feet up and beginning to climb the tree with vicious intent.

Now or never!

Rafael swung himself toward the trunk of the tree as he released the branch, dropping from the sky toward the monster. The bear looked back up moments too late as Rafael planted his boot on the creature's face, forcing its claws to release the tree. They both plummeted downward as Rafael's shoe directed the skull of the creature earthward. They crashed into the lightly covered forest floor, and Rafael hopped off the creature unfazed. The bear seemed rather stunned at the impact – a fair guess, considering it had landed headfirst – and Rafael capitalized on the opportunity.

It was at this moment that Rafael noticed three soldiers clad in green armor had come running from the direction the girl had gone, presumably sent by her. They arrived at the clearing just in time to see Rafael jump from the tree and land on the bear. He paid no attention to them – he had bigger concerns.

He reached down and seized the creature by the foot, and with one upward yank, pulled the creature off the ground and into the air. Rafael surprised himself by doing so – the bear was twice his size at least, yet somehow he hoisted the behemoth with little struggle. He began turning in a circle, spinning the creature outward as they gained momentum. Around and around and around.... with every second, the duo gained speed and momentum as the bear futilely tried to wriggle free.

With one mighty heave, Rafael guided the creature's head into the trunk of the tree they had just been climbing. The bear's skull crashed into the trunk of tree with an incredible crunch as the tree cracked and pieces of bark showered the ground. The reverberation from the impact traveled through Rafael's whole body, momentarily distorting his perception of his surroundings. He took a step backwards as he cleared his head, and soon he focused on the creature again.

The bear was motionless. Its head was embedded in the tree trunk, craned back at an unnatural and very unhealthy angle. Blood poured from the head wound, and the tree was leaning slightly away from the area of impact, as though the collision was so strong that the tree was nearly uprooted. Rafael stared at the damage in disbelief.

Did I really just do that?

“Well done, stranger!” came the voice of one of the soldiers. Rafael turned to see the soldiers approaching him, swords undrawn. “That was an impressive feat, I must say,” the soldier on the left admitted, “not many men would dare fight an englehot alone. They tend to be most inhospitable.”

Rafael took one more glance at the eight foot creature. He still felt lighter than air, and it was just now starting to make sense to him. Rafael was raised on an AEC3, an artificial-earth colony that was located in the orbital pull of a planet with roughly three times earth's gravity pull. As a result, Rafael grew up rather short and very stocky, with dense, hard muscles and a hardy constitution. This planet, on the other hand, was smaller, probably about 4/5ths the size of Earth. So, it was the shift from a very heavy gravitational field to a relatively light gravitational field that cause the dramatic change in strength and agility. On this planet, Rafael would seem incredibly strong for his size – stronger even than a bear.

“You're telling me. Who are you?” Rafael demanded.

“Who are we?” the soldier asked in disbelief. “We are soldiers of Desertvale, the kingdom in which you are standing. Don't tell me... you're not from around here, are you?”

“Not exactly...” Rafael was interrupted as the girl returned, this time with an entire crowd of people.

“There he is!” she exclaimed, “the man who fell from the sky and saved me! He killed the englehot with his bare hands!”

“No, no, this...” Rafael's arguments could not be heard over the whooping, hollering, and cheering that the crowd was working up. He felt rather proud of his accomplishment, but he didn't want to get tangled up with inhabitants of this backwoods planet. He needed to find his ship and send out a signal so some other Federation ship could come get him off this rock.

“The Hero from the Sky! Hooray!!”

What crap is this?

“I'm not...” he started, but was cut off.

“Hero! You must come with us! The prophets will be overjoyed to see you!” the soldier on the left exclaimed, “They have foretold your arrival for many years, and you have finally come. You have arrived just in time to aid our war against Oceansford tomorrow! Certainly you have come in the nick of the time.”

“What war? What hero? MAKE SENSE ALREADY!” Rafael was getting a bad feeling about this. He knew that if he got tied up with the local politics, it would be harder to sneak back out to the forest and find his ship.

“Allow me to explain,” the soldier on the right offered, “the prophecy was put forth by our ancestors some five hundred years ago. Legend has it that many years ago, a hero fell from the sky to help Desertvale fight her enemies. Wielding the powerful magic sword Fallen Star, he decimated the enemy armies and brought victory to Desertvale. When the battle was concluded, he returned to the heavens, leaving the Fallen Star behind. The prophecy says that the next time Desertvale goes to war with her enemies, the Hero from the Sky would return to once again take up his sword and lead us to victory. You, sir, are the Hero from the Sky!”

“But I'm just...!!!”

“HOOORAAAYY!!! HOOORAAAYY!!!”

The crowd was going ballistic with their cheering and whooping. They swarmed down upon him at lifted him up on their shoulders, carrying him back toward their castle.

“PUT ME DOWN!!!”

“HOOORAAAYY!!! HOOORAAAYY!!!”

It was useless. The crowd could not hear a word he was saying, and his protests were lost in the din of the crowd. He eventually resigned himself to being hauled away to their little kingdom. A brief march out of the woods and up a small hill into their castle town took only ten minutes. Thankfully, they had stopped cheering quite so loudly, although their excitement was still obvious. They carried him up the cobblestone path into the city and marched toward the castle.

