Author Topic: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade  (Read 3277 times)

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Offline Garem

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Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« on: December 19, 2011, 02:16:01 am »
+10
Greetings,

I've been working on a project for several months now, trying to piece together the tale of the Fallen Brigade through a series of short stories so that Fallen Brigade members new and old could appreciate fictional accounts that attempt to follow what actually happened in Strategus, from humble beginnings to our current position as one of the major players in Strategus. Of course, nothing happens in a vacuum. As other characters and factions made their way into my stories, it was suggested that these tales be made available to the cRPG public.

Initially, I refused to do so. However, after more writing and discussion, I decided to go ahead and test the waters. If the readers like the stories, I'll continue to post them as I produce them.

Although I haven't actually written anything about Strategus 2.0 (yet?), the events that occurred DID happen within the context of the stories I've written and have started to write. I have a general idea where I'm going with the project, but I absolutely leave the outcome in the hands of Strategus events. For those familiar with the book, I'm writing in the style of the Romance of the Three Kingdoms- TONS of characters whose stories all intertwine. The additional benefit beyond mere style is that I get the chance to highlight our members doing awesome things such as great K/D ratios or leadership in important battles, doing amazing work internal to our clans, or being particularly proactive in some way. When members leave cRPG (and hence, Fallen), I give them a glorious death. Our good friends in HRE are practically written about as regular Fallen members, and some of my upcoming stories will highlight some of our good FCC friends. Some individuals who oppose the Brigade may be written about, but I have so far kept the enemies generic or fictional members of actual opposing factions.

For now, I'll post the (1) main character and faction backgrounds (which is by no means exhaustive) to make the stories more easily understood, (2) a teaser story about my vision of the Brigade's founding by Beauchamp (and Loki), and (3) the first full story for Strategus 3. I hope you enjoy the stories as much as my Fallen brothers, and as much as I have enjoyed writing them.


Cheers,
Garem

Disclaimers: These notes and stories are my personal property.
Feel free to critique, I don't mind at all. I have posted these on my personal notetaker program as well as on Fallen forums, editing as I go more often than not. I may copy-paste an old, unrevised version. My apologies if that happens.
« Last Edit: December 19, 2011, 02:38:49 am by Garem »
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Offline Garem

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #1 on: December 19, 2011, 02:19:14 am »
+8
The Fallen Brigade - Villains, rogues, scoundrels. Men of measure and men of cruelty. All stand as one, all obey their inner depravity. Evil, yes, but true to themselves and therefore sealed together as a brotherhood stronger than any idealistic knightly order has ever shown. This once-humble band of brigands from the eastern borders of old Khergit lands has swollen into a force of men under the principles of abandoned ideals. They see Calradia for what it truly is. A land of masters and servants, of wealth and poverty, and where goodness is of no utility. The expansion of their ranks into a bandit-kingdom has not come without troubles, but their defiance of the Old Ways of Calradia, of ruler and ruled by tradition to ruler and ruled by power has upset the ancient order.

Their commitment towards their own great power and their radical opposition to the old kingships has brought a great deal of hatred to them amongst the ruling-class across the world. They exist within the crucible of war, and on it, they thrive and excel. They would have it no other way.

Holy Empire (HRE) - The Empire is anything but holy. Scoundrels painted white. These clever men, growing from an organized criminal ring within Narra, create a peculiar polarity with the Fallen. Instead of abandoning the old ways of kings, the Empire has embraced it and twisted it towards their own ends. Although only the most cunning suspect it, they are an intrinsic part of the Fallen Brigade, just as the Fallen Brigade plays an intrinsic part in their own existence as an agent of indirect fear to control their population.

Although the Holy Emperor is the named ruler of the Empire, the true leader is the cunning young Khergit known only as the Rogue. This old Nord from Tihr... or is the girl from Reyvadin? And such is how Rogue retains a strong grasp on his "emperor's" ever-expanding empire.

Hospitaller Order - An order of warriors devoted to a god-concept called "The Light". "The Light" is a collection of three books, The Peace, The Mother, and The Shield. The three books were written a thousand years ago, but the upkeep of the book's integrity was trusted to a religious elite whom outsiders (justifiably) accuse of manipulating the text. The primary accusation is the doctrine these elite priests uphold called the "Division Doctrine", where the three books had at one time been one whole text. Now, the three books have been decreed as applicable to different degrees to the different "classes" of men in Hospitaller society. Their separation has led to very different interpretations than that of the whole.

