Aye, so I was hoping to hone me writing skills on a game I've taken a liking to, but after 150+ views, the only thing I got was a tl;dr, so I posted here. The prime thingy I need is feedback. There be a coupla things I need to improve.
Battleforge is a (theoretically) free game, MMOTCRTSG. That is, a Massively Multiplayer Online Trading Card Real Time Strategy Game. You can download the full game for free, but to get anywhere really fast, you'll need to shell out money for BFP. It's one of those buy points and spend them in the shop deals.
Main site's http://www.battleforge.com/
Not an amazing game, but I like it. Rich universe.
It's got kinda a jumbled, messed up, confusing backstory, but I'm hoping to flesh it out for a bit.
Mostly, I want advice on stretchying things out. Like, describing landscapes, setting scenes, expressing character emotions.
Any help in fantasy writing realism is also win, yes, I see the oxymoron. And general good writing tips and tricks.
Also, I really need help getting out of the whole Said Bookism mentality, in which I try to be deep and avoid the word 'said' at any cost. srsly, noticed it now. Need halp.
I'mma cite my prime inspiration right 'ere: Peptuck. I just had to do it. Read through Tiberium Wars, and I was all "I FUCKING WANT THAT!". Imitation is the sincerest for of flattery, aye?
So the plan was to run the entire singleplayer campaign, stretchy it out. It's all of 10 missions, since other campaigns are co-op. Like Peptuck. But with dragons.
I'll give you a summary of the game story; you play as a Skylord, an immortal guardian of the gods. You've been chilling out in the Forge of Creation for the last couple dozen generations.
The Forge of Creation being a place that can create just about anything. 2 rules.
Only the dreams of mortals; myths and such can be made. Second, it needs a link to the 'elemental forces world-magic'. I don't geddit either.
Then something went wrong, the gods disappeared along with the sun.
Yeah. That Sun. So the people flee into the giant's caves, wherein the giants hide after getting pasted in a bigass war against the people earlier. They make a deal with the Giants. A helluva lotta riches in exchange for making a new sun and throwing it into the sky. (stay with me, here)
It's done. A year or a bit more later, people emerge to find a Twilight curse has afflicted everything. Twisted it. It works for the Twilight now.
So now half of the Skylords are trying to find the gods, the other half are just in the mood for helping the mortals out. It's an internal conflict, but doesn't ever come to blows.
That's the short version. Cluttered, confusing, incomplete, yes. But plenty of room for fanfic writers like me to spin our shit.
NOTE: I'm planning a complete rewrite, it's not a lot, but still. In this rewrite, I'll abandon the whole 'roll with what happens in game' and just roll onto big battles, characterisation and stuff. At this rate, we'll rarely see anything big and scary open up on the battlefields.
The idea's to drop the 'squads, platoons' crap and role with more traditional, fantasy medieval type army units 'stead. I can rationalise resourcing and getting new troops elsewhere. Tell me what you feel.
It'd be 'ere, a colossal work in progress.
DISCLAIMER: Battleforge itself belongs to EA and Phenomic, I am using this for non-profitable, recreational purposes only. All rights go to their original creators.
This fic peers into the lives of the people being wasted and their thoughts on the matter of a war and getting pounded by Rhino-lizard-Olympic weightlifter crossbreeds.
The story runs mostly through the Lyrish Reaches campaign and parts of Mo, 1 player only campaigns. I'm playing with a Frost deck 'ere.
Further Author's notes will be posted here and at ends of chapters.
_/\/\/\/\/\_
PROLOGUE - REBIRTH
Valerian Albanis held his head. They told him imprinting would be uncomfortable. They lied.
It was bloody excruciating.
He'd just had the experience, memories and personality of a veteran Northguard pounded into his head and it hurt.
"Steady yourself, rise slowly," spoke a soothing, almost ethereal male voice.
Valerian obeyed and felt a respite in the pounding.
"Right. Anything I need to know?", he spoke through clenched jaws.
"The Skylords are at war. A Twilight Curse has spread during the Sun's death and all afflicted have become mad, bloodthirsty creatures", recounted the voice in a wistful manner.
He opened his eyes now and found himself in an infirmary of sorts. Taking the time to examine his surroundings, he noted the unusual devices and cabinets of potions and elixirs stacked high in the small room. The only notable thing was a large window which took an entire wall.
The view was stunning. Blue skies above and a great cloud cover to the land below, with a few choice openings in between. Great flying creatures patrolled in formations and guarded the Forge of Creation.
The Forge of Creation. Nice.
The voice had not spoken during the pause.
"What does that mean for me?", asked the Northguard. The pounding in his head had suddenly returned, upon putting the voice's words through some thought.
"You and your century will spearhead the first assault and make contact with a band of refugees.", the voice responded. It didn't seem to note the sarcasm.
"Am I back in the army?"
"Affirmative. Your gear is checked in at the armoury. Mission briefing is in 2 hours. Deployment in 4."
"Ay, hyessou."
_/\/\/\/\/\_
Prologue. The first of a probable many characters you get to know. The primary goal of this story is to make my upgrade grinding less boring, as mentioned above. The secondary goals are to improve writing skills and show a different world to the one you experience.
The rewrite did plenty. I'm abandoning the modern organisation completely and hitting off with older formations and tactics.
I'm basing the Frost armies offa ancient Latin, Greek and a bit of Medieval England. Gonna butcher the fun bits and put 'em to use. Juste, troopes I write doth not spake like morones.
They're a grim, determined bunch. Disciplined and well-drilled troops. Formations and such. Well suited to battle.
"ay, hyessou"? Go pick up a Greek dictionary.
This is gonna be fun.
Please read and review.
_/\/\/\/\/\_
CHAPTER ONE - FEAR FACTOR
The Forge of Creation's Staging Area 4 was an enormity. Like the other staging areas, it was a magnificent sprawl, dozens of entrances and exits to the rest of the Forge and briefing areas. Unlike the other staging areas, it was kept at a relatively cold 8 Degrees Celsius.
Staging Area 4 was dedicated to the Frost Corps of the God's Armies.
The massive central plaza and shimmering teleporter were the main attractions, however. Towering Constructs stood awaiting maintenance and the Battleships lay moored to the sides, their crews hurrying about to prepare for the oncoming storm.
Valerian stood at one of the many briefing room exits and peered on like a giddy child. Never in his lifetime had he seen such a mobilisation. He'd never even seen a Construct up close. Occasionally, he'd feel the footsteps of one or something on the floor above, but never knowing exactly what patrolled the halls.