As they cleared the crest of the hill, he could finally catch a glimpse of the city they were entering. It was a walled city, and the peasant houses and huts dotted the inside of the city, while the castle itself was set farther back inside. Little marketplaces lined the streets, and tradesmen of all types patrolled the streets while looking for opportunities to offer their services. Shoemakers, blacksmiths, bakers... men of all professions inhabited this seemingly quiet city of Desertvale.

They passed over a massive wooden drawbridge and into the interior of the city, making a straight line for the castle in the center. As they entered the city, he could see that a military skirmish was about to unfold. Legions of soldiers stood in formation, practicing with swords, going through drills, shining their armor, and etcetera. There was also row after row of catapults, ballistas, siege engines, mobile archer towers, trebuchets, and other medieval forms of siege warfare. A line of cavalry troops marched in formation around the perimeter, waving to the citizens.

The military did not seem very popular here. Although the cavalry officer was trying his best to be friendly, it seemed that the people were not happy with his presence. They scowled as he rode by, staring with unfriendly grimaces and the occasional obscene gesture behind his back. Still, he rode on as though he did not notice, going through the motions of being friendly and greeting villagers.

[Fairlight Excalibur]

Finally, the people stopped when they reached the castle. Their chanting quickly garnered the attention of the castle guards, who came out and demanded what the ruckus was about. Upon hearing that the Hero from then Sky had arrived, the guards quickly took him and escorted him inside. He soon found himself in the antechamber of the castle, and it was mere minutes before he was ushered into the throne room.

The king was wearing a dark green robe and ridiculously over sized crown. He was an older fellow, both tall and girthy. Standing in front of him and facing him was another man clad in black armor. This man was shorter, roughly 5'10, with a pair of swords slung over his back and a cloak drawn about him. The man spun around as Rafael entered the room with his escorts.

Facing each other, they sized one another up in the moment of silence before they spoke. The black-clad man fixed his dark brown eyes on Rafael, as if staring deep into his soul. His dark brown hair hung down barely past the eye level and partially obscured the deep stare, alleviating the penetrating feeling somewhat. Yet, the hair in front of the eyes still lent an air of mystery to this man whose eyes were not entirely visible. He was wearing chain mail under his cloak, with leather armor covering the chain mail on his torso. The mail on his arms was exposed, made of some dark looking metal. He had a large medallion hanging from his neck, and it was the only element of his wardrobe that was not black. The gold medallion had a tiger emblem engraved on the front, and it seemed as though he wore it specifically to attract attention. His hands were concealed under black leather gloves, and his pants and boots likewise matched the rest of his outfit.

Great, the gothic look is catching on even on medieval planets now...

The man in black in return sized up Rafael's 5'11 frame. His eyes were a much lighter brown, and the sun glinted off his short reddish brown hair. His wardrobe was decidedly less intimidating. His simple blue t-shirt and tan cargo pants caused more curiosity than fear upon his entrance, and his tight fitting top showed off his well developed muscles. He wore brown hiking boots, a fortunate thing for him when considering how much walking he would have to do in the next few days.

“Who are you?!” the swordsman demanded, “and why are you interrupting my...”

“You will excuse us for a moment, Rikon,” the king instructed, “and allow me to speak with this man.”

Rikon's blood was boiling on the inside over this interruption, but he kept a straight face as he stepped to the side. “As you wish...” He shot a dirty look at Rafael, who ignored him.

“Come in, come in! I've been anxious to meet the Hero from the Sky. Rumor has it that you killed an englehot with your bare hands. Indeed, a heroic accomplishment. I am King Wilthoron, ruler of Desertvale, and I am pleased to have you as my guest.”

“Your highness, I believe there's been a slight mix-up... My name is Rafael and I'm most definitely not any sort of...”

“Not any sort of mere foot soldier? Of course not! You will in fact be the commander in chief of our military forces when we march on Oceansford tomorrow.”

“WHAT?!” a voice from the side of the room thundered. A massive man in green armor stepped forward after this declarative question, looking incredibly displeased. He towered over everyone else in the room, standing 6'10'' inches tall. He was an older fellow, lined with scars and obviously aging. His hair was graying and his hands and face were starting to show signs of wear and tear. And right now, he was really ticked... “you're giving command of my army to an outsider you've just met?! This is an outrage! I have worked with these men for years to hone them into the mighty tools of war that they have become, and now you just give them away?”

“Silence!” shouted a a short man in a royal robe as he stepped up from beside the throne, “You are not to question his majesty's orders!”

“Shut up, Chancellor,” the huge soldier replied with ice in his voice, “Your voice of insolence does as little good for this kingdom as hasty decisions.”

“That will be enough, General Velmuth,” said the king as he rose from the throne, “Your objections have been noted.”

General Velmuth's reply was not loud enough to be heard as he backed his huge frame back to where he stood before. He angrily muttered to himself as he observed Rafael, looking unimpressed.

“The decision is final,” said King Wilthoron as he sat back down, “and any further objections may be voiced in writing only. Submit them to the Chancellor and we will review them after the war's conclusion.”

“Your majesty, I have no experience in leading forces! I fear I would make a terrible choice for a commander,” Rafael hastily explained, hoping to weasel out of his predicament.

