The first rays of sun glinted through the second-story window of the Lothington inn, slowly waking the messenger from a light, troubled sleep. Even before he opened his eyes, the events of yesterday evening slammed into him, instilling a sense of intimidation but also fueling him with a drive to live up to the task he was expected to accomplish. "Th' Gen'ral and sargent are awake, Sir." Bartholomew's words slowly roused the messenger to a sitting position. "I'll be ready to see them in a moment," he answered as he began to dress. In addition to caring for the wounded, this day would be one of military planning with the local commanders and another attempt to view the enemy positions. After a quick breakfast in the tavern, the messenger entered the same room in which he and Sir William had first met sergeant Watts in his official standing. The table and chairs had been moved away, and in their place were two cots brought from upstairs, on which Sir William and the sergeant lay. The general was practically smothered in bandages. His head was wrapped with gauze and his arm was in a sling. The sergeant was pale in the face from loss of blood, and a band of gauze lined his shirt to cover his wound. "Good morning, Sirs," said the messenger to both the wounded knights. The Crimson Knight returned his greeting in a weak voice, as did the sergeant. "Well, my left arm's broken and the doctor thinks I may have a concussion. No ribs broken, but I fear I'm out of commission for the time being. I'm leaving things in your hands," said Sir William. "One thing I can do is discuss tactics with the local commander, if you'll bring him to me. However, you must handle things in the field until I can ride again. I trust you to act in my place." "As you say, Sir," replied the messenger. "I'll get the commanding officer here with you to start planning a counterattack. If you don't mind Sir, I would also like to attempt another scouting party to view enemy positions, this time better armed." "Agreed," said Sir William. "You have power to act in my place, and I am giving you the authority of my rank since you are the officer in command." Sir William fumbled for something on the table by his bedside. "Here is my signet medallion, in case any question your motives." He handed the gold coin to the messenger. "Now good luck, umm . . . " The Crimson Knight stopped mid-sentence. "You know, throughout this whole operation, I never caught you name, messenger." he continued. "It's Gavin, Sir Gavin of Lothington." replied the messenger. "Well, Good luck, Sir Gavin." Sir William finished. Sir Gavin, the messenger, thanked the Crimson Knight and turned to leave in search of the region's commander, who was his own leader before sergeant Watts stopped him. "S-sir Gavin, I want ta let ya know about Sir Rodney, th' gen'ral o our local force. The m-man's a blundering fool if e'er one existed. He be full o himself and thinks he be th' man of the 'our in every sitiation. D-don't trust 'im with too many men if ye have the choice, or he'll be a problem." Sir Gavin was surprised and a bit amused by this account. He glanced at Sir William, who smirked at the remark but surprisingly did not reprimand sergeant Watts. "Thank you for the warning, sergeant," said the messenger. "I'll be sure to heed it." Sir Gavin left the tavern and began his trip to the military headquarters to seek Sir Rodney with Bartholomew and the field officer by his side. Despite the new day, Lothington's streets still held an air of anxiety. The flickering torches that burned throughout the still night had been replaced with a biting north wind, which swept cold air through the empty streets, requiring anyone that planned on venturing out to bundle up well. Sir Gavin shivered from the cold and pushed his arms farther into his tunic, for he had neglected to wear a surcoat. Fortunately, the military headquarters was not far, and he quickened his pace to reach it before he was truly frozen to the bone. After passing through another of the city's winding streets, the party of three clomped up the steps of the headquarters building. "Wha' can I help ye with?" asked a guard at the door. He swiveled his slovenly form to block the entrance. "We have urgent business for Sir Rodney concerning the invaders," Sir Gavin replied. The guard snickered before replying. "Oh do ye now? Well, on'lee important people are allowed to see his Excellency," sneered the guard. He made as if to spit at Sir Gavin's feet but chose to speak instead. "Now git back to th' barracks with ye, before I 'ave a mind to chase ye away." Fire jumped into Sir Gavin's eyes and his muscles tightened. If these were the kind of soldiers that Sir Rodney employed as his personal guards, he could only imagine what the commander himself was like. Without a word, Sir Gavin flashed the Crimson Knight's medallion. The guard fumbled, his eyes wide and nervous. After a moment of stuttering, he quickly stepped to the side of the door and practically bowed to Sir Gavin while motioning for him to enter. "F-first door on th' left is his office, your lordship," he stammered, trying to recover some sense of dignity. "Thanks," said Sir Gavin tersely as he entered the hall. Bartholomew and the field officer followed behind him, trying not to laugh at the bumbling guard as they did. Even before the three knights were within view of Sir Rodney's office, they were well aware of what his favorite pastime was. Sir Gavin's face wrinkled at the putrid, overpowering stench of stale ale, mead, and barley beer that wafted down the hall, emanating from under the door of Sir Rodney's office. Bartholomew buried his nose in his tunic and the field officer wretched, holding both hands over his face to keep from vomiting. Sir Gavin knocked on the office door, which was stained, peeling, and warped. A muffled voice answered the knock, and Sir Gavin entered the room. Within it, Sir Rodney's ponderous frame lounged on a chair, his legs suspended over a small table on which a half-drunk bottle of cheap mead sat. Earthenware jugs and empty bottles covered the floor, spilling spoiled liquid and attracting flies through an open window at the other end of the dull chamber. The stench that the three men had smelled in the hallway was nearly unbearable in the room, and it took all of Sir Gavin's physical restraint to keep his breakfast down. "Who enters me room unannounced?" mumbled Sir Rodney. He attempted to rise and knocked his mead bottle off of the table, which shattered on the floor and added to the liquid already present there. The hopelessly intoxicated knight attempted once more to rise from his chair but was too uncoordinated to even stand and collapsed back into it. A thunderous belch reverberated around the room. Sir Gavin sighed: this was going to be a lot harder than he had thought. "Sir Rodney, I am here on behalf of his Excellency Sir William, who bids you meet with him to discuss a plan of action against the dark forces immediately. I shall take you to him directly, at the Lothington inn." Sir Gavin showed the Crimson Knight's medallion after he had finished speaking. Sir Rodney stared at it disinterested. "Well, thar ain't no one who rushes Sir Rodney, boy, an you'd best remember it. I'lls not be forced ta see anyone if I don't wants to, and right now I don't wants to." The obstinate commander crossed his arms like a defiant child and reached behind his chair to pick up a fresh bottle of mead. "Sir, I don't believe you understand the urgency of this situation. We have information from a reliable source that indicates the enemy may attack this city very soon, perhaps even today. It would be in your best interests to-" Sir Gavin was cut off by an outburst from the disgruntled commander. "I said I don'ts want ta see nobody!" he shrieked at the top of his voice. "Leave me be ya meddlers!" he hurled the fresh bottle of mead in Sir Gavin's direction, and it exploded against the wall, barely missing Bartholomew. "Now get out! Get out now ye hear?! I'll get the. . . the uhh. . . the guard ta. . . umm. . .I'll. . ." Sir Rodney's slurred and broken speech gradually dropped off into a snore as the effects of his ludicrously large helping of mead settled in. Sir Gavin sighed again and turned to leave, beckoning to the field officer and Bartholomew to follow him. It was clear that he was going to have to fight this battle by himself.