The excitement had even managed to dull the weighty feeling of his hammer and armour somewhat.
The teleporter, a gigantic ring of segmented, floating stones, each with hundreds of Amii glyphs carved onto it, stood ominously at the end of the wall, taking up most of it and easily dwarfing anything in the room. A small, glowing orb floated at the centre, ready to expand, flatten and provide a much needed gate to the rest of the world.
He put his mind back on track and thought to the briefing.
He and his century of 100 men would lead an attack and claim the first monuments and power wells needed to allow proper mobilisation. He would be recalled once the monument at an Amii gate was captured. Lyrish locals would provide some aid and need support against the Twilight. The battlefield was a one way trip, ending at an old burial mound and snaking through valleys. The valleys would be all he needed to care about.
Valerian was part of something bigger, now. Every operation in the war against the Twilight would be launched by his century. Sounds like a lot. Isn't. His century would be recalled the moment the first Monument and enough Power Wells were taken to make way for the Phalanx and Rangers who would carry the battle onward from there.
If this war ever ended, he'd be at the head of one of the most experienced units ever conceived.
Valerian felt an anxiety making its way through his mind. This Twilight curse had never been seen before, so not even the Skylords had an idea as to what they were walking into.
A Skylord by the name of Tarsus would command him and the rest of the army through this.
"Whaddya think these Twilight guys look like? The name's a bit vague on descriptions," piped the young centurion, "like, maybe...Shadow dudes with red eyes?"
Centurion Xander Kallis. 3rd Century, 1st Cohort. Arrogant, disrespectful, headstrong. Like any 'master' Archer. Has he not figured out he's not even an archer, but a crossbowman yet?
Arrogance justifiable. They definitely shot straight. Ice tipped, lead cored bolts were rather simple to use. The ice shattered on impact, fragmenting and tearing flesh while the pointed lead core drove itself into the wound like a traditional bolt and began poisoning the target slightly. Their only disadvantage was offset by the Forge's incredible manufacturing abilities. Crossbow ammunition was child's play for something that could construct entire armies in mere months.
The teleporter flared and the single, white orb spread itself across the whole circle. Lightning arced from the edges to it and a vague, flowing image of the destination shone through.
"Northern Steel, Sharpshooters! We strike the first blow in the war against the Twilight curse! Assault drop into action begins in 30 seconds!", Valerian shouted above the din of the staging area and the noise seemed to die down a bit.
"30 seconds!", the whole century repeated.
Valerian looked on and saw the focus of the portal image become more clear. The view pointed to the ground below and he noted a strange, golden brown pyramid. An unfortunate side effect of teleporter scrying magic was that the view had to point at the destination. If he used it to get a look at the enemy and jumped in, he'd probably find himself 'falling' toward a valley wall.
"15 seconds! Load and lock!", belted Kallis. A cacophony of clicking and chattering resulted from the Archers coaxing whatever dramatic noises they could from their bo- crossbows.
Valerian and the other 80 members of 1st Century stepped onto the platform in front of the teleporter. Each man doing a very hasty final check of their armour and hammers.
"5 seconds! Prepare to drop!"
"4!"
"3!"
"2!"
"1!"
_///\\\_
The world turned white, faded and Valerian looked ahead. Movement in the distance, some kind of creature was fighting off humans.
Then he registered a peculiar breeze from the bottom.
Valerian looked down, the large front of his armour limiting his field of view to the essentials.
That ground was coming up to him way to fast.
Wet slush formed just in time to soften his landing, but the fall from a good two storeys in the air was only degraded from 'bone breaking' to 'this is gonna suck tomorrow morning'. The padding in his armour did its job and most likely only left him with a nasty bruise. He'd need to have a word with the Skylords about this.
The grunts of surprise of pain from behind him echoed his sentiment.
The century gathered into formation at once. A solid mass. Better equipped soldiers up front and everyone else in further ranks.
The men heard a pop, saw a flash and looked up in unison.
The 60 men of 3rd Century fell from the sky several dozen meters away from the 1st.
"Hyessou!"
"Crap!"
"Ow! That bites!"
Valerian grinned and suddenly had reason to believe he might enjoy this tour.
"1st Century, form up! I hear a battle up ahead! If it's got more body heat than 'ball-numbing-puberty-negating cold', hit it until it drops!"
A roused cheer mixed into some chuckles rose from the still recovering force.
The group took a steady jog away from the deployment area, Archers leading and to scout and unload first.
"Sarge! Large opposition...thing...", Kallis trailed off, unable to finish his sentence and slowed down to more of a 'you-go-first-I'll-be-behind-you-using-you-as-a-shield' brisk walking speed.
It took a lot to get Xander to shut up and Valerian soon found out why.
Some 70 meters ahead, were 4 monstrosities. A gleaming gold and deep blue beast with huge pincers and a hideous, pointed face. It's form was that of some kind of crustacean. A giant lobster gone horribly wrong. The thing was merrily swatting away at the beleaguered Lyrish Northguard who were still emerging from their caves.
"Archers! Open fire!"
A distinct, deep clunk was heard and the first 40 bolts went ahead, briefly followed by the other 20 or so. Valerian charged, knowing the men would follow with him.
Dozens of the bolts that crashed into the beasts did none more than scratch itheir hard carapace. The rest more went long and flew elsewhere, ploughed into grass or canyon walls. The last few drove into unprotected joints and other nooks and crannies in the armour and the monsters screeched, finally recognising the threat.
They turned over to face the new arrivals some grimacing on their grotesque faces, others howling at the troops.
There was plenty of room in this brawl for more. Valerian and his Northguards took up the call, turned their hammers around so the spiked end faced the beast and began smashing away at them. Using the hammers as a two-handed weapon brought much more punch. The Northguards had not unstrapped their shields from their backs so as to prevent friendly fire incidents.
Valerian could only reach it's legs and worked with what he had, most of the carapace had been chipped away below legs and he took aim with a mighty blow. The spike flew deep into the monster's knee and the beast screamed ever louder, falling to one knee.
A second salvo of bolts flew into it. This wave was better aimed and lacerated it's already worn arm, though many of them still bounced off without incident.
The monster came to face Valerian now and roared in his face. Valerian responded in kind with a great strike to the creature's twisted face.