“Nonsense. With General Velmuth assisting you, and Captain Harlock and Captain Uprain fighting alongside you, you will have all the military prowess and expertise necessary to make this invasion successful. I am sure you will make a fine leader. Furthermore, the Triad will accompany you to make sure your mission is a success tomorrow.”

“The Triad...?” Rafael looked around to determine who this “Triad” was – which did not take long. Three men stepped from the small gathering beside him, arrayed in extravagant and brightly colored robes. One wore a bright scarlet red; the second, a deep ocean blue; the third was adorned with flashy golden yellow. All three of them wore hoods along with their robes, casting shadows over their faces and keeping their identity secret.

“These are my most trusted and powerful wizards, Foglin, Tomagel, and Fenton. They will be your protection and enforcers, for against them has no enemy ever prevailed.”

The Triad stood motionless, staring at Rafael from under their dark hoods. They all gave off an intimidating aura, an atmosphere of unpleasantness that instantly disturbed the peacekeeper. He was immediately unsettled, and suddenly wished that no protection had been offered. These guys creeped him out.

“General Velmuth, please show the new commander to his quarters for the evening. You depart at daybreak tomorrow... do try to get along, will you?”

“Yes, your majesty,” the general muttered through clenched teeth, “C'mon you.”

General Velmuth placed his hand on Rafael's shoulder and half guided, half shoved him out of the room without any opportunity for him to respond. The rough handling continued until he had been ejected from the throne room. Behind him, he could hear the king resuming his meeting with the black-clad swordsman.

The very moment they were out of earshot of the throne room and all its occupants, Velmuth turned and put his face mere inches from Rafael's nose. He spoke angrily and quickly.

“I don't know or care who you are, so called 'hero.” I have been commanding Desertvale's armies for over forty years. War and death are my trade, my skill, and my business. I know nothing but blood and death, and my men are the best. Behind me, they have marched to victory after victory in the past, and we need absolutely no help from a wannabe hero. Why the king wants you leading our forces after having met you only moments ago is beyond me, but I assure you that although I may be 'assisting' you, I have no intention of being your puppet. This coming war is MINE, not yours. Is that perfectly clear, rodent?!”

Rafael had planned on smoothing things over with this General, but after that last rant, Rafael was not feeling so friendly.

“Perfectly clear, you snot-colored fossil! Now get your face out of mine before I break it!”

As Rafael's hands tightened into fists, a much gentler voice broke into the conversation.

“Am I interrupting a bonding moment, boys?”

Both the General and Rafael turned their heads toward the source of the female voice, widening the gap between their skulls from one inch to three. A young woman had just entered the room. She was obviously royalty, wearing a flowery dress that trailed lightly on the floor behind her tiny frame. Her long black curls rolled down in waves over her bright perfect skin, and Rafael's disagreement with the general vanished from his thoughts immediately.

“Not at all, your highness. I was just informing our visitor of the finer points of politics here in Desertvale.” the general explained in a suddenly friendly tone.

“I see...” she said as she approached, staring at Rafael's odd clothing. She strolled leisurely up to him, standing almost as close as the general had during their shouting match. He was immediately drawn to her, a woman of grace, beauty, and poise.

“I see as well,” he said, “and I like what I see.”

“Do you now?” she questioned playfully, “But certainly those kind eyes of yours find something to like about all that they see?”

“Not all,” he replied, now standing upright and totally ignoring the general, who was steaming right next to him. “At least, not until now.”

“Perhaps you will continue to like what you see,” she quietly intoned as she took a step forward.

The general had heard enough. “Your highness, your fiance Prince Targus is already here. It would perhaps do you good to go see him rather than waste your time with unproven heroes.”

Though she was royalty and he was a mere soldier, a suggestion from Velmuth carried with it the weight of an order, and his imposing figure and dominant personality were nearly always met with compliance, even from royalty. She turned and retreated from the room slowly.

“See you around... hero.”

She vanished out the door... just as Prince Targus entered the door on the opposite side of the hall. The tall, solidly built warrior-prince had heard only the last few sentences, but he immediately spied Rafael standing in the middle of the room. He said nothing – the look of jealousy and hatred on his face spoke louder than any words could. He turned on his heel and left as quickly as he came, not saying a word.

Great... now he hates me too. What was I thinking?

At that moment, another soldier appeared, bearing with him a letter with the banner of Desertvale emblazoned across it. “General Velmuth,” he started, “this letter is for you and will require your immediate attention.”

The general took the letter without even reading it and issued new instructions to the officer. “Captain, take this guest of ours to the barracks and provide him an officer's quarters for the evening. Also, post a twenty-four hour watch around his quarters...” the general painted on a fake smile as he finished, “for his safety, of course.”

“Yes sir,” the captain replied. “Let's go.”

Rafael and the captain continued the trek to the barracks, quickly exiting the castle and making their way across the compound. “I am Captain Harlock,” the man stated, “and as of tomorrow I will be your cavalry officer. You, sir?”

“I am Rafael,” he began, “and I have no idea what's going on around here.”

