Desmond Lackley hurriedly strapped on the last piece of his armor before snapping out an order to his squire to bring him his sword. The heat and light of the sun slowly diminished to a cold, dark night. Lackley grinned evilly. The darkness was a perfect time to carry out his task, for he knew it would make his hulking form appear more intimidating to his enemies. "Besides," thought Desmond, "I and my dagger will be the last thing that they see." The Dark Lord exited his chamber across the courtyard and briskly walked to where Desmond stood. "Remember Lackley, your life depends on this night," he said. "If you fail your mission and are still alive, don't bother returning." He drew his dagger and pointed it threateningly at Desmond's face. "You'll get a worse fate from me than if you were captured by the enemy." Desmond swallowed hard, nodding to his commander's words. "I-I shan't disappoint y-you," he stated as bravely as he could. The extreme pressure being placed on him had taken his bold, fearless air and thrown it to the dogs. In its place was a kind of fear that he had never felt before, even in the midst of battle. However, he had to follow through nonetheless and his sadistic will to see Bartholomew lying helpless at his feet was just enough to overcome this fear. Desmond mounted his horse and spurred its sides, starting his journey towards the city of Lothington. He cursed the night, for he could not ride at his usual reckless gallop. It would take him close to an hour to get to the city at this slow clip-clop rate, but the darkness would allow no faster speed. Even the torch he carried was nearly useless, for the biting winter winds continually suppressed its dull orange glare. Desmond slowly urged his animal up the icy slope of Lothington valley and into the thick woods between him and the city. He did at least have a well-established trail that could be followed almost up to the Lothington gates with the exception of the last few feet, which would likely be heavily guarded. "Well, no matter," he thought to himself, "I can tie my horse down the road and walk through the woods the rest of the way." The wind was less chilling in the thick forest, and Desmond's torch began to glow more brightly. He increased his speed to a canter and soon the city gates appeared ahead. Desmond dismounted just as he had planned, extinguishing his torch in the process so as not to be seen by the guards ahead. He silently drew his sword and dagger before gliding into the underbrush. The guards on the road were easily bypassed without an incident: this dark night hid Desmond's act of espionage from sight and the howling wind covered any crunching of icy leaves under his boots. The city gates were directly ahead. Now Desmond would have to exercise the next phase of his plan to get into the heart of Lothington undetected. He slowly sheathed his sword and took it off of his belt along with the dagger, laying them both under the leaves in a place that he could find them again. From the pocket of his surcoat, he pulled an inconspicuous hunting knife, the likes of which were common enough amongst the peasantry, and strapped it in the place of his sword. No guard would suspect this utilitarian blade of being a murder weapon. Next, he pulled the clothes of a farmer from his haversack and quickly put them on, covering his black armor and concealing most of his face with a hood. A leather jerkin concealed the rigidity of his breastplate just in case the guards were to pat him down. Now prepared for the next stage of his mission, Desmond moved back to the path and approached the gate guards. He was passed through without even a second thought and was soon strolling through the streets of Lothington just like an ordinary citizen. Desmond was well aware of his destination. From the reports of other spies, he had learned that Bartholomew was staying with three royal knights at the city's main inn, which was run by a certain Jeremy Watts. He could not wait to become the death of all of them if he could. His right arm clutched at the knife on his belt over and over again, rehearsing the action that it would take when his victim was before him. Desmond lived his life in eager anticipation of violence: he had almost an obsession with killing that had become a concern to even some of his fellow soldiers within the Dark Army. This was just one of the reasons he was counted among the most brutal officers under the Dark Lord's leadership. Another was the fact that he wore such a seemingly derogatory title with pride. Now, he had an opportunity to further solidify that title in his own mind and the minds of others. It was also an opportunity on which his very life rested, meaning he must be successful in its undertaking. "Oh, I'll be successful, I will," he assured himself. Never had Desmond Lackley been known to fail at any deed he had undertaken. He had fought his way through his tasks with an inhuman level of determination: one that had been the death of many who stood in his way. Now that his entire reputation hinged on this one assassination, that determination had never been so strong. He would prevail at all costs. Desmond's progress towards the inn was brisk due to Lothington's nearly empty streets. Very few of the city's people wanted to venture out at this time of night: partly because of the cold and partly because of the darkness. Lothington's citizens knew that if serious crimes were to be committed, they would be carried out during the night and Desmond Lackley's presence in the city proved that they were right. Finally, the Lothington inn appeared in the city square ahead. Desmond walked the last few steps to its entrance, knowing that it would be locked. Despite his training as a spy, he had no intention of carrying out his charge silently. He wanted action and lots of it. He hadn't even bothered to bring a lock pick because he knew he wouldn't need it. His method of entry would be more direct than that. With one last hesitation, Desmond lifted his heavy boot high into the air and swung it with a splintering crash through the door.

