Prologue
Holly tilted her head in the dawn's glimmer, smiled and remembered:
Thier Green and Black pennants whipping in fell beauty, the barding on thier mounts, guilded by master hands. Steam from the snouts of strong steeds that made even the tallest man feel meek and passionless, except when astride. The old men and young, but all strong men, chins up, cloaked and clad in the weapons and ways of the people of the river Alquarinque. The Warhorse of Corda upon every shield. The way they held themselves, consigned to victory, resolute and dangerous and beautiful.
And the drums beat upon the earth as the fists of heaven. Forth strode Laertes. He passed by each man along the rank, looking out into his enemy, the thousand or so of them astride three hills to his Northwest. He knew such a battle would be the mark of foolishness to a man granted the ability of choice. But choice is for bards and loveplay. He was paladin: He would do as his god willed, that which already the common wise man knew to do. He and his nineteen companions would fight this enemy, until all hope was lost, As would thier wives, as would thier children.
Heavy cloud, but no rain. The low, lull of the growl of thunder that reflected back the deeds to be done this day.
Laertes, his black locks and wild beard alive in the wind, took eye of his enemy, and guided his mount back along the rank. Slowly he thought to himself as he regarded the speartips of the Varanite host. Thier drums and fife, thier many yellow standards. The demon that walked in thier ranks. He longed for the flask upon his left hip, and felt his eyes shift from it, back to the mace upon his right. A sudden breath came to him then like the blowing of the gods through the instrument that was his body, and he looked upward as the sun crested the valley of the people of Corda, and the clouds broke.
Laertes was thinking of his child. So young, her smile. So strong. The drums changed thier meter, and became merely an echo of itself, signalling the advance. Laertes held his great mace aloft, black against the sun.
And twenty men on nineteen horses advanced upon the thousand.
Fond Memories
Moderator: Lords of The Realm
Fond Memories
Last edited by Holly on Thu Sep 30, 2004 4:12 pm, edited 3 times in total.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
Flin Hearthstone
Captain Talaluth Juran-
Ramblinwomble
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Frith
Frith was the youngest. Frith was the first to fall.
His horse was called Angamere, and Frith prided himself the owner of the most fleet mount in Corda, maybe all the way to Dasar. The grey-cloud mare was indeed a wonderous site to the even the most ignorant observer. Nineteen hands tall, stout and spirited. Frith felt the rush of her stride and smiled, his head low as the wind of her glide tried to shake the rider loose. Frith would not fall. In his younger youth, Frith used to fall from his horses all the time, but he had been thrown from neither saddle nor bareback in almost seven years.
The young man glanced back but a moment at the remainder of his troupe far behind him, and knew his horse was the finest in all the world. His cloak billowed parallel the earth, and the hooves of his mighty beast drowned the world. He held his sword to the sky and let forth a cry of such joy all the heavens shook with thunder.
And Frith carved into his enemy like an arrow into darkness. They say thirty men were made lifeless before Frith's final fall from Angamere, and another twenty before his strength left him, and together thier lifes' blood painted the earth.
Frith was the youngest. Frith was the first to fall.
His horse was called Angamere, and Frith prided himself the owner of the most fleet mount in Corda, maybe all the way to Dasar. The grey-cloud mare was indeed a wonderous site to the even the most ignorant observer. Nineteen hands tall, stout and spirited. Frith felt the rush of her stride and smiled, his head low as the wind of her glide tried to shake the rider loose. Frith would not fall. In his younger youth, Frith used to fall from his horses all the time, but he had been thrown from neither saddle nor bareback in almost seven years.
The young man glanced back but a moment at the remainder of his troupe far behind him, and knew his horse was the finest in all the world. His cloak billowed parallel the earth, and the hooves of his mighty beast drowned the world. He held his sword to the sky and let forth a cry of such joy all the heavens shook with thunder.
And Frith carved into his enemy like an arrow into darkness. They say thirty men were made lifeless before Frith's final fall from Angamere, and another twenty before his strength left him, and together thier lifes' blood painted the earth.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
Furlang
Furlang was a bit of a celebrity in the sleepy town of Corda. He could play Weiglaiche better than any man, always winning when his opponent least expected defeat. He was perpetually grim, but always wore a smile as well, whether holding his keg, his sword or his many ladies. The scar that ran through his left cheek did nothing to diminish his charm, and at over six feet tall, he was impressive and intimidating to both friend and enemy alike.
