To His Majesty, King Ulysses Tennyson I,
Your Highness, at your request I am writing to inform you that we have, at present, four extremely promising students here at the Academy of Military Arts. Such noteworthy individuals may soon be in great demand and I wanted to make sure that you had first pick before the Barons start courting the students. Indeed, I have already had to fend off a number of requests from Lords Fhenoix and Battlemage and I fear I will not be able to defer them much longer.
The candidates have each exhibited strength in different areas. As I have not been made privy to your plans, I have no way of knowing what characteristics you are most looking for, so I will attempt to provide a thorough assessment of each.
Alex 'The Tower' of Ashfield is our most promising defensive student. He has displayed a remarkable knowledge of countering siege tactics, managing resources, and developing his men. He has proven reluctant to demonstrate a mastery of offensive tactics, to which his professors primarily attribute a reluctance to sacrifice those under his command rather than a lack of understanding, as indeed he seems to instinctively grasp the best offensive tactics so that he can defend against them. As for loyalty, we suspect that he has a soft spot for the church, having been raised in the Ashfield monastery as an orphan, and could not guarantee that he would not betray another employer given the right incentive.
Reginald Bellford III is the fifth son of Baron Bellford, and as such has no hope of inheriting anything from his father. He has therefore thrown all his hope into his military training and has achieved great success for his efforts. His men have a loyalty to him that I have seldom seen and I believe that anyone who was to reach out to him would find a similar devotion from him. While others may surpass him a little in offensive or defensive tactics, he is strong in both and one would never need fear that he would desert his cause.
Sir Matthew of Meadowbrook is one of the finest offensive tacticians I have seen in some time. Only The Tower has proven capable of holding a position against him. He has grasped one of the central concepts that eludes Alex, in that he understands that there will be expenses in warfare and that the key is making them count. On the other hand, he seems unable to overcome this mentality when on the defensive and is sometimes overly aggressive, expending resources where patience and battlements would have sufficed. As for loyalty, I believe him to be as committed as most, but not impervious to appeals to his desire for glory.
Last, but by no means least, we have Arthur Thornhedge. Master Thornhedge is a born leader and despite any shortcoming in tactics, which one could only deem 'shortcomings' in comparison to the very best of his peers, is the best rounded of the candidates. He has proven himself capable on both the offensive and the defensive and in training his followers. His only shortcoming might be his ambitions and I'm not sure I'd trust him to pass up an opportunity to show up one of those he views as his competitor.
“Wisdom is to hope for the best and prepare for the worst.†I hope that the winds of war blow elsewhere and that all recognize your rightful claim to the throne… but should the Creator not see fit to grant us peace, you would do well to employ one of these young men before your enemies do.
Your Loyal Subject and Son,
Prince Gerard Tennyson
Head Master of the Tennyson Academy of the Military Arts
**********
After he had signed the letter, Gerard rose and sealed the document before handing it to a messenger and ordering him to deliver the scroll swiftly. He then returned to his desk and pulled out a scroll that showed signs of heavy wear around the edges, reading the words again:
Head Master Tennyson,
I hope that this finds you in good health. I have received messages from my contacts within the academy that you have four extremely promising students currently ready to graduate from your esteemed facility. I am aware that these young men will be in high demand in the coming days, as conflicts have already erupted in the wake of Good King Avallon's passing. It is not, however, to discuss these young men that I have written. While others may seek to recruit these young diamonds in the rough, I am aware that there is a jewel far surpassing them in quality that also resides within the walls of the Academy. A jewel, that I think far too many have taken for granted and over looked.
I wonder why your father has not called you to his side in this troubling time. If I had a son with your capabilities, I would certainly want him to lead my forces in quelling the rebellions breaking out everywhere. Surely you are a wonderful teacher, but the true place of any military man is on the battlefield. Let old men who can no longer do - teach, or at least that is my opinion. There is no one better suited in all of Camlyn to ensure the kingdom's security than you and I cannot help but feel it is hubris to leave such a valuable asset essentially to waste in a school.
Forgive me for rambling on. I know that you will decide to do what is best. You have ever been a God-fearing man and I trust that you will allow His hand to guide you. Know that I am ever here if you should be in need of spiritual guidance.
Your friend,
Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin
**********
Gerard Tennyson had been a boy all of 9 when he watched Cyrus Avallon defeat his father, the greatest warrior in all of Camlyn in single combat, with the Kingsword in his hand. The boy had known, from that very moment, that it was Cyrus that was intended by God to rule, not his father.
Now, King Avallon was dead and his father held the Kingsword. But why would the Creator choose to make Ulysses Tennyson king now, when he had found him unworthy twenty years ago? What of the claims that Niccolo Florenti and Reverend Kelvin held the Kingsword? Why hadn't Ulysses called upon Gerard to help put down the rebellions? There were some who said they thought that Gerard's tactical brilliance surpassed even his father's. Who better to ensure the peace of the nation? What warrior could ever be content to sit in a school and discuss theory and practice, when there were real battles to be won that could save innocents from suffering?
These questions and more went through Gerard Tennyson's mind as he hesitantly penned his response to the good Reverend.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Strategy Post - 6/30/2010
Fitness
Each unit in kingsword has a fitness rating from 0.00% - 100.00%
This fitness rating represents the unit's readiness. At 0%, the unit is able to fight, but isn't necessarily "ready" or prepared to do so, so it will fight at a lower effectiveness than a unit at 100% fitness.
Fitness is gained when:
- The unit is stationed in one of the zones (Stronghold, City, Alliance, Kingdom)
- With each "End Turn" taken, each unit will gain between .50% - .75% fitness.
Using a General:
- A general is the fastest and most effective way to train your troops and keep them ready for battle. A general will train player-controlled troops that are stationed in the same zone as the general. (Exception: A general stationed in the City or Stronghold will train BOTH zones).
- A general trains based on 2 skills: Fitness & Leadership
If the # of units being trained is EQUAL TO OR LESS THAN the general's Leadership * 10, he is considered "able" to train those troops without any loss of effectiveness. If his leadership * 10 is less than the # of troops he's attempting to train, the task is simply beyond his leadership ability and he'll do his BEST, but won't be able to train them at maximum efficiency.
For Example:
General A: 50 Fitness, 100 Leadership
Troop #: 800
Since the # of Troops is Fitness Gain % = (General Fitness Skill / # of Units) * 100 + Normal Gain (.50% - .75%)
General B: 50 Fitness, 100 Leadership
Troop #: 1200
Since the # of Troops is > Leadership *10; then the following formula is used:
Fitness Gain % = ((General Fitness Skill / # of Troops) * 100) * (100-(# of Troops - Leadership*10)/# of Troops + Normal Gain (.50% - .75%)
So effectively, we calculate the % by which the # of Troops exceed the Leadership*10 and take that same % away from the fitness gain. If the # of Troops exceeds Leadership*10 by more than 2x, the fitness gain is wiped away completely, leaving only the normal gain enjoyed whether you have a general or not.
This change is effective today. Enjoy!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Fiction #5 - Lord Chancellor Jean-Luc Gregoire
Duke Lousypher was amongst the distinguished guests fortunate enough to garner an invitation to the palace from Lord Chancellor Gregoire. While not officially declared regent, Chancellor Gregoire had arguably been the power behind the throne for the past year while the King had languished in his illness. Jean-Luc appeared to be most firmly in control of things now that the good King, may he rest in the arms of the Creator, had passed on.
It was rumored that the Chancellor would announce the discovery of the King's official successor at the ball he was holding in his residence within the Carpenter Palace grounds. Many believed that he had at last discovered the hidden will that rumor had buried somewhere in the kingdom. This rumor, among other unsettling consequences, had resulted in small craters dug at night near virtually every notable landmark, secluded grotto, and back alley in the land. The Great Cathedral and the Monument to King Cyrus had required extensive repairs after will-seekers had torn up chunks of the floor and support columns respectively. Duke Lousypher had even found his eldest son lowering his youngest down into the well in search of the item that would make them heroes.
The Duke counted himself fortunate that he had a personal invitation and that he was in the habit of arriving early, as tonight's event had overwhelmed the capacity of the vast halls of the Carpenter Palace. A large crowd of people who could no longer squeeze inside was beginning to gather around the outer walls in the hopes of being among the first to catch the rumors that would emerge. By arriving early, Lousypher and his wife, had managed to lay claim to a promising portion of the balcony that overlooked the better part of the dance floor and offered an excellent vantage from which to catch whispered discussions from the floor below, where people sometimes forgot that there might be someone overhead.
The scene that bloomed before the couple was well worth the efforts of procuring a good view. The polished marble dance floor of the Great Hall gleamed in the light of thousands of candles. The Kingdom's elite were gathered in the hopes of witnessing the unfolding of history itself. Beneath the dulcet tones of the best orchestra in the kingdom, a low buzz could be felt as the most powerful nobles, the wealthiest merchants, and the most influential clergymen in the land whispered about the consequences that were sure to come of the one great revelation that had already been brought to light tonight.
All three of the contestants that had thus far declared their claim to the throne were in attendance.
In one corner, Lord Marshal Tennyson and his supporters, decked out in the muted tones of their military dress uniforms jingled as they brushed broad shoulders and jangled medals of valor and honor. Despite the festive nature of the occasion, they stood with stiff backs and almost every hand that was not holding a stout drink rested on a sword hilt. The mood that emanated from that section of the hall seemed to leech the music from the air.
At the opposite corner of the dance floor was the 'Merchant King', Lord Niccolo Florenti, surrounded by the wealthiest barons, traders, and nobles in the kingdom. All were dressed in the finest clothing available, most of which had been fashioned in the last few hours specifically for this occasion. Normally, there would have been scarcely concealed leers from behind elaborately decorated fans and stage whispered ironies at the expense of those that were foolish enough - or worse poor enough - to walk by in anything less than the most up-to-date fashions. In place of the usual witty satire was barely concealed outrage and a purplish tinge of embarrassment.
Never one to miss an occasion to spread the good word, Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin and his flock were scattered throughout the room distributing prayers and blessings and seeking donations to the church. Perhaps their faith in the Creator and their revered leader held them above the doubt and suspicion that was tearing at the other factions. Perhaps they just used frenetic activity to cover their nerves.
Despite their obviously vast differences, each of these groups had one stark similarity that was the subject of every whispered conversation in every corner of the room. Strapped to the left hip of each of these extremely powerful men was an identical sword and scabbard which bore a striking resemblance to the only weapon in the kingdom that none could fail to recognize: The Kingsword.
As the orchestra stopped for its first break of the night, the host of the evening, Lord Chancellor Gregoire and his wife, entered through the grand archway, atop the three story 'stairway to heaven' crafted to look like a collection of clouds. The sight could not help but remind those in attendance that in the absence of a King, it was the Chancellor that lived in the palace and saw to the day to day running of the kingdom, just as he had been doing for the past year. Duke Lousypher had no doubt that such a reminder was exactly the Chancellor's intention.
