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It started slowly at first.  A single drop fell from the sky, glittering in the last vestiges of the sunlight that was quickly overtaken by the menacing clouds.  Others joined it, splashing in the salty, wave-washed sand, until a veritable army of splashes covered the landscape.  The storm began in earnest, a lightning bolt streaking across the sky, the terrifying clap of thunder following shortly, sending low rumbles across the beach.  The entire group had already vacated the open ground and most were huddling under hastily constructed lean-tos.  One creature, a fox, sat quietly out on the sand, rainwater running in torrents off his weatherbeaten cloak.  He held his spear loosely in his hand, looking out to the angry swells as they crashed on the beach, made menacing by the shrieking winds that drove them ever forwards.  Mikalae came and sat by this fox, gesturing for him to sit as he tried to stand and salute.

"No need, soldier."

The fox returned to his seated posture, spear shaft digging into the wet sand.  Mikalae turned slightly, eyes still forward, piercing into the mist from under his soggy hood.

"You don't cower from the thunder like the others.  Why?"

The other fox didn't move, continued to stare ahead.

"Sir, I've been assigned guard duty; I can't afford to fear.  I have a job to do."

The guard fell silent, and Mikalae marveled at his simple, yet profound statement.  Suddenly, his taciturn companion rose to his feet and squinted through the sheets of rain.

"Sir, look there, out to sea...see, past the mast, on the left?"

Mikalae stood as well, paws shielding his eyes, trying through sheer force of will to lift the curtain of foggy droplets.  A shape loomed in the fog, disappeared, and appeared again: one vessel, maybe more.  He put his paw on the other's back.

"Good eyes, soldier.  Move quietly and get everyone under cover.  Tell them to have their bows at the ready, but make sure they cover them with their cloaks to keep the rain off until they are absolutely necessary."

"Aye, sir.  Where should we go?"

In answer, Mikalae called back to Marcus.

"Marcus, we have an incoming vessel, unknown allegiance.  Move the soldiers into the treeline, extinguish any fires, and knock down the shelters.  We can't risk being seen."

As Marcus quietly gave orders, stressing absolute silence, Mikalae took the quiet fox and moved ahead, trotting across the dunes, head and shoulders bent low to present the smallest view possible.  They took a position on the landward side of a small dune about twenty yards from their beached vessel.  Mikalae laid his spatha on the sands by his paw, and pulled off his quiver, covering it and his bow with the cloak after removing a number of arrows and setting them aside for quick access.  And then, they waited.

Several minutes later, Mikalae noticed the quiet fox's paw shaking slightly against the ground.  The fox tried to clasp it in his other, squeezed it until the skin turned white.  Mikalae spoke in a low voice, punctuated by low rumblings of thunder and the curious patter of rain on the dune.

"Frightened, soldier?"

"I'm ashamed to admit it, sir, but...yes.  I've felt the same before every battle, even though I've been in dozens."

"It's perfectly natural to fear the unknown."

"But you, and Gen. Marcus, and the others who've been with you from the beginning...I don't see them shaking."

"That's because we've grown so used to the fear that we ignore it."  Mikalae looked off into the distance, reminisced.  He turned his head back to the fox.  "Have you ever seen a lizard?"

"No, no I haven't.  I joined your army after the first Sampetran campaign."  Mikalae smiled slightly.

"We were coming over a rise on one of the heights, couldn't have been more than a couple days into the war.  We came upon a patrol of lizards, and we froze--Marcus, myself, Danaan, everyone."

The fox's face betrayed his surprise at this admission from his commander.

"What did you do?"

"Marcus hefted his spear and hurled it viciously at the lead lizard.  It took him through the chest and drove him back against a tree.  We all stood there, dumbfounded, for a long moment.  Then Marcus turned to all of us and shouted, 'See?  They can be killed!'" The fox's eyes were wide with wonder, and he turned with an awed look at Marcus, whose facial scars glistened with rainwater.  "Just remember...they can all be killed.  No matter how many of them, or what fearsome tales are told about them...all our enemies will perish just the same."

Mikalae looked at the slowly approaching vessel.  Vessel?  Or vessels?  We'll find out soon enough.

I must say, I found much amusement this morning when I awoke to see the following:

Thomas Kreisman IS PASSIVE!!! (#751) attacked you!

