Some Creative Writing

I shall write more if anyone's interested. I am at no shortage for storyline or ideas Oh and excuse the lack of paragraphs. There are really, just no indentation.

Chapter One

Dark Times

The kettle began to whistle ever so slightly, although it was enough to wake Kuat from his thoughts. He opened his eyes and lifted his head from the table. It seemed as if only seconds had passed since he had awoken that morning. Time was moving too fast for him again.
He stood up from his chair and walked over to the range, taking the package which had been lying on the table. Reaching up, he took down a teapot and a small porcelain mug from atop the shelf. Opening the package, he took out some dark green nettles from inside and placed them in the pot. The kettle was fully boiling at this point. Carefully taking it off the range, he poured the water into the pot and set it down on the table.

Kuat was in his thirties, although he was fairly well built. He was dressed in simple trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. His muscle-bound arms bore faint scars of battle wounds, and his hair was short and jet black – the wildness gave him the appearance of a dragon. One could instantly tell that he was a warrior, and had seen his share of war. Although, his settings did not reflect such. He was in a small house – small enough to be called a cottage, with just the main room and a bedroom. The back window was open, and a cool breeze blew in from the south. Kuat glanced outside through the drawn curtains. It was a bright day, around midday he assumed. There wasn’t much to see except the swamps of Lumbridge to the south, and the faint smell of the sea drifted in up the river Lum to the east.

There was a knock at the door. Kuat sighed and put down the cup on the table. He strode over to the door (Less than three paces) and unbolted the latch. As he opened it, he was hit with a blast of sunshine, and had to shield his eyes. It did not help that much of it reflected off the over-polished bronze helmet and iron chain mail of the guard outside his door. Typical Varrock, he thought. They dress themselves in such contemptible uniforms and somehow manage to pride themselves with it.
“One copy of the Varrock Herald sir,” The guard said, holding out a papyrus.
“Thank you,” Kuat said, taking the newsletter and quickly shut the door. Without looking at it, he threw it onto a stack of twenty or so similar papers lying in a corner. He regretted signing up for the monthly service. Three years ago, he thought it would have been a good idea to keep track of the news of Gilenor. But now, he cared little for what went on outside the Lumbridge walls.
Returning to his seat at the table, he poured the pot’s brew into the porcelain cup. It was a dark, bluish colour and gave off a rather unpleasant aroma. Before he could taste the liquid, a second knock at the door interrupted him. Wishing the world would leave him alone, he stood and slowly opened the door to avoid being blinded a second time. A lone man stood outside, with an eager smile on his face and dressed in traveller’s robes, with a fairly short staff in his left hand.
“Greetings Kuat,” the traveller said, “I hope I’m not disturbing you...?”
“Not at all Meng,” Kuat replied, fairly surprised. “Come in.”

Meng took up the cup of tea Kuat had given to him and sniffed it.
“Nettles?” he asked, “From Draynor? It’s a very dark place. Dark magic, they say.”
“Dark means strong,” Kuat replied, as he stood by the window staring out upon the land, “Which is what I need right now.”
Meng was younger than Kuat, and not as well-built, although he was not one to get on the wrong side of. He too appeared to have seen his fair share in battle. Long hours inside had drained the glow from Kuat’s skin, while Meng’s travels had earned him a reasonable tan. While Kuat’s hair was short and wild, Meng’s was a longer, wavy dark-brown.
“What brings you to the south?” Kuat asked, not taking his eyes away from the window. Meng took a sip of the tea, and quickly set it down upon the table.
“I came in the hopes of finding you, actually,” he said, “I assumed you’d have taken to Lumbridge after all that’s happened.”
“Me?” Kuat asked. “I have long retired, and unless you wish to join me, I see no way in which I could be of service to you.”
“Have you been keeping up with the news of the world in your retirement?” Meng asked.
Kuat looked at the stack of papyri upon his floor. “No, I cannot say I have.”
“Then you’ll be surprised to know Fikiran has taken control of Falador,” Meng said.
Kuat turned around to face him. “What?” he said, in shock.