Thanks once again for the compliments! I have made a strong note to myself to consider my commas more carefully when used around conjunctions and it looks like I'm finally making a habit of getting them in the right place! Comic relief is something I think belongs in any good story, unless of course it is a short work that focuses exclusively on one or two topics. I will look out for hyphens in the future as well.

The sun shown with full strength on the Lothington countryside, its rays glimmering through the forest and creating blocks of wavy light on the snow covered ground. This serene and quiet scene of midwinter slowly began to tremble due to a rising sound far away. As this noise drew nearer, its source quickly came into view - a single rider mounted on a coal black steed. The equestrian was pushing his animal to the limit of its abilities. It would appear that he was in no mood for a friendly discourse "That fool Bartholomew," he mumbled to himself. Just thinking of that treacherous name made his muscles tense with rage. What would his commander think, knowing that one of his trusted spies had betrayed him? "If those three Leaartrieyan royal buffoons hadn't carried Bartholomew and the others away, I would have cut them down myself!" he burst out in a tirade. Those low minded scum should have known that they were to fight for their commander or die trying. Surrender was never an option in the rules of the Dark Lord and Black Knight. The rider beat his animal harder to gain more speed. He knew there was a sense of urgency surrounding the situation. With this betrayal came consequences for the plans of the supreme commander. If that treacherous Bartholomew were to tell all he knew, then the invasion of this miserable kingdom would end in failure. Finally, the tree line gave way to a dirt path that led down into the bottom of Lothington valley. Horse and rider quickly swept down its length and into the open plain below, with Lothington castle as their destination. The dull thudding of horse's hooves on the solid earth soon gave way to a steady clopping on the wooden drawbridge that led to the mighty fortress's entrance. "Get out the way ya brigand!" growled the rider in the general direction of the gate guard. The guard stepped aside willingly, not wanting to be run down by the galloping horse. Besides, everyone already knew who Desmond "the terrible" Lackley was. Lackley dismounted his horse once inside the castle gate and stomped angrily from the gatehouse to the keep - the location of the Dark Lord's headquarters. Desmond was still angry, but with each passing moment he was getting increasingly fearful for his life. The supreme commander had a tendency to unleash his wrath on any bringer of bad news, and this news was such that could drive him to blow the roof off the great hall with rage. "Stop! Who goes there?" snapped a guard at the entrance to the Dark Lord's chambers. Desmond Lackley sneered. Apparently, this fool did not know of his reputation. "Well, he will learn soon enough," he thought to himself. The guard lurched backwards and fell against the corridor thanks to Lackley's vicious backhand. He lay still. "Maybe that'll teach ye to mind yer manners when yer n my presence, foolish knave," said Desmond Lackley to the motionless figure. He sneered once again, then turned to knock on the door of the Dark Lord's chambers. Almost immediately, the door was flung open, and his supreme highness stood behind it. "My dear Desmond," he addressed Lackley in a smooth, polished, serpentine voice. "Do come in. What news do you bring? I hope that-" The Dark Lord stopped mid sentence as his eyes fell upon the motionless guard that lay at his feet. "Desmond, again? You know this is the third one you have disabled in your fits of rage. All things must be done in moderation and balance! You must learn to control yourself." Desmond's stern and angry countenance momentarily transformed to a sheepish look, before he brusquely snapped out an apology. The Dark Lord called over another guard from across the courtyard. "Attend to this fellow," he said to him. The guard knelt down to his comrade and began checking him over, feeling for a pulse and vital signs of life. "Sir, he's dead," replied the guard. The Dark Lord remained entirely devoid of emotion. "Well, get him out of here," he said. "I have more important things to consider than the worth of human life." With that, he quickly turned and went back into his chamber, followed by Desmond. "Now then, Desmond, what was it you were going to say before we were so rudely interrupted?" Desmond winced slightly, very much unwilling to lay this unpleasant news before his commander. "Your supreme highness, I regret to say that Bartholomew has surrendered to th' enemy. Not only that, but 'ees actively working against us now." The Dark Lord's face turned as crimson as the tunic which the hated enemy general Sir William wore, and he clenched his fists with pent up rage. Desmond Lackley winced again, fully expecting to receive just as hard a blow as the one he had given the guard. After a tense moment of silence, Desmond slowly lowered his outstretched arms and looked up at his commander. The Dark Lord's face was still flaming red, but he appeared to have relaxed somewhat. With arms crossed behind his back, he strode slowly towards Desmond with contorted rage written on his face. He began speaking in a slow, quiet voice, behind which his seething wrath was but thinly veiled. "Lackley, you are my head of intelligence, an experienced spy, and from my previous observations, an excellent judge of people." He paused and turned to face the wall before continuing in the same tone of voice. "Yet you were stupid enough to choose a traitorous wretch to carry out one of the most important espionage missions of this entire operation." Desmond stood unmoving, still looking apprehensively at his commander. "And you!" The Dark Lord shouted out these words at the top of his voice while thrusting a condemning finger at Desmond's face. "You and you alone will bear total responsibility for your failure." The supreme commander grabbed Desmond by the collar of his surcoat and hissed directly in his ear. "I want that traitorous Bartholomew eliminated and I will only be satisfied if he is killed by your own hand. If you send a subordinate to do the job, I will hang you. I repeat, only you can carry out this task if you expect to live another day under my glorious banner. So what is your decision?" Desmond's fear of the Dark Lord's anger quickly turned to eager anticipation at the opportunity of getting revenge upon the traitor that had caused him apprehension and concern. An evil smile broke upon his merciless face. "I'll do it."

