scorpiusx
December 14th, 2007, 10:27 PM
Hey, y'all. Just like the Battle of the Harazac from the Albescent Cave, I did a long story for Sir Hawthorne a while back ago in Turqoise. The story is in the cave, but scattered. This is for those who want to read (or re-read) the story without going on a wild scavenger hunt. Any criticism on my writing is more than free, it's encouraged! Enjoy!
Part 1
It was shortly after a day of terrible battle, where the Weston knights backed down there attackers. During it the knights faired better, but the enemy leader was great, weilding a halberd and a mace upon his side. No weston knight could match his calibur save two: Sir Denrick and Sir Hawthorne. The enemy leader continued to cut through the ranks like butter upon a knife. However, the king of Weston was defending the gates of his castle, far off from the scene of en masse slaughter. Realizing his chance, Sir Hawthorne charged into the path of the enemy leader and smote him down with his blade. However, this did not occur until the once noble knight took a halberd stab to the knee and two crushing mace swipes. Fortunately, after the death of their master the enemy was no match against the might of Weston. twenty-two men and the leader Sir Hawthorne destroyed that day, and now he would have to be healed.
After the battle's end came a feast of nobles within a golden mess hall littered with banners and such. Long the tables were, and filled with great food as well. Just the thought of the meal created saliva to crave it. Platters filled with pork, roasted carrots, pastries, chicken, crisp onions, cabbage, soup, tender swan, plums, grapes, apples, quail, baked fish, pears, and as much wine as the heart desired. Every knight assembled upon the tables, and then a short, old man stood at it's end. He raised his goblet, and began toasting, with others repeating him in succession.
"I shalt propose a toast; to good feasting; to the kingdom of Weston; to the victorious battle that we have won; to Sir Denrick, for holding the gate of our mighty refuge;"
At this there was much jeering as well in enthusiasm.
"and to Sir Hawthorne, for besting twenty-two men and annihilating their master!"
But to this there were only five who spoke as well. One was Sir Denrick, the others various knights who had fought in battle. Whether Hugo was one or not was unknown. No others spoke, as if Hawthorne were an outcast. He was infuriated, to say the least, but kept his charisma and drained his goblet. He then commenced to geast and be merry with the others, but all of the while he planned his treachorous siege upon the gates of Weston...
Part 2
It was night. Sir Hawthorne, upon a brown horse, looked ahead to find that he was before a wooden gate. A guard stood at it's top.
"Speak ye name, ente'er of 'ar midst!"
"It is I, Sir Hawthorne of Weston, and I bring great tidings to thy Ramalenes!"
For the Ramalenes were the enemies of weston. Beirded and short they were, and barbaric. They were numerous, but not highly skilled, and had not developed the craft of the castle nobles. Suddenly, the gate had swung open and in rode the knight.
He was led to a large building that was brown in color, and was guarded by two Ramalenes armed with great waraxes. After being eased, they had entered.
Inside of the building it was dark and dingy, but most noticeabley it was large and circular. There lay a Ramalene upon a seat, seemingly waiting on the knight's coming. He beckoned him to be seated as well, and then they began conversation, starting first with Sir Hawthorne.
"Master of thy Ramalenes! I come hither with great tidings. I have been insulted and ridiculed by my fellows for far too long now, even with the expectations that they have presented. Therefore, I have decided to join your cause and request siege upon the castle!"
The seated man pondered for a few moments, and then spoke:
"Ay' i'dn't you 'da one who slayed 'da last leader?"
At these words the guard's weapons were raised, but the knight kept his cool.
"Yes, it was I, but I hath had no reward upon it. I solemnly regret smiting thy previous master, but I was looking for honor. Unfortunately, I found nothing but ridicule."Most men would have questioned further, but the Ramalene did not. He greeted him warmly.
"Well, then! 'Ya shoul' be welcome inta' 'da army of Ramlene! However, one man can'nit be of much help, no mat'ar how powerful he me' be."
But Sir Hawthorne was already one step ahead of him.
"I shalt return to thy Weston Castle to open thy gates to allow though siege to concur. However, a stretch still it may be. Your army hath no cavalry nor bowmen, only infantry, though not a great deal. Hopefully enough shalt be slayed in their sleep before the battle truely incinuates."
But the Ramolene just smiled.
"Ah, bu' we 'ave two things that they do no'. For one, we 'ave control o' the crows. And I 'ill soe 'ye 'da second."