“Two days ago,” Meng explained. “His alliances have been growing stronger. Many have flocked to his banner once word of his strength in northern Asgarnia began to spread. He stormed Falador and took the city by force. They were unaware and unprepared. He now has one hundred thousand men at arms.”
“We once had good relations with Falador,” Kuat said warily, “We helped them overthrow the Black Knights and avoid rebellion. They were a powerful ally.”
“They were, and still are the power of Asgarnia,” Meng agreed. “But now they’re under Fikiran’s command. He could win a war if he goes to war with Misthalin.”
“What gives him cause to do such a thing?” Kuat asked.
“He’s become corrupt,” Meng continued. “Many believe he has lost his sense of honour, and plans to take control of the northern lands by force. And he’s doing the same for Asgarnia as well. Along with his right hand Otak, he is invoking a tyranny upon the lands in order to achieve this.”
“He’s fighting fire with fire, as it were?” Kuat asked.
“No, stronger,” Meng replied. “There are divided forces throughout the lands as we know it. Fikiran and Otak force these syndicates together to fight for their cause. Sure enough, a rebellion will ignite. And once Fikiran is overthrown, there will be chaos.”
“It will destroy our homelands from the inside out.” Kuat agreed. “Such dark times...”
“The darkest has yet to come,” Meng said. “They have a name for Fikiran throughout the lands now. They call him the Stormbringer.”

Chapter Two

The Battle of the Forsaken Hills

The cannonball screamed across the night, barrelling through the falling rain like an enraged ox. It slammed hard into the keep’s stone wall, sending debris and rubble down into the deadly river of lava below. A shower of the searing hot liquid shot up into the air and down upon the trees, alighting them instantly.
“Return fire!” Meng commanded. The archers upon the walls released their tense bows, the ballistae upon the turrets blasted forth their spears and the cannons below bellowed as the metal balls thundered from their smouldering furnaces. A deadly armament of steel rained down upon the advancing army as they slithered through the Forsaken Woods towards the encampment. However, they were under the cover of woodland and darkness. The encampment’s retaliation had little effect to hinder.
“Fire all!” Meng roared from atop the keep. Fast as lightning the archers re-fitted their bows and released another hailstorm into the trees, the cannonballs barrelling across the river of lava and the mangonels from the grounds sending a storm of rocks over the wall and into the forest.
Otak raced up the keep’s staircase to the roof where Meng stood, guarded by six knights in shining steel armour.
“They’re coming from the southeast, through the forest!” Meng shouted back to him.
“A tactical advantage,” Otak agreed, peering over the wall at the chaos below. “Although we’re on height from the north and they won’t dare pass around the Altar.”
“They have to go around north.” Meng said hopefully, not taking his eyes from the battle below. “They can take the east fort but from there they cannot hope to continue siege across the river. Is the army assembled?”
“Yes,” Otak replied.
“Ok, you must take command of the keep,” Meng said, drawing his sword from its sheath. “I will lead them to the north hill. If they take Jantung’s fort they have to pass through the Lava Lakes in order to reach us, which is where we will make our stand.”
“IF they take the route to the north,” Otak replied. “Remember, Fikiran may not have received our messenger. The Altar may be defenceless.”
“No man will dare take on the Order itself,” Meng turned to Otak and said with confidence. “We have the power of Saradomin.”
“Yet you make camp at a relic of Zamorak,” Otak noted the irony. “How many battles did Saradomin win for you before I came?” Meng did not reply. “It is preparation, and thought that will bring you to victory. Your arrogance and pride in your name one day may not be enough.”
Meng looked at him with an expression of distaste, before striding past towards the keep’s stairwell, and did not look back.

A drop of rain ran down Jantung’s brow... or was it sweat? He pushed the thought aside and focused his eyes deep into the darkness of the Forsaken Woods. The advancing army was but mere shadows through the branches of the trees, and he could not see how many were on the move. He knew that they would come for the eastern fort – his post – first, although they had begun to fire upon the main keep as well. But in his mind he knew it was to confuse him, and he could not let that happen. Keep to the plan.
“Alight!” Jantung shouted. The knight holding the torch beside him set fire to the cloth that had been wrapped to the end of the spear. Peering down the sight of the ballista, Jantung focused on the white flag Otak had planted upon the ground. It was still, and clearly visible.
“Sir!” an archer from beside him atop the fort shouted. “Their firepower is too great; we cannot hold this fort for much longer!”
“We have to finish this,” Meng replied.

Suddenly, the white flag disappeared, as a member of the advancing army passed it. They had reached the boundary. Meng’s hearing fell silent. The raindrops that fell onto his skin became vague. He could no longer hear the screams of arrows through the air, torn from the archers’ bows. The cries of his men as their lives were claimed by the advancing units became faint and distant. Slowly, he pulled the release trigger of the ballista.