The Peace is a mild religion, and the Division Doctrine has placed the burden of its strong moral stances and emphasis on tolerating life's miseries with patience upon the shoulders of the lower class.

The Mother is the faith directed towards the middle class, few as they may be. These specialized craftsmen are held to be respected above the peasants, but subject to the paternal authority of the Shield. They are solely responsible for taking care of the peasant class. They are not burdened by the hard work of simple peasants, but they are also responsible for the outcome of their work.

The Shield is the highest authority within the Divisional Doctrine of The Light. These are the upper class and warrior class men; although theoretically equal, this is anything but the truth, mostly given that the upper class is equivalent to the priesthood. The greater one's wealth and influence, clearly, the more divinely inspired and gifted you are by the power of The Light. The paradox of combined faith and material gain over selflessness and benevolence creates an interesting dynamic for the members of the Shield.

Mad Knights (LLJK) - The Mad Court of Sharizis a massive, wild band of men of questionable sanity. Some say it's the heat of the desert that drives them mad, others claim it's the evils spirits in the sand, or a curse that goes back to the time of the last Sultan three hundred years ago. The warlords of Calradia don't have the luxury of wondering, for the Knights of the Mad Court roam far and wide and are as unpredictable as the wind. Wise rulers give them wide berth and keep them at a safe distance. Yet, not all emissaries of the Mad Court are so evidently insane, and perhaps a sign that the Court's unseen leader(s) has a cruel logic of his own. This possibility is of no comfort to anyone.

However, Shariz has not been tossed to these ravenous men by the world. The turning of spring has started a second series of crusades by the noble-hearted and/or greedy mercenaries of the land. Swaths of men from all over Calradia have been riding with the crusades to bring back this most dangerous region, or its plunder. Whether they shall succeed or fail is far from certain.


-----


RAMSES
Horaem Ramses is a man hailing from the furthest corner of the desert. A powerful man with a commanding voice, he has traveled the breadth of the continent, finding final refuge amongst a nomadic Khergit tribe who tolerated the curious southerner out of fear and respect for his martial prowess. Before the Fallen Compact was formed, creating the Fallen Brigade, his adopted tribe was raided by Beau Blayne's highwaymen. While the cowardly villagers hid in their yurts, Ramses confronted the dozen thieves. One of them foolishly challenged Ramses, and after a sound beating, the man exclaimed "This man is as if fighting six! He shall be no foe of mine!" Ramses abandoned the tribe, joined in the taking of some few valuables, and rode off with the bandits as one of them.

BEAUCHAMP
A small-framed fellow with a boyishly charming face, Brian "Beau" Blayne was the love of young ladies and terror of what few decent fathers are found in the servant class district of Praven. Beau's free spirit and loose morals led to his expulsion from the city after robbing a jeweler of a precious silver chain, which was unknowingly gifted to the same jeweler's unfaithful young wife. The change of scenery did not deter the young Beau, and soon after he had formed a gang of highwaymen. They made their home and hideout to the east, but Beau's eyes would ever so often drift back towards his birthplace.

LOKI
Kith Lokis of the Wai-pha'ra tribe in the heartlands of the Khergit steps is a hawk, physically and mentally. Shrewd, decisive, and vicious, Lokis had usurped the old warcaptain of his tribe by the age of sixteen. The Wai-pha'ra tribe had always been traditionalists and highly nomadic, but the ruthless young Lokis and his cadre of ambitious young warriors wanted more. Although an extremely talented archer, Lokis saw the benefits of modernization and at his forceful emphasis, the tribe begrudgingly learned to adapt more metallurgical practice and founded several permanent winter and summer camps. After a decade, the old chieftain had became a pawn of the willful young Lokis and the formerly peaceful traditionalists had become one of the most feared tribes of the Steppes. Yet Lokis wanted more. His ambition took his warband further than it had ever traveled, and to the west Lokis found what he had desired- a true test of men, a battle of steel and sword not simple bow and club skirmishes as was custom in the tribelands. Although his tribal forces were out-armed and armored, they fought valiantly to their defeat. Lokis and his closest companions escaped and moved towards Swadian lands to recruit a mighty warband amongst the civilized peoples.

