Return of the King. HoC going independent from FCC.

[Adoptagoat]

One should really only be concerned if Soturin gave the castle back... Oh Sheeut.

[Tears of Destiny]

Best of luck to HoC and towards whatever future endeavors you may have planned. You all were one of the few clans I respected from beginning to end and rooted for.


Good Hunting, and Clear Fields.

[GOBBLINKINGREATLEADER]

Joe sat at the bar of a tavern inside the Jelbegi Castle. The other patrons, mostly soldiers bearing the heraldry of the FCC, avoided sitting near him. He was drunk, and in a dark mood. The Free Companies had lost every single one of their villages to an unholy alliance of Italians and homosexuals. Soon, these cruel invaders would begin attacking castles and cities. Cavalry was useless in castles and cities.

He was useless--powerless to stop the onslaught.

He swallowed the rest of his of Miller High Life. He threw the can over his shoulder, then reached into the dark, cardboard cavern of the half-empty thirty-pack on the counter and pulled out another beer.

The bartender, a fine Destrier, approached with some caution, a confused look on his dumb horse face. "My lord," he offered, "we have beer on tap if you'd like. We have lots of beer--you don't need to keep bringing your own."

Joe dribbled a mouthful of beer onto the counter. "Shut up."

"I-"

"Jesus, you don't even have hands. What the fuck are you doing back there?"

"You had the last bartender replaced, sir. Said you were more comfortable speaking with horses."

"Right you are." Joe sipped his beer, then turned in his seat and threw the can across the room. It exploded against a distant wall. He pulled a fresh one out of the box in front of him.

"Sir," the horse persisted, "Do you want to try one of our seasonal brews?"

Joe looked at the horse, silent. He drank from his can. The horse opened it's mouth to speak but Joe, still drinking, raised a finger. He drank at a slow, steady pace, his eyes locked on the horse's, until the can was empty, which took about five minutes. "Bartender," he declared, "This is the Champagne of Beers. The best brew in the world."

The animal didn't seem convinced, but nodded. "Right. Well, I guess you couldn't find a brew like it elsewhere. You could drink from one side of town to the other--do the whole village--and not find a thing like it..."

Joe wasn't listening. A voice echoed in his head, over and over. The whole village, the whole village, the whole village. He'd heard those words before, years ago...

In Vietnam.

Joe had been a rifleman--just another pair of boots. His platoon had been tasked with defending a little cluster of villages. A foolish assignment. He set up inside a hooch and waited. They sat there for hours, then days, waiting for the enemy was sure to come.

Then, one moonless night, the world reverberated with the crack of rifles and the screams of the dying. From his little house, Joe watched slivers of tracer fire stich themselves through the fabric of the night. Bullets hissed and cracked at super-sonic speeds around him, tearing through the dry lumber of the building he was in. After a few minutes the thing was ablaze, and Joe had to move--all this without firing a shot. He could only watch and run, helplessly, from fighting position to fighting position as they all were overrun by VC.

He got to his PL, in the heart of the surviving hamlet. The RTO was shouting grid coordinates into his handset. The PL looked at Joe, and at the wounded and dying around them all. He said to Joe, "Just run. We're dropping arty on us. We're gonna do the whole village if it means keeping it out of Charlie's hands."

Joe had ran, then.

A burst of clapping and laughter roused Joe from his flashback. He looked around the crowded tavern, which had broken into sudden applause. He was confused, some part of him still running through the dark jungles of south east Asia.

Joe grabbed at a passerby. "What the fuck's going on, sergeant?"

"Uh." The man swallowed, his eyes clearly recognizing Joe. "HoC is back apparently." The man shrugged. "Messenger came in and said so." He shrugged again, uncertain.

"Don't shrug at me boy, I was in the 'Nam."

"W-what?"

Joe stood, then peed himself. "I said," his voice rising, "VIETNAM!" He shoved past the man, cans of the Champagne of Beers clenched in each fist. He could hear the sound of gunfire and the scream of falling helicopters. Somebody--probably VC--stepped into his path.

