DeletedUser122588
Guest
Hey there!
My current username is Hizzle and I was first introduced to TW on world 26, where I was immediately rimmed
however I really liked the game and after sticking with it some time I have had some success under a few different usernames.
Anyways, I was bored at a work meeting the other day and decided to write a story. This is the story of my first village, and is told from the point of view of a Paladin named Bro (even though we didn't have paladins back then). I didn't really take any time on it, but I had fun writing it and thought some here might enjoy it if you like it, let me know!
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The plains seemed hardly to move as his motley group plodded on, moving slowly though the packs on their backs were light. They could have gone faster but for the swordsmen weighed down by their armor and large broadswords; faster still if Bro were accompanied by fellow cavalry. Alas, his Lord had not yet invested in a stable, choosing instead to focus all his limited resources on the lumber mill, clay pit and iron mine on the outskirts of the village.
Bro let out a dejected sigh. This was the fifth time this week he had led a group of soldiers to plunder a nearby barbarian village, and just like the last two, it was almost completely empty of any resources. The gaunt, filthy barbarians had watched him and his men with hooded eyes as they moved through the houses of the small village, searching for anything to loot. At first Bro had felt sorry for those savages, but they somehow always seemed to survive, and even grow over time - no matter how often any local marauders left their poor villages barren and empty.
Bro thought he saw a pair of Light Cavalry moving eastward on the horizon - they had likely left the village just before his small raiding party had arrived.
As the party moved slowly north, Bro let his mind wander, remembering his dreams from the night before. He had seemed to remember being at the head of a vast army of axemen and light cavalry, charging forward toward a towering city bristling with troops as the soldiers thundered behind him. He could still hear the crash of the rams against the gate, the ringing of axe on sword as his men engaged the enemy. God, how alive he had felt as his arm rose and fell, striking down foe after foe!
Other nights he had been on top of the city wall and waited with anticipation as an enemy army approached, troops as thick as ants on a hill covering the ground as they roiled in front of the city gate, struggling to break his defense.
Sometimes he won, thrusting his sword in the air, exulting in victory. Other times he lay on the ground, bleeding, and watched as some unknown soldier raised his weapon to strike the fatal blow.
Were they dreams, or were they memories? They felt so real; so familiar.
Bro snapped back to the present. Whether he had commanded armies before mattered not; right now he was at the head of a small group of tired soldiers whose Lord only bothered to appear once a day, if that. Most of the time he and the other soldiers sat waiting for orders.
Bro didn’t think they would last much longer. Some of the nearby villages were growing at a fearsome rate, their walls hung with trophies of the soldiers they had defeated. When the messengers came around every day with the rankings of the kingdom, Bro could tell that some of the other Lords already had sizeable armies at their command. It was only a matter of time until they turned their gaze to his lonely village. Bro had even seen enemy scouts slinking around the outskirts of the village, gathering information to bring back to their masters. Lord Jhizzle23 didn’t employ enough scouts to catch the enemy, so they left freely with their damning reports.
Alas, that was the curse of being in the employ of a Lord who cared only for appearances – a good soldier knew that sooner or later, another Lord with true force would sweep his nigh-defenseless enemies before him, and claim the village for his own.
As his group finally approached the gates he called home, a messenger rushed out breathlessly, eyes wide as the words tumbled out of his mouth:
“Sir Bro!! An enemy is on its way here! An army moving at ram speed!”
“Have you informed Lord Jhizzle23?”
“Sir… He’s nowhere to be found.”
Bro woke the next morning to the war horn. He threw on his armor, seized his sword and sprinted to the small wooden wall, and gazed out at the force approaching the village. He felt a chill run down his spine. Before him stood a host of five thousand axemen or more, with another two thousand cavalry at their flanks. Hundreds of rams rolled forward in front of the army, spelling doom for their small wall. A gleaming nobleman sat on his horse at the rear of the army, lazily trimming his fingernails. The army bore the standard of Lord LuffyMonkey, a local baron who had already conquered two other nearby villages. Bro turned weakly and gazed upon the village at his back.
A mere thousand spearmen stood there, shifting uneasily from one foot to another. Three hundred swordmen stood among them, with a dozen heavy cavalry out in front, ready to die defending their sovereign village.
And still, Jhizzle23 did not appear.
As the enemy began to approach, Bro stood up straight and drew his sword. It was a good day to die.