SMILINGDAEMON
Samuel Daevon is a brilliant, energetic man of plain appearances from the Vaegir tundra. For a decade, prior to his meeting and joining Beau Blayne in Rduna. He smuggled every imaginable cargo, seeing his shadowy schemes as a most fantastic and elaborate game. The flow of illicit goods had never been so consistent, and frustrating to the city guard. As wars escalated across Calradia, even the Crusading factions found themselves relying on goods passed under the cloak of Daevon. But after a decade of growing obscenely wealthy, Daevon wanted a new game and thus began his masterstroke. In an elaborate scheme, Daevon bribed and worked a small, highly trained team of men into the service of the Lord of Curaw. At a great feast to celebrate the harvest holiday, Daevon successfully put his men amongst the dinner waiters for the banquet. As the guests arrived, each was given a simple first round of bread and wine with the wonderful scent of roasting meats and spiced dishes and sweet cakes coming through the castle halls. As the guests grew impatient, Daevon's men entered into the kitchen and removed every morsel of the prepared feast and moved quietly from the still castle to the streets of Curaw, taking it straightaway to the starving slums to be consumed. But Daevon remained in the castle, threw open the grand doors of the banquet hall and announced his identity and his scheme- the Lord and guests would go hungry and  the impoverished masses will feast gloriously at their expense. The dumbstruck Lord paled, his guests knew not if they should laugh or cry foul. Daevon gave his final regards to the Lord of Curaw and left a gift bottle of fine Velucan wine on the table. The guards, stooges placed there by Daevon, escorted him stealthily to the city gates. Daevon left to find a new game.

PUNISHER
Greer Pershane, an old veteran soldier from the Vaegir coast, is a quiet man. Although he's by no means decrepit, his years have begun to take a toll on the ex-soldier's abilities. Pershane more than makes up for it with talent and experience, however. Having been deceived by his former lord and losing the wealth acquired over the timespan of several long campaigns, the pragmatic Pershane abandoned his position and homeland and started south towards the profitable crusades. He stopped in Rduna, and after saving the young Beau Blayne from getting beaten by a few snobbish pages, was talked into joining him. Pershane's eye for spotting talent was put to good use, and he splits his time at the sides of both Daevon and Blayne to help keep the younger men in line.

BOSS AWESOME
Jallik Azram is a tall Khergit man and one of the few confidantes of Kith Lokis. Like most of Lokis' warriors, he is particularly talented with bow and arrows. Azram tends to be reflective and from time to time mysteriously wanders off from the warband, telling none where he goes. However, only a fool would question Azram's devotion to the cause of the Brigade. He has time and again played a central role in the strategic affairs of the Wai-pha'ra warbands. Some boldly assert that the destruction of the warband was in fact a scheme of Azram's, giving Lokis and his companions the liberty to escape the traditions of the Wai-pha'ra way.

MANNHAMMER
Havost Mandrahm, the Monster of the Western Steppes, both physically and of spirit. This larger-than-life warrior lives in excess in every way. He is a master of arms, and famously turned the tide of an early battle in Fallen history by charging six enemies at once. Although he was unsuccessful in defeating them all, the truth has been obscured and most contend that he would have slain them all if not for the battle-rage. Such is the power of his legend and legacy. Regardless of mythology, Mandrahm played a major role as both a tactical advisor, commander, recruiter, and soldier at Kith Lokis' side. His role would develop into an inquisitorial role amongst the wicked Fallen Brigade, ensuring loyalty and accomplishment by force and fear. He is notoriously known for crippling his defeated enemies with hammers.
« Last Edit: December 19, 2011, 02:48:42 am by Garem »
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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #2 on: December 19, 2011, 02:20:48 am »
+6
1.1. The Brigands Meet


Although the last stretch of woods on the road to Narra has always been a notorious haven for outlaws, the Silver Targe Caravan Company had run it for a century, three generations of the Horace family had brought goods between Dhirim and Narra to great profits. None of their expertise could have prepared their guards from what descended upon them in the snowy woods.