-416

Thanks for the complements! Part 7 on the way soon!

21

-418

Thanks! I thought it was due time for a bit of comic relief in the plot of this story ;). This was the first full chapter that I had written since I picked this piece up again, and I have more development in the plot coming up.

Player @Intercept-1 has been banned until he reads my AWS posts. Reason: typing his ban at a quarter to midnight.

-417

By far the best guide I have ever seen. This is extremely thorough and addresses pretty much all issues that beginning players will face without rambling on a specific issue for too long. Bravo!

War For The Kingdom (Part 4) What was the first article you ever wrote in the AWS?

5 (with three more on the way) Do you have any published stories?

-419

Hard to say. I prefer hopper for playing, but on the other hand, hopper is better for scoring goals. Now hopper, however, is the best for scoring goals. While hopper is ok for that purpose, it is far outshined by hopper. In short, the best answer to your question is . . . What is your least favorite map?

The messenger, the field officer, and Bartholomew, along with the three men at arms had been behind Sir William and Sergeant Watts when they heard a rustling in the trees, behind them. The field officer looked back and, seeing nothing, dismissed the noise as no more than an animal. The messenger, however, was not convinced. He had a foreboding feeling that they had been followed in the woods and was sure that he had seen a figure rather than a shadow when he had drawn his sword. He had dismissed the thought as a figment of his imagination at the time but was less sure of himself now. He continued to silently brood over the possibility of an ambush for a moment longer before his fears were confirmed. A towering warrior clad in black armor and wielding a greatsword broke from the underbrush behind them and streaked to where Sir William and the sergeant were surveying the enemy positions. The messenger rose from the ground with a yell and began to advance towards the scene before another Dark soldier apprehended him. Looking over his shoulder, he saw more enemies spring from the woods behind them and attack the men at arms. Bartholomew and the field officer were caught off guard but drew their swords and defended as best they could. The messenger's opponent laughed menacingly as he executed his first move. The messenger countered and attempted to return an attack, but his opponent would have none of it. The warrior pressed the messenger to the length of his abilities, and he wasn't sure how long he could hold the brute off. The warrior moved to the side just far enough for the messenger to view the scene at the end of the cliff. Sergeant Watts was desperately battling against two Dark soldiers, and a third had Sir William backed to the edge of the cliff. Sir William's opponent slammed his massive sword into the general's defense, and the Crimson Knight faltered. He stumbled closer to the cliff's edge, unable to maintain his balance. The messenger's view of the scene was cut off by his opponent, who had moved back in front of him. The messenger feared the worst, though. Once again, his fear was confirmed when his opponent moved aside once more and allowed him to see what was unfolding at the edge of the cliff. The messenger's heart sunk. Sir William was not in sight: the sergeant stood alone, battling three Dark soldiers by himself. The messenger nearly dropped his sword in sadness but quickly recovered. He had nearly forgotten about his opponent. By now, he had been forced to retreat by his massive enemy to the point that he was back to back with Bartholomew and the field officer. One of the three men at arms had caught a slice across the chest and collapsed unconscious. The messenger thought he was unlikely to survive. Despite this, it appeared that four of the Dark soldiers had been cut down. The messenger smirked briefly: perhaps the massive stature that these warriors sported was more for show than for action. He prepared to try out his theory and gather all of his swordsmanship skills in an attempt to break out of the circle in which the Dark warriors had he and his comrades trapped. His first attack caught the warrior completely by surprise. The black clad soldier had assumed the upper hand throughout the entire duel and was shocked when the messenger executed a feint followed by an above the head slice, known as a fendente, which split his shoulder and caused him to drop his sword in agony. The messenger didn't stop there. He transferred his momentum from the overhand fendente to a cut from the side, known as a sotano. The Dark Warrior couldn't recover and was felled in a matter of seconds. With his obstacle out of the way, the messenger sprinted to the end of the cliff where the sergeant, by some miracle, had managed to hold off all three of his opponents. He used the element of surprise to finish off two of the warriors, for now was not the time to be chivalrous. He was not in time to stop the third from taking advantage of an opening in Sergeant Watt's