Sir Gavin and his two companions sauntered back through the streets of Lothington towards the inn after their disastrous audience with Sir Rodney. Sir William would be disappointed to hear of the lack of cooperation, but it would have to be overlooked. The fate of the kingdom rested on the next few days, and an incompetent, lazy commander could not hold up the progress necessary to quell as great a threat as they were facing. "What are you going to do, Sir Gavin?" asked the field officer. "I'll start by letting Sir William know what happened. If he gives me the permission, I'll take command of the Lothington force myself. Sir Rodney is obviously not fit for such a position." he replied. "Ye can say that again," commented Bartholomew. "I never see'd no one so erragant in me life." After another quick walk, the three men arrived back at Lothington tavern, and Sir Gavin broke the news of Sir Rodney's response. "Well, it would appear that sergeant Watts was right," said the Crimson Knight after hearing the entire proceedings from the military headquarters. The sergeant gave a wry laugh. "I told ye he was no good. Don't count on 'im to do nothin in yer faver," he said. Sir Gavin posed the question he had been considering on the walk back home. "Sir William, I do not mean to be presumptuous, but do you think we should proceed with mobilization of the Lothington force regardless of the wishes of Sir Rodney?" "Yes," Sir William replied without hesitation. "Our full army will be here in two days, but you have authority to take command of the force and use them as you best see fit. I trust your judgment." "Thank you, Sir. I will begin movements immediately, starting with another scouting attempt on the enemy positions," replied Sir Gavin. "Good plan, Gavin," said Sir William. The sergeant propped himself up on an arm and addressed Sir Gavin once again before he left the room. "If ye don't mind me sayin so, I can recommend a man to ye that'll be a great 'elp to yer actions. Ask fer a major Wilkins. He be my commandin off'cer, and a good man too. Ye can trust him. He be more knowledgeable o tactics than Sir Rodney anyway, an I think Sir William could make quite a bit o progress with 'im s'far as a plan goes." Sir Gavin smiled. Sergeant Watts seemed to know more about the details of the Lothington force than anyone in the city. "Well, you were right last time, Sir, so I'll heed your advice and find major Wilkins immediately," he replied. Sir Gavin, the field officer, and Bartholomew exited the tavern once again for the second time that day, hoping that their task would be more successful this time. "We need to go to the barracks first and organize a scouting party so we can get a proper look at the enemy force. I also want to find major Wilkinson and notify him of the situation," Sir Gavin told his two companions. The barracks were on the opposite side of the city from the Lothington tavern, so the three men stopped at a local stable to rent horses. After they mounted on their animals, the trip went quickly. Soon, the stately barracks building came into view. Sir Gavin addressed the guard, identifying himself with the Crimson Knight's medallion and stating his intentions to begin the deployment of Lothington's local force. The guard was in hearty agreement and eagerly began directing Sir Gavin and his companions to the main room of the barracks so he could gather men for a scouting party. "Say, ye wouldn't have met Sir Rodney, would ye?" questioned the guard as he led Sir Gavin into the building. "Well, as a matter of fact, we have," replied Sir Gavin. "It was quite an . . uhhm. . interesting experience." The guard chuckled briefly. "How badly was he laid over when ye see'd him?" he asked. "He couldn't even stand," Sir Gavin remarked. The guard seemed unsurprised. "If ya knew Sir Rodney, Sir, ye'd know that that's 'im in his best condition. He nearly keeps the pubs and mead shops open single 'andedly. The man's a glutton, and that's be'in nice." Sir Gavin was not as surprised at this remark as he might have been before meeting Sir Rodney. He was quickly realizing that the local commander's popularity was very low amongst those under him. The guard with Sir Gavin and his companions presently entered the main room of the barracks, which was filled with soldiers, some dressed for battle