“I see... then permit me to explain the situation. The Desert of Ultimate Ruin, Desolation, and Untimely Demise, or DURDUP as the locals call it, has been expanding rapidly as of late. You can see it out there,” he pointed off to the east as he spoke, where an expanse of desert stretched far into the distance. There was slight greenery for perhaps a half a mile past the military base, but beyond that it was all swallowed by the desert heat. “The DURDUP used to lie miles from our city, but over the past few years it has been creeping ever closer, shortening the gap between our fair city and this heaping pile of ruin. We have tried everything from irrigation and fertilization to consulting seers, prophets, and wizards – there is no way to stop the advance of the doom-bringing sand. Our only hope lies in vacating the city and moving elsewhere, for soon all life in the city will perish.”

“I see,” said Rafael, “so you are going to build a new city far from this desert so will not have to deal with it for many more years?”

Harlock seemed amused by the suggestion. “Build a new city? Ha! Of course not! Why, there are many perfectly suitable cities already built near here. We need only to find one we like and move in.”

“Well, yes,” Rafael said with confusion in his voice, “but won't those cities be occupied already?”

The captain answered as though the question were of no importance. “That is an error which can be remedied upon our arrival.”

“Wait a minute,” Rafael demanded as he stopped walking and turned to face Harlock, “you're telling me that instead of actually working and putting up a new city, you're going to invade some poor bystander's city and take over? What about the people that live there?”

“They will be killed or taken as slaves. Desertvale's needs come before the convenience of other cities,” he stated matter-of-factly.

“You can't just march around stealing people's cities and killing them all! Where's your human decency? Why don't you just take the time to peacefully build your own city somewhere else?”

Harlock's expression turned from professional to hostile. “You dare to question the will of King Wilthoron?! Be warned, you are bordering on treason even by your musings!”

Rafael clamped his mouth shut, utterly disgusted.

These good for nothing pirates are too lazy to build a city? What is wrong with them?! This war is retarded. They have enough manpower to just put forth the effort to rebuild and relocate if they wanted to – without wasting lives to do it!

Rafael though it best to change the topic.

“I don't care much either way... but I'm also curious about that other guy, the feller wearing all black back in the throne room. What's his story?”

Changing the topic only partially worked, as the hostile expression on Harlock's face converted into one of mere dislike. “His name is Rikon Bladestorm, a wandering mercenary for hire. He is just getting started in this area, though rumor has it he has fought in numerous wars in other localities. As far as we are concerned, however, he is just an up and comer. Because he has not established a solid reputation here yet, he wants a chance to show off a bit and hopefully round up some more clients. All we have to do is feed his men for this battle. Here is your quarters. Have a good night, and do not wander around.”

Harlock turned to leave as three green-armored soldiers took their posts at his door. Harlock's eyes told all there was to tell: he did not like the hero one bit, and he certainly did not trust him.

As he made that last comment, he motioned for the three soldiers to guard the door. “See that the hero is not... disturbed.”

Rafael entered the meagerly furnished room and the door slammed behind him, and he halfway expected to be barred in. It was late already, so he collapsed onto the little pile of straw and slept as best he could for the night.

[Fairlight Excalibur]

Rafael was awakened early the next morning by a rapping on his door.

“Come, hero! Marching time draws near!”

Rafael hauled himself out of bed and went to the door to meet this unfamiliar voice. He opened the door and immediately recognized the shorter fellow standing outside; it was one of the three men who found him during his confrontation with the bear-thing earlier.

Rafael walked out silently, no longer caring who was who or what was going on. All he wanted was an opportunity to get out of this hole without being noticed.

“I am Captain Uprain, military strategist and advisor to General Velmuth,” the man stated. The introduction was delivered with all the excitement of a man who had gone through the same routine a thousand times... and hated it every time.

Great... I don't even know this guy and he already doesn't like me. Where'd all my people skills go?

“We must report to the courtyard for the king's rallying speech, where you will be presented with the Fallen Star and officially declared the acting commander for the upcoming engagement,” Uprain informed him in a bored tone, “then we march for Oceansford. Do try to look as exciting and heroic as possible... His Majesty really needs the people to get behind his plan.”

“.... why?”

Uprain shrugged. “Thanks to some economic downturns as of late, King Wilthoron's popularity has been declining. He hopes to use this upcoming conflict as a rallying cry to get the people behind him again, and the appearance of the Hero is a perfect precursor.”

“Glad to be of service...” Rafael replied sarcastically. He was getting more weary of this place by the moment. At that moment, they crossed under a massive stone archway and into the grand courtyard, where all the officers stood in formation in front of the palace and awaited the king's proclamation. High above the courtyard was a balcony, where the king would speak from, which overlooked the whole of Desertvale. No doubt the whole village could see clearly when he addressed them from there. Just outside the courtyard, the commoners crowded around, waiting to hear the king's farewell speech to the army.

Rafael and Uprain walked quickly out to the courtyard, where they fell in line with Harlock, Velmuth, and a number of less significant officers that formed a grand company standing before the king's balcony. The lawman thought it rather strange that no one seemed to give a second glance to the twenty-five foot tall ogre standing in their ranks, holding formation like any other soldier. He was carrying a massive boulder secure to his arms by a thick chain, and he looked impatient. Then, almost as if cued by Rafael's arrival, King Wilthoron stepped out onto the balcony and looked out across his domain. He approached the edge of the balcony, where he was mos visible to all who were present. Then, he began to speak:

“People of Desertvale! Noblemen, villagers, craftsmen, farmers, and soldiers alike! Ye have all seen the devilish sand which approaches! The Desert of Ultimate Ruin, Desolation, and Untimely Demise draws ever nearer! All our efforts to halt its approach have met with complete failure.”