The jolt of the recoil brought him back to the present. The flaming spear shot down into the night and hit the tree behind the flag, which had been covered in oil. It instantly alighted, and the fire spread to the other oil-covered trees in Otak’s synchronised pattern. Jantung was amazed that Otak’s creation had been successful. But it was short-lived, as the light brought out the army which was advancing toward them. Jantung could see six hundred at a first glance.
“Retreat!” He commanded immediately.
But it was too late. One final cannonball was enough. It shot out of the dark and hit the wall of the fort with such force it broke clean through. The weakened face crumbled under the stress, and the fort came down with it. Jantung felt the roof give way beneath his feet, and he was falling as the ground rushed up to meet him. Thankfully, the fort was not high enough to break anything, but a searing pain shot through his legs. He fell to his knees before the advancing army, his mean dead or wounded around him. Defenceless.

From atop the northern hill, Meng saw the fort go down.
“Jantung’s still in there,” he said.
“We cannot leave the hill!” a knight beside him at the front line said. “If we go down there, Otak says we are dead!”
Meng turned to face him.
“Otak is not your warlord,” he said, “I am. Draw your swords!” The two-hundred knights behind him unsheathed their steel blades in unison. The enemy was almost upon the ruins of the fort. Without a second’s hesitation, Meng gave the order.
“Charge!”

The Order thundered down into the valley. Two hundred men at arms dressed in steel raged down upon the floor and veered south towards the oncoming horde, who had reached the Forsaken Hills. From the north, Meng could see the survivors of the fort scrambling to get away as the enemy charged, swords in hand. He knew they would give no quarter.
The Order reached the gap in the lava. Still running at full speed, they let out a battle cry which pierced the night. Meng could see the army in full now – at least a thousand strong. He knew there was very little chance of survival. They had forgotten about the keep and had brought their cannons out from the trees. Archers had arrows fitted to their bows ready to strike, and their knights began to charge towards the Order. Meng lifted his sword high into the air. The two forces were only seconds away. There was no turning back now. In the light of the fires and the lava, the armies clashed head-on. Meng brought down his sword hard on the first knight he encountered and was covered in a shower of blood.

“How many?” Fikiran asked?
“We don’t know, they came from the southeast through the trees.” The messenger replied, panting heavily.
“Meng and Otak may not have enough to hold the keep alone,” Kuat, who was seated on the throne beside Fikiran, said. “I don’t think it was a good idea to move up through the east coast. It’s not our ideal ground, and taking this altar was hard enough.”
“It was Otak’s idea,” Fikiran said, “And I trust his judgement.”
“I don’t,” Kuat said.
“It’s logical,” Fikiran replied, “Once we take the east coast, we have all of its advantages to ourselves.”
“If we can hold out,” Kuat said, “We don’t know what we’re up against.”
“But on the west coast we do know, and we know we can’t handle it.” Fikiran defended.
“We know the east is a shot in the dark...” Kuat began.
“Would you rather just do nothing?” Fikiran asked, with a hint of anger in his voice.
“I would rather face the west with our full force rather than divide and wander blindly into the darkness.” Kuat stated. Fikiran chose not to reply. He stood up from his throne.
“We are here in the east now,” he said, “and we may have to fight to hold it. We took this altar not a month ago, and paid for it with many lives. Tonight, it may fall to us to defend it. Assemble the army!”

Jantung was pulled to his feet.
“Get up!” Meng shouted to him over the roar of the battle.
“Who are they?” Jantung asked, drawing his sword. Meng peered over the chaos of the battle and spotted an enemy banner, which had the tip of a staff containing four points surrounding an orange-coloured centrepiece.
“Followers of Iban” Meng said.
“His influence is strong,” Jantung said. “We cannot hold this.”
“Fall back!” Meng shouted. “Retreat!”
The Order began to withdraw north into the lava lakes as the Ibanists thundered down upon them. The fort was completely overrun and the gap had been taken. Their cannons were in full fire upon the western keep. Otak was near defenceless to the onslaught.
“We have to take the high ground and return to the keep,” Jantung said to Meng, pointing at the hill to the northwest. “Otherwise they will slaughter us in the valley!”
“Take the hill!” Meng commanded to the troops falling back behind him. They veered west and began the descent up the rocky slope. Meng looked back and saw the Ibanists’ army of at least a thousand as they clashed with what little remained of the Order at the base of the slope. There were only eighty or so of the two hundred remaining. Arrows were flying through the air, and the clash of sword upon shield drowned out the night. In the distance, the cannon fire could still be heard and the pounding of the metal balls upon the keep’s stone face.
Meng looked back to the hill’s peak, and stopped. Above him in the glow of the river of lava, he could see the outline of a new adversary. Their blades and bows were drawn and aimed directly at the oncoming chaos below. Above the shining blades of steel and helmets, Meng spotted a banner.