and some donning their armor. Despite Sir Rodney's sluggish reaction to the enemy threat, it appeared that the local force was responding without orders from their lazy leader. Sir Gavin announced who he was and his purpose in being there to the assembled soldiers, and they responded with enthusiasm for his plan of action against the enemy. It was undoubtedly the first call to action that they had had since the dark forces had swept down to snatch Lothington castle from the kingdom's grasp. "I need a party of twenty to thirty armed men to compose a scouting party, due to leave from the city immediately. All will be mounted and the outer guard will need to carry pikes to defend if we are attacked," Sir Gavin announced. He briefly related the events of the previous night, excluding Sir William's involvement in order to keep his identity secret. Of the 50 or so men in the room, nearly all of them raised their hands. One man worked his way to the front of the rest and approached Sir Gavin. He was a short, barrel-chested man with a red beard and a confident face. "Major Wilkins, Sir. Thomas Wilkins at your service." The major put forth a sturdy hand, which Sir Gavin shook earnestly. "Glad to meet you, Sir," he replied. "Sergeant Watts put in a good word for you, and I trust that he will be right." The major gave a slight smile. "Well, I can not promise anything, but you can be sure I will do all in my power to fight back against the invaders," Major Wilkins replied. "I do not doubt your solid character," said Sir Gavin, "And you can help me select men for the scouting mission that we plan to execute." The major was more than happy to help and immediately began recommending soldiers for the task. Before long, a new scouting party - much better armed than the previous one - was assembled at the edge of the city walls. They cautiously began the advance into the same field that Sir William and the others had taken just the previous night, leaving the protection afforded by the wall. Sir Gavin was glad that they had the sunlight of the afternoon to guide them through the blowing fields and thick woods, for the party could move faster with less risk of an unexpected attack. The countryside, now illuminated by a blazing midday sun, appeared ten times less foreboding than it had been the previous night. A cool wind whipped softly juggled the tall prairie grass against itself, and a deer grazed serenely in the center of it, very much unaware of that this peaceful meadow as if pulled from a storybook, may soon be running with the blood of friend and foe. The scouting party quickly reached the edge of the thick forest that bordered Lothington valley and entered it, slowing their pace somewhat, but not to the extent that they did the previous night. Sir Gavin was thankful for the increased light. No enemy could sneak upon them now and no shadowy figure would furtively slip by, unnoticed by the party: the security afforded by the sun was just as great as that provided by well-armed men. They dismounted once again when they reached the area where the woods thinned out and walked carefully towards the ledge that had almost been their death the previous night. Sir Gavin quietly instructed the cavalry to remain mounted and create a perimeter around the rest of them while forming a hedgehog defense with their lances. An enemy force would be unable to surprise them now, but in addition that force would be at a grave disadvantage if combat were to break out. Sir Gavin crouched to the ground and began to crawl towards the edge of the cliff, followed by Major Wilkins, Bartholomew, and the field officer. Now, with the fear of imminent danger minimized, Sir Gavin had to carry out the task that Sir William had been prevented from completing. He eased his body the last few inches, peered over the edge, and was shocked by what he saw. The castle was standing starkly against the rest of the valley, but no enemy army was camped outside. "There is no way they could all fit inside the castle walls," thought Sir Gavin to himself, "Which means-" A sudden thought occurred to him, causing him to shudder in terror if it were to be true. He slowly turned to one of his companions: "Bartholomew, I need you to tell me more about those caves in the forest that you were asked to look out for by the Dark Lord."