The groaning of the people momentarily drowned out the king's voice. They were already depressed as it was, and this bit of news certainly was not cheering them up. The king finally regained their attention with a burst of volume:

“DO NOT GIVE UP HOPE! There is yet a way for us all to be saved. This castle and this village will soon come to ruin, but fear not! We ourselves shall not be subject to the same fate! It is not a castle nor a city that makes a kingdom, but the people withing it. You and I, the people of Desertvale, shall leave this place forever, and establish a new city of Desertvale far to the west, out of the reach of this cursed sand! Today, the armies of Desertvale march once more, heading to the glorious west, where we shall conquer the neighbouring land of Riverdane, and from there we shall live in peace, with no fear of this corrupt desert overtaking us.”

The reaction of the crowd was ho-hum at best; he could not gain their enthusiasm with his speech alone. A loud voice rang out from among the crowd of people, defying the king.

“WHAT ABOUT CASTLE OCEANSFORD?! CAN YOU OVERTHROW IT?!”

The king smirked. He had hoped someone would bring that topic up.

“Can we overthrow Oceansford?! That impregnable castle which lies between our land and Riverdane has long stood as our enemy, forbidding us access to the western plains! Can we overthrow it at long last?! My people there is but one answer, and that answer is YES! For we do not march alone against Oceansford! For yesterday, our prayers were answered by the gods as they sent one to us who will lead our forces to victory! People of Desertvale, I present to you, that legendary warrior, the wielder of the Fallen Star, The Hero from the Sky!!!”

The people held their breath as the soldiers around Rafael parted like the Red Sea, giving them a clear view of their new hero. Rafael stood as tall as he could as the eyes of thousands were turned upon him. The thunderous applause and cheers from the crowd indicated that the king's plan had been successful – the old hero routine got the people fired up about this war.

“Bring hither the Fallen Star!”

A royal page approached, carrying with him a shiny sword, much longer than the broadswords the local knights carried. Its blade was very thin, almost flimsy looking. The base of the shaft was hollow, and a crystalline object was embedded in the blade. The page presented the handle of the weapon to Rafael.

Rafael took the relic from the page, and the people went completely ballistic. With their hero before them, wielding their legendary sword, how could they lose? Applause and cheers roared from all directions, and the noise was deafening.

The spaceman was not paying attention, however. He was studying the supposed sword. The crystalline object was in fact a gravitron generator, the tool used to power artificial gravity fields like the one that had gone haywire on his ship just before he landed here. In this case, the generator was embedded in the shaft of the sword. It appeared that it had been welded on, with a contact trigger placed between the generator and the blade. In theory, whenever the blade suffered an impact, it would vibrate the contact trigger, which would in turn activate the gravitron. Once activated, the gravitron would generate a gravitational shockwave directed back towards the object it struck, equal in force to the velocity with which it had been hit. Simply put, the harder the sword was struck, the harder this gravitron would throw back a wave of gravitational energy. Rafael remembered that some of classmates back at the Academy had joked about making one of these; apparently some bored officer had actually taken the time to do it.

It was understandable how the sword could be mistaken for a magic weapon by these primitives. After all, if someone were to swing a giant battle ax at this flimsy little aluminum sword, the gravitron would kick in and shove the ax back with equal force. Thus, it created the illusion of a super strong sword. The same would apply for stopping a giant boulder, knocking down an elephant, or even cutting a ballista bolt right out of the air. The only limitation was on the battery life of the gravitron, as well as its power rating. Some gravitrons were used to lift entire cities, or provide gravity fields for entire battleships, while others were just used around the house to lift heavy boxes and furniture.

Rafael squinted as he tried to read the power rating on this particular gravitron, but it was too old. He could not read the faded letters, and thus had no idea how much weight this one could support. One hundred pounds? One thousand pounds? Even more? He would have to play with it for a while before he could know just how strong it was.

Oh well. As long as I don't abuse this thing, it should last a while. These batteries last for centuries.

His attention was called back to his present circumstances when an incredibly large siege engine was unveiled. The people ooed and awed as the Deathstroke rolled forward while its newfangled steam engine shrieked on the inside. The three story tower of doom lumbered forward like a mechanical ogre, the medieval equivalent of an aircraft carrier. Rolling along beside it were dozens upon dozens of smaller weapons, catapults, ballistas, trebuchets, and some other toys that Rafael could not identify.

The king finally managed to make himself heard above the crowd once more.

“With the Hero wielding the Fallen Star, and our mighty armies marching behind him, no one can stand before us! We shall be victorious! Now... ON TO VICTORY!!!”

The peasants erupted with cheers one more time as the army began its march, working their way out of the courtyard and towards the city gate. The noise was deafening as the entire city followed them, cheering them on and wishing them well at top volume. Rafael took his place in the command center of the Deathstroke, and soon the army was marching towards Oceansford Castle.

Back in the castle, the chancellor met with the king and spoke softly as he watched the Deathstroke and the rest of the army march away.

“Do you really think that creating another hero was necessary? Surely you could have garnered the support of the people without using that stranger.”