The Ibanists’ cannons refused to cease fire upon the western keep, even with their main army pushing further north. The outpost’s mediocre artillery could not retaliate against dwarven-crafted steel cannons. The wall was holding, but it would come down at any second.
Otak turned from the gate to the one hundred men who had remained.
“When the wall comes down,” He said in a strong voice, “we are all that stands between them and control of this keep. We were chosen by Lord Fikiran himself to be the front line of the Order as we progress on our journey into utter darkness. Now, the time has come to face that darkness. Draw your swords!” Unsheathing his own sword, he turned and faced the gate once more. He could hear the pounding of the cannons and the falling of debris. The gate would come down any second...
Then suddenly, the cannonfire stopped. The hailstorm of arrows ceased. And then there was silence. After a few seconds, a loud pounding upon the gate’s doors was heard.
“Open it.” Otak said to the four guards beside the door. He tightened his grip upon the hilt of the sword. The guards drew back the wooden barricades, and the doors opened slowly. A sigh of relief escaped Otak as he lowered his sword.
“Welcome to the Forsaken Hills, my lord,” He said, as Fikiran strode through the gate.

“It took us a fair few hours to assemble and travel the distance from the altar,” Fikiran said to him, “I am pleased that you have managed to hold out this long. I bring ten thousand men at arms, seven thousand of which will reinforce your keep for the time.”
“Ten thousand?” Asked Otak, in surprise. “That’s half the Order alone!”
“So it is,” Fikiran confirmed. “You have done well since you took the role of second in command. Maybe to take on the East coast was not such a bad idea after all.”
“It has not been easy,” Otak replied. “They have taken the eastern fort, and Meng’s men are under heavy siege.”
“I have that taken care of,” Fikiran said, with a smile.
“Where is Kuat?” Otak asked.
“Where he usually is,” Fikiran laughed. “On the front line.”

“For honour!” was Kuat’s battle-cry, as he led the charge down from atop the hill towards the chaos below.
“It’s Kuat!” Meng shouted to Jantung. “We’ve got them!”
Indeed, Meng’s units had the Ibanists positioned right where they needed to be – on the valley floor. Three thousand knights of the Order collided head-on with the enemy forces from on height, and slowly began to enclose the group. Their aggressiveness had turned to fear, and they began to flee south towards the gap – Meng, Jantung and Kuat fast upon them.
But they never made it past the gap. Fikiran had brought a deadly assortment of some of the Order’s finest equipment with him. The Order prided themselves on being forerunners in modern warfare. He gave the call, and from the keep, the Order fired everything they had. A monstrous beast of cannons, catapults, trebuchets, ballistae, mangonels and all manner of beastly machines of war unleashed a terrifying firepower across the river. Even Kuat stopped in shock as the bone-crushing storm of rock and steel tore through the heart of the diminishing Ibanist army in mere seconds.
“Halt!” He commanded. The Order came to a stop at the blood-filled battlefield of the Forsaken Hills. The Ibanists’ siege weapons had been reduced to ruin beyond repair. Their once mighty army had dropped their swords and were fleeing into the darkness of the forest.
“Victory!” Meng roared in triumph, and the Order followed suite, raising their swords high into the air. The sky had been blue for a good while at this point. The first light of dawn was met by the triumphant cheers of the army over the battleground of the slain, rubble and the once burning trees which had been reduced to smouldering piles of ash.

IF HE'S IN HIS 30S HE NEEDS TO TRAIN



WG REQS ARE 100

It's good though keanu, nice work

BUT WHO WAS THE FATHER ???

I remember the arrow and oil thing from something. Although it worked when I first heard about it, it won the fight lol.

Does Kuat have any family? And what previous war experiences does he have?

Good story line though. I'll check back in the future and see if you write anything new.

Keith - It's age-wise, not levels

Rob - Probably not one of my writings though... although this is a concept I've worked on for six years now and I can't remember past versions

And yes Kuat has family, which is explained later on in the story. The Battle of the Forsaken Hills is actually one of his first experiences in war. Chapter Two takes place about six years before Chapter One, which is like a prelude.

Awesome feedback, I think I shall continue it

Rofl, I had a feeling while reading chapter two that it was of a previous time.