Furlang's helm had come free during the charge, and his long gray hair blew about him, whipping his ears and slapping the wind. He and his brother Heim were both veterans of skirmishes with Varana before, and when Heim died, Furlang swore he would one day kill a Varanite for every wound his brother had recieved.
The enemy spears drove thorugh his horse at the charge, and Furlang was struck dead before he could kill one Varanite, but the blood that left his heart in death still remained in his sword-arm but a moment longer: His weapon took the top off a Varanite standard, and the yellow banner it bore fell to the muddy ground.
Furlang was a bit of a celebrity in the sleepy town of Corda. He could play Weiglaiche better than any man, always winning when his opponent least expected defeat. He was perpetually grim, but always wore a smile as well, whether holding his keg, his sword or his many ladies. The scar that ran through his left cheek did nothing to diminish his charm, and at over six feet tall, he was impressive and intimidating to both friend and enemy alike.
Furlang's helm had come free during the charge, and his long gray hair blew about him, whipping his ears and slapping the wind. He and his brother Heim were both veterans of skirmishes with Varana before, and when Heim died, Furlang swore he would one day kill a Varanite for every wound his brother had recieved.
The enemy spears drove thorugh his horse at the charge, and Furlang was struck dead before he could kill one Varanite, but the blood that left his heart in death still remained in his sword-arm but a moment longer: His weapon took the top off a Varanite standard, and the yellow banner it bore fell to the muddy ground.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
Goreirm the Blacksmith
Beside Laertes rode Goreirm, the strongest man in all of Corda, or so he enjoyed to claim. He had been beaten once in arm-wrestling, but had swore he had been cheated. It was common knowledge that this was in fact, true. The blacksmith's horse sailed over Furlang's fallen mount with ease, but the steed's left flank was badly cut, and the horse stumbled end-over-end, flinging Goreirm from the saddle into the enemy line.
Still on his back, the mighty Corda man hewed the legs from an opponent, and caught two axes with his shield, as he struggled to his knees. The heavy clank of a sword rang ugainst his back, and Goreirm swung blindly, striking the nearest foe dead as his shield slammed into three advancing soldiers, knocking them backward into thier fellows. A yellow and black fletched arrow bounced off his face, opening his lip. Sombody attempted to drag him backwards to the ground by his cloak, but the garment ripped and Goreirm stood, driven backwards by the push of many men.
Goreirm pushed back, and gave himself some room. Then his life's art became deadly proof of his mastery of more than horses-shoes. He swung his broadsword wide in a deadly arc, separating weapons from hands and severing hands from wrists. His warcry was that of his family name Gallandar and he sent it into the wind over the battle. Gallandar! Gallandar!
Again he struck with his mighty sword, ending the charge of yet another of these invaders. Three more arrows found thier mark in his back, but Goreirm had trod too far this day to be felled by a mere novice's craftwork arrowheads. He turned behind him to see the Varanite assault crossbows, and slammed one enemy to the ground with his shield, stabbing the man in the face as he cried out in horror.
Goreirm was thrust about and almost off his footing as the throng enveloped him. His strong left arm vanished to the ground in an instant, but he felt no pain, save for that of the loss of his weapon. Looking upward from behind his shield, he could see his attacker's silhoette divide as Laertes rode into the fray. Gallandar and Fortinbras for Corda! Goreirm dropped his shield, and picked up an enemy's spear, hurling it into a Varana War Priest before being dragged into the mass, and stabbed to death with long knives.
Laertes killed many until he saw again another of his own.
Beside Laertes rode Goreirm, the strongest man in all of Corda, or so he enjoyed to claim. He had been beaten once in arm-wrestling, but had swore he had been cheated. It was common knowledge that this was in fact, true. The blacksmith's horse sailed over Furlang's fallen mount with ease, but the steed's left flank was badly cut, and the horse stumbled end-over-end, flinging Goreirm from the saddle into the enemy line.
Still on his back, the mighty Corda man hewed the legs from an opponent, and caught two axes with his shield, as he struggled to his knees. The heavy clank of a sword rang ugainst his back, and Goreirm swung blindly, striking the nearest foe dead as his shield slammed into three advancing soldiers, knocking them backward into thier fellows. A yellow and black fletched arrow bounced off his face, opening his lip. Sombody attempted to drag him backwards to the ground by his cloak, but the garment ripped and Goreirm stood, driven backwards by the push of many men.