Part 3
And so Sir Hawthorne kept his word. One night the gates were left open so that the Ramolenes could siege the kingdom. Five thousand in number were they, all infantry wielding axes, halberds, sabres, spears, pikes, and battering rams. Only about fifteen-hundred did the Weston knights have at their disposal, but they had the buildings and keeps to assist them, as well as cavalry and bowmen. The siege would still be no simple task.
Leading the siege was Sir Hawthorne. Dispatched he the previous shining silver standard garments and instead dressed upon ebony armor to match the colorless darkness of the night. He carried with him a pale sword and bow, along with a spear. Upon his brown horse he sat, and he led the first strike.
The open gates were pointing towards the west, with various buildings strewn within it housing various knights. The golden hall sat upon the south end, and in the center stood a barracks keep that would be the last safe haven for the defenders.
Quietly the first of three waves was led into the fortress. Upon the paved roads they walked silently, and then reached two bunkhouses containing sleeping knights on either side. The northernmost most taken upon Hawthorne and a small band of Ramolenes, while the southernmost bunk was led by a brigand of the Ramolenes. At the entrances they stood, waiting for the black knight’s horn to sound.
And finally, the horn of Hawthorne rang through the air. The siege had begun.
The doors to the bunkhouses were shattered, and in came the Ramolenes. Unarmed, the knights in the houses could do nothing but become slaughtered by the forces. However, not even a hundred knights were housed in the combined bunks. Still, every kill mattered for sieging such a place. Within minutes all of the knights in the two bunkhoused were cleared, but not before a horn was sounded by a southern bunk knight. Outraged, the forces were led to the areas surrounding the keep in the centre.
Just northward of the keep was found a dozen knights dressed for battle. However, Hawthorne was no fool. Upon his mount he charged into the midst of the knights, scattering them here and there while even slaying one or two on the way. Shouts concerning treachery resounded through the walls, but he cared not. Soon the dozen armed and armored knights lay hewn upon the ground. But, lo! From the south came the cries of falling Ramolenes. Fifty infantry and bowmen were there to shred their enemies, and did a fine job of it. Some even seemed to have spears of sort of fashion.
The large battalion was gaining ground on the first wave of attackers, but the first wave still had a few hundred remaining. However, to be safe, Sir Hawthorne sounded his horn for reinforcements to come. And then horns sounded in turn. The second wave was coming.
However, they still had this group of knights to beat down, but they were only sixty compared to six-hundred. Hawthorne perched upon the head of assault, and then felled many bowmen with his own bow craft. Like birds from a stone they fell, dying in misery. After a safe amount of fire was taken care of, He charged into fray. But he did not take it on directly. No, the pikes would tear him to shreds. Instead, he flanked from the side and trampled some of the bowmen and swordsmen beneath him. Soon the Ramolenes assisted, though the first couple of lines were picked apart by the knights. And finally, the group had been picked apart at last.
But there was no time to rejoice, however. For the forces of Weston were now prepared for an onslaught, and the true work was at hand. Ramolenes were being slaughtered by arrows and darts, coming from the hands and bows of perching archers in the tall buildings. This caused the lack of formation in the troops, in disarray they were. But then came something far worse.
In came a six score block of Weston Cavalry mounted upon great war horses. And thanks to the archers, the Ramolenes were at the mercy of the thundering hooves. Soon not one member of the first wave was left remaining. But there was little use for it now. The second wave had come.
At first glance it seemed just like the first wave, only much larger by hundreds. The archers took aim, but did not expect what happened next. Raining from the skies was a black cloud: a murder of crows. The archers panicked, and then screamed, and had their eyes gouged apart by the birds.
Meanwhile, in came the Ramolenes to counter the cavalry with spear, pike, and halberd. But the noble ones had gained some reinforcements as well. In came a thundering beat, and the entire force of Weston was drained. And, lo! Sir Denrick led the charge of the massive thousand man force. Fear struck Hawthorne, but he kept himself sturdy. He commanded to push them into the keep. What a confusing order it was, but none disobeyed him. With pikes in front, the knights were pushed back into the center building.
Down came the crows once more, and the soldiers cried hopelessly. But then Denrick yelled a few words into the air. The crows halted, and turned, never to be seen again by those human eyes. Sir Hawthorne, outrage, left the scene of battle.
However, the fight raged on. The Ramolenes were losing men at an alarming rate while trying to force the men of Weston to turtle in their shelter within shelter. But at last it seemed to be working. Every knight, including Denrick, was now in the keep shelter. The doors were now barred, and the archers aligned themselves to the walls where they would rain down arrows from the slits.