defense and thrusting his blade through it. The sergeant howled in pain as the evil warrior's sword thrust into his torso. The messenger's blade impacted the sword of the sergeant's attacker, too late to stop it from inflicting the wound. The sergeant, despite the gaping wound in his side, brought his sword up one more time to beat off his opponent, who retreated from the end of the cliff and ran into the undergrowth. With the last of his strength expiring, the sergeant collapsed to the ground. "Fall back!" called a raspy voice from one of the Dark warriors. He clutched his forearm, on which a large gash had just been inflicted by one of the men at arms. Leaving their dead and wounded behind, the diminished enemy force stumbled back into the dark woods from whence they came. The messenger breathed a sigh of relief then stooped down to Sergeant Watts, who was facedown at the edge of the cliff. The sergeant was still alive, but the messenger feared he would not remain so for long unless he was taken back to the city. He called on the two men at arms that still remained to begin what treatment they could while he walked to meet Bartholomew and the field officer. "Th' Gen'ral?" asked Bartholomew in a wavering tone. The messenger looked dejectedly to the ground before turning to the cliff's edge. "Sir William!" he cried, not expecting an answer. He waited for a moment. All that could be heard was the whistling of wind around the bluffs and through the trees, with an occasional moan from one of the wounded men. The messenger peered over the edge of the cliff, but it was too dark to see if the Crimson Knight's broken body lay at the bottom. "L-let's go," mumbled the messenger as he turned back to his comrades. A tear began to streak down his face. A single moan, followed by a nearly inaudible 'help' caught the messenger's ear as he began to walk back towards the horses. He stopped and turned again, running back to the cliff's edge. "Sir William!" he cried, this time with hope in his voice. The moan was repeated, and the messenger heard the clanking of a scabbard somewhere on the rocks below. "Bartholomew, run to the horses and get some rope!" cried the messenger as he bent over the edge of the cliff once more. He still could not see anything, but the moaning continued. Bartholomew quickly returned with a rope, followed by a torch-bearing man at arms. The messenger took the torch and waved it as far as he could over the edge of the cliff. Sir William lay on a rock ledge several feet below. "He's still alive!" said the messenger as he motioned Bartholomew to hand him the rope. The messenger tied it around his torso, giving the other end to Bartholomew and the field officer. "Pull us up when I give a tug," he said as he began to descend to the rock shelf on which Sir William lay. The general was semiconscious when the messenger reached him, and blood pooled around his head. The messenger carefully felt for broken bones and was not surprised when he found that several of the Crimson Knight's ribs may be broken. His arm was limp, and the messenger was sure that its bone was split from the fall. Lifting Sir William over his shoulder, the messenger gave a jerk on the rope, which began to rise slowly as the men at the top heaved with all their strength. Finally, the two men were lifted back over the cliff's edge and onto solid ground. Sir William was badly battered and would require much recovery, but he would live. "Let's get back to town as quickly as possible," ordered the messenger as soon as he had removed the rope from around his midriff. "I don't want to be caught in the open for a long period of time." The entire party moved from the cliff to their horses, carrying their three wounded. The man at arms that was cut across the chest tossed and turned in agony throughout the trip but became still when they neared the clearing were the soldier assigned to hold the horses were waiting. When the two men at arms carrying their wounded comrade were preparing to place him on his saddle, the field officer stopped them. He checked the man's pulse and heartbeat before glancing at his eyes, which were open, glazed, and staring at nothing. "This man's dead, Sir," he reported. The messenger slowly looked up from the reins of his horse. "J-just get him on the horse. We'll get him back and give him a proper b-burial." The adrenaline had drained out of him and left in its place a crushing realization of the responsibilities he had now that Sir William was unable to lead from the front. Despite any attempt on his part to hide his emotions, they showed clearly through his drawn, haggard countenance. His was the face of a broken man who had witnessed death and lived to tell about it. When all were ready, the messenger raised a tired hand to start the column of men moving back towards the city. Sir William was safe, but nonetheless, the days ahead were to be filled with uncertainty, dread, and death. The motive that kept the messenger, as well as all the citizens of the kingdom upright, was the hope of snatching victory from the grasping claws of evil.