Goreirm pushed back, and gave himself some room. Then his life's art became deadly proof of his mastery of more than horses-shoes. He swung his broadsword wide in a deadly arc, separating weapons from hands and severing hands from wrists. His warcry was that of his family name Gallandar and he sent it into the wind over the battle. Gallandar! Gallandar!
Again he struck with his mighty sword, ending the charge of yet another of these invaders. Three more arrows found thier mark in his back, but Goreirm had trod too far this day to be felled by a mere novice's craftwork arrowheads. He turned behind him to see the Varanite assault crossbows, and slammed one enemy to the ground with his shield, stabbing the man in the face as he cried out in horror.
Goreirm was thrust about and almost off his footing as the throng enveloped him. His strong left arm vanished to the ground in an instant, but he felt no pain, save for that of the loss of his weapon. Looking upward from behind his shield, he could see his attacker's silhoette divide as Laertes rode into the fray. Gallandar and Fortinbras for Corda! Goreirm dropped his shield, and picked up an enemy's spear, hurling it into a Varana War Priest before being dragged into the mass, and stabbed to death with long knives.
Laertes killed many until he saw again another of his own.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
Andring the Horned
From his vantage, the old man looked down at the great clash, and those men of Corda looked like a wave crashing to droplets upon the hard rocks of the enemy. He beheld Frith's fall, and marvelled at how so short a life could could do such great good for the side of truth. Frith had fallen, and likely all would join him. Andring the Horned was the only man of Corda to take part in this battle without a horse. There were just too few, but it mattered little. Andring blinked behind his horned helm, and vanished in a blue light.
The spell-binder appeared again acrest the far Western hill, winking behind the main line near the enemy command. Andring could tell his enchantments held true, because the officers did not see him, nor were they aware of the danger they were in as they observed the movements of thier varied ranks and regiments from the seeming safety of the rear. The mage floated into the air above the very maps of Corda, spread out over a large field table, adorned with bowls of fruit and spilled cups of wine. Laughing men flanked the table, pointing and nodding, satisfied the City of Corda would fall before dinner. They were low on supplies after so forced a march, but they would have plenty of horse to eat, if need be.
Old Andring's cataracted eyes flashed blue and in but a moment, a black cloud enveloped the enemy command. Before a single cry of alarm could be called, the wizard flung forth his hand and two gleams of fire, one right after the other, washed the cloud with ear-sundering blasts. Varanite mugs, helms and bodies were propelled from the darkness to drop like so many black-smoking playthings further down the hill. Those that survived writhed in pain and fear, burning, dying slowly or living maimed.
Laertes continued his charge, dropping his reins in favor of mace and sword, crushing those before him and trailing a wake of fallen enemy. It was at this moment, as his comrades fell around him that Laertes Fortinbras came to know the Tanar'ri.
The Balor towered over the fray, swinging his great dripping scythe as a reaper in the fields, slaying both Varanite soldier and Corda defender. Armung fell thence, and Fraegnor the Broken under his immense swinging blade. The dark red skin and massive clawed hands of the demon seemed the gathering of blood and limbs of the fallen, amassed into a bloody obomination of this world. His great ugly face was an effigy of glee and death-lust, fifteen feet above the human contenders that fought so furiously below. It's head was crowned with flame and as he beat his great bat-like wings, the beast seemed continually surrounded by a cloud of weapons, body parts, blood, smoke and mud. It roared as Nargli, Fraegnor's horse, reared and was brought down by cruel cuts. Laertes saw the remaining Corda green on the field flee from this mighty foe, fighting in scattered directions as the din of Varanite voices and demonic chants swallowed all sound, save that of metal on metal.
It was then old Andring let come the lightning, and in a torrent it struck the demon from above, tearing in half one of it's great wings. The Tanar'ri screamed in pain, and it's tumult shook the ground. Laertes Spurred his mount toward this great evil, but was unhorsed by ranks of halberds as he attempted to meet his mark.
The Tanar'ri turned toward the clouds above and spread his massive hand as it glowed pink and white. A horned helm rang against Corda stone, falling from a great hieght and bouncing away into forgotten lore. Andring appeared from nowhere, a figure falling from the sky toward the bloody, body-littered earth, unoticed by anyone save the demon that cause his lungs to fill with water.