And then a sound was heard. The final wave was being sent to lay siege upon Weston. However, as long as the gate held strong, than all would be well for a time.
However, the buildings outside were being burned and ravaged, and all were outside of bowshot from the walls. And due to ceiling overhead those that could not see outside were frightened. However, they were at ease for the moment, and water was gathered for refreshing.
Suddenly, a shout concerning rams was sounded. Many men rushed to help support the barred gate, while the archers lit their arrows and the rest drew their weapons. The thumping of everyone’s heart could be heard from inside of that keep. And then the arrows were un-winded, and jeering was heard. But it lasted for but a moment, for the Ramolenes did not of course have only one battering ram at their disposal. The barring and defending of the gate continued, but then something unbelievable had occurred.
An archer mounted upon the northern wall screamed, but was failed through the craft of an arrow from the outside. Amazing craft it was to be able to shoot through a defending arrow slit. However, there was no time to think about this, for the very wall of the keep, sturdy though it was, was banged upon once, twice, and the third time it burst asunder. Pieces of stone flew everywhere, crushing many, and a huge amount of dust was thrown up into the air. But once, the dust settled, the Ramolenes most powerful weapon was revealed…
Part 4
The dust had just cleared after the northern walls of the keep had been blasted apart. In rode Sir Hawthorne, and with him the Ramolene leader and the third wave on foot. But no horses were they mounted upon. War Elephants they sat upon, and so used in synchronization to tear the keep’s defenses down. Over twice as high they stood compared to the horsemen. Both were armed with great pikes long enough to sweep the ground of their foes, and the black knight still wielded his bow and blade.
All knights fled before their faces, save one. The blond haired Denrick stood still, looking into the eyes of death’s messenger. And a fire linked between their eyes, shushing all with it’s mental confrontation. But neither spoke. However, they were interrupted by the sound of the gate giving way to the great battering rams of the Ramolenes. The enemies of Weston had two portals into domination now. And then the Ramolene leader raised his pike, but the knight of black rose his blade somehow higher, and then the final battle began.
The cavalry of Weston began to charge, but too many halberds, pikes, and spears the Ramolenes had now, and the elephants greater still. The horses neighed, whinnied, and turned back to the walls. The knights diced apart the terror of the west, but they were now outnumbered three to one, and the great war elephants of old scattered and slaughtered all who they rampaged into. But Sir Denrick was still at power, and continued to smite any foes that he could. And what a great opponent he would be for the black knight. So commenced the charging of the elephant and his rider into the fray of Sir Denrick. But no knight would see his master fall to the crushing feet of such a beast.
A volley of arrows was released, and the eyes of the elephant were gouged out. However, Sir Hawthorne would not see his mighty steed fall to the power of a few measly arrow launchers. He yelled out in a foreign tongue, and the great lumbering creature steadied himself, guided only now by the words of the black knight.
Raising his bow, he sent a small battalion of normal infantry (ones equipped with axes) to dispatch of the archers. Meanwhile, he conceded to pick them off with his own skills with a bow and arrow, until not one archer stood in the entire structure but he. He turns to look at the eastern wall, and sees that the horses were backed completely against the eastern wall. Seeing this, he gathered a large squad of anti-cavalry and charged into them. Some were crushed, while others madly ran and gutted themselves into the long weapons of the Ramolenes.
But then a sound like an earthquake resounded through the keep. At the turning of his head, Sir Hawthorne could see that the captain of the west was vanquished, smothered under his steed. And, lo! Within the wreckage stood Sir Denrick of Weston, sweat rolling down in beads. Angered and infuriated now more than ever, the knight of terror trampled through all to make a path to the knight of good. Both friends and foes were crushed in the channel of wrath.
Against a wall was the knight, trapped like a mouse. However, he was in luck, for beside him was a ladder, along with a platform for archers to stand upon. Quickly he scrambled up the ladder, just barely dodging the pike stabs of Hawthorne. When he finally reached the top of the platform, he jumped upon the back of the beast and aimed a slice at the black knight’s head. But the chaos knight drew his quicker, and splintered the blade out of the hand of Denrick, causing it to fall into the battle below. Shocked, the knight of good was left open, and was kicked to the ground amongst the fighting. Paralyzed, hopeless, the Ramolenes had won.
Sir Hawthorne slowly lumbered toward the helpless soul, glaring down upon him from the height of the steed. The beast stood upright, ready to finish the leader of Weston. But before this could be done, a great flash occurred, with a sound like lightening, and all of the knights vanished. Sir Hawthorne cursed in confusion, but then saw the beauty of the situation. He was now in command of all. None were left to stop him. Satisfied, he enjoyed the spoils of victory.