It kind of made my day.  No longer can one use the phrase "When the pacifists invade..." much like "When the pigs fly..." apparently.  :D

I honestly don't care about this whole passive/attacking discussion, by the way...I just wanted to point out the inherent linguistic hilarity there, and thank you, Thomas, for providing a smile before I drove to work. :P

OOC: Yes, indeed, I am alive, and well, thanks for asking.  I'm happy to be back. :)  As the previous post was more an introduction than anything, I'll move the action off the seas and onto the land, so you may meet the party, if you desire.

IC:

The fox's prediction was accurate.  Within hours of the clean, bright dawn, the sky had begun to darken, to thicken, to glare down at the meager craft slowly tacking rhough the swells.  Mikalae had looked to the captain, then, a tall, battered creature, old and weary as his ship.  The captain had looked back, an uncustomary concern lighting his eyes.  I don't know if we'll make it, they said.  Mikalae had nodded, content with the result of the cold wiles of fate.  If Fortune herself refused his ascension, then best it end here, now, in the dark depths, rather than on some pitiless battlefield.

But Fortune smiled upon their vessel, and the storm held until the ship reached the sandy beach.  With a hissing crunch, the heel dug into the wet sand, ship keeling over as she left her native waters.  The crew, prepared for this event, braced themselves against the rigging and rails so that the shock did little to mar their return to the shores of Southsward.  Much to the captain's dismay, they had agreed to let the ship lie, to rot on the shore; while he pitied the ship, loved it like his wife, he could not help but offer grim acknowledgement to the necessity of returning to shore as quickly as possible.  With only a handful of soldiers, many past their prime fighting age and all weakened by low rations, they could not risk running the coasts looking for a suitable harbor--far too many pirates plied these waters.  Thus, the decision was made in that morning: only by moving inland could they trust their environs to afford suitable protection.

The soldiers immediately went to work, heaving the few remaining barrels over the decks, where they splashed in water, retrieved from the shallow surf by their comrades below.  Mikalae stood alone; his wife remained in their cabin, collecting the few personal effects she had brought from her past glorious life.  His paws sunk in the wet sand, the beach feeling deliciously welcome after the constant rocking of the voyage.  He reached down and grasped a handful, squeezed the grains in his paws, felt the granules tug at his skin.  Southsward...after all these years.   He dropped the sand, brushed the remainder off on his cloak, and turned to his soldiers, who were beginning to examine the contents of the barrels.  Mikalae arrived just as they opened a larger barrel, a tremendously heavy one that had taken two beasts to manuever off the ship.  The sealed plug opened with a satisfied pop, and the reassuring scent of beeswax filled the air.  Mikalae himself put his paw into the hole as the others stepped back almost reverently.  He gave a hard tug, and the barrel was open, revealing finely crafted yew bows, quivers of arrows, and coils of bow string.  The beeswax lined the edges of the barrel, keeping out moisture and air, which ensured that these finely crafted weapons remained unmolested by the elements throughout the long voyage.  He smiled at his soldiers, who returned a knowing look.  They sheepishly inspected their own blades, which were with exception rusty and tarnished.

"There are enough blades in these barrels to replace your personal weapons.  I want each beast armed with a javelin and spatha; five will take a bow and a quiver, and will be armed also with a hatchet.  Marcus, pick five, give one a bow and the rest javelins and spathae."

Several moments passed as Marcus, friend to Mikalae and commander of his veterans, designated the five.  Mikalae continued.

"You five, I need information--we're blind here.  Begin a patrol inland, but do not venture too far; I want a report by sundown.  Watch especially for freshwater lakes or streams, defensible positions, and any nearby villages or dwellings.  Move quickly and quietly; if discovered retreat.  Do not engage a force of any magnitude.  Go."

The five nodded, saluted.  "Your majesty."  They darted off over the dunes, towards the treeline.  A low rumble of thunder echoed over the area, causing all to look up into the visibly darkening sky.  Mikalae finished his orders quickly.

"You two, begin foraging; don't stray too far into the forest, stay within easy shouting distance, and retreat if you make contact with any force.  The rest, let's get the carts assembled and start moving our supplies to the treeline.  I want to be off the beach and in camp as soon as possible, preferably before this storm begins."

A flurry of movement greeted this final pronouncement, and Mikalae was left standing in the sands.  Maria joined him, followed by Marcus, who was sheathing his sword after using it to direct his soldiers' movements.  Marcus spoke first.

"Sir, do we have any idea who--if anyone--controls this territory?"  Mikalae smirked.

"Marcus, there's not an inch of Southsward that isn't claimed twice over by some warlord or other.  We'll need to make friends quickly if we have a hope of mustering forces for defense, let alone conquest."