The Lord Chancellor, although in his fifth decade, was still a healthy man. Tall by the standards of the age and Duke Lousypher supposed that many women found his appearance striking. He wore his hair, which was dark everywhere but at the temples, at shoulder length as was the current fashion at court and displayed a closely trimmed beard shaved neatly to the jaw line. The Chancellor presented his wife, which the Baron did not have to suppose to be striking, and then bowed to the assemblage that had mostly gathered at the foot of the steps to hang upon his words.
"My noble guests, thank you for honoring me with the pleasure of your company. I do hope that you are all enjoying yourselves. In particular, I wish to extend my greetings and gratitude to His Holiness, His Wealthiness, and His Honorableness, Lords Kelvin, Florenti, and Tennyson for taking time away from their pressing schedules to mingle with their humble subjects in this trying time. You will all, no doubt, have heard the rumors that His Majesty's will has been found. I would that I could say this were so. It would make all rest easier to have a sure successor and avoid the unpleasantness that may come from a contest for the throne. Nevertheless, I must sadly assure you, this is not the case. I will, however, say that it is my fervent hope that, by bringing our three contenders together tonight, we may be able to make some progress toward that end. But enough of such business. We have all mourned the passing of a great man for a long time and if my close friend was here, I have no doubt that he would say, 'Rejoice! For the Creator has made such times of merriment as these to make our struggles the rest of the time worth while.'"
With that, the music resumed and Lord Chancellor Gregoire extended his hand to his Lady Wife to join him in a dance.
After a seemly time among his guests, Lord Gregoire at last sent his paige to summon the Sovereigns - as popular terminology was referring to them - into a private chamber to meet.
"My Lords, thank you for coming. I wish to extend my apologies for any 'difficulties' that may have arisen from tonight's unforeseen events. When I requested that you bring your evidence to support your claim to the throne, I assure you that I had not been aware that all three of you were in possession of these artifacts. I had hoped that perhaps we would be able to come to a mutual agreement since there was no clear successor. Apparently, the issue is far more clouded than I had believed. I will not insult you by asking where you came by these or whether or not you know them to be the true Kingsword. I know you each to be a man of integrity, and that you could only have gotten them from the most reliable of sources and have every reason to believe that yours is the genuine item. Now it just remains to see what we shall do with this little quandary."
"Well, it seems simple enough." Lord Marshal Tennyson's words cut the silence like the sword that was the point of contention. "The Kingsword makes its wielder invincible in combat. We have a very simple means of determining which blade is the true one: a trial by combat."
The Merchant King, Florenti, emitted a caustic snort and looked around the room before he replied. "Simple for you my General! I, for one, would prefer not to have my head lopped off in order to find that the sword's abilities were not enough to overcome my lack of skill with it. Yes, King Cyrus was unbeatable with the Kingsword in hand - but let us not forget that he was an accomplished warrior beforehand. Perhaps it merely augmented his existing ability."
Lord Reverend Kelvin was quick to add his support, "I agree with Lord Florenti - the Kingsword is a symbol of the Creator's Will - it was an instrument that He used to deliver His chosen leader into power. Who is to say that it would work at all for another bearer? I do not think that this matter can be settled so easily. We must attempt to determine who the Creator chooses as the new leader of His people."
With a sigh of resignation, the Chancellor concurred. "I am sorry, General Tennyson. I know that a man like yourself has probably never even considered that foul play might have been involved. What if all of the swords are forgeries? While I would never suspect you of such a thing, it is possible that another who might profit from seeing you take the throne could have sent these items in the hope that such a trial might take place. If that were the case, I think that there is no question who would win such a trial and I think I know you well enough to know that you would not wish to rule under such dubious means. I fear that we shall have to find another method of discerning the King's and the Creator's will. It appears that we shall not, as I had hoped, be able to come to an agreement on this matter tonight. It is my proposal at this time, that each of us remains in the role he currently fills, with Lord Marshal Tennyson in charge of all matters involving the military and the defense of the kingdom. Lord Florenti will remain in service as the Minister of the Treasury and have final authority over all trade matters. Lord Reverend Wilhelm will continue to watch over the spiritual health of our people in this trying time and lead the people in prayer that the Creator's will be revealed. I humbly offer my continued services as administrator and liaison between your esteemed offices."
When the arguing, wheedling, and bargaining had concluded nearly four hours later, Lord Chancellor Gregoire was exhausted. Still, he had one last item to attend to before he could retire to his chambers and his wife. Gregoire gestured to his paige, who returned in a few moments with Duke Lousypher who had been patiently waiting outside as requested through the entire meeting.
"Thank you, good Duke for your patience. I have a duty with which I would like to entrust you, as my most valued friend and ally." The chancellor withdrew a key from a hidden pocket in the fold of his sleeve cuff and opened a chest tucked away beneath the concealment of a cloth over a table near the back of his office. From within the chest, the Chancellor withdrew a long, slim item wrapped in golden silk and gently unwrapped it to reveal an exact duplicate of the weapons that each of the other men had worn at their sides. "Take this and keep it well, for upon this the fate of our kingdom may one day rest."
The Duke's hand trembled slightly as he took the blade and scabbard in hand and wrapped it once more in the concealing cloth. He could not help but wonder if he truly held the legendary weapon of the Carpenter King - or if this was a replication of some kind being given to him as a test. "Your trust shall be proven well placed My Lord."
"Of that I have no doubt."
It was rumored that the Chancellor would announce the discovery of the King's official successor at the ball he was holding in his residence within the Carpenter Palace grounds. Many believed that he had at last discovered the hidden will that rumor had buried somewhere in the kingdom. This rumor, among other unsettling consequences, had resulted in small craters dug at night near virtually every notable landmark, secluded grotto, and back alley in the land. The Great Cathedral and the Monument to King Cyrus had required extensive repairs after will-seekers had torn up chunks of the floor and support columns respectively. Duke Lousypher had even found his eldest son lowering his youngest down into the well in search of the item that would make them heroes.
The Duke counted himself fortunate that he had a personal invitation and that he was in the habit of arriving early, as tonight's event had overwhelmed the capacity of the vast halls of the Carpenter Palace. A large crowd of people who could no longer squeeze inside was beginning to gather around the outer walls in the hopes of being among the first to catch the rumors that would emerge. By arriving early, Lousypher and his wife, had managed to lay claim to a promising portion of the balcony that overlooked the better part of the dance floor and offered an excellent vantage from which to catch whispered discussions from the floor below, where people sometimes forgot that there might be someone overhead.
The scene that bloomed before the couple was well worth the efforts of procuring a good view. The polished marble dance floor of the Great Hall gleamed in the light of thousands of candles. The Kingdom's elite were gathered in the hopes of witnessing the unfolding of history itself. Beneath the dulcet tones of the best orchestra in the kingdom, a low buzz could be felt as the most powerful nobles, the wealthiest merchants, and the most influential clergymen in the land whispered about the consequences that were sure to come of the one great revelation that had already been brought to light tonight.
All three of the contestants that had thus far declared their claim to the throne were in attendance.
In one corner, Lord Marshal Tennyson and his supporters, decked out in the muted tones of their military dress uniforms jingled as they brushed broad shoulders and jangled medals of valor and honor. Despite the festive nature of the occasion, they stood with stiff backs and almost every hand that was not holding a stout drink rested on a sword hilt. The mood that emanated from that section of the hall seemed to leech the music from the air.
At the opposite corner of the dance floor was the 'Merchant King', Lord Niccolo Florenti, surrounded by the wealthiest barons, traders, and nobles in the kingdom. All were dressed in the finest clothing available, most of which had been fashioned in the last few hours specifically for this occasion. Normally, there would have been scarcely concealed leers from behind elaborately decorated fans and stage whispered ironies at the expense of those that were foolish enough - or worse poor enough - to walk by in anything less than the most up-to-date fashions. In place of the usual witty satire was barely concealed outrage and a purplish tinge of embarrassment.
Never one to miss an occasion to spread the good word, Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin and his flock were scattered throughout the room distributing prayers and blessings and seeking donations to the church. Perhaps their faith in the Creator and their revered leader held them above the doubt and suspicion that was tearing at the other factions. Perhaps they just used frenetic activity to cover their nerves.
Despite their obviously vast differences, each of these groups had one stark similarity that was the subject of every whispered conversation in every corner of the room. Strapped to the left hip of each of these extremely powerful men was an identical sword and scabbard which bore a striking resemblance to the only weapon in the kingdom that none could fail to recognize: The Kingsword.
As the orchestra stopped for its first break of the night, the host of the evening, Lord Chancellor Gregoire and his wife, entered through the grand archway, atop the three story 'stairway to heaven' crafted to look like a collection of clouds. The sight could not help but remind those in attendance that in the absence of a King, it was the Chancellor that lived in the palace and saw to the day to day running of the kingdom, just as he had been doing for the past year. Duke Lousypher had no doubt that such a reminder was exactly the Chancellor's intention.
The Lord Chancellor, although in his fifth decade, was still a healthy man. Tall by the standards of the age and Duke Lousypher supposed that many women found his appearance striking. He wore his hair, which was dark everywhere but at the temples, at shoulder length as was the current fashion at court and displayed a closely trimmed beard shaved neatly to the jaw line. The Chancellor presented his wife, which the Baron did not have to suppose to be striking, and then bowed to the assemblage that had mostly gathered at the foot of the steps to hang upon his words.
"My noble guests, thank you for honoring me with the pleasure of your company. I do hope that you are all enjoying yourselves. In particular, I wish to extend my greetings and gratitude to His Holiness, His Wealthiness, and His Honorableness, Lords Kelvin, Florenti, and Tennyson for taking time away from their pressing schedules to mingle with their humble subjects in this trying time. You will all, no doubt, have heard the rumors that His Majesty's will has been found. I would that I could say this were so. It would make all rest easier to have a sure successor and avoid the unpleasantness that may come from a contest for the throne. Nevertheless, I must sadly assure you, this is not the case. I will, however, say that it is my fervent hope that, by bringing our three contenders together tonight, we may be able to make some progress toward that end. But enough of such business. We have all mourned the passing of a great man for a long time and if my close friend was here, I have no doubt that he would say, 'Rejoice! For the Creator has made such times of merriment as these to make our struggles the rest of the time worth while.'"
With that, the music resumed and Lord Chancellor Gregoire extended his hand to his Lady Wife to join him in a dance.
After a seemly time among his guests, Lord Gregoire at last sent his paige to summon the Sovereigns - as popular terminology was referring to them - into a private chamber to meet.
"My Lords, thank you for coming. I wish to extend my apologies for any 'difficulties' that may have arisen from tonight's unforeseen events. When I requested that you bring your evidence to support your claim to the throne, I assure you that I had not been aware that all three of you were in possession of these artifacts. I had hoped that perhaps we would be able to come to a mutual agreement since there was no clear successor. Apparently, the issue is far more clouded than I had believed. I will not insult you by asking where you came by these or whether or not you know them to be the true Kingsword. I know you each to be a man of integrity, and that you could only have gotten them from the most reliable of sources and have every reason to believe that yours is the genuine item. Now it just remains to see what we shall do with this little quandary."