It slammed it's useful arm into Valerian and he recoiled from the blow. While badly wounded, it still fought hard.
The Lyrish guard for on, slamming at the weaker armour behind their legs and bringing them closer to their ends.
The monsters prepared for another blow and was stopped cold by the third salvo. Multiple bolts flew home and found themselves embedded in heads and joints. The creatures fell one at a time, each more quickly than the last and nearly flattening soldiers on the way down.
A resounding cheer went out from the refugees and a man stepped forth, armoured in studded leather and carrying a wicked two-handed war scythe, presumably the leader.
Valerian introduced himself, "I am Valerian Albanis. 1st Century, 1st Cohort of the Forge's Liberators. We got your call for aid."
"I am Rogan Kayle. Leader of this band."
_/\/\/\/\/\_
Whew! End chapter One and we haven't gotten past the first 5 or so minutes in the game.
Hehe, "stopped cold"
I'm not that good at writing fight scenes, so feedback is welcome.
If you have any questions, stick 'em in the thread and I'll answer them some time. As per usual, read, review and tell me if you find something wrong.
Polar Dawn - Battleforge Fanfiction; Chapter 2 UP!
Moderator: LadyTevar
Polar Dawn - Battleforge Fanfiction; Chapter 2 UP!
Last edited by Boombaye on 2010-07-14 12:52pm, edited 7 times in total.
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CaptainChewbacca
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Re: Polar Dawn - Battleforge Fanfiction
If you want feedback on an RPG you've created, it should be posted in Gaming and Computers. Ask a mod to move it, or lock this thread and start a new one. I'll take a look when its in the proper place.
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
Re: Polar Dawn - Battleforge Fanfiction
NOTE: Followed some advice and declutterised it a bit. Figure I'll have to make things more clear when posting stories and other bits.
It's an actual, existing game, hence the fanfiction bit of the title.
http://www.battleforge.com/
There's a link.
This is a bit which expands on the technologies of the Forgeverse. Those legends you get when you upgrade cards?
Like that, but more. This thread includes 'scientific' studies, excerpts from books, manuals and quotes and possibly, short stories from the Forgeverse. For now, I'll focus more on the Frost Element and Lyr.
Realise that none of this is official canon and is not recognised or supported by Phenomic.
On a side note, read the stories and lore in the game. They rock.
Any errors found should be posted so I might get rid of them.
Table of Contents
1. Introduction and Table of Contents from the Lyrish Infantryman's Primer, Northguard Edition.
2. Quote on a Northguard's Duty
3. Examination of Lyrish Master Archer ammunition.
4. Excerpt an 'Essay on Forge of Creation Portal Mechanics, Oddities and Uses'
_/\/\/ 1 \/\/\_
"Northguards make up the vast line infantry complement of all Lyrish forces. You are a strong defensive soldier and relatively capable if put into offence. Northguards are well drilled and highly disciplined. You are not that common Fire rabble, Mother Nature's 'children' or one of the depraved maniacs who worship the Shadows.
If the Elven Rangers and Master are a precise, but localised scalpel, then you are the hammer of Lyr. Your strength, armour and comrades deal directblow upon blow upon the horrors that beset Lyr on a daily basis. Millions depend on you to protect their homes and futures. The cold of these mountains is your home. Enemies who are not accustomed to these temperatures may fall to a bit of chilly weather.
Not you. You are the Lyrish Northguard. With hammers of steel, hearts of stone and ice water in your veins, you must defend one of the last bastions of truth, justice and the Lyrish way.
Show no mercy, for you will be shown none.
<-TABLE ~ OF ~ CONTENTS->
1 - Introduction and Table of Contents
2-8 - Prayers, Daily Duties and Rules of Engagement
9-12 - Arms Manual
12-18 - Armour Handling, Use and Care
19-28 - Formation Guides and General Use
29-43 - Combined Arms Tactics and Merging with other Elements
43-58 - Common Enemies, Statistics and Counters
59-62 - Brief History of Lyrish Northguards
62-65 - Glossary and Index" - Introduction and Table of Contents from the Lyrish Infantryman's Primer, Northguard Edition.
_/\/\/ 2 \/\/\_
"Fight to save your people from oppression. Fight to save the Kingdom of Lyr. Fight to save your comrades in arms, and if you have any strength left, fight to save yourself." - Author unknown, attributed to Valerian Albanis, 1st Century Northguards, 1st Cohort Skylord's Liberators.
_/\/\/ 3 \/\/\_
"Master Archers, though not truly archers, but crossbowmen, use deceptively ingenious and simple ammunition. Their standard anti-personnel bolt is has a barbed, lead tip, encased in hard ice. The natural lack of body heat for Lyrs means this ice can take many weeks to melt, at which point the Frost Mages refreeze them in an instant.
Upon landing, the ice fragments into razor sharp shards which cut and worsen the wound, while the lead core functions as a more traditional crossbow bolt, giving the target minor lead poisoning. The barbs on the tip are frighteningly strong, having been infused with their ice magicks.
These small, sharp barbs are a grave obstacle in extracting arrows from wounded soldiers. Barbs tear through blood vessels and vital organs while hooking onto what remains.
Lyrish 'master' Archers are also rather versatile, with magazines mounted atop their crossbows which allow for less time per shot and specialised ammunition being easily loaded in separate magazines.
One particularly intriguing type of ammunition observed was the 'Slayer' bolt. First encountered when battling a Frost Regiment supported by Nature deserters.
This bolt has a very long, steel tip, with multiple barbs lining it and was poisoned by the traitors, who had a deep understanding of such toxins.
The steel point flew through most armours like a needle, at which point the barbs would latch onto flesh or armour and the poison would begin it's deadly work. The bolt was extremely difficult to dislodge, as the damaged armour would fold around it and hold it in place. Fighting with such a bolt wedged inside you is generally regarded is impossible.
This 'Slayer' bolt is more proof of Lyrish ingenuity and their penchant for adaptation.
Recommend engaging Master Archers with caution, Shaman support or with fast, heavy cavalry. Closing the distance negates their ranged advantage but they are capable melee fighters." - excerpt from the Writings and Observations of Anthea Maine, Amazon, 7th Squadron, Nature's Fury.
_/\/\/ 4 \/\/\_
"The Forge of Creation's Teleporters, all of them, are enormous gateways to a myriad destinations across the world. A teleporter can bring it's payload to any location with a Monument, Power Well or Forge Signature.