From his vantage, the old man looked down at the great clash, and those men of Corda looked like a wave crashing to droplets upon the hard rocks of the enemy. He beheld Frith's fall, and marvelled at how so short a life could could do such great good for the side of truth. Frith had fallen, and likely all would join him. Andring the Horned was the only man of Corda to take part in this battle without a horse. There were just too few, but it mattered little. Andring blinked behind his horned helm, and vanished in a blue light.
The spell-binder appeared again acrest the far Western hill, winking behind the main line near the enemy command. Andring could tell his enchantments held true, because the officers did not see him, nor were they aware of the danger they were in as they observed the movements of thier varied ranks and regiments from the seeming safety of the rear. The mage floated into the air above the very maps of Corda, spread out over a large field table, adorned with bowls of fruit and spilled cups of wine. Laughing men flanked the table, pointing and nodding, satisfied the City of Corda would fall before dinner. They were low on supplies after so forced a march, but they would have plenty of horse to eat, if need be.
Old Andring's cataracted eyes flashed blue and in but a moment, a black cloud enveloped the enemy command. Before a single cry of alarm could be called, the wizard flung forth his hand and two gleams of fire, one right after the other, washed the cloud with ear-sundering blasts. Varanite mugs, helms and bodies were propelled from the darkness to drop like so many black-smoking playthings further down the hill. Those that survived writhed in pain and fear, burning, dying slowly or living maimed.
Laertes continued his charge, dropping his reins in favor of mace and sword, crushing those before him and trailing a wake of fallen enemy. It was at this moment, as his comrades fell around him that Laertes Fortinbras came to know the Tanar'ri.
The Balor towered over the fray, swinging his great dripping scythe as a reaper in the fields, slaying both Varanite soldier and Corda defender. Armung fell thence, and Fraegnor the Broken under his immense swinging blade. The dark red skin and massive clawed hands of the demon seemed the gathering of blood and limbs of the fallen, amassed into a bloody obomination of this world. His great ugly face was an effigy of glee and death-lust, fifteen feet above the human contenders that fought so furiously below. It's head was crowned with flame and as he beat his great bat-like wings, the beast seemed continually surrounded by a cloud of weapons, body parts, blood, smoke and mud. It roared as Nargli, Fraegnor's horse, reared and was brought down by cruel cuts. Laertes saw the remaining Corda green on the field flee from this mighty foe, fighting in scattered directions as the din of Varanite voices and demonic chants swallowed all sound, save that of metal on metal.
It was then old Andring let come the lightning, and in a torrent it struck the demon from above, tearing in half one of it's great wings. The Tanar'ri screamed in pain, and it's tumult shook the ground. Laertes Spurred his mount toward this great evil, but was unhorsed by ranks of halberds as he attempted to meet his mark.
The Tanar'ri turned toward the clouds above and spread his massive hand as it glowed pink and white. A horned helm rang against Corda stone, falling from a great hieght and bouncing away into forgotten lore. Andring appeared from nowhere, a figure falling from the sky toward the bloody, body-littered earth, unoticed by anyone save the demon that cause his lungs to fill with water.
Last edited by Holly on Thu Sep 30, 2004 7:40 pm, edited 8 times in total.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
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Nurbag Ratkicker
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Well done - Publish!
Publish! publish! publish!
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Siegfried Schaüffen
- Dasarian Hero
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- Location: Temple of Marduk - Dasar
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Brenna E'lyana
- Dasarian Hero
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- Location: reclining on a cloud, looking down from heaven
Cer Tobias DeWitt
Cer Tobias DeWitt was a knight of the Olde Way, a man of strength and stature who had achieved a familial knighthood honored for seven generations of his line. Siril himself had tapped his great-great-great-great grandfather's shoulder upon the field of Thayad before the first days of the Varanite invasion. Tobias had come from Lendose to Corda to learn of horses and thier care and breeding, but had also been able to teach, for his lore of mounts was great. Many of the valley of Alquarinque believed the man loved the horse the same way they did. In similar fashion as those native people so did Tobias come to love Corda, it's mountains and green grasses, it's people and it's martial and practical ways. Toby, as the children of the city called him, had become in his time there as much a part of Corda as the trees and rocks of the land. Cer Tobias was the first man to say he would ride with Laertes against the overwhelming enemy, and with his commitment many others who would have sought to flee became more valorous, and remained to defend thier homes rather than conceed to a foreign lord. He could have returned home to Lendose to a safer battle, but all of Dasaria was his home, and he could not abandon the people of Corda to ransack and ruin. Cer Tobias was a knight of the Old Way.
