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Thread: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

  1. #61
    Rampant psychopath Member Olaf Blackeyes's Avatar
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    Default Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    Do you write books for a living Theodotos?
    Because you are GREAT AT THIS!!!

    My own personal SLAVE BAND (insert super evil laugh here)
    My balloons:
    My AAR The Story of Souls: A Sweboz AAR
    https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showthread.php?t=109013


    Quote Originally Posted by Dayve View Post
    You're fighting against the AI... how do you NOT win?

  2. #62

    Default Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    Chapter XXII: The Armory

    Black Billy was still at the house when I returned from the hills of Skye. I waited in the shadows of the street, watching as he departed. He paused in the door, pressing his lips to Jane’s cheek. I heard her murmured “Good night”, and watched as he strolled off into the darkness, a smile glittering upon his swarthy face.
    I waited a moment or two and crossed the street, mounting the steps two at a time. The latch-string was still out and I put my hand to the door, entering abruptly. Jane still stood within the antechamber with her mother.
    Both of them looked up in surprise at my entrance, their conversation ceasing suddenly. Mrs. MacLewis seemed on the verge of speaking, but I brushed past both of them without so much as a salutation, retiring to my bedchamber at once.
    I laid back upon my pallet, my mind swirling with the events of the evening. What thou doest, do thou quickly. . .
    The image of Jane in the arms of William MacCreild flickered across mind’s eye, and I gritted my teeth, endeavoring to block the picture from my mind. What I had witnessed. . .
    The night wore on and the house fell silent as Sarah MacLewis and her daughter went to bed. I lay there sleeplessly, tossing and turning upon my pallet.
    If you are with me, brother, be ready on that night.
    I rose, moved by a sudden impulse, and took the tallow candle from the top of the crate at my bedside. Another moment of groping in the darkness, and my hand found the flint and steel nearby.
    My door opened noiselessly and I slipped into the hall. I could have found my way around the house blindfolded and a few moments took me to the stone stairs leading down to the cellar of the MacLewis house, or the armory, as I had described it to Father David.
    Pausing at the foot of the steps, I struck the flint, sparking the candle into full flame. I replaced the implements into the pocket of my jerkin, holding the candle above my head as I proceeded down the narrow passageway. A stout oaken door barred my progress and I halted, examining the latch carefully. The lock was simple and easily defeated—I was inside within moments, closing the door behind me. The candlelight reflected off steel and armor hanging from the walls. I gasped.
    Jane had described the family armory to me, but I had never been inside. Swords, maces, suits of mail—every imaginable accoutrement of war hung within. Enough weapons for a small army. Perhaps that was what Father David had in mind. . .
    I pondered the thought for a moment, still unable to decipher the motives of the enigmatic priest. A man of God—yet a man of the sword, a well-nigh unimaginable combination in my mind. There was no good answer.
    Dismissing the thought out of hand, I turned to more pressing business. Choosing a sword from the selection on the wall before me, I hefted it in my hand. It was lighter and more graceful than most swords I had seen in the highlands, possibly manufactured on the continent.
    It would do. My sword-arm was not completely healed—at least not able to handle the heavy claymore like I had wielded in battle with Duncan. This sword was just what I needed.
    I returned it to its scabbard and took both from the wall, casting a long look around at the armory before departing. The wall to my left, there was something strange—a way it caught the light of my guttering candle. Sword and candle both held in my right hand, I moved over to the wall, moving my hand along the roughly hewn stones. Something, almost a seam along the stones. As though there was an opening. . .
    Air seemed to flow through my fingers, a cold draft snuffing out the candle and plunging the room into darkness. Loose mortar crumbled ‘neath my hand as I groped for the wall, suddenly panicked. I hurried across the pitch-black chamber to the stairs, nearly falling in my haste.
    Above, in the house, all was still quiet, or so it seemed. I slipped quickly into my bedchamber, turning to close the door.
    “Ewan!” A soft cry from behind me. I whirled, nearly dropping the sword in my surprise. Jane stood there, her form silhouetted against the moonlight streaming in off the balcony.
    “Jane!” I exclaimed, laying the sheathed sword on the table at the foot of my bed. “What are you doing here?”
    “I—I thought you had left us,” she whispered, “You were angry when you returned tonight, I knew not what you might do.”
    I relit the wick, candlelight flickering off her pale features. Unable to speak, I stood there, drinking in her beauty like a thirsty man in the desert. Her eyes lit suddenly upon the ill-hidden sword, her gaze flickering upward to my face. I turned away like a guilty schoolboy, unable to meet her glance.
    “You plan to fight him, don’t you?” she asked, her voice quivering. I knew not how to answer her—indeed, I knew not my own plans, my own intentions. I stood there, in silence, swallowing hard upon her words.
    A small cry burst from her lips and she threw herself into my arms, crying bitterly. “Please, Ewan, please don’t draw your sword against him. Please, if you love me, don’t fight with Black Billy. . .”
    “You care for him that much?” I asked coldly, my heart a leaden weight within me. Defeat, imprisonment, nothing had torn me apart such as the love I had felt for this maiden.
    She lifted her head from my chest, her dark eyes shining with tears. “I care nothing for Black Billy, but you cannot stand against him! He will kill you without thought, without remorse, as he has killed many before you.”
    It took a moment for her words to sink in. It was for my safety that she feared! I wrapped my arms around waist, drawing her close. “As you wish,” I breathed, feeling as though a burden had been lifted from my shoulders.
    “Promise me,” she whispered.
    I would have promised her anything at that moment, wings on my feet at the magic of her words. I felt as though I could walk without ever touching the ground. “I promise,” I replied, leaning down to seal the bargain with a kiss.
    I was young then. I knew not how easily promises could be made—how they could be broken with equal ease. Would to God I had kept my word. . .
    “He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.”-Proverbs 16:32