Existence, function and use of Monuments and Power Wells are general knowledge, though a more enigmatic topic are the Forge Signatures.
Anything created by the Forge carries a magical signature which allows it to be tracked. This signature also manifests itself in more subtle ways such as a subject's thought patterns. The signature's 2 most useful functions are to allow Battle Commander Skylords to track their location on a battlefield scrying map and perhaps more importantly, summon reinforcements near the signature.
Furthermore, Forge Signatures also seem 'contagious', being able to attach themselves to many living entities in a certain area, giving battle commanders an even greater advantage, in being able to have locations on enemies who are currently in visual range.
It is acknowledged that the creations of the Forge are inherently 'different', though to what extent and further benefits or consequences these differences have have yet to be discovered." - Excerpt from Ariane Vernon's 'Essay on Forge of Creation Portal Mechanics, Oddities and Uses'
_/\/\/\/\/\_
It's an actual, existing game, hence the fanfiction bit of the title.
http://www.battleforge.com/
There's a link.
This is a bit which expands on the technologies of the Forgeverse. Those legends you get when you upgrade cards?
Like that, but more. This thread includes 'scientific' studies, excerpts from books, manuals and quotes and possibly, short stories from the Forgeverse. For now, I'll focus more on the Frost Element and Lyr.
Realise that none of this is official canon and is not recognised or supported by Phenomic.
On a side note, read the stories and lore in the game. They rock.
Any errors found should be posted so I might get rid of them.
Table of Contents
1. Introduction and Table of Contents from the Lyrish Infantryman's Primer, Northguard Edition.
2. Quote on a Northguard's Duty
3. Examination of Lyrish Master Archer ammunition.
4. Excerpt an 'Essay on Forge of Creation Portal Mechanics, Oddities and Uses'
_/\/\/ 1 \/\/\_
"Northguards make up the vast line infantry complement of all Lyrish forces. You are a strong defensive soldier and relatively capable if put into offence. Northguards are well drilled and highly disciplined. You are not that common Fire rabble, Mother Nature's 'children' or one of the depraved maniacs who worship the Shadows.
If the Elven Rangers and Master are a precise, but localised scalpel, then you are the hammer of Lyr. Your strength, armour and comrades deal directblow upon blow upon the horrors that beset Lyr on a daily basis. Millions depend on you to protect their homes and futures. The cold of these mountains is your home. Enemies who are not accustomed to these temperatures may fall to a bit of chilly weather.
Not you. You are the Lyrish Northguard. With hammers of steel, hearts of stone and ice water in your veins, you must defend one of the last bastions of truth, justice and the Lyrish way.
Show no mercy, for you will be shown none.
<-TABLE ~ OF ~ CONTENTS->
1 - Introduction and Table of Contents
2-8 - Prayers, Daily Duties and Rules of Engagement
9-12 - Arms Manual
12-18 - Armour Handling, Use and Care
19-28 - Formation Guides and General Use
29-43 - Combined Arms Tactics and Merging with other Elements
43-58 - Common Enemies, Statistics and Counters
59-62 - Brief History of Lyrish Northguards
62-65 - Glossary and Index" - Introduction and Table of Contents from the Lyrish Infantryman's Primer, Northguard Edition.
_/\/\/ 2 \/\/\_
"Fight to save your people from oppression. Fight to save the Kingdom of Lyr. Fight to save your comrades in arms, and if you have any strength left, fight to save yourself." - Author unknown, attributed to Valerian Albanis, 1st Century Northguards, 1st Cohort Skylord's Liberators.
_/\/\/ 3 \/\/\_
"Master Archers, though not truly archers, but crossbowmen, use deceptively ingenious and simple ammunition. Their standard anti-personnel bolt is has a barbed, lead tip, encased in hard ice. The natural lack of body heat for Lyrs means this ice can take many weeks to melt, at which point the Frost Mages refreeze them in an instant.
Upon landing, the ice fragments into razor sharp shards which cut and worsen the wound, while the lead core functions as a more traditional crossbow bolt, giving the target minor lead poisoning. The barbs on the tip are frighteningly strong, having been infused with their ice magicks.
These small, sharp barbs are a grave obstacle in extracting arrows from wounded soldiers. Barbs tear through blood vessels and vital organs while hooking onto what remains.
Lyrish 'master' Archers are also rather versatile, with magazines mounted atop their crossbows which allow for less time per shot and specialised ammunition being easily loaded in separate magazines.
One particularly intriguing type of ammunition observed was the 'Slayer' bolt. First encountered when battling a Frost Regiment supported by Nature deserters.
This bolt has a very long, steel tip, with multiple barbs lining it and was poisoned by the traitors, who had a deep understanding of such toxins.
The steel point flew through most armours like a needle, at which point the barbs would latch onto flesh or armour and the poison would begin it's deadly work. The bolt was extremely difficult to dislodge, as the damaged armour would fold around it and hold it in place. Fighting with such a bolt wedged inside you is generally regarded is impossible.
This 'Slayer' bolt is more proof of Lyrish ingenuity and their penchant for adaptation.
Recommend engaging Master Archers with caution, Shaman support or with fast, heavy cavalry. Closing the distance negates their ranged advantage but they are capable melee fighters." - excerpt from the Writings and Observations of Anthea Maine, Amazon, 7th Squadron, Nature's Fury.
_/\/\/ 4 \/\/\_
"The Forge of Creation's Teleporters, all of them, are enormous gateways to a myriad destinations across the world. A teleporter can bring it's payload to any location with a Monument, Power Well or Forge Signature.
Existence, function and use of Monuments and Power Wells are general knowledge, though a more enigmatic topic are the Forge Signatures.
Anything created by the Forge carries a magical signature which allows it to be tracked. This signature also manifests itself in more subtle ways such as a subject's thought patterns. The signature's 2 most useful functions are to allow Battle Commander Skylords to track their location on a battlefield scrying map and perhaps more importantly, summon reinforcements near the signature.
Furthermore, Forge Signatures also seem 'contagious', being able to attach themselves to many living entities in a certain area, giving battle commanders an even greater advantage, in being able to have locations on enemies who are currently in visual range.
It is acknowledged that the creations of the Forge are inherently 'different', though to what extent and further benefits or consequences these differences have have yet to be discovered." - Excerpt from Ariane Vernon's 'Essay on Forge of Creation Portal Mechanics, Oddities and Uses'
_/\/\/\/\/\_
Re: Polar Dawn - Battleforge Fanfiction
CHAPTER TWO - PANDEMONIUM
The 1st Legion had wormed their way through the 900 meters of canyon to the gate. Power flowed from the wells 200 meters behind them and an ethereal, white light from the monument shone next to the well.