I very much understand your position. I personally think a story is best told with mystery surrounding some individual characters, in this case their names, but others should be revealed to the reader. A story can be very boring if the author tells the reader the names of each character, but it can be very restricted and confusing if no one is named. As a lover of classical literature, I like to balance between these two extremes. When reading Dickens, for instance, one will notice that the names of the main characters are revealed, but others, such as Betsy Trotwood's unknown husband in David Copperfield, are not. (Great book if you want to greatly expand your vocabulary and quickly gain an even greater appreciation for an author who mastered the English language.) I actually left some names in the War For The Kingdom's series out of the piece, such as the garrison commander in the first chapter or the field officer. The messenger's name was left out until he as a character became central to the plot of the story, after which I named him. In short, balance to every story is what makes it worth reading. I am sure you can successfully write with just pronouns, but I prefer a mix of pronouns and names in my work, as this gives a level of mystery, but also makes the piece logical for the reader. This is, of course, my personal opinion on the matter. If you do manage write something using pronouns only I would still be interested to read it!

-406

soar like ares

-410

Now that was a good story! Great sentence structure, vocabulary, and a masterful use of suspense. Bravo! One question, though: if the man was inside the house the entire time, then how were there footprints in the mud outside?

From the author of the aforementioned War For the Kingdom series, congratulations on a story well written. I'm going to have to check out the rest of your series: it sounds really good! Judging from just this clip, I think I will enjoy it immensely.

-412

Player @Lose has been banned for the period of time it takes him to solo parkour to the top of the Rio skyscraper with mammoth. Reason: posting his ban 13 days after mine.

Thanks once again! You are right once again about the commas. I must remember to use just conjunctions ,and. . . to not add a comma before them. As this story progresses, a shifting of characters begins to occur that will significantly alter the position of the protagonist. It will also change the course of action for the story, and lead to several humorous, as well as serious encounters in the next chapter.

Ok, thanks. This is the answer I was looking for .

Hi, I recently did a guitar cover of one of my favorite songs and would like to share it on the forum, but it is on my device only (this PC in windows). How do I upload it to the forum since it does not have a URL like a YouTube video?

Astley would be proud. . .

You hit the front slope of my armor and the shot glanced, causing no damage. TPBM is the last person in existence, and they must continue the human race by themselves.

48

Delhi

Annapolis

#TheFinalVin because there’s strength in numbers.

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Sure! Just in time too, because I was running out of juice. Do you want apples?

If you mean on just the AWS then yes, I have uploaded all parts only here.

Yes, but If I hear this question again, I think I may lose my rind! What's your favorite genre of literature?