Joe barked, then bit the man's face. He went down, hard, giving Joe room to leap out of the tavern and into the cool night air. He removed the rest of his clothing--finally free--and leapt onto the back of a passing horse. "TAKE ME TO CAMBODIA! WE NEED TO GET OUT!" he shouted. The animal leapt to his bidding, galloping towards the open castle gate and the safety of any place but there.

vietnam fucking shits

[Built]

As the Noble Radsvid sat there cleaning the blood, yet again, off his armor, A young Edain rider (formerly from Dor-Lomen) bearing a letter. he handed the letter to Radsvid, the greedy coin keeping dwarf ripped it open, read it hastily, and then again more thoroughly.  His eyes went wide in apprehension.  Radsvid tossed a coin to the lad (a custom frequently observed by only the mercantile Dwarves), sending him on his way.  The dwarf then began to sprint (as all dwarves are natural sprinters) up the stairs of a near by spire in which Finnian, head of the Noldorin house of Tiercel, now resided.  The winded dwarf soon burst through the doors open into a dark and quiet room on the top of a tower. As Finnian received the letter and reviewed it's contents under a small yet ornate candelabrum his brow furrowed.  "This information may be of interest to our friend Thalion.  Send our swiftest scout, Alethriel perhaps, to bring him these tidings and beckon for him to return from his expedition for his counsel is sorely missed" the elf said and then returned to studying a battered scroll depicting various emblems of the great houses of the elves and men of Beleriand.

[Jona]

As the Noble Radsvid sat there cleaning the blood, yet again, off his armor, A young Edain rider (formerly from Dor-Lomen) bearing a letter. he handed the letter to Radsvid, the greedy coin keeping dwarf ripped it open, read it hastily, and then again more thoroughly.  His eyes went wide in apprehension.  Radsvid tossed a coin to the lad (a custom frequently observed by only the mercantile Dwarves), sending him on his way.  The dwarf then began to sprint (as all dwarves are natural sprinters) up the stairs of a near by spire in which Finnian, head of the Noldorin house of Tiercel, now resided.  The winded dwarf soon burst through the doors open into a dark and quiet room on the top of a tower. As Finnian received the letter and reviewed it's contents under a small yet ornate candelabrum his brow furrowed.  "This information may be of interest to our friend Thalion.  Send our swiftest scout, Alethriel perhaps, to bring him these tidings and beckon for him to return from his expedition for his counsel is sorely missed" the elf said and then returned to studying a battered scroll depicting various emblems of the great houses of the elves and men of Beleriand.

Didn't know dwarves were so bad at the grammar.   

[Lethwin Far Seeker]

Didn't know dwarves were so bad at the grammar.   

Some say that the dwarves of the First Age were known to have comma splicing fetishes.

[Lord_Bernie_of_Voodoo]

We fight for HONOR, GLORY and POWER. We charge with heart and steel. We ARE the burning in your heart! The yearning for dominance and prowess on the fields of Calradia! Through rain, sleet and snow we charge! Tremble before us! We are the epic elite berserkers that send fear into your souls! Hound 4 life!

OUR BATTLE CRY

Our courage is unmatched.

[Built]

Didn't know dwarves were so bad at the grammar.   

For the record, placing "the" in front of "grammar" as a definite article that applies itself to refer to a specific or particular noun, which in this case,  "grammar" is not a specific or particular noun for you are referring to the general English language as a whole, not a particular part of it nor a specific part of it.

[Zlisch_The_Butcher]

#FCC vassals in disguise

[MrPink44]

For the record, placing "the" in front of "grammar" as a definite article that applies itself to refer to a specific or particular noun, which in this case,  "grammar" is not a specific or particular noun for you are referring to the general English langauge as a whole, not an imparticular part of it nor a specific part of it.

#gottem coach. This dwarf is clearly ready to play.

[dreadnok]

Who gives a fuck

[Tears of Destiny]

For the record, placing "the" in front of "grammar" as a definite article that applies itself to refer to a specific or particular noun, which in this case,  "grammar" is not a specific or particular noun for you are referring to the general English langauge language as a whole, not an imparticular part of it nor a specific part of it.

For the record, there is no formal opposite word of the form imparticular or unparticular or nonparticular.
The usual term is "nonspecific."

[Spanish]

Welcome back! Also bonesaw = DRAMA LLAMA! so good to see you back however things shall be far more entertaining

[Little Lord Lollipop]

We will fight against competence.  We will stand united as one behind Bonesaw the Fool.  We will strike in the night with the force of a soggy noodle. We are the incompetent fodder envisioned in your dreams. We will stand passively in our shield wall till hell freezes over. For we are the Horde of Children!

Fixed

[raccoonlord]

One should really only be concerned if Soturin gave the castle back... Oh Sheeut.

Why do you have hard feelings towards HoC?