Camp was assembled by Northguards prior to dusk and the flat area around the monument was being used for deployment of fresh troops and supplies. A few campfires surrounded by men had sprung up away from the tents.
The large encampment was surrounded on all sides by the dark canyon walls and was safe from all but large ground assaults. The Amii gate was opened and would be until someone could figure out how to close it.
The gate lead into the valley just below and it's left entrance would lead straight to the next gate at the burial mound.
The monument's teleporters strained to meet the demand. A 1st Construct had already arrived, along with 2 cohorts of fresh infantrymen.
The Construct's gargantuan, silent form towered 25 meters into the air. It's ancient, cobblestone 'torso' was wreathed in vines and kobold engineers trying to cut down those same vines. The ancient stood low on it's legs, unmoving. It stood, a silent monolith taking up a good quarter of the camp's meager staging area; as though a small temple sprung legs and took a magical cannon to wreak havoc on the insignificant little people below.
The huge, snub-nosed cannon atop the white ziggurat pointed ahead, powered down and begging for action. Engineer teams made their checks, scurrying back and forth between vital joints to maintain them and furnishing out any cracks in it's armour.
Meridian hung where there was space, waiting for the call to arms.
_____
Night. The canyon's walls were only 12 meters wide at most and he found himself at the only safe place to build a watchtower. The watchman stood atop his hastily assembled wooden platform and stared off at the old burial mound. There were peculiar lights emanating from it and something was about to happen.
It wasn't long before he understood what was happening. His keen eyes spotted the orc horde even in the dark. At least 150 of them. Poorly organised and equipped. Best used to storm their way into unprepared defences and crush scattered enemies. The horde wasn't suited to grinding into a determined enemy.
The rough mish-mash of troops bore few similarities. They moved in a single group, mostly armed with an assortment of blunt melee weapons and scraps of armour tied to important areas. Larger, better armed ones were at the head, ready to batter through the first line of defenders.
Large bands of ill-disciplined troops were hard to judge in number. The watchman began making estimates, counting every 5 as the horde slowly marched forth.
More or less 260. Probably more, he thought inwardly.
He stepped over to the other edge of the watchtower, around the large torch in the center. The watchman picked up a piece of canvas, dipped a finger into the small pan of tar and scrawled the number and troop composition onto the material.
He slid the canvas into a glass bottle and flung it over the side to the camp. It landed and shattered near the edge of one of the campfires and drew the attention of the Northguards there.
He then took to his final task, bringing a torch to the edge of the small tower and let the flammable end hang over the side, while he stepped on the handle.
He retrieved the tinderbox from his satchel that hang next to his quiver, knelt down and struck the flint against the firesteel.
Once...twice...
Thrice.
The shower of sparks caught onto the wet cloth and it sprung alight in a sudden blaze.
He set the tinderbox and flint to the side, picked up his torch, held it to the much larger torch, hanging at an angle off the side facing the camp.
The torch caught in flames, the horde saw this and charged.
He strolled calmly to his composite bow, now well lit by the flicker of his torch. He picked it up, letting the cool wood run through his hand.
The watchman nocked an arrow, stood tall and waited.
_____
Lokhagos Darius Verga looked both ways on his lokhos, upon the high canyon walls at the signal fires, down into the small valley and tightened his grip on the pike as the roars moved closer. Loud, brutish warcries thundered closer. The gate's loud hum was beginning to be outdone by the mess that were the orcs.
Deathtrap. Few words would have described the situation any better than that. One entrance across open ground, headlong into an Amii gate which was blocked by the phalanx and elven archers. Verga and his watch stood at the crest of a small hill in front of the gate. The same hill enemies would have to climb up to get to them.
Any attacks would have been long noticed by the watch atop the canyon walls and have charged dead into a forest of pikes and arrows.
There was a reason Verga loathed the elves. The polar opposite of his Lyrish brethren; tall, pale as a sheet and elegant. Probably bled flawlessly, too, he thought idly.
Verga used the last remaining silence to shout a simple order, "HOLD!"
The enormous breastplate sized faceplate slid downwards and Verga's world went dark, all except for the 2 eye slits cut into the steel. The slits helped narrow his concentration on whatever quarry was in front.
The cathartic sound of the gate had left them. 120 meters and to the left in natural rocky walls, came the wave. The cheers bellowed from the motley band were louder than ever, now directed at the Phalanx.
He let his posture lean forward, leaving the spiked faceplate at chest height and lowered the pike. The front row of the phalanx did the same, low metal forms bumping into each other and forming a very small warcry of their own. Men behind the first row placed their spears in between those in front.
A barely audible clack was heard when the Elf Ranger wing loosed the first volley from their feathered compound bows.
Feathered compound bows.
Arrows flew at a steep angle up, and fell right back to earth in an unnoticed whistle. They struck home amidst the dense crowds and dozens fell screaming. The warcry had fallen in volume and they ran faster, toward the phalanx and therefore, cover from the arrows.
Verga peered through the slits. The Orcs had gotten softer. At least those pansies were good for something.
Like many of the well-drilled Phalanx Pikemen of Lyr, he was accustomed to this noise. Like many veteran Phalanx Pikemen he could allow himself the pleasure of some thought in the middle of the battlefield. Many seconds were lost pondering enemy force composition, the thoughts rolling through their heads and even what tomorrow held for himself.
The thought of the day was why that exceptionally large, ugly and worst of all: well armed specimen kept getting larger as the seconds ticked by. That one stood out, even at night.
Then it hit him.
Riddle solved, reverie crushed. Now he was pissed. You didn't have to answer that hard, you brute., thought Verga as he was nearly tossed onto his arse, only the armour of the companions behind him stopping his fall. They'd long since acted faster and jabbed their spears into the Orc on it's way in.
Verga recovered, lunged and gutted the beast with the knife in his gauntlet as it howled, in rage and agony.
The Orc brought back it's axe and dropped it, nicking the left side of his faceplate as Verga tried to dodge and nearly brought him crashing to the ground again.
Verga righted himself, thanking his men at the back of mind and went to town on the barbaric horde.