"Well, it seems simple enough." Lord Marshal Tennyson's words cut the silence like the sword that was the point of contention. "The Kingsword makes its wielder invincible in combat. We have a very simple means of determining which blade is the true one: a trial by combat."
The Merchant King, Florenti, emitted a caustic snort and looked around the room before he replied. "Simple for you my General! I, for one, would prefer not to have my head lopped off in order to find that the sword's abilities were not enough to overcome my lack of skill with it. Yes, King Cyrus was unbeatable with the Kingsword in hand - but let us not forget that he was an accomplished warrior beforehand. Perhaps it merely augmented his existing ability."
Lord Reverend Kelvin was quick to add his support, "I agree with Lord Florenti - the Kingsword is a symbol of the Creator's Will - it was an instrument that He used to deliver His chosen leader into power. Who is to say that it would work at all for another bearer? I do not think that this matter can be settled so easily. We must attempt to determine who the Creator chooses as the new leader of His people."
With a sigh of resignation, the Chancellor concurred. "I am sorry, General Tennyson. I know that a man like yourself has probably never even considered that foul play might have been involved. What if all of the swords are forgeries? While I would never suspect you of such a thing, it is possible that another who might profit from seeing you take the throne could have sent these items in the hope that such a trial might take place. If that were the case, I think that there is no question who would win such a trial and I think I know you well enough to know that you would not wish to rule under such dubious means. I fear that we shall have to find another method of discerning the King's and the Creator's will. It appears that we shall not, as I had hoped, be able to come to an agreement on this matter tonight. It is my proposal at this time, that each of us remains in the role he currently fills, with Lord Marshal Tennyson in charge of all matters involving the military and the defense of the kingdom. Lord Florenti will remain in service as the Minister of the Treasury and have final authority over all trade matters. Lord Reverend Wilhelm will continue to watch over the spiritual health of our people in this trying time and lead the people in prayer that the Creator's will be revealed. I humbly offer my continued services as administrator and liaison between your esteemed offices."
When the arguing, wheedling, and bargaining had concluded nearly four hours later, Lord Chancellor Gregoire was exhausted. Still, he had one last item to attend to before he could retire to his chambers and his wife. Gregoire gestured to his paige, who returned in a few moments with Duke Lousypher who had been patiently waiting outside as requested through the entire meeting.
"Thank you, good Duke for your patience. I have a duty with which I would like to entrust you, as my most valued friend and ally." The chancellor withdrew a key from a hidden pocket in the fold of his sleeve cuff and opened a chest tucked away beneath the concealment of a cloth over a table near the back of his office. From within the chest, the Chancellor withdrew a long, slim item wrapped in golden silk and gently unwrapped it to reveal an exact duplicate of the weapons that each of the other men had worn at their sides. "Take this and keep it well, for upon this the fate of our kingdom may one day rest."
The Duke's hand trembled slightly as he took the blade and scabbard in hand and wrapped it once more in the concealing cloth. He could not help but wonder if he truly held the legendary weapon of the Carpenter King - or if this was a replication of some kind being given to him as a test. "Your trust shall be proven well placed My Lord."
"Of that I have no doubt."
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Strategy Post - 6/16/2010
Espionage - Offensive
One of the 'extras' that KingswordOnline features beyond other similar games is the ability to perform 20 espionage actions against your enemies. This is done by spending espionage points, which are produced by Spies who work in your barony.
Espionage actions are broken down into 4 levels of difficulty:
Easy - these actions are common, easy-to-know type spy actions mainly done to gather much-needed information about an enemy. Easy espionage actions cost:
Easy Action = Total Influence / 1000
Medium - these actions are less common, but still 'average' in difficulty to perform. Medium espionage actions cost:
Medium Action = Total Influence / 500
Hard - these actions are of above-average difficulty to perform and require more effort (points) to be spent. Hard espionage actions cost:
Hard Action = Total Influence / 100
Difficult - these actions are significantly above-average to perform and require an even higher # of espionage points to be spent. These actions are also by far the most destructive actions in the game. Difficult actions cost:
Difficult Action = Total Influence / 10
When attempting an offensive espionage action, you simply click on the action you wish to perform, which brings up an input box in which you enter the target player name. Also available at that point, is another input box called "Points To Spend" which is a very important box.
"Points To Spend" are EXTRA espionage points you elect to spend above and beyond the base cost of the action. The more espionage points you assign here, the better your odds of success in your mission.
Your success is based on several different factors:
* The target's total # of espionage points
* The target's defensive espionage allocation for the action you're attempting
* The difficulty level of the action you're attempting
* A small, random element to simulate luck, weather, situations out of your control
Next Week: Defensive Espionage Page. How to use it effectively.
One of the 'extras' that KingswordOnline features beyond other similar games is the ability to perform 20 espionage actions against your enemies. This is done by spending espionage points, which are produced by Spies who work in your barony.
Espionage actions are broken down into 4 levels of difficulty:
Easy - these actions are common, easy-to-know type spy actions mainly done to gather much-needed information about an enemy. Easy espionage actions cost:
Easy Action = Total Influence / 1000
Medium - these actions are less common, but still 'average' in difficulty to perform. Medium espionage actions cost:
Medium Action = Total Influence / 500
Hard - these actions are of above-average difficulty to perform and require more effort (points) to be spent. Hard espionage actions cost:
Hard Action = Total Influence / 100
Difficult - these actions are significantly above-average to perform and require an even higher # of espionage points to be spent. These actions are also by far the most destructive actions in the game. Difficult actions cost:
Difficult Action = Total Influence / 10
When attempting an offensive espionage action, you simply click on the action you wish to perform, which brings up an input box in which you enter the target player name. Also available at that point, is another input box called "Points To Spend" which is a very important box.
"Points To Spend" are EXTRA espionage points you elect to spend above and beyond the base cost of the action. The more espionage points you assign here, the better your odds of success in your mission.
Your success is based on several different factors:
* The target's total # of espionage points
* The target's defensive espionage allocation for the action you're attempting
* The difficulty level of the action you're attempting
* A small, random element to simulate luck, weather, situations out of your control
Next Week: Defensive Espionage Page. How to use it effectively.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Strategy Post - 6/9/2010
General Fitness Bonus
When hiring and training a general, it is important to have a high Fitness rating for purposes of training your units quickly and efficiently. This rating can be adjusted by the player based on the # of experience points his/her general accumulates.
General experience points are gained through:
1) Taking turns where units are gaining fitness. (Note: if the units are 100% trained, they are not gaining fitness and the general will not gain exp points.)
2) Fighting in battles
3) Fighting in kingdom wars
During the End Turn, the increase in a unit's fitness depends on several things:
1) The # of units in the location. The more units, the longer it will take the general to train all of them to their top fitness (100%).
2) The Fitness Rating of the General. A general with a low fitness rating will take longer to train units than would a general with a higher fitness rating.
3) The Leadership Rating of the General. The general only contributes his full fitness bonus IF the # of units he's training is less than or equal to his Leadership x 10. If the # of units he's training exceeds this amount, the bonus gradually approaches 0, the more units there are.
How It Works:
- Each unit requires 100 fitness points to train from 0% - 100%
- The number of fitness points used per turn is equal to the General's Fitness x 100
- We then figure out how many total fitness points are NEEDED: (# of units * 100)
and apply the fitness points towards that total.
For Example:
Player A wants to train 100 Archers in his City Zone and has a general with a 40 fitness rating and a 80 leadership rating.
* Since the leadership rating is > # of units (40) / 10, his full fitness bonus applies.
* Fitness Gain Per Turn = General Fitness (40) * 100 = 4,000 points!
* Total Fitness Points Needed = # of units (100) * 100 = 10,000 points!
* Points are assigned. Fitness gain = 4,000/10,000 = .40
* The 100 Archers will gain 40% fitness each End Turn
As you can see, a high fitness general with adequate leadership is critical to the expedient training of troops.
Note: A normal fitness gain per end turn is a random roll between .50-.75
This is gained whether a general is present or not, so the general bonus would ADD TO this gain.
Next Week: A Look at the General's Offensive Tactics Bonus
Friday, June 4, 2010
Fiction #4 - Lord Niccolo Florenti
"...and in those dark days, loyalties shall change hands like coin..."
The enemy army stretched in every direction, as far as the eye could see.
Newly crowned High King of Camlyn, Cyrus Avallon the First, appeared as though his crown would not rest upon his head long enough to lose any of its shine. Although all of the former kings and barons that had once divided this vast land stood behind him, it had been a long and bloody battle to bring them together and many men had died on all sides. The combined forces numbered just short of one hundred thousand men - preparing to face what Lord Marshal Tennyson estimated at nearly six times that many. Many of the nobles did not trust one another and, despite the dire need, the King suspected that some of the barons had not brought all of their men as he had commanded, which may in the end, be for the best. Even had the barons brought every man they had, they might not have had enough to defeat this foe.
"My Liege, I fear that we must retreat from the field. Against such overwhelming odds, we cannot hope to face them in the open. With brilliant strategy, we may be able to cobble together what the history books would declare a victory - but there would not be enough men left standing afterward to hold off ten angry farmers with pitchforks. From the walls of the castle we may stand a chance, but not here."
"And what of the outer lands - the forests, the mines, and the farms, Lord Tennyson? How long shall our new Kingdom last without food? How shall we survive the winter with no wood for our fires? I fear it may be a choice between death on the field and death to starvation. I shall trust the hand of the Creator and his ability to lead us to victory even against such odds as these before I shall leave my people to scrounge amongst their own dead for food in a siege we have no hope of breaking. Reverend Wilhelm, make sure the men are ready to see their maker. We go to battle!"
In the tent of the High King, his squire was putting on the armor Cyrus had made with his own hand; an armor almost as legendary as the sword that hung at its side. Cyrus looked down at his handicraft and wished, once more, that his life had been one simply of making such things and not of using them.
"Creator, let this sword and this armor run with rivers of the blood of those who would stand against Your appointed rule." Nevertheless, Cyrus could not help but imagine his own blood running down the metal that had never before been pierced or dented. For it was certain - this would be the last time he wore it.
From the entrance to his pavilion, the nervous voice of a page announced a visitor. The King's first impulse was to chasten the young man for interrupting his preparations, but on a whim he thought better of it and called out that he would meet with this one last supplicant before he died. He did not want his last act as king to be turning away a subject in need.
The subject in question was a traveling merchant. A man of slightly smaller than average height and build. He showed the darker skin tone common among the people of the western coast lands. His hair was dark and oiled, as was his fine mustache which appeared to have just grown recently in just the last few months. The merchant bowed low as the page introduced him as Niccolo Florenti.