The king looked contemplative as he considered the question. “Perhaps... but the fact remains that the simplest way to rally the people is to give them a man to rally behind. If that man cannot be me or Velmuth, then this newcomer will suffice. The Triad will dispose of him once Oceansford has fallen, and his martyrdom will be yet another rallying cry to encourage the people to see our plan through to the finish.”

“I see... and what of Targus and Bladestorm?”

“Targus matters not to me one way or the other. He would make a decent son in law, I suppose, but there are much better options. If he lives through the battle, which would be surprising, he can have the princess as promised. If he dies while trying to prove his might, as most young fools do when they are given a chance to show off, then I shall not lose sleep over it. Rikon is a similar issue; he does not matter much in the grand scheme of things. The hero, however, must die in this fight. He would gain popularity too quickly after the war and he could be a political threat.”

The chancellor watched as the Deathstroke finally became too small to see on the edge of the horizon.

“Wise decisions as always, your majesty.”

[Fairlight Excalibur]

Three days later


As the forces of Desertvale approached Oceansford, along with Rikon Bladestorm's Black Tiger Brigade and Targus' contingent of soldiers from Falconridge, Rafael was summoned to Velmuth's tent. The entire army had already made camp for night, pitching tents or else sleeping inside the siege engines. Guards patrolled the perimeter of the army keeping an eye out for either invaders or deserters.

Rafael trekked across the long, flat meadow that lie between his unit and Velmuth's until the outskirts of his allies' tents became more pronounced. He was greeted by a sentry, who promptly guided him to Velmuth's quarters. Rafael slung back the flapping door of the tent and stepped inside, where he found Targus, Rikon, Harlock, Uprain, and Velmuth all waiting for him. They were studying maps spread out on the table in the center of the room, while Uprain was mumbling something to himself.

As soon as Rafael entered the tent, Velmuth spoke to Uprain.

“All right, we're all here now. What's the plan?”

All eyes turned and focused on the mousy little fellow, who was obviously the brains of this operation. Velmuth and Harlock stared at him expectantly, as if somehow he would provide a simple and easy way of overthrowing Oceansford. Uprain continued examining the scrolls in front of him, and his furrowed brow indicated that every one of his IQ points was being put to thorough use. Finally, he spoke.

“Oceansford Castle does not have any glaring weaknesses, nor is there any simple flaw that we can exploit. We will simply have to take it by force. Look here....”

Uprain motioned for the other officers to look at the diagram scrawled on the parchment in front of him.


====================================

This is Oceansford's outer wall. As you can see, there are four great towers protecting it, and each great tower is flanked by two minor towers on either side.

____ o---O---o
____/_________\
___o___________o
__/_____________\
_O______________O
__\_____________/
___o___________x_____We will strike here, at the southeast.
____\__________/_____Once our siege weapons have given us
_____o----O---o______access, we will take this minor tower. From
_____________________there, we can march northward
_____________________and take the great eastern tower.

===============================


“There is a second wall inside the outer wall, but our spies have yet to return with information regarding its construction. It will most likely be similar to the outer wall, albeit slightly higher. Once we have taken the eastern tower, it will simply be a matter of marching along the wall and taking the other towers one by one. Our siege weapons will continue to bombard the other towers, providing an opportunity for our soldiers on foot to charge the towers. With the outer wall taken over, we will lay siege to the inner towers. This will be easier than breeching the outer wall, for once have the outer wall, we will already have the inner wall surrounded. With our men protected by the towers, they will not be able to stop us from taking the inner towers.

Once we have taken both the inner and outer walls, we need only to break down the door of the castle's keep and ascend to the highest chamber, where no doubt their commander lurks, and also from there we can pull down their flag and hoist the banner of Desertvale for all to see. When our flag has been raised over the central tower, the remaining enemies will flee.”

Uprain took a breath and looked up from his scrolls. “Any questions so far?”

“Just one,” Harlock questioned, “what about the moat and corresponding drawbridges? We can't take a tower while our men are swimming.”

Uprain looked pleased by the question. “Actually, my men have devised two new types of siege engine that will make crossing the moat a thing of the past. Just be ready to charge when your time comes.”

No further questions were asked, so Uprain continued. This time, he pointed to a different scroll.

“Here is our battle formation.”




================================================== ==


____ o---O---o
____/_________\
___o___________o
__/_____________\
_O______________O
__\_____________/_____T
___o___________x_____B___U
____\__________/______R
_____o----O---o______V
____________________H

(T = Targus, B = Bladestorm, U =Uprain, R = Rafael, V = Velmuth, H = Harlock)

When we first approach, Bladestorm's unit and Rafael's battalion will stay close together, concealing the extra battalion behind them. When we have closed sufficient distance to the castle, we will sit at a distance and bombard them with our siege weapons. Then, when the sun shines brightest in the southeastern sky, Bladestorm's unit will march quickly to the north and creat a gap for my men to march through. We will approach the castle wall quickly and set up siege units to allow access to the tower and surrounding walls. After the engines are in place, Bladestorm and Rafael will charge and occupy the tower, followed by Velmuth, then Targus, then finally Harlock. Once all our forces are inside, we will encircle the castle and take each tower, one by one.

================================================== ===


No one questioned the plan that Uprain set forth, though Rafael judged by their expressions that some of the officers did not appreciate the roles that they had been handed. The fact was, Uprain's plans always worked, so no one bothered trying to alter them.