Verga stabbed with his pike, again and again. He ignored the sides his men were guarding and focused dead ahead at the enemy. An orc dropped and another immediately crawled over to reach at Verga, only to receive a pike tip for it's troubles.
Loud, incoherent curses of the orcs mingled with muffled grunts and shouts from beneath the Lyrish phalanxes' faceplates. Orc blood finally began to flow down the small mound and brought with it news of the first wave's defeat.
_____
Lassven Uldorina nocked another arrow and raised the compound bow; a masterful piece of eagle feathers and exotic hardwoods these silly brutes could only dream of.
His practiced eye gauged the angle one last time, and drew, feeling his arm tire slightly from the strain.
"Loose!", ordered his pod leader!
He let go of of the end, enjoying the sudden release of tension from his right arm.
27 meters in front of him, the line of Orc had met the better line of human Phalanxes. Metal clanged and rasped on other metal as multiple grunts were exchanged in this deathly handshake.
Lassven sighed to himself at this idiocy, nocked another arrow, looked up, drew like the rest of his pod and waited for the order.
_____
Verga was now in his element. Honed arms drove the pike forward time and time again, each hitting something in the mass of bodies. The phalanx had taken a few steps back to avoid the growing pile of corpses.
He shoved the point forward again, striking an orc in the chest, struck something hard and pulled it out as the orc fell backward.
"HOLD!", he shouted once more. The everyone near him steeled themselves and obeyed.
Verga heard more of the noise through the enormous faceplate and carried on. The horde seemed to be quite literally, getting smaller. More poorly equipped and smaller orcs were at the head of it now.
The orc tide was beginning to fall. The front had broken slightly and retreated straight into the line behind them, and caused the horde to fold in on itself.
He caught a glimpse of as another volley landed on the battered horde. The phalanx held, men too tired and under orders not to give chase. The confident orc warcry had now turned into panicked screeching.
The phalanx stood, rooted to that spot until the noise faded and the last of them had left sight.
Lokhagos Darius Verga looked both ways once more and saw a colossal mess. The originally neutral blue line was smeared in blood. The amount of assorted gore lessened as he look further back into the rest of the phalanx.
Ahead, he saw a few telltale shapes of Lyrish armour peeking out in the dark from the wasteland.
"Raise plates!", he bellowed. The order was followed by the sounds of many dozens of gears turning to bring the faceplates up.
The cooling breeze and horrific stench plowed into him at the same time. That many corpses can't possibly be good for the environment. Groans and low chatter arose from the moaning as the exhausted phalanx tried it's best to relax.
"Retrieve our bodies. Rotation begins now."
Vergas trudged slowly back to camp. Word seems to have gotten to them already and the 3rd lokhos was forming up amidst the glow of campfires, it's men donning their heavy armour and retrieving spears from the racks situated in front of the tents.
The smell lessened the close he got closer to the camp. Happy conversations and shouts of congratulations coursed back and forth between the men. He saw many dented and cracked faceplates, but mercifully few men were badly wounded.
He arrived in front of his tent and began tentatively slipping out of the battered armour, eager for a bit of rest. The armour was left outside for the smiths to collect.
They can debrief me later, he thought as he collapsed into his sleeping bag.
_____
Centurian Valerian Albanis heard the din coming from downstream and had felt rather helpless in all of it. The narrow valley was relatively simple to defend, but allowing the phalanxes to rotate in the middle of it would have gotten the Rangers slaughtered.
So him and many others sat there useless. Their only options were to watch the phalanxes take the beating and do nothing or wait for the phalanx to lose and file into the breach. Neither seemed welcoming.
Spirits lifted when the men marched back out of the shadows, the Ranger's torches lighting the way for them and those at camp realised just how few men were actually killed in the battle.
Final tally was 13 dead out of the century of 82. Dozens of minor injuries. Very few major ones. The armour they wore certainly worked. There was little grey area between the extremes of injury. Most either came back or died.
Albanis strode toward the returning heroes and found the nearest one who was having trouble standing, hefted him up from under one arm and half dragged him to the infirmary tent.
_____
Lassven looked at the battlefield again.
It would appear Meridian's first duty was to shove corpses out of the way.
He sat down on a rock overlooking the small mound they'd defended. His right arm ached with overuse. The winterling elf stared on ahead, as the sky was lit by the first rays of the new sun.
It was quiet now.
/\/\/\/\/\
Righto! Chapter 2. Longer, better. More killy, need a bitta help in those close quarters type battle scenes. I'm just aching for the opportunity to put Constructs, Northland Drakes (bigass frost dragons) and perhaps best of all? Flying battleships. With sails. And broadsides.
[capslock]I AM LOOKING FOR A PROOFREADER AND EDITOR FOR GENERAL ADVICE AND HALP![/capslock]
I still really need help building likable, realistic characters. The kind who don't get mindlessly killed, though.
Am setting out bits of the next chapter. Also rewriting the first Chapter somewhat to fit the new tone. Still need feedback and advice, ye know.
The 1st Legion had wormed their way through the 900 meters of canyon to the gate. Power flowed from the wells 200 meters behind them and an ethereal, white light from the monument shone next to the well.
Camp was assembled by Northguards prior to dusk and the flat area around the monument was being used for deployment of fresh troops and supplies. A few campfires surrounded by men had sprung up away from the tents.
The large encampment was surrounded on all sides by the dark canyon walls and was safe from all but large ground assaults. The Amii gate was opened and would be until someone could figure out how to close it.
The gate lead into the valley just below and it's left entrance would lead straight to the next gate at the burial mound.
The monument's teleporters strained to meet the demand. A 1st Construct had already arrived, along with 2 cohorts of fresh infantrymen.
The Construct's gargantuan, silent form towered 25 meters into the air. It's ancient, cobblestone 'torso' was wreathed in vines and kobold engineers trying to cut down those same vines. The ancient stood low on it's legs, unmoving. It stood, a silent monolith taking up a good quarter of the camp's meager staging area; as though a small temple sprung legs and took a magical cannon to wreak havoc on the insignificant little people below.
The huge, snub-nosed cannon atop the white ziggurat pointed ahead, powered down and begging for action. Engineer teams made their checks, scurrying back and forth between vital joints to maintain them and furnishing out any cracks in it's armour.
Meridian hung where there was space, waiting for the call to arms.
_____
Night. The canyon's walls were only 12 meters wide at most and he found himself at the only safe place to build a watchtower. The watchman stood atop his hastily assembled wooden platform and stared off at the old burial mound. There were peculiar lights emanating from it and something was about to happen.