His full Plate armor usually a gleam in the most dim of any light was now awash with the blood of his enemies and the mud of the land he swore an oath to defend. His lance was broken, snapped as it impaled the spine of the first of his opponents, A Varanite cavalry officer of some low-grade rank, a tilt of little glory, but this battle was not about trophy. This fight was to be the defining moment of his vow, his life. This was to be the moment of his death, defending his Kingdom.
Toby had never before seen so immense a force of arms. The ranks of yellow tunics, rows of halberds, rows of glaives. The Varana had brought with them many implements to be used against cavalry, and they were organized. There had been no time for plans of battle or tactical analysis, no time to decide the best manner of defense or assault. All there had been to do was shout Yea or Nay, and then either join Laertes in his charge or flee the city.
So he cut, and so he hewed. Cer Tobias of Lendose who came to Corda to learn and teach continued to do so on the battlefield. He trampled through the line and tore into the Assault Crossbow Regiment, hewing and hacking, until many screams had met his ears. Gallandar and Fortinbras for Corda! he heard Goreirm shout, and he steered his mount into the mass. A crossbow bolt had lodged in his beastplate, causing a hot sensation on the skin beneath the armor. Cer Tobias silently thanked the smith that made it, and the King that had handed it to him. His horse, however, was riven with thick quarrels, and weakening. The beast stumbled backward, as a forest of spears came up around the Cer.
The Knight of Lendose felt himself suddenly being dragged from his horse, and turned to see three varanite soldiers grasping at his pualdrons and greaves, their greedy hands lustfully attempting to bring the horseman to the ground. Toby looked right into the eyes of one of his enemy as another grabbed his sword arm, stopping it in mid-stroke. As he struggled face-to-face with the man, the man's head suddenly disappeared with a ring of metal, and Armung of Corda threw mighty cuts at those attacking Cer Tobias. The Knight regained his balance and began also to cut and hew. Men fell about them as yellow tunics turned orange with blood. Tobias and Armung charged the mass of smoke and flame toward the left flank where the towering form of the demon strode high above the battle. The Tanar'ri turned towards them and swung his collosal reaper, dripping with flame. Armung vanished from his horse, and Tobias' horse disappeared from under him, tossing the knight into a muddy tangle of men, both dead and alive, still fighting on the wet ground.
Tobias burned with pain, shuddering from the impact of his fall, and yet his sword would not sleep. He swung with a great shout as he stood, removing the forehead of a Varanite sergeant. He swung again and broke someone's sword. Stumbling over the fallen, he looked down but a moment, and beheld Laertes Fortinbras rolling on the ground towards him, apparantly just fallen from his horse. Cer Tobias DeWitt helped him to his feet, and together they faced the great demon that stood before them, above them, it's smoke all-around them.
The demon held Fraegnor the Broken in his hand, and crushed the lifeless body with it's great strength, before hurling it towards the city. It looked down and smiled a toothy grin at the two men challenging it's diabolic command of the day. The Cer ham-strung the great creature, nearly seperating his entire leg at the knee. The tanar'ri's smile became the expression of surprise and fear as his weight buckled and he fell backwards, twisting and writhing it's great wings. Laertes and Tobias leapt upon it's great form, stabbing and hacking the screaming giant until all life was riven from it.
Panting heavily, Laertes and the Cer smiled at each other but a moment, and then Cer Tobias DeWitt of Lendose, Knight of the Olde Way who had come to Corda to learn of horses, died.
Cer Tobias DeWitt was a knight of the Olde Way, a man of strength and stature who had achieved a familial knighthood honored for seven generations of his line. Siril himself had tapped his great-great-great-great grandfather's shoulder upon the field of Thayad before the first days of the Varanite invasion. Tobias had come from Lendose to Corda to learn of horses and thier care and breeding, but had also been able to teach, for his lore of mounts was great. Many of the valley of Alquarinque believed the man loved the horse the same way they did. In similar fashion as those native people so did Tobias come to love Corda, it's mountains and green grasses, it's people and it's martial and practical ways. Toby, as the children of the city called him, had become in his time there as much a part of Corda as the trees and rocks of the land. Cer Tobias was the first man to say he would ride with Laertes against the overwhelming enemy, and with his commitment many others who would have sought to flee became more valorous, and remained to defend thier homes rather than conceed to a foreign lord. He could have returned home to Lendose to a safer battle, but all of Dasaria was his home, and he could not abandon the people of Corda to ransack and ruin. Cer Tobias was a knight of the Old Way.