Thanks so much for the complements! When I'm really busy and don't have much time to work on leisurely writing, it normally takes up to week a chapter, sometimes more. However, I've had a lot more free time lately, and have been able to finish chapters 5, 6, and 7. Hopefully they'll be up on the forum soon!

Sir William carefully laid his hand on the door knob and put his ear close to the door's edge. He could hear nothing but the clanging of pots, pans and dishes, accompanied by the voices of cooks, scullery boys, and bar attendants. He opened the door as inconspicuously as possible and walked into the room, followed by Bartholomew and the two other knights. The room was small and plain with a table and four chairs in its center. Sir William guessed this room was the chamber in which the innkeeper and his employees ate their meals. At the head of the table was the innkeeper, seated at one of the chairs. His countenance was serious - a stark contrast to what it had been just moments ago during the comical dispute between the two patrons. The innkeeper motioned to the other chairs as he addressed Sir William. "Do sit down, gen'lmen. We have news." Sir William and the others each settled into chairs, and the innkeeper pulled another one up from the corner of the room for Bartholomew. "You're medallion, Sir," said Sir William as he passed the object back to the innkeeper. "Ah, thank ye," the keeper replied. "And now on t' business. I be sergeant Jeremy Watts o the Lothington millenary, agent for 'is majesty, King Oswald. 'Course I operat this 'ere tavern when I not be on duty. Anyway, Sir William, let me get to th' point. None of us 'as got a look at th' en'my force outside o the mess'nger 'ere, but we finally found a wee point o land that t'wasn't guarded by th' en'my. From 'ere we could view their entire position. We were alerted that you were coming by an agent from Sir Randolph and wanted you ta scout out the en'my as soon as possible." "That is good news, at least," said Sir William. "Has the enemy been contained in the Lothington valley?" "That be another matter, I'm afraid. We 'ave a battle line drawn at th' top o the ridge this side o the valley that borders th' city, but they hold the whole rest o the ridge. That be where they've been sendin n' receivin patrols from." "That's something to consider during a counterattack," Sir William replied. "I would like to see the enemy before we lose all daylight, however." "Follow me then, Sir. We 'ave horses at th' back." All five of the men left their chairs and exited the tavern through the back door. Horses, guarded by a handful of soldiers, waited outside. "We'll 'ave to dismount when we get close to th' en'my and walk th' rest o the way," said sergeant Jeremy as he mounted his steed. "Four of our men at arms will accom'pny us in case we get attacked by a patrol." "Good. How far is the ride?" said Sir William. "Not far. Nary a mile from 'ere," Jeremy replied. Satisfied with the answer, Sir William signaled the sergeant to carry on. The messenger, the field officer, Bartholomew, and the soldiers trailed close behind. Contrary to Sir William's wishes, the sky was entirely devoid of daylight; he would have to view the enemy in darkness. He still hoped that he could see their numbers to a certain extent, since they were bound to have torches in the castle to light the way for guards and soldiers. The group of scouts quickly exited the city, leaving behind the flickering torches that lined the perimeter wall. The men slowly advanced into dark and ominous countryside with no light outside of that given by a crescent moon. They soon distanced themselves from city gates and began galloping across an open field full of tall grass and the occasional tree. Sir William and his companions quickly learned to let their horses lead, as the animals seemed to be well acquainted with the country despite the lack of light. Before long, the field gave way to a solid tree line, behind which there was even less light than in the open plain. Sergeant Jeremy stopped at the edge of the forest to light a torch since even the horses couldn't navigate such dense terrain in the dark without risk of falling. He also slowed the party down for the same reason. After a short distance of slow travel in the forest, Sergeant Watts dismounted and motioned for the others to do the same. "We're close now. Let's leave th' 'orses here with one o the men an' walk th' rest o the way." Sir William moved to the front of the group beside the sergeant in order to see the enemy the moment they came into view. As the group started walking, the wind began to whistle through the