Part 1
It was shortly after a day of terrible battle, where the Weston knights backed down there attackers. During it the knights faired better, but the enemy leader was great, weilding a halberd and a mace upon his side. No weston knight could match his calibur save two: Sir Denrick and Sir Hawthorne. The enemy leader continued to cut through the ranks like butter upon a knife. However, the king of Weston was defending the gates of his castle, far off from the scene of en masse slaughter. Realizing his chance, Sir Hawthorne charged into the path of the enemy leader and smote him down with his blade. However, this did not occur until the once noble knight took a halberd stab to the knee and two crushing mace swipes. Fortunately, after the death of their master the enemy was no match against the might of Weston. twenty-two men and the leader Sir Hawthorne destroyed that day, and now he would have to be healed.
After the battle's end came a feast of nobles within a golden mess hall littered with banners and such. Long the tables were, and filled with great food as well. Just the thought of the meal created saliva to crave it. Platters filled with pork, roasted carrots, pastries, chicken, crisp onions, cabbage, soup, tender swan, plums, grapes, apples, quail, baked fish, pears, and as much wine as the heart desired. Every knight assembled upon the tables, and then a short, old man stood at it's end. He raised his goblet, and began toasting, with others repeating him in succession.
"I shalt propose a toast; to good feasting; to the kingdom of Weston; to the victorious battle that we have won; to Sir Denrick, for holding the gate of our mighty refuge;"
At this there was much jeering as well in enthusiasm.
"and to Sir Hawthorne, for besting twenty-two men and annihilating their master!"
But to this there were only five who spoke as well. One was Sir Denrick, the others various knights who had fought in battle. Whether Hugo was one or not was unknown. No others spoke, as if Hawthorne were an outcast. He was infuriated, to say the least, but kept his charisma and drained his goblet. He then commenced to geast and be merry with the others, but all of the while he planned his treachorous siege upon the gates of Weston...
Part 2
It was night. Sir Hawthorne, upon a brown horse, looked ahead to find that he was before a wooden gate. A guard stood at it's top.
"Speak ye name, ente'er of 'ar midst!"
"It is I, Sir Hawthorne of Weston, and I bring great tidings to thy Ramalenes!"
For the Ramalenes were the enemies of weston. Beirded and short they were, and barbaric. They were numerous, but not highly skilled, and had not developed the craft of the castle nobles. Suddenly, the gate had swung open and in rode the knight.
He was led to a large building that was brown in color, and was guarded by two Ramalenes armed with great waraxes. After being eased, they had entered.
Inside of the building it was dark and dingy, but most noticeabley it was large and circular. There lay a Ramalene upon a seat, seemingly waiting on the knight's coming. He beckoned him to be seated as well, and then they began conversation, starting first with Sir Hawthorne.
"Master of thy Ramalenes! I come hither with great tidings. I have been insulted and ridiculed by my fellows for far too long now, even with the expectations that they have presented. Therefore, I have decided to join your cause and request siege upon the castle!"
The seated man pondered for a few moments, and then spoke:
"Ay' i'dn't you 'da one who slayed 'da last leader?"
At these words the guard's weapons were raised, but the knight kept his cool.
"Yes, it was I, but I hath had no reward upon it. I solemnly regret smiting thy previous master, but I was looking for honor. Unfortunately, I found nothing but ridicule."Most men would have questioned further, but the Ramalene did not. He greeted him warmly.
"Well, then! 'Ya shoul' be welcome inta' 'da army of Ramlene! However, one man can'nit be of much help, no mat'ar how powerful he me' be."
But Sir Hawthorne was already one step ahead of him.
"I shalt return to thy Weston Castle to open thy gates to allow though siege to concur. However, a stretch still it may be. Your army hath no cavalry nor bowmen, only infantry, though not a great deal. Hopefully enough shalt be slayed in their sleep before the battle truely incinuates."
But the Ramolene just smiled.
"Ah, bu' we 'ave two things that they do no'. For one, we 'ave control o' the crows. And I 'ill soe 'ye 'da second."
Part 3
And so Sir Hawthorne kept his word. One night the gates were left open so that the Ramolenes could siege the kingdom. Five thousand in number were they, all infantry wielding axes, halberds, sabres, spears, pikes, and battering rams. Only about fifteen-hundred did the Weston knights have at their disposal, but they had the buildings and keeps to assist them, as well as cavalry and bowmen. The siege would still be no simple task.