It wasn't long before he understood what was happening. His keen eyes spotted the orc horde even in the dark. At least 150 of them. Poorly organised and equipped. Best used to storm their way into unprepared defences and crush scattered enemies. The horde wasn't suited to grinding into a determined enemy.
The rough mish-mash of troops bore few similarities. They moved in a single group, mostly armed with an assortment of blunt melee weapons and scraps of armour tied to important areas. Larger, better armed ones were at the head, ready to batter through the first line of defenders.
Large bands of ill-disciplined troops were hard to judge in number. The watchman began making estimates, counting every 5 as the horde slowly marched forth.
More or less 260. Probably more, he thought inwardly.
He stepped over to the other edge of the watchtower, around the large torch in the center. The watchman picked up a piece of canvas, dipped a finger into the small pan of tar and scrawled the number and troop composition onto the material.
He slid the canvas into a glass bottle and flung it over the side to the camp. It landed and shattered near the edge of one of the campfires and drew the attention of the Northguards there.
He then took to his final task, bringing a torch to the edge of the small tower and let the flammable end hang over the side, while he stepped on the handle.
He retrieved the tinderbox from his satchel that hang next to his quiver, knelt down and struck the flint against the firesteel.
Once...twice...
Thrice.
The shower of sparks caught onto the wet cloth and it sprung alight in a sudden blaze.
He set the tinderbox and flint to the side, picked up his torch, held it to the much larger torch, hanging at an angle off the side facing the camp.
The torch caught in flames, the horde saw this and charged.
He strolled calmly to his composite bow, now well lit by the flicker of his torch. He picked it up, letting the cool wood run through his hand.
The watchman nocked an arrow, stood tall and waited.
_____
Lokhagos Darius Verga looked both ways on his lokhos, upon the high canyon walls at the signal fires, down into the small valley and tightened his grip on the pike as the roars moved closer. Loud, brutish warcries thundered closer. The gate's loud hum was beginning to be outdone by the mess that were the orcs.
Deathtrap. Few words would have described the situation any better than that. One entrance across open ground, headlong into an Amii gate which was blocked by the phalanx and elven archers. Verga and his watch stood at the crest of a small hill in front of the gate. The same hill enemies would have to climb up to get to them.
Any attacks would have been long noticed by the watch atop the canyon walls and have charged dead into a forest of pikes and arrows.
There was a reason Verga loathed the elves. The polar opposite of his Lyrish brethren; tall, pale as a sheet and elegant. Probably bled flawlessly, too, he thought idly.
Verga used the last remaining silence to shout a simple order, "HOLD!"
The enormous breastplate sized faceplate slid downwards and Verga's world went dark, all except for the 2 eye slits cut into the steel. The slits helped narrow his concentration on whatever quarry was in front.
The cathartic sound of the gate had left them. 120 meters and to the left in natural rocky walls, came the wave. The cheers bellowed from the motley band were louder than ever, now directed at the Phalanx.
He let his posture lean forward, leaving the spiked faceplate at chest height and lowered the pike. The front row of the phalanx did the same, low metal forms bumping into each other and forming a very small warcry of their own. Men behind the first row placed their spears in between those in front.
A barely audible clack was heard when the Elf Ranger wing loosed the first volley from their feathered compound bows.
Feathered compound bows.
Arrows flew at a steep angle up, and fell right back to earth in an unnoticed whistle. They struck home amidst the dense crowds and dozens fell screaming. The warcry had fallen in volume and they ran faster, toward the phalanx and therefore, cover from the arrows.
Verga peered through the slits. The Orcs had gotten softer. At least those pansies were good for something.
Like many of the well-drilled Phalanx Pikemen of Lyr, he was accustomed to this noise. Like many veteran Phalanx Pikemen he could allow himself the pleasure of some thought in the middle of the battlefield. Many seconds were lost pondering enemy force composition, the thoughts rolling through their heads and even what tomorrow held for himself.
The thought of the day was why that exceptionally large, ugly and worst of all: well armed specimen kept getting larger as the seconds ticked by. That one stood out, even at night.
Then it hit him.
Riddle solved, reverie crushed. Now he was pissed. You didn't have to answer that hard, you brute., thought Verga as he was nearly tossed onto his arse, only the armour of the companions behind him stopping his fall. They'd long since acted faster and jabbed their spears into the Orc on it's way in.
Verga recovered, lunged and gutted the beast with the knife in his gauntlet as it howled, in rage and agony.
The Orc brought back it's axe and dropped it, nicking the left side of his faceplate as Verga tried to dodge and nearly brought him crashing to the ground again.
Verga righted himself, thanking his men at the back of mind and went to town on the barbaric horde.
Verga stabbed with his pike, again and again. He ignored the sides his men were guarding and focused dead ahead at the enemy. An orc dropped and another immediately crawled over to reach at Verga, only to receive a pike tip for it's troubles.
Loud, incoherent curses of the orcs mingled with muffled grunts and shouts from beneath the Lyrish phalanxes' faceplates. Orc blood finally began to flow down the small mound and brought with it news of the first wave's defeat.
_____
Lassven Uldorina nocked another arrow and raised the compound bow; a masterful piece of eagle feathers and exotic hardwoods these silly brutes could only dream of.
His practiced eye gauged the angle one last time, and drew, feeling his arm tire slightly from the strain.
"Loose!", ordered his pod leader!
He let go of of the end, enjoying the sudden release of tension from his right arm.
27 meters in front of him, the line of Orc had met the better line of human Phalanxes. Metal clanged and rasped on other metal as multiple grunts were exchanged in this deathly handshake.
Lassven sighed to himself at this idiocy, nocked another arrow, looked up, drew like the rest of his pod and waited for the order.
_____
Verga was now in his element. Honed arms drove the pike forward time and time again, each hitting something in the mass of bodies. The phalanx had taken a few steps back to avoid the growing pile of corpses.
He shoved the point forward again, striking an orc in the chest, struck something hard and pulled it out as the orc fell backward.
"HOLD!", he shouted once more. The everyone near him steeled themselves and obeyed.
Verga heard more of the noise through the enormous faceplate and carried on. The horde seemed to be quite literally, getting smaller. More poorly equipped and smaller orcs were at the head of it now.
The orc tide was beginning to fall. The front had broken slightly and retreated straight into the line behind them, and caused the horde to fold in on itself.
