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*A large, scattered force of mounted knights is approaching from the east. There are trillions of them, all riding under the banner of Aderon."
Two captains are discussing their plans...
"So what do we do when we find the treasure hunters?"
"We must recover the artifact, but we hopefully won't need to use force. We still live by a code of honor, even in these dark times."
"That's right, but I'm not sure that everyone still agrees with that. What has become of Aderon?"
"I don't know, but I still feel that Forlon is after the same thing. A battle is probably on the horizon, we had better be prepared."
"Right, Sir Flansburgh. I'll return to my knights."
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Knights of Aderon
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#2
Darkness 
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Posted 08 November 2007 - 01:59 AM
OOC: I started this post a few days ago, but my computer decided to stop working and I had lots of homieworks to do, so I'll finish it now XD Anyway, as I had said in the OOC of the first post, this is assuming I'm still king... And what is this artifact exactly?
Oric rode at the front of the column of Aderonians, sitting in his saddle with a grim resolve and determination. The thought of battle always made him troubled. It was not, without a doubt, the thought of fighting, or of danger, or of rage or blood or death that made him uneasy, but rather it was the thought of destroying another, and the sadness it would cause. The men who fell under his blade would no longer have the chance to do any good in the world. They would never know happiness again.
And those that knew them, that cared for them, they also he would harm. Would the wife of the first Forlonian captain that fell beneath his blade mourn forever for her fallen husband, never again to risk loving another? Would the foot soldier that he cut down next leave four children as orphans, who would never again know a father's loving touch? Was the cost of war heartbreak? The price of battle was life, and a single life was worth too much to put a price to. An Aderonian philosopher, the name of which escaped Oric as the time, had said most wisely, 'Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.'
For a few moments, Oric listened to the conversation between the two captains, both of which rode just behind him. Both were wise and battle hardened, both having fought with him in countless battles. He trusted their judgment, and they his. And it was true, there was little doubt a great battle existed in the near future. They had planned, though not knowing their enemy's number or arrangement made it so that most of the planning wouldn't be able to be done until the battle was about to begin.
"The best laid plan lasts until the first arrow leaves the bow," Oric said, speaking mostly to himself but loud enough for the captains to hear.
Oric rode at the front of the column of Aderonians, sitting in his saddle with a grim resolve and determination. The thought of battle always made him troubled. It was not, without a doubt, the thought of fighting, or of danger, or of rage or blood or death that made him uneasy, but rather it was the thought of destroying another, and the sadness it would cause. The men who fell under his blade would no longer have the chance to do any good in the world. They would never know happiness again.
And those that knew them, that cared for them, they also he would harm. Would the wife of the first Forlonian captain that fell beneath his blade mourn forever for her fallen husband, never again to risk loving another? Would the foot soldier that he cut down next leave four children as orphans, who would never again know a father's loving touch? Was the cost of war heartbreak? The price of battle was life, and a single life was worth too much to put a price to. An Aderonian philosopher, the name of which escaped Oric as the time, had said most wisely, 'Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.'
For a few moments, Oric listened to the conversation between the two captains, both of which rode just behind him. Both were wise and battle hardened, both having fought with him in countless battles. He trusted their judgment, and they his. And it was true, there was little doubt a great battle existed in the near future. They had planned, though not knowing their enemy's number or arrangement made it so that most of the planning wouldn't be able to be done until the battle was about to begin.
"The best laid plan lasts until the first arrow leaves the bow," Oric said, speaking mostly to himself but loud enough for the captains to hear.
“In the valley of hope, there is no winter.”
#3
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Posted 08 November 2007 - 09:14 PM
Sir Flansburgh draws his glistening sword while riding in formation. He holds it parallel to the ground, blade tilted to the sky, studying the sword for wear. While this sword had seen many battles, it's in surprisingly good condition.
He points it toward the sky with an inscription situated at eye-level. Reflected light from the polished steel blade shines on the captain's face. He then sheathes the sword quickly, visibly satisfied that it will bring him through yet another battle.
"Well one thing is certain..." Flansburgh replies to Oric, scanning the distant un-impeded horizon, "Surprise won't be a very good tactic. When a battle happens out here, it's bad news for everyone."
He points it toward the sky with an inscription situated at eye-level. Reflected light from the polished steel blade shines on the captain's face. He then sheathes the sword quickly, visibly satisfied that it will bring him through yet another battle.
"Well one thing is certain..." Flansburgh replies to Oric, scanning the distant un-impeded horizon, "Surprise won't be a very good tactic. When a battle happens out here, it's bad news for everyone."
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