Leading the siege was Sir Hawthorne. Dispatched he the previous shining silver standard garments and instead dressed upon ebony armor to match the colorless darkness of the night. He carried with him a pale sword and bow, along with a spear. Upon his brown horse he sat, and he led the first strike.
The open gates were pointing towards the west, with various buildings strewn within it housing various knights. The golden hall sat upon the south end, and in the center stood a barracks keep that would be the last safe haven for the defenders.
Quietly the first of three waves was led into the fortress. Upon the paved roads they walked silently, and then reached two bunkhouses containing sleeping knights on either side. The northernmost most taken upon Hawthorne and a small band of Ramolenes, while the southernmost bunk was led by a brigand of the Ramolenes. At the entrances they stood, waiting for the black knight’s horn to sound.
And finally, the horn of Hawthorne rang through the air. The siege had begun.
The doors to the bunkhouses were shattered, and in came the Ramolenes. Unarmed, the knights in the houses could do nothing but become slaughtered by the forces. However, not even a hundred knights were housed in the combined bunks. Still, every kill mattered for sieging such a place. Within minutes all of the knights in the two bunkhoused were cleared, but not before a horn was sounded by a southern bunk knight. Outraged, the forces were led to the areas surrounding the keep in the centre.
Just northward of the keep was found a dozen knights dressed for battle. However, Hawthorne was no fool. Upon his mount he charged into the midst of the knights, scattering them here and there while even slaying one or two on the way. Shouts concerning treachery resounded through the walls, but he cared not. Soon the dozen armed and armored knights lay hewn upon the ground. But, lo! From the south came the cries of falling Ramolenes. Fifty infantry and bowmen were there to shred their enemies, and did a fine job of it. Some even seemed to have spears of sort of fashion.
The large battalion was gaining ground on the first wave of attackers, but the first wave still had a few hundred remaining. However, to be safe, Sir Hawthorne sounded his horn for reinforcements to come. And then horns sounded in turn. The second wave was coming.
However, they still had this group of knights to beat down, but they were only sixty compared to six-hundred. Hawthorne perched upon the head of assault, and then felled many bowmen with his own bow craft. Like birds from a stone they fell, dying in misery. After a safe amount of fire was taken care of, He charged into fray. But he did not take it on directly. No, the pikes would tear him to shreds. Instead, he flanked from the side and trampled some of the bowmen and swordsmen beneath him. Soon the Ramolenes assisted, though the first couple of lines were picked apart by the knights. And finally, the group had been picked apart at last.
But there was no time to rejoice, however. For the forces of Weston were now prepared for an onslaught, and the true work was at hand. Ramolenes were being slaughtered by arrows and darts, coming from the hands and bows of perching archers in the tall buildings. This caused the lack of formation in the troops, in disarray they were. But then came something far worse.
In came a six score block of Weston Cavalry mounted upon great war horses. And thanks to the archers, the Ramolenes were at the mercy of the thundering hooves. Soon not one member of the first wave was left remaining. But there was little use for it now. The second wave had come.
At first glance it seemed just like the first wave, only much larger by hundreds. The archers took aim, but did not expect what happened next. Raining from the skies was a black cloud: a murder of crows. The archers panicked, and then screamed, and had their eyes gouged apart by the birds.
Meanwhile, in came the Ramolenes to counter the cavalry with spear, pike, and halberd. But the noble ones had gained some reinforcements as well. In came a thundering beat, and the entire force of Weston was drained. And, lo! Sir Denrick led the charge of the massive thousand man force. Fear struck Hawthorne, but he kept himself sturdy. He commanded to push them into the keep. What a confusing order it was, but none disobeyed him. With pikes in front, the knights were pushed back into the center building.
Down came the crows once more, and the soldiers cried hopelessly. But then Denrick yelled a few words into the air. The crows halted, and turned, never to be seen again by those human eyes. Sir Hawthorne, outrage, left the scene of battle.
However, the fight raged on. The Ramolenes were losing men at an alarming rate while trying to force the men of Weston to turtle in their shelter within shelter. But at last it seemed to be working. Every knight, including Denrick, was now in the keep shelter. The doors were now barred, and the archers aligned themselves to the walls where they would rain down arrows from the slits.
And then a sound was heard. The final wave was being sent to lay siege upon Weston. However, as long as the gate held strong, than all would be well for a time.