"My lord. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I cannot help but notice that you appear to have a problem. I could not count myself a loyal subject or a Creator-fearing man were I to see an opportunity to lend aid to my kingdom and let it pass by. As a merchant, I deem counting as one of my strong suits and I do not think that I need to be a man of military training to know that six to one is poor odds. Indeed, were I a gambling man, which I am not, the money would be more safely bet on the other side. I can see by your expression that you find it hard to believe that a mere merchant may be able to assist in a situation like this one. Do not bother to deny it, were I in your place, I would feel the same. I do not ask that you take me on faith. I have, for you, a proposition: I shall deal with this horde of invading barbarians and not a single drop of Camlyn's blood shall be shed upon the field today. All that I require of you is a horse, a suit of armor, a squire, and a grant of lands and title should I succeed. Should I fail, we shall likely all die, so you see… you have nothing to lose either way."
It was a deal, the King found, he could not refuse.
Cyrus sat atop his war horse with his army assembled behind him for battle and watched as the strange young merchant rode forward under a banner of truce and met with the leaders of the amassed barbarians, which appeared to be as many as fifteen different tribal chieftains. Whatever it was that the smooth tongued salesman said, it was met with a mixture of laughter and raised shouts of anger. The little horde of chieftains turned back to the much bigger horde of warriors and began to whip them into a frenzy for battle. While, oddly, Niccolo Florenti turned and trotted back to the king with a smile on his face.
"Alas, they have refused my terms of surrender. I fear that there will be a fight after all. Array your men for battle, my king, but do not attack. It is not your men that shall do the fighting or the dying today."
For a brief instant, Cyrus Avallon caught a glimpse of the true steel that was beneath the care-free peddler's veneer of Niccolo Florenti and he made note to himself never to underestimate this man. "You heard the man, Lord Marshal. Array the men for battle."
As Camlyn's forces set themselves to receive the charge of the barbarians, the war chieftains whipped the tribesmen into a suitable frenzy and wave upon wave of slobbering mad men began to rush toward the waiting armies of the High King with a roar as loud as the tsunami they resembled.
Florenti raised his hand and the enemy archers pulled back the strings of one hundred thousand bows and a dark cloud of arrows went into the air... and came down not upon Camlyn's upraised shields, but landed amidst the mostly naked backs of the onrushing horde. Meanwhile, the enemy's elite cavalry units, held in reserve to supplement any weak points the infantry might have developed, charged forward and quickly impaled the main body of the enemy infantry, plowing through their own men from behind like a scythe through winter wheat. Within seconds, the many different tribes that had been assembled against Camlyn splintered once more into their native groups and they fought amongst themselves in a savage battle fueled by generations of hatred.
When the carnage had ended, not a single son of Camlyn had died, and only one thousand of the enemy remained - the leader of which approached Nicolo under a red stained flag of truce.
"We have done as you commanded my lord. The enemy has been defeated."
"Well done Captain. Here is your payment, as promised."
* * * * * * * * * *
"And that, is the legend of how Niccolo Florenti was elevated from a traveling merchant, to a knighted noble."
When Niccolo was done listening to the bard recount the legend of his ascension to nobility, his loyal baron stood and asked a question. "Lord Florenti, I have heard that tale many times, and I have always wondered, how did you know that the men you hired would win?"
Niccolo laughed as loud as he had laughed in his life and it was several minutes before he could bring himself to answer. "Weren't you paying attention? I am not a gambling man. I hired them all. I only had to pay the victors."
Lord Niccolo Florenti, known as the Merchant King, Sovereign contender for the throne of Camlyn, now held in his hands the same blade that had been used by High King Avallon twenty years ago to knight him and give him his title. He smiled, as he remembered all of the extra accolades and promises Cyrus have given him when the deal had been for just a title. Cyrus had been a generous man, but had never really understood the true value of money or power. Really, they were the same thing.
The enemy army stretched in every direction, as far as the eye could see.
Newly crowned High King of Camlyn, Cyrus Avallon the First, appeared as though his crown would not rest upon his head long enough to lose any of its shine. Although all of the former kings and barons that had once divided this vast land stood behind him, it had been a long and bloody battle to bring them together and many men had died on all sides. The combined forces numbered just short of one hundred thousand men - preparing to face what Lord Marshal Tennyson estimated at nearly six times that many. Many of the nobles did not trust one another and, despite the dire need, the King suspected that some of the barons had not brought all of their men as he had commanded, which may in the end, be for the best. Even had the barons brought every man they had, they might not have had enough to defeat this foe.
"My Liege, I fear that we must retreat from the field. Against such overwhelming odds, we cannot hope to face them in the open. With brilliant strategy, we may be able to cobble together what the history books would declare a victory - but there would not be enough men left standing afterward to hold off ten angry farmers with pitchforks. From the walls of the castle we may stand a chance, but not here."
"And what of the outer lands - the forests, the mines, and the farms, Lord Tennyson? How long shall our new Kingdom last without food? How shall we survive the winter with no wood for our fires? I fear it may be a choice between death on the field and death to starvation. I shall trust the hand of the Creator and his ability to lead us to victory even against such odds as these before I shall leave my people to scrounge amongst their own dead for food in a siege we have no hope of breaking. Reverend Wilhelm, make sure the men are ready to see their maker. We go to battle!"
In the tent of the High King, his squire was putting on the armor Cyrus had made with his own hand; an armor almost as legendary as the sword that hung at its side. Cyrus looked down at his handicraft and wished, once more, that his life had been one simply of making such things and not of using them.
"Creator, let this sword and this armor run with rivers of the blood of those who would stand against Your appointed rule." Nevertheless, Cyrus could not help but imagine his own blood running down the metal that had never before been pierced or dented. For it was certain - this would be the last time he wore it.
From the entrance to his pavilion, the nervous voice of a page announced a visitor. The King's first impulse was to chasten the young man for interrupting his preparations, but on a whim he thought better of it and called out that he would meet with this one last supplicant before he died. He did not want his last act as king to be turning away a subject in need.
The subject in question was a traveling merchant. A man of slightly smaller than average height and build. He showed the darker skin tone common among the people of the western coast lands. His hair was dark and oiled, as was his fine mustache which appeared to have just grown recently in just the last few months. The merchant bowed low as the page introduced him as Niccolo Florenti.
"My lord. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I cannot help but notice that you appear to have a problem. I could not count myself a loyal subject or a Creator-fearing man were I to see an opportunity to lend aid to my kingdom and let it pass by. As a merchant, I deem counting as one of my strong suits and I do not think that I need to be a man of military training to know that six to one is poor odds. Indeed, were I a gambling man, which I am not, the money would be more safely bet on the other side. I can see by your expression that you find it hard to believe that a mere merchant may be able to assist in a situation like this one. Do not bother to deny it, were I in your place, I would feel the same. I do not ask that you take me on faith. I have, for you, a proposition: I shall deal with this horde of invading barbarians and not a single drop of Camlyn's blood shall be shed upon the field today. All that I require of you is a horse, a suit of armor, a squire, and a grant of lands and title should I succeed. Should I fail, we shall likely all die, so you see… you have nothing to lose either way."
It was a deal, the King found, he could not refuse.
Cyrus sat atop his war horse with his army assembled behind him for battle and watched as the strange young merchant rode forward under a banner of truce and met with the leaders of the amassed barbarians, which appeared to be as many as fifteen different tribal chieftains. Whatever it was that the smooth tongued salesman said, it was met with a mixture of laughter and raised shouts of anger. The little horde of chieftains turned back to the much bigger horde of warriors and began to whip them into a frenzy for battle. While, oddly, Niccolo Florenti turned and trotted back to the king with a smile on his face.
"Alas, they have refused my terms of surrender. I fear that there will be a fight after all. Array your men for battle, my king, but do not attack. It is not your men that shall do the fighting or the dying today."
For a brief instant, Cyrus Avallon caught a glimpse of the true steel that was beneath the care-free peddler's veneer of Niccolo Florenti and he made note to himself never to underestimate this man. "You heard the man, Lord Marshal. Array the men for battle."
As Camlyn's forces set themselves to receive the charge of the barbarians, the war chieftains whipped the tribesmen into a suitable frenzy and wave upon wave of slobbering mad men began to rush toward the waiting armies of the High King with a roar as loud as the tsunami they resembled.
Florenti raised his hand and the enemy archers pulled back the strings of one hundred thousand bows and a dark cloud of arrows went into the air... and came down not upon Camlyn's upraised shields, but landed amidst the mostly naked backs of the onrushing horde. Meanwhile, the enemy's elite cavalry units, held in reserve to supplement any weak points the infantry might have developed, charged forward and quickly impaled the main body of the enemy infantry, plowing through their own men from behind like a scythe through winter wheat. Within seconds, the many different tribes that had been assembled against Camlyn splintered once more into their native groups and they fought amongst themselves in a savage battle fueled by generations of hatred.
When the carnage had ended, not a single son of Camlyn had died, and only one thousand of the enemy remained - the leader of which approached Nicolo under a red stained flag of truce.
"We have done as you commanded my lord. The enemy has been defeated."
"Well done Captain. Here is your payment, as promised."
* * * * * * * * * *
"And that, is the legend of how Niccolo Florenti was elevated from a traveling merchant, to a knighted noble."
When Niccolo was done listening to the bard recount the legend of his ascension to nobility, his loyal baron stood and asked a question. "Lord Florenti, I have heard that tale many times, and I have always wondered, how did you know that the men you hired would win?"
Niccolo laughed as loud as he had laughed in his life and it was several minutes before he could bring himself to answer. "Weren't you paying attention? I am not a gambling man. I hired them all. I only had to pay the victors."
Lord Niccolo Florenti, known as the Merchant King, Sovereign contender for the throne of Camlyn, now held in his hands the same blade that had been used by High King Avallon twenty years ago to knight him and give him his title. He smiled, as he remembered all of the extra accolades and promises Cyrus have given him when the deal had been for just a title. Cyrus had been a generous man, but had never really understood the true value of money or power. Really, they were the same thing.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Fiction #3 - Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin
Wilhelm spent the first 12 years of his life in an orphanage. He had started having visions very early in life, and he had heard the monks murmur that his parents probably abandoned him because they thought he was possessed by evil spirits.
When he turned 12, a wandering ascetic Monk, Brother Barton Kelvin came to the orphanage. Recognizing young Wilhelm's potential, Brother Kelvin took the boy on as an apprentice. Using the boy's visions Brother Barton was able to travel to the places in the Kingdom where he was needed most. Wherever there was sickness, war, or famine, Brother Kelvin and Wilhelm were there to lend their assistance, even if it was often just to bury the dead.
When Wilhelm was 15 years old, he first foresaw the rise of a power that would change the face of Camlyn. So it was that he was one of the first to come into the camps of Cyrus Avallon.
The moment Wilhelm first saw the man who would become High King was forever etched in his mind. Then in the prime of his life, the smith Avallon was tall and strong. The Kingsword at his side seemed to glow with its own inner light, and to the young prophet, it was as if he was seeing the very Will of God in a tangible form. Overcome by the moment, the boy fell on his knees and swore allegiance immediately.
Wilhelm was at Cyrus's side from that day forward, always guiding him with the visions he received from on high. Together, they were the Voice and the Hand of the Creator on earth, and together, they forged a kingdom.