    Read my Aedui AAR-"Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration"
    And the sequel "Sword of Albion"

  3. #63
    Who's the savage? Member Legosoldier's Avatar
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    Talking Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    I just finished reading the whole story so far. It's amazing! I enjoyed every bit of it.
    Quote Originally Posted by KukriKhan View Post
    "Pissing contest" pictures two 8year olds urinating on the side of a barn to see who can wet higher. Quaint.
    "Pee race" however, evokes 2 kids running a 100 yard dash with their boyhoods hanging out, spraying hither and yon furiously, as they race to the finish line. Hilarious!
    Quote Originally Posted by a completely inoffensive name View Post
    Have the strength of Arnold Schwarzenegger, the voice of Billy Mays and the ability to produce bull**** at a moments notice and you can be the leader of anything.

  4. #64

    Default Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    Chapter XXIII: Best-Laid Plans

    I danced through the next days, my heart light as a feather in the cold winds of fall. I was now assured of her love, and that was all I needed. Love conquers all, or so the poets say. I was young then, and fancied that I could conquer anything. Reason is the gift of age—the cold calculations that keep a man alive when passion fades, when glory seems far out of sight. I knew nothing of it then—perhaps if I had I would have been more careful.
    I met with Father David several times over the course of those weeks, smuggling weapons to him from the MacLewis armory.
    Together we went to the marketplace, to conduct a careful reconnaissance and rehearse our plan.
    Five days remained until the appointed time, the night of our freedom. David was quiet, almost brooding, his eyes darting to and fro from beneath his cowl. He was dressed in the clothes of the laity now—bearing nothing on his person that would identify him as a priest.
    “Everything must go according to plan, Ewan,” he cautioned. “Nothing can be left to chance, nothing that could betray us.”
    I nodded as he began to rehearse the plan once more in my ears. “Duncan’s cell is on the wall, about twenty-five feet along the battlements from the top of stairs. There is a guard at the top of the stairs at all times—you can see him from here.”
    I looked, and indeed, it was as he said.
    “Two guards stand outside the cell of Duncan—armed with halberds and swords. You will probably have to deal with at least one of them, maybe both. Are you strong enough?”
    I shrugged. It didn’t make much difference. I would have to be. He looked at me sharply. “Now tell me the rest. What are you to do?”
    “I will stand near the foot of the stairs as the sun goes down. You will cross the drawbridge into the keep with your market cart. Once the wagon is on the drawbridge, you will throw a torch among the pitch and hempen sacks in the cart and leap from the wagon, stabbing one of the guards. I will wait until the guards run to the alarm and then I will make my way up the stairs and to Duncan’s cell, disposing of any trouble I encounter there.”
    I paused and he nodded like a schoolmaster. “Go on.”
    “Once Duncan is free, I will lead him down to the southern sallyport, where you will meet us. From there, we will make our way to the sea road, where this fisherman of yours awaits.”
    “Exactly. What of your woman?”
    I looked down at my feet as we walked together from the citadel. “She knows nothing of our affairs.”
    “You’ve not spoken to her?” Father David demanded incredulously.
    I shook my head in the negative.
    “God’s teeth, Ewan!” he exclaimed, surprising me with the ferocity of his oath. “You’ve changed your mind?”
    “No.”
    “Then speak to her quickly, or all may be lost.”
    I started to speak, but changed my mind. He glanced at me keenly. “What is the matter?”
    “I fear what she may say,” I said uneasily. “What if she refuses to leave?”
    The priest chuckled wryly, his eyes twinkling. “Affairs of the heart are tricky beyond all reason, Ewan. There are times when I view my own vows as a blessing from God. . .”