However, the buildings outside were being burned and ravaged, and all were outside of bowshot from the walls. And due to ceiling overhead those that could not see outside were frightened. However, they were at ease for the moment, and water was gathered for refreshing.
Suddenly, a shout concerning rams was sounded. Many men rushed to help support the barred gate, while the archers lit their arrows and the rest drew their weapons. The thumping of everyone’s heart could be heard from inside of that keep. And then the arrows were un-winded, and jeering was heard. But it lasted for but a moment, for the Ramolenes did not of course have only one battering ram at their disposal. The barring and defending of the gate continued, but then something unbelievable had occurred.
An archer mounted upon the northern wall screamed, but was failed through the craft of an arrow from the outside. Amazing craft it was to be able to shoot through a defending arrow slit. However, there was no time to think about this, for the very wall of the keep, sturdy though it was, was banged upon once, twice, and the third time it burst asunder. Pieces of stone flew everywhere, crushing many, and a huge amount of dust was thrown up into the air. But once, the dust settled, the Ramolenes most powerful weapon was revealed…
Part 4
The dust had just cleared after the northern walls of the keep had been blasted apart. In rode Sir Hawthorne, and with him the Ramolene leader and the third wave on foot. But no horses were they mounted upon. War Elephants they sat upon, and so used in synchronization to tear the keep’s defenses down. Over twice as high they stood compared to the horsemen. Both were armed with great pikes long enough to sweep the ground of their foes, and the black knight still wielded his bow and blade.
All knights fled before their faces, save one. The blond haired Denrick stood still, looking into the eyes of death’s messenger. And a fire linked between their eyes, shushing all with it’s mental confrontation. But neither spoke. However, they were interrupted by the sound of the gate giving way to the great battering rams of the Ramolenes. The enemies of Weston had two portals into domination now. And then the Ramolene leader raised his pike, but the knight of black rose his blade somehow higher, and then the final battle began.
The cavalry of Weston began to charge, but too many halberds, pikes, and spears the Ramolenes had now, and the elephants greater still. The horses neighed, whinnied, and turned back to the walls. The knights diced apart the terror of the west, but they were now outnumbered three to one, and the great war elephants of old scattered and slaughtered all who they rampaged into. But Sir Denrick was still at power, and continued to smite any foes that he could. And what a great opponent he would be for the black knight. So commenced the charging of the elephant and his rider into the fray of Sir Denrick. But no knight would see his master fall to the crushing feet of such a beast.
A volley of arrows was released, and the eyes of the elephant were gouged out. However, Sir Hawthorne would not see his mighty steed fall to the power of a few measly arrow launchers. He yelled out in a foreign tongue, and the great lumbering creature steadied himself, guided only now by the words of the black knight.
Raising his bow, he sent a small battalion of normal infantry (ones equipped with axes) to dispatch of the archers. Meanwhile, he conceded to pick them off with his own skills with a bow and arrow, until not one archer stood in the entire structure but he. He turns to look at the eastern wall, and sees that the horses were backed completely against the eastern wall. Seeing this, he gathered a large squad of anti-cavalry and charged into them. Some were crushed, while others madly ran and gutted themselves into the long weapons of the Ramolenes.
But then a sound like an earthquake resounded through the keep. At the turning of his head, Sir Hawthorne could see that the captain of the west was vanquished, smothered under his steed. And, lo! Within the wreckage stood Sir Denrick of Weston, sweat rolling down in beads. Angered and infuriated now more than ever, the knight of terror trampled through all to make a path to the knight of good. Both friends and foes were crushed in the channel of wrath.
Against a wall was the knight, trapped like a mouse. However, he was in luck, for beside him was a ladder, along with a platform for archers to stand upon. Quickly he scrambled up the ladder, just barely dodging the pike stabs of Hawthorne. When he finally reached the top of the platform, he jumped upon the back of the beast and aimed a slice at the black knight’s head. But the chaos knight drew his quicker, and splintered the blade out of the hand of Denrick, causing it to fall into the battle below. Shocked, the knight of good was left open, and was kicked to the ground amongst the fighting. Paralyzed, hopeless, the Ramolenes had won.
Sir Hawthorne slowly lumbered toward the helpless soul, glaring down upon him from the height of the steed. The beast stood upright, ready to finish the leader of Weston. But before this could be done, a great flash occurred, with a sound like lightening, and all of the knights vanished. Sir Hawthorne cursed in confusion, but then saw the beauty of the situation. He was now in command of all. None were left to stop him. Satisfied, he enjoyed the spoils of victory.