* * * * * * * * * *
High King Cyrus Avallon the First looked over the bloody battlefield that had finally cemented his total victory. As he had long dreamed, Camlyn was now a single united kingdom. He looked down wearily at the brown blood flaked on his sword and caked in his beard.
"Was it worth it, Reverend Kelvin. Was it really worth all of this blood and death? I made the sword, but I never thought that I would be called upon to use it. I was nothing more than a smith."
The short, (some might call 'dumpy') middle-aged clergymen paused to consider his answer. Standing in robes that were once white, but were now stained red with the blood of the fallen, Wilhelm looked beyond the field of the dead and dying to the beautiful contrast of the setting sun.
"It is the Creator's Will, my King. The Creator's Will is worth any price. We have attained peace. Our children will know prosperity of a kind our fathers only dreamed of. It is because you do not lust after the power that you now hold that you are worthy of it."
"I envy your ability to see things so clearly in black and white, my friend. Sometimes, I am not so sure. You are right about one thing for certain: it does my heart good to know that I can get back to building things instead of destroying them."
* * * * * * * * * *
Nearly twenty years passed and it seemed that the now Lorded Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin seldom got to have such conversations with his king as he would have liked. King Avallon did indeed know peace the rest of his days and he did spend those days building. He constructed the greatest city the world had ever known and in it he constructed a vast temple to the Creator that had made him King. King Cyrus built roads, aqueducts, and schools, but to the woe of the kingdom, he did not have children to inherit what he had built and now the great King was dead with no heir.
To Lord Reverend Kelvin, the prophet who had guided the great King on his journey, none of these things were a surprise. Reverend Wilhelm had seen from the beginning that King Cyrus was merely a tool in the hands of the Creator, like the weapon God had helped Cyrus forge. Avallon was a tool to unite the land so that the Creator's true, intended ruler could step in and guide His flock. Why else, had the King never been blessed with an heir?
Now was the time of God's church and Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin was poised to step into the chaos and bring peace and healing. It would not take the people long to realize that the squabbling nobles that had turned upon one another almost before the king's body had turned cold, did not have the best interests of the citizens in mind. There would be pain and suffering. Wilhelm had almost asked that the future he had been shown could be changed when he had foreseen the suffering that would ensue; but just as he had told the king so long ago...
********
"It is the Creator's Will. The Creator's Will is worth any price. The people will turn to the church when they see the suffering that is in store for them at the hands of these other 'sovereigns' who care nothing for the Will of God and seek only to further their own selfish gain. They will cry out to the church and they will join together in crowning a new king; a new king that serves the Will of God. I will be the hand of the Creator among men. I will be the next High King of Camlyn."
"As you say, Lord Reverend."
Wilhelm gave a start at the response. He had not realized that he was speaking aloud, but it was often like that when he experienced a vision.
"It is not I that say it, Brother Cooper. I am but the mouthpiece of the Creator. I must say, I was wrong about one thing, back then, with Cyrus. The sword was never intended for him."
With that, the Reverend withdrew the item that had, until then, been concealed within a wrapping. Glittering in his hands was none other than the Kingsword. "Of course, I do not need such a tool to authenticate the Will of God, but this will go far to ensure the masses who have come to see it as a symbol of Divine Appointment. It will surely smooth the process and hopefully ease some of the suffering I have foreseen."
When he turned 12, a wandering ascetic Monk, Brother Barton Kelvin came to the orphanage. Recognizing young Wilhelm's potential, Brother Kelvin took the boy on as an apprentice. Using the boy's visions Brother Barton was able to travel to the places in the Kingdom where he was needed most. Wherever there was sickness, war, or famine, Brother Kelvin and Wilhelm were there to lend their assistance, even if it was often just to bury the dead.
When Wilhelm was 15 years old, he first foresaw the rise of a power that would change the face of Camlyn. So it was that he was one of the first to come into the camps of Cyrus Avallon.
The moment Wilhelm first saw the man who would become High King was forever etched in his mind. Then in the prime of his life, the smith Avallon was tall and strong. The Kingsword at his side seemed to glow with its own inner light, and to the young prophet, it was as if he was seeing the very Will of God in a tangible form. Overcome by the moment, the boy fell on his knees and swore allegiance immediately.
Wilhelm was at Cyrus's side from that day forward, always guiding him with the visions he received from on high. Together, they were the Voice and the Hand of the Creator on earth, and together, they forged a kingdom.
* * * * * * * * * *
High King Cyrus Avallon the First looked over the bloody battlefield that had finally cemented his total victory. As he had long dreamed, Camlyn was now a single united kingdom. He looked down wearily at the brown blood flaked on his sword and caked in his beard.
"Was it worth it, Reverend Kelvin. Was it really worth all of this blood and death? I made the sword, but I never thought that I would be called upon to use it. I was nothing more than a smith."
The short, (some might call 'dumpy') middle-aged clergymen paused to consider his answer. Standing in robes that were once white, but were now stained red with the blood of the fallen, Wilhelm looked beyond the field of the dead and dying to the beautiful contrast of the setting sun.
"It is the Creator's Will, my King. The Creator's Will is worth any price. We have attained peace. Our children will know prosperity of a kind our fathers only dreamed of. It is because you do not lust after the power that you now hold that you are worthy of it."
"I envy your ability to see things so clearly in black and white, my friend. Sometimes, I am not so sure. You are right about one thing for certain: it does my heart good to know that I can get back to building things instead of destroying them."
* * * * * * * * * *
Nearly twenty years passed and it seemed that the now Lorded Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin seldom got to have such conversations with his king as he would have liked. King Avallon did indeed know peace the rest of his days and he did spend those days building. He constructed the greatest city the world had ever known and in it he constructed a vast temple to the Creator that had made him King. King Cyrus built roads, aqueducts, and schools, but to the woe of the kingdom, he did not have children to inherit what he had built and now the great King was dead with no heir.
To Lord Reverend Kelvin, the prophet who had guided the great King on his journey, none of these things were a surprise. Reverend Wilhelm had seen from the beginning that King Cyrus was merely a tool in the hands of the Creator, like the weapon God had helped Cyrus forge. Avallon was a tool to unite the land so that the Creator's true, intended ruler could step in and guide His flock. Why else, had the King never been blessed with an heir?
Now was the time of God's church and Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin was poised to step into the chaos and bring peace and healing. It would not take the people long to realize that the squabbling nobles that had turned upon one another almost before the king's body had turned cold, did not have the best interests of the citizens in mind. There would be pain and suffering. Wilhelm had almost asked that the future he had been shown could be changed when he had foreseen the suffering that would ensue; but just as he had told the king so long ago...
********
"It is the Creator's Will. The Creator's Will is worth any price. The people will turn to the church when they see the suffering that is in store for them at the hands of these other 'sovereigns' who care nothing for the Will of God and seek only to further their own selfish gain. They will cry out to the church and they will join together in crowning a new king; a new king that serves the Will of God. I will be the hand of the Creator among men. I will be the next High King of Camlyn."
"As you say, Lord Reverend."
Wilhelm gave a start at the response. He had not realized that he was speaking aloud, but it was often like that when he experienced a vision.
"It is not I that say it, Brother Cooper. I am but the mouthpiece of the Creator. I must say, I was wrong about one thing, back then, with Cyrus. The sword was never intended for him."
With that, the Reverend withdrew the item that had, until then, been concealed within a wrapping. Glittering in his hands was none other than the Kingsword. "Of course, I do not need such a tool to authenticate the Will of God, but this will go far to ensure the masses who have come to see it as a symbol of Divine Appointment. It will surely smooth the process and hopefully ease some of the suffering I have foreseen."
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Strategy Post - 5/25/2010
Barony Specialization
In Kingsword, you have several different 'options' for game play - depending on your personal style and choice. Specialization allows a baron to be very, very good at one particular aspect of the game, while choosing to be less good at others and is most effectively done as a member of an alliance who will offer protection for those areas of weakness.
We thought we'd list a few of the most popular build types:
1) Warmonger.
It wouldn't be a war game without war and warmongers keep things interesting. These barons specialize in large numbers of barracks (soldiers) often partnered with markets (gold) and farms (food). Since attacking another player costs a great deal of food and gold, the warmonger will often try to be self sufficient in that regard. Warmongers will normally have very few weapon smiths, iron mines, temples, and resource production buildings - electing instead to build only what is needed for military strength.
Strengths: You need Warmongers to break defending armies and alliance armies. Having 4-5 Warmongers in an alliance gives you powerful attacking options as well as a nice alliance army defense - protecting the non-warmonger barons.
Weakness: Warmongers are vulnerable to spies and, with some work, can be substantially weakened and even defeated by a Spy Master without any fighting whatsoever.
2) Spy Master.
If combat isn't your "thing", another more subtle option is the Spy Master. Instead of being focused on barracks and armies, the Spy Master works to keep his influence as low as possible - staying out of range of the larger armies. The Spy Master normally focuses on a strong defensive army/walls/stronghold and, instead, builds tons of Spy Academies. The Spy Master accumulates espionage points in order to devastate an enemy baron either by killing his general or poisoning his peasantry. Going into a raid or a kingdom war, it is always a good idea to have 1-2 Spy Masters available to help.
Strengths: Powerful spy actions that can cripple an attacking or defending baron and his/her army. Easily has the ability to "drain" opposing barons of espionage points. Can "steal" (or borrow) weapons and gold to help his alliance mates.
Weaknesses: Vulnerable to attacks. If a War Monger can get within range and the Spy Master isn't online - it's usually going to be a rough day for the Spy Master.
3) Weapons Master.
In Kingsword, all army units (except the guard) need weapons provided for them. These weapons have to be built by the players. At high influence levels, it takes longer to build these weapons, so the Weapons Master often will forgo the barracks and armies and focus mainly on iron mines, blacksmiths, and keeping his/her influence as low as possible. A good Weapons Master can make upwards of 1500 weapons a day, which can be traded to friendly War Mongers or sold at high gold prices on the market. Every alliance needs 2-3 Weapons Masters that are actively producing large quantities of weapons for the alliance.
Strengths: Weapons are always in demand and providing weapons can be very lucrative. A Weapons Master can usually keep his/her influence very low - thus staying out of range of the War Mongers and Spy Masters.
Weaknesses: Weapons Masters are vulnerable to both War Mongers and Spy Masters. Most of their acreage is allocated towards weapon production and not spy defense or armies. Weapons Masters need War Mongers to offer them alliance army protection.
4) Farmer.
Food is required for attacking. You have to feed your troops or they just won't do what they're told. War Mongers are constantly stockpiling food and farmers can provide a valuable service to the alliance by making it so that the other specializations don't need to waste acreage by building farms.
Strengths: A good farmer will make it so that alliance mates don't need to build as many farms, thus making everyone around them more economical in their specialization. Food is easy to trade in large quantities. Everyone loves a farmer.
Weaknesses: Vulnerable to pretty much everyone. A support specialization. Farms take up a lot of acreage.