The officers dispersed after their meeting, each one returning to his unit to inform their own officers of the plan. Time was drawing short.



Daybreak


Early in the morning the next day, the forces of Desertvale began their march once more. Oceansford Castle was now looming before them, less than two hours away. The battle was imminent.

With the battle about to commence, Rafael pondered how he would survive this conflict. The odds were stacked heavily against him.




Rikon Bladestorm had come to this battle hoping to establish a reputation as a fearsome warrior. He had hoped to be the hero in this battle, to singlehandedly turn the tides of the war, but Rafael was stealing his thunder already – and thus Rikon wanted him dead.

General Velmuth, who had been leading the armies of Desertvale for most of his life, did not want or need the help of any 'hero from the sky, and was none too pleased that command of his troops had been given to some stranger – and thus Velmuth wanted him dead.

Captain Harlock had been fighting for Desertvale since he was fifteen years old, and his loyalty to the kingdom was unshakable. He did not trust Rafael, for Rafael did not seem to have Desertvale's best interests at heart. He was not loyal to the cause – and thus Harlock wanted him dead.

Captain Uprain was tired of playing second fiddle to Harlock. Although Uprain devised the strategies, Harlock was the distinguished warrior and Velmuth's favorite. Rafael was going to interfere with Uprain's chance – and thus Uprain wanted him dead.

Prince Targus had traveled long and far, having already faced many battles, to win the hand of Princess Airelyn. However, the princess seemed to take an immediate liking to Rafael, who likewise seemed pleased with her. Jealousy is the rage of a man – and thus Targus wanted Rafael dead.

King Wilthoron had been struggling to maintain control of his kingdom while losing his popularity, and hoped this war would restore his glory. The appearance of the hero made it easier to sell the idea to the people, but the hero could not be allowed to interfere afterwards – and thus Wilthoron wanted him dead.

Stone Ashenlake had conquered Oceansford many years ago, and to this day held the record for occupying it the longest. No one had yet been able to overthrow him, and no challenger hadd ever survived a duel with him. He certainly was not about to let some insignificant little hero from Desertvale folklore put an end to his reign. As the figurehead for Desertvale's approaching forces, slaying Rafael would send the most powerful message to the enemy – and thus Ashenlake wanted him dead.



Rafael shook his head as he tried to figure some ingenious plan to survive this... but came up empty.

The time had arrived. The forces of Desertvale lined up in formation and the first long-range siege weapons prepared to fire.

As he pondered his predicament, only one thought crossed his mind.




How did I get myself into this mess?










Author's Note: This was all one post that I typed out on my laptop, but the site here limits post size and I had to split it up. I'm rather disappointed that my ASCII drawings did not turn out well - I'll try to edit them later when I have time so that my army's actions will actually make sense.

Also, my other posts will hopefully not be so long, but I felt it important to lay a strong foundation.



Note to other authors:

Certain officers in my army carry artifacts, which are yours to keep if you challenge and defeat the correct officer.

[Galefore]

Awesome.

Now comes the fun part. I shall work up my own post this weekend (there's a party I have to be at in a couple of hours, so time is constrained until tomorrow).

Again, awesome.

[1-up Salesman]

OOC: Can I switch sides?/

[Vapor]

^^^...BRIX HAVE BEEN SHAT :0

[Fairlight Excalibur]

^ ??


Also, Uprain's scrolls are now readable.

[Vapor]

Sorry, just shocked and amazed at your impressive length. :/

[Galefore]

So Christmas is drawing near its end. That means that, unless my family drags me off to those blasted sales they have after Christmas, I should have some time to write the second post in this tale of old Stone's probable demise.

@1-up: Sure, I'll put you over on the attacking side. I'm certain Rep and I are pretty much agreed that mods versus everyone else is a badass idea, so yeah.

[1-up Salesman]

OOC: Thanks, Galefore. This'll be alot better, because my main characters are evil./

"Come, failure. Come along, rag." Zeten Aranos walked through the wet grass as his group marched on its way to Oceansford. "We don't have all day!" Zeten yelled at his creation, Silik. Hurry up or I'll slit your throat!" Zeten paused for a minute. "Oh wait, you don't have a throat...well, hurry up or I'll give you a throat and then I'll slit it...." Zeten muttered.

"Er...sir..." one of his minions said. Zeten turned to him with an impatient look.

"Yes?"

"Well...what's so important about this Oceansford place? Why do we have to get here?"

Zeten shook his head. "Ugh, I shouldn't have recruited you. Anyone who's anyone is attacking this fortress tonight, and it's worth sieging. Now, does that answer your question?"

"Yes, sir," the minion replied.

"Good. Now, goodbye." In a flash, Zeten's minion was smoldering dust in the ground. "Any other stupid questions?!" Zeten called out to his army. There was a silence. "Good."

Zeten smiled too himself. "Now, come along men...er, minions, and be quick about it, too, unless you would like to join ol' Smokey over there." The army marched, Zeten proud and confident.

And the night went on, Zeten and his army continued the march. Close to him were Silik, his mummy-like creature, and several of his "Hoods." The Hoods were a creation of his own. They were dark, shadow-like bodies inside black cloaks. Zeten smiled to himself, rejoicing in what he had planned with the Hoods. The time of the siege was drawing nearer...