My current username is Hizzle and I was first introduced to TW on world 26, where I was immediately rimmed
however I really liked the game and after sticking with it some time I have had some success under a few different usernames.Anyways, I was bored at a work meeting the other day and decided to write a story. This is the story of my first village, and is told from the point of view of a Paladin named Bro (even though we didn't have paladins back then). I didn't really take any time on it, but I had fun writing it and thought some here might enjoy it
if you like it, let me know!---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A Rude Awakening: A TribalWars Story
Bro sat straight-backed on his magnificent black stallion and surveyed the landscape. A small group of spear fighters and lumbering swordsmen followed behind as he lead the way back home.The plains seemed hardly to move as his motley group plodded on, moving slowly though the packs on their backs were light. They could have gone faster but for the swordsmen weighed down by their armor and large broadswords; faster still if Bro were accompanied by fellow cavalry. Alas, his Lord had not yet invested in a stable, choosing instead to focus all his limited resources on the lumber mill, clay pit and iron mine on the outskirts of the village.
Bro let out a dejected sigh. This was the fifth time this week he had led a group of soldiers to plunder a nearby barbarian village, and just like the last two, it was almost completely empty of any resources. The gaunt, filthy barbarians had watched him and his men with hooded eyes as they moved through the houses of the small village, searching for anything to loot. At first Bro had felt sorry for those savages, but they somehow always seemed to survive, and even grow over time - no matter how often any local marauders left their poor villages barren and empty.
Bro thought he saw a pair of Light Cavalry moving eastward on the horizon - they had likely left the village just before his small raiding party had arrived.
As the party moved slowly north, Bro let his mind wander, remembering his dreams from the night before. He had seemed to remember being at the head of a vast army of axemen and light cavalry, charging forward toward a towering city bristling with troops as the soldiers thundered behind him. He could still hear the crash of the rams against the gate, the ringing of axe on sword as his men engaged the enemy. God, how alive he had felt as his arm rose and fell, striking down foe after foe!
Other nights he had been on top of the city wall and waited with anticipation as an enemy army approached, troops as thick as ants on a hill covering the ground as they roiled in front of the city gate, struggling to break his defense.
Sometimes he won, thrusting his sword in the air, exulting in victory. Other times he lay on the ground, bleeding, and watched as some unknown soldier raised his weapon to strike the fatal blow.
Were they dreams, or were they memories? They felt so real; so familiar.
Bro snapped back to the present. Whether he had commanded armies before mattered not; right now he was at the head of a small group of tired soldiers whose Lord only bothered to appear once a day, if that. Most of the time he and the other soldiers sat waiting for orders.
Bro didn’t think they would last much longer. Some of the nearby villages were growing at a fearsome rate, their walls hung with trophies of the soldiers they had defeated. When the messengers came around every day with the rankings of the kingdom, Bro could tell that some of the other Lords already had sizeable armies at their command. It was only a matter of time until they turned their gaze to his lonely village. Bro had even seen enemy scouts slinking around the outskirts of the village, gathering information to bring back to their masters. Lord Jhizzle23 didn’t employ enough scouts to catch the enemy, so they left freely with their damning reports.
Alas, that was the curse of being in the employ of a Lord who cared only for appearances – a good soldier knew that sooner or later, another Lord with true force would sweep his nigh-defenseless enemies before him, and claim the village for his own.
As his group finally approached the gates he called home, a messenger rushed out breathlessly, eyes wide as the words tumbled out of his mouth:
“Sir Bro!! An enemy is on its way here! An army moving at ram speed!”
“Have you informed Lord Jhizzle23?”
“Sir… He’s nowhere to be found.”
Bro woke the next morning to the war horn. He threw on his armor, seized his sword and sprinted to the small wooden wall, and gazed out at the force approaching the village. He felt a chill run down his spine. Before him stood a host of five thousand axemen or more, with another two thousand cavalry at their flanks. Hundreds of rams rolled forward in front of the army, spelling doom for their small wall. A gleaming nobleman sat on his horse at the rear of the army, lazily trimming his fingernails. The army bore the standard of Lord LuffyMonkey, a local baron who had already conquered two other nearby villages. Bro turned weakly and gazed upon the village at his back.
A mere thousand spearmen stood there, shifting uneasily from one foot to another. Three hundred swordmen stood among them, with a dozen heavy cavalry out in front, ready to die defending their sovereign village.
And still, Jhizzle23 did not appear.
As the enemy began to approach, Bro stood up straight and drew his sword. It was a good day to die.
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