5) Merchant.
Gold is also required for attacking. Much like the Farmer specialization, the Merchant can be a valuable contributor to an active alliance. Money makes the world go around, and in Camlyn, it is also true. The Merchant will often utilize the Black Market - buying huge quantities of weapons or resources and then distributing those to his/her alliance members. It's nice to have at least 1 Merchant in an alliance.
Strengths: Having the ability to buy large quantities of weapons instantly can make a difference in a raid or a kingdom war. The Merchant makes everyone around them a bit better.
Weaknesses: Like the Farmer, is vulnerable to the other specializations - not having a strong army or powerful spy infrastructure. A support specialization.
Most players play with a combination of 2 or more of these specializations. Play around with them and find what best suits your personality and play style. Each one plays a key part in the success of a strong alliance.
In Kingsword, you have several different 'options' for game play - depending on your personal style and choice. Specialization allows a baron to be very, very good at one particular aspect of the game, while choosing to be less good at others and is most effectively done as a member of an alliance who will offer protection for those areas of weakness.
We thought we'd list a few of the most popular build types:
1) Warmonger.
It wouldn't be a war game without war and warmongers keep things interesting. These barons specialize in large numbers of barracks (soldiers) often partnered with markets (gold) and farms (food). Since attacking another player costs a great deal of food and gold, the warmonger will often try to be self sufficient in that regard. Warmongers will normally have very few weapon smiths, iron mines, temples, and resource production buildings - electing instead to build only what is needed for military strength.
Strengths: You need Warmongers to break defending armies and alliance armies. Having 4-5 Warmongers in an alliance gives you powerful attacking options as well as a nice alliance army defense - protecting the non-warmonger barons.
Weakness: Warmongers are vulnerable to spies and, with some work, can be substantially weakened and even defeated by a Spy Master without any fighting whatsoever.
2) Spy Master.
If combat isn't your "thing", another more subtle option is the Spy Master. Instead of being focused on barracks and armies, the Spy Master works to keep his influence as low as possible - staying out of range of the larger armies. The Spy Master normally focuses on a strong defensive army/walls/stronghold and, instead, builds tons of Spy Academies. The Spy Master accumulates espionage points in order to devastate an enemy baron either by killing his general or poisoning his peasantry. Going into a raid or a kingdom war, it is always a good idea to have 1-2 Spy Masters available to help.
Strengths: Powerful spy actions that can cripple an attacking or defending baron and his/her army. Easily has the ability to "drain" opposing barons of espionage points. Can "steal" (or borrow) weapons and gold to help his alliance mates.
Weaknesses: Vulnerable to attacks. If a War Monger can get within range and the Spy Master isn't online - it's usually going to be a rough day for the Spy Master.
3) Weapons Master.
In Kingsword, all army units (except the guard) need weapons provided for them. These weapons have to be built by the players. At high influence levels, it takes longer to build these weapons, so the Weapons Master often will forgo the barracks and armies and focus mainly on iron mines, blacksmiths, and keeping his/her influence as low as possible. A good Weapons Master can make upwards of 1500 weapons a day, which can be traded to friendly War Mongers or sold at high gold prices on the market. Every alliance needs 2-3 Weapons Masters that are actively producing large quantities of weapons for the alliance.
Strengths: Weapons are always in demand and providing weapons can be very lucrative. A Weapons Master can usually keep his/her influence very low - thus staying out of range of the War Mongers and Spy Masters.
Weaknesses: Weapons Masters are vulnerable to both War Mongers and Spy Masters. Most of their acreage is allocated towards weapon production and not spy defense or armies. Weapons Masters need War Mongers to offer them alliance army protection.
4) Farmer.
Food is required for attacking. You have to feed your troops or they just won't do what they're told. War Mongers are constantly stockpiling food and farmers can provide a valuable service to the alliance by making it so that the other specializations don't need to waste acreage by building farms.
Strengths: A good farmer will make it so that alliance mates don't need to build as many farms, thus making everyone around them more economical in their specialization. Food is easy to trade in large quantities. Everyone loves a farmer.
Weaknesses: Vulnerable to pretty much everyone. A support specialization. Farms take up a lot of acreage.
5) Merchant.
Gold is also required for attacking. Much like the Farmer specialization, the Merchant can be a valuable contributor to an active alliance. Money makes the world go around, and in Camlyn, it is also true. The Merchant will often utilize the Black Market - buying huge quantities of weapons or resources and then distributing those to his/her alliance members. It's nice to have at least 1 Merchant in an alliance.
Strengths: Having the ability to buy large quantities of weapons instantly can make a difference in a raid or a kingdom war. The Merchant makes everyone around them a bit better.
Weaknesses: Like the Farmer, is vulnerable to the other specializations - not having a strong army or powerful spy infrastructure. A support specialization.
Most players play with a combination of 2 or more of these specializations. Play around with them and find what best suits your personality and play style. Each one plays a key part in the success of a strong alliance.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Fiction #2 - Lord Marshal Ulysses Tennyson
"in that moment knew I despair, for the Strength of Heaven had been given over unto the will of Man..."
Conflict and turmoil surrounded Lord Marshal Tennyson, as they had for most of his adult life. Voices cried out in terrible cacophony, strident and angry in their battle to be heard. Tempers flared, fists shook, expressions darkened, threats were made and more, yet the aged general sat amid it all, seemingly oblivious. Ulysses Tennyson, Lord Marshal of Camlyn's armies and Duke of the Eastern Marchlands, knew intimately the indicators of war.
For more than fifty years he'd trained, studied, practiced and perfected the arts of war. His eyes had seen countless battlefields, studied endless maps and terrains, observed thousands of training exercises, and beheld innumerable deaths of young men. Riots, secessions, invasions, civil disputes, attempted mutinies, hostile expeditions - Tennyson had witnessed, orchestrated, executed and reviewed all these and more for decades. Yes, he and war were intimately familiar; close as lovers, one might say. War was in the air, no doubt about it. He could feel her in the heated exchanges all around him, smell her in the rancor all about, hear her in the vindictive accusations being thrown throughout the room, and see her savage gleam in the hateful glares of the various lords. No mistake, battle would soon descend on this beautiful land the late king had created. Still, for all he saw around him, his mind and heart were drawn to another fateful battle, long ago...
* * * * * * * * * *
"Is there no man willing to accept my challenge?" cried the young warrior to the massed army before him. Ranks of soldiers faced each other across the banks of the Keldron River, all silent as they focused on Crimson Ford. A single man stood at the center of the ford, unarmed but for the staff of parley clutched in his right hand. On the east bank, nearly three thousand men held disciplined, orderly ranks, each bearing the standard of the House of Tennyson, Kings of Agaris. To the west stood a mere one thousand troops; a motley collection of standards, insignia, and associations spread among them. None of the emblems represented were known by the heralds of Agaris, let alone their young king Ulysses. The unknown warrior holding the ford had come from their number. He stood confidently, expectantly, waiting for an answer from the larger army. Such a bold proposition for one outnumbered; such a strong claim for one unknown as he.
Ulysses guided his horse forward, the sea of men parting before him as he progressed toward the ford. A student of combat and battle since his first steps, Ulysses studied the anonymous warrior as he approached. The man stood tall and strong, deep in the chest and well-muscled for one so young. Handsome, though not overly so, his presence commanded attention like no other on the field, save Ulysses alone. His armor was plain, though well-made; a sign of practical craftsmanship and experience in battle. His expression bore no eagerness for the challenge, nor cowardice at the prospect of being accepted; simply a calm assurance. The crest, a sword grasped in hand over a blue field with five stars overhead, spoke simply of purity, strength, and divinity. This man believed Heaven itself had declared his strength to rule. An audacious claim, for one unknown.
"I accept your challenge, good sir," answered Ulysses Tennyson, as he reached the near edge of the ford. "We shall face each other on the morrow, at dawn, for a duel. I will bring any and all weapons I so desire to bear against you and your one sword. Can I but manage to break your sword, you and your armies will surrender to my authority and swear fealty to Agaris. Failing that, I and mine will surrender ourselves to your mercy, swearing fealty to your house and your right to rule. This I promise you upon my name, Ulysses of House Tennyson, King and Protector of the realm of Agaris. I ask but one thing, good sir; the honor of your name."
"I am grateful to hear you accept my challenge, my lord Tennyson. I am Cyrus Avallon, High King of Camlyn," replied the young warrior. "You will find me here at first light, awaiting your good pleasure to see this test to its completion." His challenge accepted, Cyrus Avallon bowed and turned back toward his troops, walking proud and tall. Ulysses Tennyson likewise turned his horse about and returned to his command tents to discuss strategies with his advisors.
The dawn broke clean and clear, the beginning of a fine summer day. Lord Tennyson emerged from his tent clad in simple armor, laden with a multitude of weapons: mace, sword, dagger, flail, axe, bow, arrows, and spear. His advisors and captains all followed at a respectful distance, marching confidently to their victory over this upstart army. True to his word, Lord Avallon awaited Tennyson at the center of the ford, also clad in simple armor and bearing a single sword. No other attendants were nearby, though the whole of his army stood at the far bank, watching silently.
"I bid you good and blessed morning, my lord Avallon," said the King of Agaris. "I pray God grant you strength and courage this morning."
"My thanks to you, my lord Tennyson," replied the King of Camlyn. "I pray God grant you wisdom in the wake of this morning. Shall we begin?"
Puzzled by the cryptic blessing, Ulysses shrugged away his curiosity, settling his focus on his opponent's stance. Eyes narrowing in concentration, Tennyson set string to his bow and nocked an arrow.
"My lord Avallon, you challenged my army yesterday to a simple test," began the King of Agaris. "You have allowed me to bring any number of weapons to bear against you in attempt to either pierce your skin or destroy your sword. Your emergence from this test unscathed and armed demonstrates the favor of Heaven on your reign. I ask you this but once: will you not accept that I will emerge the victor and spare yourself the humiliation of defeat and possibly the ignominy of death?"
"My good lord Tennyson," answered the King of Camlyn, "I am but a humble servant of God. Should he desire to see me cast down so, then I accept without question. If you are ready, then let us begin your test of faith."
In answer to this statement, Tennyson quickly drew the arrow to bear and let fly. The arrow whistled through the air as it sped toward Avallon's heart. Just as swiftly, Avallon's sword cleared the scabbard, ringing clearly across the waters. The polished blade caught the morning sun and fairly pulsed with the bright, pure light of the heavens. Startled by the flash of light, Tennyson looked away, trading his bow for the spear. The whistle of the arrow cut short and both armies gasped as Avallon cut the arrow in half and waited for the next attack.
Ulysses stood stunned for a brief moment, amazed at the speed of this young warrior. No man had ever cut an arrow in two, certainly not at that short a distance! Deciding the flash of the sun must have thrown his aim, he set the spear low and half ran toward his opponent. Avallon stood casually, almost carelessly awaiting Tennyson's approach. Within range, the spear lashed out high, feinting and circling low for a sweep. Avallon danced in rhythm with the spear assault, flicking the blade about to deflect the spear's point. Within moments, the spear fell beneath the waters of the ford, discarded and useless in three pieces.