He caught a glimpse of as another volley landed on the battered horde. The phalanx held, men too tired and under orders not to give chase. The confident orc warcry had now turned into panicked screeching.
The phalanx stood, rooted to that spot until the noise faded and the last of them had left sight.
Lokhagos Darius Verga looked both ways once more and saw a colossal mess. The originally neutral blue line was smeared in blood. The amount of assorted gore lessened as he look further back into the rest of the phalanx.
Ahead, he saw a few telltale shapes of Lyrish armour peeking out in the dark from the wasteland.
"Raise plates!", he bellowed. The order was followed by the sounds of many dozens of gears turning to bring the faceplates up.
The cooling breeze and horrific stench plowed into him at the same time. That many corpses can't possibly be good for the environment. Groans and low chatter arose from the moaning as the exhausted phalanx tried it's best to relax.
"Retrieve our bodies. Rotation begins now."
Vergas trudged slowly back to camp. Word seems to have gotten to them already and the 3rd lokhos was forming up amidst the glow of campfires, it's men donning their heavy armour and retrieving spears from the racks situated in front of the tents.
The smell lessened the close he got closer to the camp. Happy conversations and shouts of congratulations coursed back and forth between the men. He saw many dented and cracked faceplates, but mercifully few men were badly wounded.
He arrived in front of his tent and began tentatively slipping out of the battered armour, eager for a bit of rest. The armour was left outside for the smiths to collect.
They can debrief me later, he thought as he collapsed into his sleeping bag.
_____
Centurian Valerian Albanis heard the din coming from downstream and had felt rather helpless in all of it. The narrow valley was relatively simple to defend, but allowing the phalanxes to rotate in the middle of it would have gotten the Rangers slaughtered.
So him and many others sat there useless. Their only options were to watch the phalanxes take the beating and do nothing or wait for the phalanx to lose and file into the breach. Neither seemed welcoming.
Spirits lifted when the men marched back out of the shadows, the Ranger's torches lighting the way for them and those at camp realised just how few men were actually killed in the battle.
Final tally was 13 dead out of the century of 82. Dozens of minor injuries. Very few major ones. The armour they wore certainly worked. There was little grey area between the extremes of injury. Most either came back or died.
Albanis strode toward the returning heroes and found the nearest one who was having trouble standing, hefted him up from under one arm and half dragged him to the infirmary tent.
_____
Lassven looked at the battlefield again.
It would appear Meridian's first duty was to shove corpses out of the way.
He sat down on a rock overlooking the small mound they'd defended. His right arm ached with overuse. The winterling elf stared on ahead, as the sky was lit by the first rays of the new sun.
It was quiet now.
/\/\/\/\/\
Righto! Chapter 2. Longer, better. More killy, need a bitta help in those close quarters type battle scenes. I'm just aching for the opportunity to put Constructs, Northland Drakes (bigass frost dragons) and perhaps best of all? Flying battleships. With sails. And broadsides.
[capslock]I AM LOOKING FOR A PROOFREADER AND EDITOR FOR GENERAL ADVICE AND HALP![/capslock]
I still really need help building likable, realistic characters. The kind who don't get mindlessly killed, though.
Am setting out bits of the next chapter. Also rewriting the first Chapter somewhat to fit the new tone. Still need feedback and advice, ye know.
-
CaptainChewbacca
- Browncoat Wookiee
- Posts: 15746
- Joined: 2003-05-06 02:36am
- Location: Deep beneath Boatmurdered.
Re: Polar Dawn - Battleforge Fanfiction; Chapter 2 UP!
My advice? Its terrible. It reads like someone who is only passively familiar with the events is trying to fill me in on what happened.
That second chapter had 11 words of dialogue in the whole thing, and what passed for action wasn't enough to sustain my interest.
Your writing is elementary, your descriptions are repetitive, and the [ENTER] key is a privilage, not a right, so you should learn what a paragraph is SOON. My advice is to re-edit your posts and take out annotations. If I have to read another book or website to understand your universe, then you're doing a shitty job describing it to me in your story.
Here's an example of what should change:
Do that. Alot.
That second chapter had 11 words of dialogue in the whole thing, and what passed for action wasn't enough to sustain my interest.
Your writing is elementary, your descriptions are repetitive, and the [ENTER] key is a privilage, not a right, so you should learn what a paragraph is SOON. My advice is to re-edit your posts and take out annotations. If I have to read another book or website to understand your universe, then you're doing a shitty job describing it to me in your story.
Here's an example of what should change:
Here's how that looks in a story adults read:You Wrote wrote:The world turned white, faded and Valerian looked ahead. Movement in the distance, some kind of creature was fighting off humans.
Then he registered a peculiar breeze from the bottom.
Valerian looked down, the large front of his armour limiting his field of view to the essentials.
That ground was coming up to him way to fast.
Wet slush formed just in time to soften his landing, but the fall from a good two storeys in the air was only degraded from 'bone breaking' to 'this is gonna suck tomorrow morning'. The padding in his armour did its job and most likely only left him with a nasty bruise. He'd need to have a word with the Skylords about this.
The grunts of surprise of pain from behind him echoed his sentiment.
The century gathered into formation at once. A solid mass. Better equipped soldiers up front and everyone else in further ranks.
The men heard a pop, saw a flash and looked up in unison.
The 60 men of 3rd Century fell from the sky several dozen meters away from the 1st.
See how one sentence flows from another in a coherent narrative, and your eyes don't bleed when you read it?The world turned white, faded and Valerian looked ahead. Movement in the distance, some kind of creature was fighting off humans. As he watched, he felt a peculiar breeze from below. Valerian looked down, the large front of his armour narrowing his field of view to one fact: That ground was coming up to him way too fast.
Wet slush sprang into view just in time to soften his landing, but the fall from a good two stories in the air was only reduced from 'bone breaking' to 'this is gonna suck tomorrow'. The padding in his armour did its' job, but he could feel the new bruises on his body; he would be having a word with the Skylords about this. The grunts of surprise of pain from behind him echoed his sentiment.
The century gathered into formation at once. A solid mass. Better equipped soldiers up front and the rest in the rear. The men heard a pop, saw a flash and looked up in unison. The 60 men of 3rd Century fell from the sky several dozen meters away from the 1st.
Do that. Alot.
Stuart: The only problem is, I'm losing track of which universe I'm in.
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker
You kinda look like Jesus. With a lightsaber.- Peregrin Toker