trees, creating ghostly moans that filled even the bravest soldiers with apprehension. The single torch carried by sergeant Watts, like the lights back in the city, flickered ominously amongst the trees and casted fleeting shadows as far as the eye could see. Sir William heard a grating shink of steel on steel and whirled around, hand on his sword. He saw the messenger just clear the tip of his own blade from his scabbard and swivel towards the trees on his right. A tense moment of silence followed until Sir William realized that the sound he heard was his comrade's sword. "Shadow," said the messenger as an embarrassed grin curled onto his face. Sir William returned it and relaxed, but he did not blame his fellow soldier for mistaking one of the running shadows for an enemy soldier. The ghoulish apparitions looked real - too real for comfort. "Cliff over th' valley's just ahead," said Sergeant Watts as he extinguished the torch so as not to be seen by the enemy force below. The party began to emerge from the woods and the ground beneath grew rocky as they neared the all encompassing ring of jutting mountains surrounding Lothington castle. Finally, all the men lay down and crawled as they moved onto the small cliff from which the sergeant had said they could see the enemy. Sir William pulled himself to the very edge of the structure and looked down into the valley below. The drop from this point in the circular ridge was nearly straight down, and it would be sure and certain death for any man that fell. "If we counterattack, we won't be able to approach from this side," Sir William thought to himself. They would have to find a better route from which to enter the valley floor, which meant that they would have to gain a foothold on another part of the ridge. Sir William pondered this problem a moment before shifting his eyes to the castle itself. It was too dark to see much save for the torches that burned in each of the fortress's six massive turrets. If there were as many men as the messenger said, however, then the bulk of the army would likely be camping in front of the castle gates. "I can't see any torches outside the g-" The Crimson Knight's thoughts were cut off by a vicious and painful kick to his side that winded him and caused him to turn over in pain. Another one followed it, this time in the side of his head. Sir William clutched blindly for his sword and attempted to rise despite his pounding, bloody temple and temporary lack of ability to draw a full breath. He heard shouting behind him, which was soon complemented with the familiar sound of clashing swords. They had been ambushed by the enemy, likely a scouting party. Sir William's vision came together briefly for a moment - long enough for him to see the rest of his comrades locked in combat with soldiers of the Dark Lord. Bartholomew was fighting bravely alongside the messenger, the field officer, the sergeant, and three of the four men at arms. The fourth attempted to restrain the horses. Sir William shifted his eyes to a towering figure in front of him, a massive warrior girded in black armor. He wielded a sword that was so long it had to be hefted with both hands. This monster was likely the source of the beastly kicks that the Crimson Knight had received. The warrior raised his blade in preparation to strike at the King's general, and Sir William raised his own sword to defend himself. The massive weapon crashed down near the hilt of Sir Williams hastily positioned blade. He managed to deflect it, but the blow unbalanced him for his senses were still not recovered from the kicks he had received. The Dark warrior swung again, this time from the side, and Sir William again attempted to block it. He was able to stop the blade once again, but his balance was improperly shifted to the point that he could not keep his footing. He stumbled helplessly at the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, his foot, searching for solid ground, found air instead. The Crimson Knight threw up his hands in a last attempt to remain upright, but his balance was beyond correction. After another second of struggle, Sir William disappeared over the edge of the bluff.

-418

#TheFinalVin Because no matter what misconceptions poly has of winning, we know the truth.

The cows like their new colors.

-418

#TheFinalVin I draw my sword and fight by your side! since I'm totally not obsessed with medieval themes.

chose another color to paint all the cows with.

-420

Thanks ? If you think that the dialect is strong here, then just wait till the next part!

LOL this is like the tanki version of "The Onion" on YouTube! Love it!