"Do we even know where in Southsward we are?"

"No idea, Marcus.  These beaches run for hundreds of leagues; we could be anywhere."  Marcus grimly clasped the hilt of his sword.

"I hope Fortune blessed us with a landing in allied territory."  Mikalae's face betrayed his inner doubts.

"So do I, Marcus.  If not, this will be a brief campaign, indeed."

After a three year absence, I as well have returned.  I'm looking around and noticing Checkerpaw and Aus are back too...wow.  I gotta get me some of this glue...

By the way, I just want to throw out a long-belated apology to all the people I must have ticked off while I was here, way back then.  I was really a loser, honestly, looking back at the posts I made. :P  So I truly apologize to all of you, and I thank you for putting up with me, and I hope you will put up with me again.  It may be said of me that while there was no doubt to my conviction, there was much to learn in the way of tact. ;)

But for now, I return!  Look to see the RP board come alive again. :)  My "real" return post is there. ;)

*waves* Hello to everyone!

The dawn burst forth with an onrushing flash of light, the rays of the sun carving streaks into the dark waves.  Blood-red lashes of light spilled over from crest to crest, shrouding the deepest of troughs in harsh shadow.  The Western Sea, however, remained silent, still, grave-like, waves undulating ceaselessly, eternal rhythm unchanged but for all the pageantry of color.  When time began the waves crashed; they would still swell when it ended.  Far away from the restlessness of the beasts that walked upon the earth, or flew upon the skies, the sea merely was, and would always be.

Yet into this oblivion of perpetuity, a sound--tiny at first, but then louder--began to grow.  The waves began to mutter, to billow, to break.  And then, over the next crest appeared a craft, weather-beaten yet steadfast.  She had once been a proud ship, a strong ship, a ship that inspired; now she was little more than dearly loved.  Her firm lines and haughty bow were tired and battered, weary of her tumultous affair with the open ocean.  The ship tacked, and the threadbare canvas flapped, revealing holes and patches from countless battles lost to all but memory.  On the deck, a single beast stood tall, experienced legs absorbing the gentle rocking of the vessel, the wind whipping a cloak that had once been dark, but now had faded into a dull gray.  He wore a hood, but now he threw it back, basking in the heat from the steadily rising sun.  He was a fox, but his piercing eyes spoke more of sadness than of wile; his paws, traced white with the scars of fierce combats and harsh labor, no longer held the power of youth, but the resolution of conviction.  Alone he stood, absorbed in his thoughts, the wind whistling mournfully through the slashes in the canvas sails.

Another creature emerged on the deck, this one a female, similarly garbed.  She approached him, paw outstretched to rest upon his shoulder.  His pose immediately relaxed, yet he continued to gaze across the endless waters.  They stood without speaking for a long while, quiet as the depths, timeless as the sea.  After a time, she looked at him without words, and he took a deep breath.

"Out there...breakers."

She looked, narrowed her eyes.

"Yes...I can see...land?"

He nodded, silent.  Nothing else needed to be said.  Simultaneously, a creature in the weathertop shouted the same, yet his voice was pitched high with jubilant excitement.

"Land ahead!  Two points off the starboard bow!"

There was an immediate scurrying from below as the watch took their stations, but the male and female foxes remained still, staring across the vast expanse and the barely visible coast leagues ahead.  The male spoke again.

"Storm coming.  This afternoon, I imagine."  The female looked at the reddish tinged sky, recalled the adage.

"Yes...will we be to land by then?"

"Yes...if this wind holds."

The female suddenly turned her eyes to him, concern clearly evident in her expression.

"I know you've been wanting to return here for a long time...I don't understand it, but I'm not going to argue.  It's just--"

"This is my home, Maria.  It always has been.  But there were some things I needed to do before I returned...." He paused.  "Some things I needed to learn.  But now I'm back."

"You don't have the forces to carve out a village, let alone a territory.  I know you...your ambition won't let you settle down and live a peaceful life."

The male allowed himself the smallest of smiles.  "No, indeed...you were an empress, Maria; you deserve an empire.  Allow me to win it for you."

Maria gazed at him, her face taking on a regal glow, recalling her glorious days of power.

"So many friends gone, though, Maria.  So many allies.  I wonder if, after all these seasons, they still even remember me, if any of our forces remain loyal."

"We will find out, then, husband.  You have these two-score veterans; you have Marcus, there."

"And you."  He smiled; she returned it.  They both looked back to the east, the sun now risen fully above the horizon.  She took a deep breath, raised her paws into the air, clenched them, and let out a loud cry.