His full Plate armor usually a gleam in the most dim of any light was now awash with the blood of his enemies and the mud of the land he swore an oath to defend. His lance was broken, snapped as it impaled the spine of the first of his opponents, A Varanite cavalry officer of some low-grade rank, a tilt of little glory, but this battle was not about trophy. This fight was to be the defining moment of his vow, his life. This was to be the moment of his death, defending his Kingdom.
Toby had never before seen so immense a force of arms. The ranks of yellow tunics, rows of halberds, rows of glaives. The Varana had brought with them many implements to be used against cavalry, and they were organized. There had been no time for plans of battle or tactical analysis, no time to decide the best manner of defense or assault. All there had been to do was shout Yea or Nay, and then either join Laertes in his charge or flee the city.
So he cut, and so he hewed. Cer Tobias of Lendose who came to Corda to learn and teach continued to do so on the battlefield. He trampled through the line and tore into the Assault Crossbow Regiment, hewing and hacking, until many screams had met his ears. Gallandar and Fortinbras for Corda! he heard Goreirm shout, and he steered his mount into the mass. A crossbow bolt had lodged in his beastplate, causing a hot sensation on the skin beneath the armor. Cer Tobias silently thanked the smith that made it, and the King that had handed it to him. His horse, however, was riven with thick quarrels, and weakening. The beast stumbled backward, as a forest of spears came up around the Cer.
The Knight of Lendose felt himself suddenly being dragged from his horse, and turned to see three varanite soldiers grasping at his pualdrons and greaves, their greedy hands lustfully attempting to bring the horseman to the ground. Toby looked right into the eyes of one of his enemy as another grabbed his sword arm, stopping it in mid-stroke. As he struggled face-to-face with the man, the man's head suddenly disappeared with a ring of metal, and Armung of Corda threw mighty cuts at those attacking Cer Tobias. The Knight regained his balance and began also to cut and hew. Men fell about them as yellow tunics turned orange with blood. Tobias and Armung charged the mass of smoke and flame toward the left flank where the towering form of the demon strode high above the battle. The Tanar'ri turned towards them and swung his collosal reaper, dripping with flame. Armung vanished from his horse, and Tobias' horse disappeared from under him, tossing the knight into a muddy tangle of men, both dead and alive, still fighting on the wet ground.
Tobias burned with pain, shuddering from the impact of his fall, and yet his sword would not sleep. He swung with a great shout as he stood, removing the forehead of a Varanite sergeant. He swung again and broke someone's sword. Stumbling over the fallen, he looked down but a moment, and beheld Laertes Fortinbras rolling on the ground towards him, apparantly just fallen from his horse. Cer Tobias DeWitt helped him to his feet, and together they faced the great demon that stood before them, above them, it's smoke all-around them.
The demon held Fraegnor the Broken in his hand, and crushed the lifeless body with it's great strength, before hurling it towards the city. It looked down and smiled a toothy grin at the two men challenging it's diabolic command of the day. The Cer ham-strung the great creature, nearly seperating his entire leg at the knee. The tanar'ri's smile became the expression of surprise and fear as his weight buckled and he fell backwards, twisting and writhing it's great wings. Laertes and Tobias leapt upon it's great form, stabbing and hacking the screaming giant until all life was riven from it.
Panting heavily, Laertes and the Cer smiled at each other but a moment, and then Cer Tobias DeWitt of Lendose, Knight of the Olde Way who had come to Corda to learn of horses, died.
Last edited by Holly on Sat Oct 02, 2004 1:15 am, edited 2 times in total.
The Late Holly of CordaKyodai-KenHorrid"Spook" Willoweep
Holly wrote:Cer Tobias DeWitt
Panting heavily, Laertes and Cer Tobias smiled at each other but a moment, and then Cer Tobias DeWitt of Lendose, Knight of the Olde Way who had come to Corda to learn of horses, died.
I am just blown away at how this statment here moved me, Very similar to how I'd like to believe honour and courage on the battle field ends, Heroic.
Honestly, this was bad ass stuff here Matt, be proud of it.
bravo.
Agony : (noun)
1: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain
"As with most things in life, I just SOUND like I know what I'm doing" ~ Melthavion (Co-Founder of Dasaria)
1: intense feelings of suffering; acute mental or physical pain
"As with most things in life, I just SOUND like I know what I'm doing" ~ Melthavion (Co-Founder of Dasaria)