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Hereby my entry to warzone 8. Should I win, the next warzone should be I5. Only few of the channels of the Qar-Akhen River Delta are consistently navigable. To guide vessels towards these channels, small lighthouses has been erected on cliffs near the critical points of the channels. Control of these means control of most of the shipping, as only few captains can navigate the channels unaided... The Tower by Beorthan, on Flickr These towers are normally manned by a single keeper, but in these times of war, small garrisons of a few soldiers are stationed to guard the tower. Under the cover of the morning mist, Beorthan and Tauro has been ferried accross to the tower, swimming the last bit to avoid detection. After quickly dispatching the guard at the pier, they have now entered the tower, and are fighting the guards to wrest control over to the High Council. The Backside by Beorthan, on Flickr On the roof, Tauro is making quick work of the lookout, who will soon fall to his watery grave below... ...on the roofs by Beorthan, on Flickr ...while Beorthan is finishing off another guard from the balcony below. ...on the balconies by Beorthan, on Flickr Located off the coast, this lighthouse stands amidst the rolling waves of the southern sea, which often engulfes the lighthouse in soothing sounds. But when the seas run wild, they seem to struggle with the cliffs and stonework in an epic battle to wrest the tower off its foundation. Now, as ever, the seas roll on regardless of the drama above, and will wash off the blood of the skirmish before the next high tide... The water by Beorthan, on Flickr Thanks for looking, all. C&C is - as always - welcome. I am quite happy with my waves - a first for me, and the tower came out reasonable well, although a smoother transition between the lower, irregular part, and the upper part is high on my wishlist.
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The sun cast thick blankets of heat down toward the shimmering surface of the swamps at the southern-most tips of the Delta near Ras-El-Akhen. Only occasional breaths of wind came from the sea, and those didn't help much as far as the temperature was concerned. But the heat didn't bother Agel. Agel stared out over the expanse of swamp-land, his eye-lids drooping to the point of where they would appear shut to any casual observer. But they were not shut. Even in this state of restfulness Agel was as alert as if he were in a private audience with the First Centurion himself. Not that he would ever get near the First Centurion, or want to. He was a Leander from mainland Ulandus. He had grown up using the name of the First Centurion synonymously with the words Tyrant, and Oppressor. Everyone in his little village knew that those of their kind who “Visited the First Centurion” never returned, not that they could do much about it. Yet the rural Leanders never spoke his name without including the traditional spit. “They come.” Agel turned to see his mentor and main companion, Dijhar, standing a short ways off, his small recurve bow and one arrow in hand. Agel nodded and returned to surveying the landscape. They still had a few minutes, Dijhar always gave several minutes warning. It was Dijhar who had originally recruited Agel to join the High Council Guerrillas, all that time ago. When Agel's father was “hired” by a rich Ulandan Merchant, his mother feared the same would happen to him, so everyone was relieved when a distant uncle of his mother's stopped by and volunteered to take care of the lad. This “taking care of”, as Agel soon found out, involved a large amount of Guerrilla warfare, something the Leanders were expert at. Not that he minded much. A familiar squishing sound reached Agel's ears, from somewhere behind. Humans. Agel turned to see the bottom half of a Ulandan soldier passing on the other half of the stone pillar he was leaning against, their boots making the squelching sound made by humans unaccustomed to the to the mosses of the swamp-lands. One of them began to speak. “Darinthus, why is it that whenever I ask you a direct question you act as if you didn't hear? Is acting spiteful the best thing you can do with your time?” There were two of them. The one with a goatee was the one who spoke. Agel watched with interest as they continued. “Hmm?” The other, Darinthus, glanced up from whatever it was he was studying on the ground. “See!” The goatee man said, clearly annoyed. “You are illustrating my point exactly!” “What point?” Darinthus looked quite confused, as befitted the strangely shaped head that each of his kind seemed to like. “IN THE NAME OF ALL THE GODS!!!!!!” There was a splash as Darinthus stumbling in surprise, tripped over a vine, and fell into a small pool, barely as wide as him, yet deep enough for him to sink up to his waste. The goatee man threw up his hands in exasperation. “Of all clumsy fools in the word, you are the worst Darinthus!” Darinthus climbed up out of the sinkhole, his face showing his anger. “Well if ye hadn't hollered at me like ye did I wouldn't have felled in!” “Excuses, excuses. I'm tired of your constant excuses!” The goatee man waved off his companion's replies as if they were flies. A signal from Dijhar caught Agel's attention. The time had come. Sneaking forward, Agel readied his thick, short blade. He paused behind a small chunk of stone, the last cover between him and Ulandans, glancing back at Dijhar. The old cat nodded. Agel turned back and took a deep breath. With a single bound Agel leaped over the stone, uttering an earsplitting yowl, the trademark call of the Leander Guerrillas. The two Ulanders spun around, surprise written all over their faces, and brought their spears up to bear. Behind him Agel could hear Dijhar making enough racket to be mistaken for at least a dozen Guerrillas. The first Ulandan, Darinthus, made a clumsy thrust at Agel's neck. Agel easily sidestepped the spear and sliced at the man's torso, his well-sharpened blade sliding into a crack between two parts of the Ulandan's armor, and sinking into his side. The man doubled over in pain, whether real or imaginary, only to be pierced through the neck by one of Dijhar's arrows. Agel spun, just in time to dodge a thrust from the other Ulandan, bringing his blade down on the Ulandan's neck. The man crumpled, proof that Agel had hit his spine, just as Dijhar emerged from behind the stone block to dispatch of the Ulandan he had already taken down with his arrow. Agel delivered the death-blow and stood, panting, over his kill. Turning toward Dijhar, Agel prepared himself for the regular lecture that always accompanied their exploits, whether they be the killing of Ulandans, or the starting of a fire. Dijhar stared thoughtfully at the slain man lying next to Agel, his kill. “That one almost made a corpse of you. If you hadn't turned you back to him, you could have kept an eye on him, anticipate him. That yell also alerted them a second or two earlier then necessary. A few seconds can often mean the distance between life and death.” Agel nodded mutely, letting the words pass over his head. Dijhar abruptly turned and started back toward their campsite. Agel had to hurry to catch up with the older cat's fast lope. They remained silent as they traversed the swamplands, their current home. Agel allowed his mind to wander, let it bring his mind to memories of the past, and thoughts of the future. 'I wonder when we'll leave this God-forsaken marshland? Probably not until every single Ulander is annihilated, then we'll do the same somewhere else until we both make some fatal mistake... Yep. That's our life.' The build. So I'll just say it now, just in case your wondering, this build did eat up pretty much every single olive piece I own. All of my Olive. (Sorry, had to pull that one). Anywho, I hope you enjoyed the story, despite it's apparent complete lack of characterization. Just another character to use for different warzones. If I win, then I would like to have square D3 as the next warzone. Soli Deo Gloria & Sola Gracia! I would like to claim UoP credit for: Trees: my third technique. Geography: swamps.