To the south, the crack of a falling tree brought them to an immediate alert. The distinct twang of crossbows' release cut through the quiet morning. Harris and David, the first driver and lead guard crashed to the ground simultaneously. The caravan master, a burly Rhodok named Jarvis, roared to the six remaining men. They pulled the wagons close to gain cover before the hidden snipers could reload and resume their deadly barrage. Jarvis struggled with his scabbard, finally freeing his arming sword and gripping it tightly. This wasn't the first time he'd dealt with accursed brigands, and damn him if it be the last. He called to his men, and their two archers stood to return fire at the invisible assailants.

Beau motioned to the crossbowmen ten meters away. They weren't moving quickly enough! Their quarry was better armed and certainly better trained. Daevon had run these commoners-turned-cutthroats through some of the basics, but Beau knew that they would be no match man-to-man. The fumbling commoner, Davis, finally reloaded, and stood quickly to fire. Beau glanced over the thick shrub behind which he was hiding. Davis had shot the wagon, hitting a grain satchel and the seed now poured into the snow. His marks took no hesitation, and two guards with heavy shields starting to climb the hill only thirty meters ahead. With a curse, Beau scrambled over to Davis and the other crossbowmen just as they'd stood to take another shot. The approaching armsmen had finally spotted them, and approached even quicker. Davis' shot grazed shield or armor, and the other crossbowmen didn't even have time to fire. The archer by the wagon's first shot struck right in the man's breast and he crumpled to the ground. Beau called to Greer Pershane over the rise behind him. The plan was starting to unravel.

Jarvis' shieldmen crested the hill, calling back a relieving shout. "Three! We'll take the rats!" His men disappeared into the brush and he stepped out from behind the wagon to survey the growing pile of forfeit grain. An arrow caught him from behind in the leg by an unseen archer in the flat brush and trees behind him. He gasped and spun around into the wagon that had moments before protected him, it now hindering his escape. His archers, a young spearman whose name he could not recall, and a retired Swadian swordsman named Graham whipped their attentions towards the new attackers. The enemy archer fired another shot, this time pinning one of the scrambling caravan archers in the right shoulder. By the coughing gasps shortly thereafter, Jarvis figured it had pierced the man's lung. He slumped and watched Graham lead the three uninjured men into the brush towards the archer.

Lokis turned back after his second shot. He did not know what the noise had been before he arrived, but he would stick to his scheme. Azram and Mandrham were waiting in position as he passed by. The young spearman came crashing through the brush first, and didn't even have time to react before Mandrham's blade leapt from behind the tree and caught him just below the left hip. He staggered and fell face-forward downhill into the snow with an awful cry. Azram's stepped out from behind the roots of the fallen tree, quickly stepping on the man's shoulder before sending his lance into his heart. Lokis turned at the sound and the Swadian and archer had arrived. Azram turned back into the cover of the roots while Lokis fired a shot towards the Swadian. He caught it with his shield, but it gave Lokis time to get behind a tree before Graham's ally could get past to take a shot of his own.

The soldiers cut through the brush where Beau had been just moments before with their hissing steel. Davis tossed away his crossbow and picked up his shoddy spear just as Beau reached the unfired crossbow behind him. The soldiers charged with a roar, their chainmail clanging noisily. Beau barked to Davis, who ducked away just in time for Beau to get off the last bolt. It struck the first man in the left shoulder, and his shield slumped and fell out of his hands. But the charge continued, and Beau freed the polished Templar sword to parry. Davis stumbled back into the fray, but the handaxe of the attacker cracked his spear like a knife to twine. He lurched back, but stumbled against the bushes. The axeman swung again, and then again with bloody success. Davis dropped to the ground, his neck having been viciously sliced. Beau took no notice of anything but the crimson snow as he counterthrust at his now-shieldless attacker. He called out to Pershane again, and his next thrust caught his foe in the gut. The sword was wrenched from his grip, and Beau fumbled to disarm and take his dying foe's blade with a scramble. The axeman had come too soon, and with a furious growl slashed down, carelessly severing his dying ally's forearm. Beau kicked back, grabbing a stick nearby as a last resort. However, it was unnecessary. Pershane kicked the guardsman behind his knee, forcing him to the ground and delivering a quick deathblow to the back of his exposed neck.