Tennyson stepped back quickly, suspecting a quick counter from Avallon as he worked a new weapon to hand. The moment was lost as Tennyson loosed the flail, circling all the while. Twice he had attempted to pierce his opponents skin, and twice he had been handily defeated; a new tactic was required. His feet working quickly in arrhythmic patterns, he spun the flail in attempt to wrest the sword from Avallon's grasp. Barely shifting from his place, Avallon spun aside and languidly flicked the blade across the flail's trajectory. Sparks flew as the blade cut through the chains of the flail, rendering it as useless as the two weapons before.
Temper rising, Tennyson whirled about, drawing the axe from its holder. His face set in a deadly grimace, he set toward Avallon at a hard pace, darting the blade high, then low, rushing from the side to throw the man off his stance. Avallon met the pace in stride, whirling about and keeping the blade ever at his center. The explosion of metal clashing shattered the early morning air. Fog began curling up from the surface of the ford as the sun crawled into the sky. The two figures continued to circle each other, blades flashing and sparking. With a tremendous screech, the blade of the axe split and fell into the water, just as ruined as its predecessors.
Seething with rage, Tennyson swept his leg in a wide circle, trying to trip Avallon. At the same time, he withdrew his own sword and began a complicated series of lunges, feints, and jabs. The two men circled each other faster and faster, locked in a fatal dance of destiny. Men watched with bated breath as the two kings spun about, blades flashing, sparks flying, water splashing all around. No words were exchanged, only savage grunts and barks. Jab, spin, feint, lunge, sweep, spin, cut, spin, reverse cut, jab, lunge, sweep... blow after blow fell brutally against Avallon. Still, nothing broke through his defenses. Finally, in fury, Tennyson leapt toward Avallon, bringing all his energy down upon the man in a terrible overhead strike. Avallon raised his sword and the last moment, holding the flat of his blade against the strike.
The morning, promising peace and tranquility at the first, was riven with the sound of a shattering sword. Body heaving with ire and exertion, Tennyson stood to his feet before Avallon, clutching the remains of his family's sword, broken just above the hilt. Cyrus Avallon, High King of Camlyn, stood still, armed and unscathed, just as he had challenged. His sword remained intact, whole and unblemished, glowing with the morning sun. Ulysses Tennyson, defeated king of Agaris, fell to his knees before his liege, bared his dagger, and offered it in supplication to the victor.
"As I have sworn, so do I offer my life, crown, lands, and people to you, your Majesty," he said. "Surely, Heaven has declared its favor in you, my lord, and seeks to appoint you the new King of Agaris. Do with me as you please, my lord." Three thousand knees followed his example, bowing to their new lord and crying out, "Hail to the King! Long live King Avallon!"
"Arise, good sir," replied Cyrus, "for I accept your offer. As it so happens, I find myself in need of a good general to oversee my growing armies. Weep no more for your people. They are welcome and gladly accepted within my realm. Ulysses Tennyson of Agaris, I hereby appoint you General of Camlyn's armies, to serve in said position in perpetuity until either your retirement or demise. Serve me well and faithfully, and you shall be rewarded."
"Until my death will I serve you," swore Tennyson, "faithfully and well, discharging all duties assigned me as best I can. This do I swear by my name, Ulysses of House Tennyson, former Protector of Agaris."
* * * * * * * * * *
Yes, he and war were intimately familiar... War was in the air, no doubt about it. He could feel her in the heated exchanges all around him, smell her in the rancor all about, hear her in the vindictive accusations being thrown throughout the room, and see her savage gleam in the hateful glares of the various lords... No mistake, battle would soon descend on this beautiful land the late king had created. Camlyn, lost to a house of dogs...
"ENOUGH!"
Tennyson stood suddenly, crying out in a commander's voice, cutting through the petty arguments, pointless accusations, needling and wheedling of the court's councilors, advisors, and pretenders to the throne. The strength and violence of his cry seated a good many of the men surrounding the council table. The few still standing quailed at the ferocity of his gaze, dropping into their seats with stunned expressions. Never before had the Lord Marshal given voice in the council chambers, let alone halted all attempts at negotiation.
"You petty children, squabbling over scraps and leavings off the table!" he railed. "You insolent, ignorant cowards! You each conspire to usurp the throne of a great man, or worse, seek to destroy his legacy and splinter his kingdom. There are too many potential threats, both outside and within these borders, to allow you all to continue this charade of leadership. Each of your lands has known subjugation at the hands of King Avallon; more specifically, at the tip of the Kingsword. None of you are strong enough to hold this kingdom together, much less lead it effectively. His Majesty, the late king, presented me with a gift shortly before his passing from this world; a gift that bestows a tremendous responsibility upon its bearer. Behold, I present the Kingsword, as given to me by Cyrus Avallon, the Craftsman King, himself! I bear the Kingsword, as his Majesty intended. I call upon each of you to acknowledge the truth of my claim and pay me homage. What say you?"
Conflict and turmoil surrounded Lord Marshal Tennyson, as they had for most of his adult life. Voices cried out in terrible cacophony, strident and angry in their battle to be heard. Tempers flared, fists shook, expressions darkened, threats were made and more, yet the aged general sat amid it all, seemingly oblivious. Ulysses Tennyson, Lord Marshal of Camlyn's armies and Duke of the Eastern Marchlands, knew intimately the indicators of war.
For more than fifty years he'd trained, studied, practiced and perfected the arts of war. His eyes had seen countless battlefields, studied endless maps and terrains, observed thousands of training exercises, and beheld innumerable deaths of young men. Riots, secessions, invasions, civil disputes, attempted mutinies, hostile expeditions - Tennyson had witnessed, orchestrated, executed and reviewed all these and more for decades. Yes, he and war were intimately familiar; close as lovers, one might say. War was in the air, no doubt about it. He could feel her in the heated exchanges all around him, smell her in the rancor all about, hear her in the vindictive accusations being thrown throughout the room, and see her savage gleam in the hateful glares of the various lords. No mistake, battle would soon descend on this beautiful land the late king had created. Still, for all he saw around him, his mind and heart were drawn to another fateful battle, long ago...
* * * * * * * * * *
"Is there no man willing to accept my challenge?" cried the young warrior to the massed army before him. Ranks of soldiers faced each other across the banks of the Keldron River, all silent as they focused on Crimson Ford. A single man stood at the center of the ford, unarmed but for the staff of parley clutched in his right hand. On the east bank, nearly three thousand men held disciplined, orderly ranks, each bearing the standard of the House of Tennyson, Kings of Agaris. To the west stood a mere one thousand troops; a motley collection of standards, insignia, and associations spread among them. None of the emblems represented were known by the heralds of Agaris, let alone their young king Ulysses. The unknown warrior holding the ford had come from their number. He stood confidently, expectantly, waiting for an answer from the larger army. Such a bold proposition for one outnumbered; such a strong claim for one unknown as he.
Ulysses guided his horse forward, the sea of men parting before him as he progressed toward the ford. A student of combat and battle since his first steps, Ulysses studied the anonymous warrior as he approached. The man stood tall and strong, deep in the chest and well-muscled for one so young. Handsome, though not overly so, his presence commanded attention like no other on the field, save Ulysses alone. His armor was plain, though well-made; a sign of practical craftsmanship and experience in battle. His expression bore no eagerness for the challenge, nor cowardice at the prospect of being accepted; simply a calm assurance. The crest, a sword grasped in hand over a blue field with five stars overhead, spoke simply of purity, strength, and divinity. This man believed Heaven itself had declared his strength to rule. An audacious claim, for one unknown.
"I accept your challenge, good sir," answered Ulysses Tennyson, as he reached the near edge of the ford. "We shall face each other on the morrow, at dawn, for a duel. I will bring any and all weapons I so desire to bear against you and your one sword. Can I but manage to break your sword, you and your armies will surrender to my authority and swear fealty to Agaris. Failing that, I and mine will surrender ourselves to your mercy, swearing fealty to your house and your right to rule. This I promise you upon my name, Ulysses of House Tennyson, King and Protector of the realm of Agaris. I ask but one thing, good sir; the honor of your name."
"I am grateful to hear you accept my challenge, my lord Tennyson. I am Cyrus Avallon, High King of Camlyn," replied the young warrior. "You will find me here at first light, awaiting your good pleasure to see this test to its completion." His challenge accepted, Cyrus Avallon bowed and turned back toward his troops, walking proud and tall. Ulysses Tennyson likewise turned his horse about and returned to his command tents to discuss strategies with his advisors.
The dawn broke clean and clear, the beginning of a fine summer day. Lord Tennyson emerged from his tent clad in simple armor, laden with a multitude of weapons: mace, sword, dagger, flail, axe, bow, arrows, and spear. His advisors and captains all followed at a respectful distance, marching confidently to their victory over this upstart army. True to his word, Lord Avallon awaited Tennyson at the center of the ford, also clad in simple armor and bearing a single sword. No other attendants were nearby, though the whole of his army stood at the far bank, watching silently.
"I bid you good and blessed morning, my lord Avallon," said the King of Agaris. "I pray God grant you strength and courage this morning."
"My thanks to you, my lord Tennyson," replied the King of Camlyn. "I pray God grant you wisdom in the wake of this morning. Shall we begin?"
Puzzled by the cryptic blessing, Ulysses shrugged away his curiosity, settling his focus on his opponent's stance. Eyes narrowing in concentration, Tennyson set string to his bow and nocked an arrow.
"My lord Avallon, you challenged my army yesterday to a simple test," began the King of Agaris. "You have allowed me to bring any number of weapons to bear against you in attempt to either pierce your skin or destroy your sword. Your emergence from this test unscathed and armed demonstrates the favor of Heaven on your reign. I ask you this but once: will you not accept that I will emerge the victor and spare yourself the humiliation of defeat and possibly the ignominy of death?"
"My good lord Tennyson," answered the King of Camlyn, "I am but a humble servant of God. Should he desire to see me cast down so, then I accept without question. If you are ready, then let us begin your test of faith."
In answer to this statement, Tennyson quickly drew the arrow to bear and let fly. The arrow whistled through the air as it sped toward Avallon's heart. Just as swiftly, Avallon's sword cleared the scabbard, ringing clearly across the waters. The polished blade caught the morning sun and fairly pulsed with the bright, pure light of the heavens. Startled by the flash of light, Tennyson looked away, trading his bow for the spear. The whistle of the arrow cut short and both armies gasped as Avallon cut the arrow in half and waited for the next attack.
Ulysses stood stunned for a brief moment, amazed at the speed of this young warrior. No man had ever cut an arrow in two, certainly not at that short a distance! Deciding the flash of the sun must have thrown his aim, he set the spear low and half ran toward his opponent. Avallon stood casually, almost carelessly awaiting Tennyson's approach. Within range, the spear lashed out high, feinting and circling low for a sweep. Avallon danced in rhythm with the spear assault, flicking the blade about to deflect the spear's point. Within moments, the spear fell beneath the waters of the ford, discarded and useless in three pieces.