    I returned to the MacLewis home in the late afternoon, our plans made and finalized. Now all that was left to do was wait.
    Sarah MacLewis met me as I entered the door, her face lined with worry. “Ewan! I thought for a moment that Jane had returned.”
    “Returned?” I demanded. “Where has she gone?”
    “William MacCreild came this morning with two horses, to take Jane with him on a ride in the hills.” She hesitated. “They should have been back hours ago.”
    My face darkened and I pushed past her to my room. She called out, “You haven’t seen them, have you?” as I passed.
    “No!” I flung back over my shoulder, sweeping the sword from beneath my pallet and girding it to my waist. She appeared at the door, concern on her face as she watched my preparations.
    “Lady MacLewis,” I said hastily, “may I beg the loan of your horse?”
    She seemed to grasp my errand in a trice and nodded, a look of resignation sweeping across her countenance. “Yes.”
    Her hands reached out to grasp my cloak as I passed. “Bring my daughter back to me, Ewan,” she whispered tearfully, kissing me on the cheek. “Bring her back safe. . .”
    Striding from the house and to the adjoining stable, I saddled the brown mare and swung myself up, ducking my head as we passed ‘neath the stable’s archway. The mare’s hooves beat a steady tattoo against the cobblestones of the street, cantering toward the gate at the edge of town.
    The guard opened the gate to us without a word and we passed through, the mare responding readily to the reins in my hand.
    I reined up at the outskirts of town, uncertain which way to travel. At length I pulled around to the northwest and slapped the mare on the rump. She responded by breaking into a gallop and we headed into the hills, my face dark as the twilight gloom surrounding us, the words of Lady MacLewis ringing hauntingly in my ears.
    Bring her back safe. . .
    “He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.”-Proverbs 16:32


    Read my Aedui AAR-"Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration"
    And the sequel "Sword of Albion"

  5. #65

    Default Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    this AAR isnt dead is it?????? LOVIMG IT! dont leave us in suspense!!!!!!!!
    VAE VICTUS-PaNtOcRaToR
    Quote Originally Posted by Tomi says
    Honour is that which preserves the dignity of the human spirit.
    It’s how you treat people, that makes you an honourable person.
    Not how many battles you win.
    The glory of your victories will soon be forgotten.
    But the kindness and respect you show for others, will not.
    So is there really any honour in Total War games?
    No.
    But there is in some of it’s players…

  6. #66
    Member Member Servius Maxintius's Avatar
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    Default Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    Its dead
    "timidi mater non flet"
    A cowards mother does not weep
    Latin proverb

  7. #67

    Default Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    First of all, let me apologize to my readers here on the Org for leaving you like this. However, this AAR is far from dead. Indeed, it has been on-going--just not here. I've been somewhat over-committed of late and have not been able to continue double-posting the AAR both here and on TWC. However, the entire AAR can be found here, on TWC. Enjoy!
    “He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.”-Proverbs 16:32


    Read my Aedui AAR-"Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration"
    And the sequel "Sword of Albion"

  8. #68

    Default Re: Sword of Albion: A Clan MacDougall AAR

    It's flipping dead. Curses.


    Sent from my iPad using Tapatalk
    VAE VICTUS-PaNtOcRaToR
    Quote Originally Posted by Tomi says
    Honour is that which preserves the dignity of the human spirit.
    It’s how you treat people, that makes you an honourable person.
    Not how many battles you win.
    The glory of your victories will soon be forgotten.
    But the kindness and respect you show for others, will not.
    So is there really any honour in Total War games?
    No.
    But there is in some of it’s players…

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