"The Emperor Mikalae returns!"

The other soldiers unsheathed their weapons, steel glittering in the rays of the sun.

"All hail the Emperor!  Long live the Emperor!"

Mikalae's face grew grim as he stood, hearing the call resounding over the sea. Emperor of Nothing...but soon, perhaps, Emperor of All that is Between the Seas.

 *pats*

I think I dwarf everyone here on this site.

Try 6'2"!  Maybe even taller, haven't gone to the doc's in a while.

I've never stopped or started growing, really; its always a constant incredible amount. ^.^

 I have a younger sister (Rachel, 12) and an older half (or is it step?  *sigh*) brother; he is 23 in December and going to Purdue University for Mechanical Engineering!  Woot!  And he is going to work in either Germany, Texas, or the Phillippines...yeah.


I didn't spell Philiwhatsit right, I know...I'm too stressed to fix it.  Blah.  :blink:  

 Yes, true true!

*Claps for the dude from Indiana*

 "Put your backs into it!  Row, men, row!"

The oar-captains paced the belowdecks, lashing out verbally at their fellow sailors; unfortunate sailors who had the misfortune of being picked for oar duty.  The fleet headed rapidly toward the enemy, who by all appearances matched speed and flew towards their foe.  The groaning of wood mingled with the "heave, heave" of the Alliance oarsbeasts, the salty spray flew in the faces of the archers on deck, and the air of their passage blew past Mikalae, who stood firm on the upper deck, steering his flagship onward.

Mikalae had outfitted his hardened vessels with metal prows that sliced cruelly through the water, ready to impale the enemy's hulls on their sharpened steel.  These prows were slightly below the water, to hit and cause major, hopefully fatal, damage to the enemy vessel.  At a silent motion from Mikalae, the captains relayed the message to the oars: Increase speed!

On the sides of his skiffs, giant crossbows called ballistas were armed with huge steel arrows, pointed and attached to the skiff by a long rope.  They would be used to draw the enemy in and board her.  Mikalae laughed.

"We have them, boys!  Forward!"

 Have fun, and don't spin out on wet leaves.

:snicker: That is my friend's grandpa's favorite saying.

 I wanna be in the next one!  O-o-o!

And I am bringing another piccy of me for the album...a scarier one....a more differenter one...yessssss

 *laughs* That's cool....Retto the Magnificent.

That is why I stink in networth....ooooooooooohhh.

 I've read all except the ones after Lord Brocktree.  I'm kinda discouraged with Jacques now, he is getting so redundant and I've moved on to better novels...

...like Dune, LOTR, and the Illiad.

 OOC: If you wish to participate, please post an OOC in this thread or PM me.  Thank you.  Please please PLEASE, make this the best you can possibly can!

BIC:

There was a strange, gray darkness that enveloped the sea; this darkness seemed almost to swirl and spin in the deep grasp of the fog.  Here and there, a glimpse of metal was possible; but mostly the creaks and groans of a thousand warships echoed across the stillness.  There were but wavelets, as the wind was still as the grave, and the sails hung slack.  This fleet floated, unmoving, unwilling to start up the rowers.  A wildcat stood at the prow of his flagship.  He scanned the horizon with his glass, slowly turning until he had completely surveyed the waters in a circle around his vessel.  His captains paced the deck with slow, cautious steps,  cautioning the soldiers to keep their armor still.  The wood creaked again as the ship moved back to its original position, and the wave moved on.  Mikalae furrowed his brow and watched as the wave, which was substantially larger then the others, moved on.  Then he looked at the flag, which was moving weakly above him.

In the opposite direction of the wave!

He suddenly shouted to his men as he stepped to the wheel.

"Quick, to starboard!  They are trying to flank us!  Rowers, double!"

He spun the wheel and was rewarded by a sudden creaking as the ship swung about and headed straight for the enemy.  His other ships followed suit, and his captains shouted orders as the rowers began at double time.  The ship moved at a rapid speed, fairly skimming over the waves.  Suddenly, into view appeared the enemy: row after row of skiffs, built in the same manner as his own.  He drew his sword and shouted.

"For Ashyra, Mikalae, et fama gloriaque; pugnamus!"

(For Ashyra, Mikalae, and fame and glory; we fight!)

And the sun rose over the scene, which would soon erupt into deadly combat.

 Thus spake  B) Beatles B) , His High Majesty.


I tried pinging someone, but it comes back saying that the packets couldn't go through...its irritating.