Mandrahm pushed the Swadian back, shield to shield. The archer darted right, but found himself face to face with the agile Azram. He blocked and juked the first two thrusts of the lance feebly with his bow, but the third caught him just below his solar plexus. Azram pinned him into the ground as he gasped, but the breath was taken from him as his lungs were torn from the diaphragm. The Swadian pushed back against Mandrham, but the Khergit cleverly stepped back along with him. A side swing by the veteran caught him across the top of the arm, and he threw a wild swing in angry response. He turned right again, pushing the veteran away from the caravan and towards Lokis. Graham offered another expert swing, barely glancing off the edge of Mandhram's shield, the weight of which spun Mandhram just to the side and making his injured arm vulnerable once more, just for the moment. The Swadian was not going to let the opportunity pass, and he made a quick turn to stab Mandhram in the side. His raised arm fell limp in the attempt as Lokis fired his first, then a second shot into Graham's back. A third struck his leg as he tumbled, but by that point the fight had been drained from the man.

Azram examined the dead men and their possessions while Mandrahm tore free his boiled leather to examine the extent of his injury. Lokis walked slowly back towards the caravan. Jarvis had left a blood trail towards the lead wagon, where he had apparently cut loose the strappings and mounted a packhorse to escape. He withdrew his knife to approach the lonely, gasping archer that had been left. The man was roughly his own age, clean cut, blurry eyed, and likely of Rhodok lineage. He was distracted briefly by a symbol about his neck, a cross which he had not seen before. He put his hand around it, but bloody cough reminded him his purpose. He tore free the cross and cut the dying man's throat mercifully. In his curious absorption, Lokis had not heard Beau's advance from behind the wagon.

"Tut, tut, don't move now." Beau demanded. His crossbow was trained on the kneeling Khergit. "What's mine is mine, now. Go on, you get on out of my way." Lokis stood, tucking his knife into his boot.

"We have come for the grain, small one. We will take what we wish." stated the archer.

Beau shifted. We, who? he thought. This had gotten far more complicated that he wanted it to be. He saw the familiar cross dangling from the hawkish Khergit's fist. There was no sense in this. Two wolves had reached the same feast. He'd lost two men already, and Pershane was attending the dead and dying up the steep hill behind him. With a quick glance and quicker fingers, Beau grabbed a large wineskin hanging from his acquired stock and tossed it to the man.

With a shift to the amiable tone that had gotten him in and out of so many hairy situations before, "Alright then. Let's see you and your boys paid for helping me and mine. If you want to fight crusaders like this, then maybe there's a future here my fine new friend."
« Last Edit: December 19, 2011, 02:25:34 am by Garem »
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Offline Garem

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #3 on: December 19, 2011, 02:22:15 am »
+6
3.1. The Autumn Raiders

Calradia was quiet as the harvest moon settled over summer grain. After three years of low harvests, a fiercely stormy end of summer, and with the devastations of war and weather both peasants and lords across the continent found the end of the season pleasantly calm. The continent and her people found renewal with the bountiful harvest. The washed out bridges and roads were being rebuilt over the mountains and across the riverbeds in the flat lands.

But it was not to last. Where there was suddenly work for the men, the wise council of wicked men had held back the claws of the Fallen Brigade. The fields were to be worked by lesser men who had not yet transcended to the higher purpose of the Fallen. The hunters would wait patiently, for a time, while the game was allowed to replenish. As the leaves had begun to turn, the time had come at last.

---

The second crusades had ended with the summer heat, and a stalemate had stalled the strikes to and from the Mad Court of Shariz. The eastern deserts, nearest to the source of the Ahmerrad River by the hamlet of Tajzunat, were beginning to bristle as the Nordic mercenaries camped in the mountainsides. Their orders were displeasing. Wait. A word few Nords can appreciate. The desert brewmasters were of not of the quality their employers to the west had convinced them, and the Wolves were anxious.

The Hospitaller Order was aware of the failings of the brutes. Yet, the mercenaries were critical to their schemes for bringing down their own sense of justice to the Sarranid people. Their hand was forced to deliver the demon drink, lest their preparations waste away with desertion in the south. The caravans were prepared, and sent southwards from Vaegir country, through the Steppes, and to their expensive friends in Tazjunat. The era of the Third Crusade had come.