[VG_Addict]

A trench-coated figure walked across the grass, which was bloodied from previous wars, his trusty crowbar firmly in his left hand. This figure wore an ankle-length black trench-coat, which covered most of his body, while his short, light, almost grey brown hair flew in the breeze. This man was called Nightshade, and he was ready to serve justice against this lord of Oceansford. But, he was not alone, for he carried some friends with him.


Behind him stood a man of medium height, with short white hair, piercing purple eyes that showed great honor and chivalry, currently slumped on his right shoulder was his mighty sword, a 5-foot long claymore crafted from the finest of metals by the most experienced blacksmith in his hometown, an heirloom passed down in his family for generations, given to him by his father, wanting him to be the new wielder of the sword, just before he disappeared. The man also wore an aquamarine tunic, an large grey boots, as well as red worker's gloves on his hands. This man was a longtime friend of Nightshade's, known as Raji.


Behind Raji, stood a slightly shorter man, with spiky black hair and ocean-blue eyes, as well as a tight little frown on his face, showing that he was more serious than his white-haired companion. The man wore a green longsleeve shirt, black sweatpants, and blue boots. What some people didn't know about him, was that he was part wolf, on his father's side. He was called Balkin.


To the right of Balkin, was the tallest of the group, with grey eyes, long brown hair that went down to his mid-back, as a sign of respect for his sensei, who raised him as his own after his parents died. The man wore red wristbands, a lime-green gi, and was barefoot. He was named Tako.


To the right of Nightshade, was the youngest of the motley crew, about 16-17. This teen had messy shoulder-length blond hair, cerulean blue eyes, a yellow shirt, covered by a blue jacket, blue jeans, and white sneakers. He looked to be a normal teen, but you know what they say about looks and their tendencies to be deceiving. He had great psychic powers, and he was Takeshi Kishimoto.



Suddenly, Nightshade spoke. "Alright boys, we have a long journey ahead of us, and a limited time to get there. Now, some of you might not make it out of Oceansford alive, that you'll be brutally murdered at the hands of the castle's lord. So, if any of you feel like turning back home, now is the time." Not surprisingly, no one moved a muscle. Nightshade smiled. "That's what I wanna see! Now, Takeshi, you be the strategist/intel, in other words, you'll be telling us the best strageties for battling the lord's armies, as well as gathering information." "Understood, Nightshade!" Takeshi nodded in approval. Nightshade then turned to Balkin and Tako. "You two will be the brawn. You'll take out the armies, giving us a clear shot to the lord himself." "Right!" the two replied in unison. "Raji and I will fight the lord." Nightshade finished. "Now, are there any questions?"

"Yeah, what can I do?" came a voice from seemingly nowhere. All five men looked to see a tall, black, top hat, appearing out of thin air. Suddenly, a black-and-white man pulled himself out of the hat, albeit with some difficulty. The man then put on the hat, and the men got a good look at him. He wore a black tuxedo and spats, as well as white gloves. He looked like the typical 1920's-era gentleman. However, the men saw that he also wore Groucho Marx glasses one would find in a novelty store, as well as having large buckteeth, and a rather insane grin on his face. To put it frankly, he looked weird.

"Goofball A. McChuckles, at your service, sir!" Goofball said, throwing a salute and serious expression, sticking out his chest to look like a soldier. Nightshade facepalmed. "*Sigh*, OK, you can come too. But just try not to get in the way." "You can count on me, general!" the cartoon man exclaimed, throwing another salute. "Ugh, Raji, I'm gonna need a LOT of aspirin when this is over." Nightshade groaned to his friend.

[Fairlight Excalibur]

Perhaps, if you are lacking the time/resources/internet access/creativity/motivation/bloodlust/fingers to type with/keyboard/existence to put up the next installment, you could have Repster make the first counterattack.

Or I could always just attack myself or something.

[Galefore]

I was actually waiting for Repster to check in anyway, although I fully intended to post whether or not he did.

If he so desires, he can mount the counterattack. But be patient; I don't intend for this to die, and this break has been full of distractions.

If Rep doesn't post (and he likely will), expect mine soonish, maybe even tonight. It shouldn't take me long if I find the time to put my mind to it.

[Repster]

One of two things needed to happen for me to move. Ashenlake gives the command, or the Stone comes under attack.

Since neither have happened yet, I don't have control of Ashenlake and nobody attually said more then "I'ma comming to get ya!" I'm just waiting.

Seeing how things aren't moving yet I'll just assume that Ashenlake gave the go ahead for the first strike. Well, if Gale doesn't post tonight anyway. This is the last day that family is going to be around so my damn migraines from the 5 kids and louder aunt, fireworks, drunken rambling, etc, etc, etc, will let me actually remember my own damn charecters I'm bringing in here. Hard to introduce a charecter when all you remember at the moment is "Midget with sword that talks like an idiot" "Big cat dog thing" and "That one chick" and "Knight".

So, one way or another, before the dawn of the third day, things will get bloody.

[Galefore]

Yeah, that was one problem. I figured I'd have Stone actually notice that there were 5 or 6 separate armies amassed outside his keep and then order his allies to make the first strike, while my important men (who will be introduced separately) prepare to follow.

I suppose it'd be best if the whole "Stone notices the armies and prepares to defend" thing happens tonight, then. Give me a bit, and then you shall have your post.