Tennyson stepped back quickly, suspecting a quick counter from Avallon as he worked a new weapon to hand. The moment was lost as Tennyson loosed the flail, circling all the while. Twice he had attempted to pierce his opponents skin, and twice he had been handily defeated; a new tactic was required. His feet working quickly in arrhythmic patterns, he spun the flail in attempt to wrest the sword from Avallon's grasp. Barely shifting from his place, Avallon spun aside and languidly flicked the blade across the flail's trajectory. Sparks flew as the blade cut through the chains of the flail, rendering it as useless as the two weapons before.
Temper rising, Tennyson whirled about, drawing the axe from its holder. His face set in a deadly grimace, he set toward Avallon at a hard pace, darting the blade high, then low, rushing from the side to throw the man off his stance. Avallon met the pace in stride, whirling about and keeping the blade ever at his center. The explosion of metal clashing shattered the early morning air. Fog began curling up from the surface of the ford as the sun crawled into the sky. The two figures continued to circle each other, blades flashing and sparking. With a tremendous screech, the blade of the axe split and fell into the water, just as ruined as its predecessors.
Seething with rage, Tennyson swept his leg in a wide circle, trying to trip Avallon. At the same time, he withdrew his own sword and began a complicated series of lunges, feints, and jabs. The two men circled each other faster and faster, locked in a fatal dance of destiny. Men watched with bated breath as the two kings spun about, blades flashing, sparks flying, water splashing all around. No words were exchanged, only savage grunts and barks. Jab, spin, feint, lunge, sweep, spin, cut, spin, reverse cut, jab, lunge, sweep... blow after blow fell brutally against Avallon. Still, nothing broke through his defenses. Finally, in fury, Tennyson leapt toward Avallon, bringing all his energy down upon the man in a terrible overhead strike. Avallon raised his sword and the last moment, holding the flat of his blade against the strike.
The morning, promising peace and tranquility at the first, was riven with the sound of a shattering sword. Body heaving with ire and exertion, Tennyson stood to his feet before Avallon, clutching the remains of his family's sword, broken just above the hilt. Cyrus Avallon, High King of Camlyn, stood still, armed and unscathed, just as he had challenged. His sword remained intact, whole and unblemished, glowing with the morning sun. Ulysses Tennyson, defeated king of Agaris, fell to his knees before his liege, bared his dagger, and offered it in supplication to the victor.
"As I have sworn, so do I offer my life, crown, lands, and people to you, your Majesty," he said. "Surely, Heaven has declared its favor in you, my lord, and seeks to appoint you the new King of Agaris. Do with me as you please, my lord." Three thousand knees followed his example, bowing to their new lord and crying out, "Hail to the King! Long live King Avallon!"
"Arise, good sir," replied Cyrus, "for I accept your offer. As it so happens, I find myself in need of a good general to oversee my growing armies. Weep no more for your people. They are welcome and gladly accepted within my realm. Ulysses Tennyson of Agaris, I hereby appoint you General of Camlyn's armies, to serve in said position in perpetuity until either your retirement or demise. Serve me well and faithfully, and you shall be rewarded."
"Until my death will I serve you," swore Tennyson, "faithfully and well, discharging all duties assigned me as best I can. This do I swear by my name, Ulysses of House Tennyson, former Protector of Agaris."
* * * * * * * * * *
Yes, he and war were intimately familiar... War was in the air, no doubt about it. He could feel her in the heated exchanges all around him, smell her in the rancor all about, hear her in the vindictive accusations being thrown throughout the room, and see her savage gleam in the hateful glares of the various lords... No mistake, battle would soon descend on this beautiful land the late king had created. Camlyn, lost to a house of dogs...
"ENOUGH!"
Tennyson stood suddenly, crying out in a commander's voice, cutting through the petty arguments, pointless accusations, needling and wheedling of the court's councilors, advisors, and pretenders to the throne. The strength and violence of his cry seated a good many of the men surrounding the council table. The few still standing quailed at the ferocity of his gaze, dropping into their seats with stunned expressions. Never before had the Lord Marshal given voice in the council chambers, let alone halted all attempts at negotiation.
"You petty children, squabbling over scraps and leavings off the table!" he railed. "You insolent, ignorant cowards! You each conspire to usurp the throne of a great man, or worse, seek to destroy his legacy and splinter his kingdom. There are too many potential threats, both outside and within these borders, to allow you all to continue this charade of leadership. Each of your lands has known subjugation at the hands of King Avallon; more specifically, at the tip of the Kingsword. None of you are strong enough to hold this kingdom together, much less lead it effectively. His Majesty, the late king, presented me with a gift shortly before his passing from this world; a gift that bestows a tremendous responsibility upon its bearer. Behold, I present the Kingsword, as given to me by Cyrus Avallon, the Craftsman King, himself! I bear the Kingsword, as his Majesty intended. I call upon each of you to acknowledge the truth of my claim and pay me homage. What say you?"
Friday, May 14, 2010
Fiction #1 - The Craftsman King
The following post is the start of the Kingsword Story. An epic plot spanning many destinies, this is no mere fiction. The path of this is decided by the players, by those who weave their own bloody path to achieve their aims . Do you want to join a faction? Do you want to see the entire story as it stands? Do you feel like joining the politics and the roleplay? Register on www.kingswordonline.com and prepare to be drawn into a world more rich than you could have possibly imagined...
...and lo, I saw before me a great city consumed in flame...
BONG... BONG... BONG... BONG... The bells of the city tolled mournfully, lamenting the death of the High King. Cyrus Avallon, known far and wide as the Craftsman King, had ruled well and wisely for thirty years, as far as most folk were concerned. Under his governance, trade had flourished, the common people had found voice in the courts, and the lands of Camlyn had known peace and unity. The Church had been blessed with an attentive and conscientious patron, dedicated to furthering the arts and enlightening the masses. Universities and colleges blossomed under such a benefactor, advancing the sciences and discovering new technologies regularly. Noble and commoner alike knew all manner of comfort, luxury, and respite as the lands thrived under Cyrus' careful supervision.
Still, all great men and women suffer their shortcomings, and the great king was no different. Cyrus' devotion to building his legacy often distracted from more domestic matters, and no heir was ever born. Adopted children, fostered wards of state, and god sworn beneficiaries both Cyrus and the queen, Priscilla, had aplenty. Yet, none had ever been officially recognized as the heir apparent. Cyrus took great pride in the strength of his accomplishments, and that pride would prove Camlyn's undoing.
The great king had been ailing for months, and many had attempted to curry his favor. Councilors sought private audience only to be rebuffed by the Royal Surgeon. Noble petitioners requested personal audiences only to be turned away by the Chancellor. As the king's health continued to deteriorate, more and more sought his attention, hoping to be named the successor to the throne.
In the few weeks before his death, King Cyrus began calling individual members of the Lord's Council to his private chambers, speaking with them at length. Reports shared by those summoned spoke of the king reclining in his bed, the queen sitting close beside and various family members in attendance. The Craftsman King, once robust and the picture of great health, sat hunched in his bed, much reduced by age and sickness. His legs were covered, concealing lesions caused by the leeching of the doctors. His arms, once renowned for their great strength, moved shakily and slowly, as though no longer willing to obey their master. Only his eyes gave hint to the man that forged a kingdom, fairly shining with determination and force of will. And, sheathed in its beautiful scabbard and close to his right hand lay the Kingsword, Cyrus' greatest work and the legendary claim to Camlyn's throne. The details of each meeting differed, as did the names of some of the other attendants; but the sword and its location were ever and always the same.
Each meeting ended with the summoned council members' exit from the royal chambers, bearing a final personal gift on behalf of the king. When asked to reveal what was given, most were only too happy to share. Drinking horns, goblets, chalices, rings, belts, brooches, and more were revealed, as these crafts most appealed to the king's personal hobbies. A few received pieces of armor, each crafted by the hand of the king, beautiful to behold and valued beyond measure for their extravagance. Rarer still were those to whom the king had gifted some of his crafted weapons; daggers, knives, maces, axes, and swords. No council member left without a gift, just as no member left without a story to tell.
Soon, the royal city of Avallon was awash with rumors and outlandish stories of the meetings in the Craftsman King's chambers. Duke Appleway had been named successor to the throne, banished from the realm, reduced to a lowly hedge knight, and been betrothed to seven of Cyrus' adopted daughters all in the space of an hour. Baron Chartres had been promoted to Royal Treasurer, stripped of rank and lands, imprisoned for treason, beheaded by the midnight court, resurrected by the Lord Reverend and converted to the Faith through the first week, only for it to be revealed there was no Baron Chartres. Story after story snaked its way through the many homes and businesses of the capital city, neither confirmed nor denied by the royal family. Uncertainty and confusion grew as the king's health waned.
The fateful morning of Cyrus Avallon's death dawned much like any other. Early in the morning, Cyrus' will to live could no longer resist the specter of death, and his spirit passed from this realm. Per the request of his queen, the Lords Council announced to the populace the bells would toll in mourning, one day for each year of the Craftsman Kings reign; thirty years of peace and prosperity, thirty days of mourning and grief.
The Lords Council continued to meet, as the lands still required governance. Outside, the common folk mourned and cried out their condolences to the royal family. Nobles commissioned works of art and literature in memory of their sovereign. Within the halls of the Council, plots and ploys were hatched and exploited. After the first week of mourning, several tragedies had struck both the kingdom and its council. The Royal Treasurer had been accused of embezzlement by the Chamberlain, arrested, found guilty by the Council, and executed for his crimes. Lesser advisors and those with little clout in the courts found themselves removed from power for a variety of reasons: failing health, criminal insinuations, increased bandit activity in their home provinces, and more. The Chamberlain and many others had fallen victim to a strange malady that struck suddenly and violently throughout the city. None so afflicted survived, including the queen and the whole of the royal family, and yet more chaos descended on the once peaceful kingdom of Camlyn.
The thirty days of mourning declared by the Lords Council lasted not more than twenty. Riots broke out among the common folk, as disease and looting overwhelmed the streets. Bandits and thieves swarmed the outlying roads, assaulting commoner and noble alike. The Lords Council, once more than thirty members strong, dwindled to just four: Lord Marshal Ulysses Tennyson, General of the King's armies and Duke of the Eastern Marchlands; High Lord Niccolo Florenti, Guild Master and Duke of the Southern Marchlands; Lord Chancellor Jean-Luc Gregoire, Speaker of the Assembly and Duke of the Western Marchlands; and Lord Reverend Wilhelm Kelvin, High Priest of the Church and Duke of the Northern Marchlands.
Just as the prophecy declared, Avallon, the capital city of Camlyn and its crown jewel, was consumed in the flames of chaos and uncertainty following the death of its creator and architect, Cyrus Avallon, the Craftsman King. As it was foretold, so it came to pass...
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