---

Boris Shelasic the Zealot stormed out of the chaplain's tent, once again frustrated by the watered lesson the old minister had attempted to teach him. Had he the time or inclination, he would have turned his attention to steeling the nerves and faith of the ministers the monasteries had been providing over the past few months. The fall of Yruma many months ago had broken the will of the Silver Order after the death of Master Horace Iodathe, Boris' and many other young zealot's hero of the faith. Yet ministerial life was of no interest to Boris, and his small handful of young Hospitallers were not to listen to the lily-colored words of such weak ministers any longer. The Third Crusade had been declared. The time was at hand. The Occitan mercenaries were plentiful and ready, and the Wolves to the south were in need of the barrels the peasants had prepared. The minister was wrong, Shelasic was right. The Light was on their side, they could not fail and Boris refused to heed the fearful words about the Steppes. They would forge a path through the grasslands with lance and blade.

The Occitan mercenaries impressed Boris. Such backbone amongst men who fought for pay? It was a welcome and unexpected surprise, furthering his confidence. The Zealot was displeased with such a menial duty as to provide ale to drunkards, but the Will of the Light was certain to him. "Use that which hath been gifted as Providence."

They were a days ride out of Bhuluban, the last place of faith and where Vaegir and Steppe-folk collided. He hated it, except for the small shrine where a heretic had been hung as decoration. This little inspiration fueled his progress. He would reach Dirigh Aban, and perhaps he'd force the mercenaries to build such a shrine and macabre display there. The Light had provided good roads and fine weather so far, after all- the sacrifice of a heretical Khergit would be most prudent. Or several.

The steep road had finally began to flatten into rolling hills as his forward scout returned with unfortunate news. A caravan in ruins ahead. Vultures of men surrounded it, but there was no clear number. Shelasic's first thought was of anger- had some other captain of his Order began the long journey before him? Glory was to be gained by first blood. However, it was a quick flash of rage as he realized that he had serendipitously been rid of this competition and provided target for such glory to be gained. Whoever had struck such a blow against travelers, Hospitaller or otherwise, was to be handled with violent prejudice. He prepared his men and took his mount to a near stream. As he dismounted, he caught a glimpse in the trees in the high hills. He was being watched. In half an hour, the mercenaries and faithful were armed and armored for battle. In the meantime, two pillars of thick smoke arose from the ruins ahead, approximately two miles. The Zealot and his men advanced.

In just under an hour they had arrived, the smoke towered and disappeared above but also settled amongst the hills beside the dirt road making it hard to see more than a hundred meters ahead. They formed ranks, pikemen behind shieldsmen, and crossbows dotted amongst them, about fifty in all. Shalasic's heart beat quickly. This was the moment he had waited so long for. He spoke quickly to his men, giving a reminder and threat of the glory they would bring to their god and his vengeance that would be had at their failures and fearfulness. He gave the order, and the advance into the smoke began. They passed the first three wagons, burnt out and charred to worthlessness, with the mud smelling of ale and blood- but there were no barrels of ale nor bodies to be found nor scavenging brigands yet to slaughter. Only a single standard of the Occitan mercenaries remained on the rear wagon in the train. He rode beside it, tearing the pennant free and tucking it into a saddlebag. The advance continued as the sun began to lower and the sky grew dimmer with sunset.

The lead wagon came into sight. He peered through the smoke. A mountain of barrels lay around it, and several were stacked atop several meters high. A several men sat around the mountain, resting peacefully against the barrels, their armor reflecting the flickering flames of a nearby burning wagon that had yet to die out. The men did not move, but for one, a dark, armored man at the very top, swaying a stein and singing an unknown ballad that sounded rather gleeful in spite of the destruction around him. The crusaders slowed their march as they approached.

The Zealot's passion froze as he neared the quiet figures. The regalia adorning the slouching figures mirrored his own force's. Except for the darkened red stains and mud covering their greaves and boots. His infantry stood grimly behind him. His horse stamped at the ground, the red clay of the road, giving the only sound to compete with the thundering, blood-smeared bard atop the mountain of ale and corpses. With a quick rise in tempo, the singer threw his mostly-full stein towards the zealot and ceased his song to replace it with deep, dark, and drunken laughter. The stein dashed upon a rock several meters ahead of the battleline.

"Ye motherfucker's done a damned fool thing, yar!" the man screamed through the hazy smoke as he resumed his tune with a loud hum, kicking over barrels, tossing around the piled bodies like rag dolls from their perches. Boris froze a moment at the mad man's antics. He waited, but for what he wasn't sure. As the barrels crashed, his horse kicked at the ground and stepped away from the clattering.

"Advance! Advance, for--" screamed the zealot.

It sounded like the wind, picking up a quick and sudden breeze. The madman danced wildly, his barrel-breaking continuing for a few seconds more before he grabbed his shield with a wild holler. The sudden, whooshing sound made itself manifest in the form of several dozen arrows piercing through the mist with alacrity, from the rear and both sides of the tightly-formed infantry. Like rain, from every direction, another volley. The line broke, each trying to find the one way from which they might find safety. The madman was upon them from the front, singing away. Several other dark figures had joined him from behind the barrel mountain, their steps loudened by the clinging snaps of boots on wet clay. The melee was brief.

At it's end, the Fallen Brigade enjoyed the provisions of the crusaders for another night more.
« Last Edit: December 19, 2011, 02:32:42 am by Garem »
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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #4 on: December 20, 2011, 05:45:37 am »
-5
Thy lowly Fallen Brigadiers reside no more in the lands of our holy father.

GOD WILLS IT~!

Offline Taggerung

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #5 on: December 21, 2011, 02:55:37 am »
+1
Great victory over a clan that doesn't give a fuck about Strat anymore. Congrats, you win!

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #6 on: December 21, 2011, 06:24:14 pm »
+2
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.

And you always run from the sword.

So how...?
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« Last Edit: December 21, 2011, 06:33:13 pm by Dezilagel »
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Offline Tears of Destiny

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #7 on: December 24, 2011, 12:40:54 am »
+1
They say the pen is mightier than the sword.

And you always run from the sword.

He who lives by the sword dies by the cloth-yard shaft.
I'm not normal and I don't pretend so, my approach is pretty much a bomb crescendo.
Death is a fun way to pass the time though, several little bullets moving in staccato.
The terror of my reign will live on in infamy, singing when they die like a dead man's symphony.

Offline Lordark

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #8 on: December 27, 2011, 06:50:21 am »
0
Epic story but you dark ones cannot hide forever. We still want Loki's head!
Never forget the day Dragons came to Calradia
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My personal theme song, We will never surrender!
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Offline Casimir

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #9 on: December 27, 2011, 04:25:30 pm »
0
Not really in keeping with the old fallen brigade story or some of the early events. Nice work though mate.
Turtles

Offline Garem

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #10 on: December 28, 2011, 08:59:44 pm »
0
Not really in keeping with the old fallen brigade story or some of the early events. Nice work though mate.

The beginning was somewhat close, but 1) I wasn't around for the beginning and 2) I needed a fictional account that represented how an organization such as the Fallen may begin. I haven't written up my version of the Templars yet, but the "crusades" that are mentioned here and there are inspired by them, and Beau's leaving the Templars to found the Fallen.

I wish I had more time. Anyhow, I'll throw up the next two stories now, both from Strat 3. Cheers.

Oh, and the numbers before the story titles are which Strategus it comes from and what order in that Strategus. 1.1. is the first story of strat 1, 3.2 is the second story from Strat 3.
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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #11 on: December 30, 2011, 11:32:14 pm »
0
nice story
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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #12 on: December 31, 2011, 06:48:43 am »
0
Well done.
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Offline Nebun

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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #13 on: December 31, 2011, 08:17:30 am »
0
i thought fallen quit strat
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Re: Chronicle of the Fallen Brigade
« Reply #14 on: December 31, 2011, 09:16:58 am »
0
i thought fallen quit strat

And what does that have to do with the thread, regardless of if this is true or not?  :?
I'm not normal and I don't pretend so, my approach is pretty much a bomb crescendo.
Death is a fun way to pass the time though, several little bullets moving in staccato.
The terror of my reign will live on in infamy, singing when they die like a dead man's symphony.