Chapter Three

Through the Mist

Sixteen wooden wheels pulled by eight hulking yaks rolled slowly over the soft, damp earth of the wilderness. They carried a platform made of cobblestone, upon which a large bonfire of maple logs burned strong, rising almost twenty feet into the air.
Daylight in the wilderness was not so much daylight as a thick, grey haze of fog. The air was damp and thick, and despite the lack of wind, the cold was harsh and unrelenting. Even so, the beacon’s bittersweet smell of burning maple and the warmth provided a source of shelter and comfort for the Order’s forces, and despite the thick fog could be seen from a fair distance.

Kuat turned back and looked at the beacon behind as it crept slowly across the wild, surrounded by the figures of ten thousand knights of the Order.
“The way is clear,” he said to the scouts beside him. “Let’s return to the main group.”
Fikiran was leading the Order’s procession at the front, when he saw Kuat and his men returning. He turned to Otak, who was walking beside him.
“Bring another supply wagon up to the beacon,” Fikiran said to him, “and break out another round of ale, this time for the seventh legion.” Otak signed, and Fikiran knew that he was not happy being put to use to co-ordinate the distribution of ale among legions of five hundred men at a time. Even so, he turned and headed towards the procession without a word.
“All clear for at least another few hours,” Kuat said to him, as he joined the group at the front.
“Excellent,” Fikiran said, “The fire is stoked and the seventh legion is about to take their round at the beacon.”
Kuat looked back at the bonfire behind him.
“You run an expensive campaign, Fikiran,” he said.
“But well worth it,” Fikiran said, half in agreement. “Very soon each legion will get a beacon of their own. I mind not keeping a stable atmosphere for the Order.”
“At a dear cost,” Kuat replied. “It would take as much to increase our stocks by such as it would to upgrade our armoury. Have you heard of Mithril?”
“Indeed I have,” Fikiran said, “Needless to say because of Otak’s constant mentions at our leadership congregations. And in all honesty, I do not think the time has yet come for us to take that step. With the only source being the dwarven, it will deplete our treasury for sure.”
“I think it’s worth putting aside our economics for a moment and focusing on our military, considering our recent losses,” Kuat said.
“Ah, that I cannot do,” Fikiran responded. “The Order is strong, but we are not a powerhouse. As powerhouses have not yet accomplished a stable dominance, it is only reasonable we try a different approach. I would much rather balance my catering for the strength of our hearts, as well as our sword-arms.”
“They do appreciate it,” Kuat agreed.
“Our journey is harsh,” Fikiran said with a laugh, “To provide one’s men with the warmth of a fire and the occasional tankard of ale is the very least a lord can do. Now enough of this debate, take your men for drinks before you return to scout forth.”
Kuat simply nodded with agreement and took his scouts to the beacon. Despite his conflicting ideas with Fikiran, he could not help but feel an admiration for the amount of care he showed those who fought for him.

Otak’s hands had hardened from the cold, and it became an effort to add even the smaller maple logs to the fire. Tossing the last one into the flames, he saw Kuat approaching. He did not acknowledge his presence until Kuat spoke.
“Six pints of Greenman’s for us, if you will!” Kuat said cheerily. With a sigh, Otak turned back and headed to the supply wagons for yet another barrel.
The warmth and comfort that Fikiran had created dispersed the bitter cold enough so that the mood was bright. The seventh legion were already well into their drinks, some recounting their tales and thoughts of the battle they had fought, with others embraced in songs of war and the life in the wilderness.
“Kuat, my good friend!”
Kuat turned to see Jantung with his men keeping pace at the opposite side of the beacon. He had a slight limp from the fall he had sustained, but it seemed not to bother him.
“Come and join us!” he said. Kuat took the pint of ale Otak had poured him from a barrel atop the corner of the beacon, and headed around to Jantung’s group.
“No trouble, I hope?” Jantung asked him, slightly intoxicated.
“Nay, we have a safe passage back to the stronghold,” Kuat said.
“Good news indeed!” Jantung replied merrily. “Another bold victory for the Order and the journey home of hot food and fresh ale! What more could any man ask for?”
“Fikiran does take care of us,” Kuat agreed, taking a sip of the ale.
“You seem disappointed,” Jantung noticed. “Whatever for?”
“We won the battle, but lost the keep,” Kuat said, “And that venture cost the Order a lot of time and money to sustain.”
“And over 100 men died for it,” Jantung agreed. “But we couldn’t have maintained it with the siege it took.”
“I knew the east coast was a bad idea,” Kuat said.
“Well with luck we’ll choose not to return when we discuss it at the next congregation!” Jantung said cheerily, finishing his pint with one gulp and tossing the empty tankard onto the bonfire. “Many of my friends died at the Forsaken Hills. Speaking of which, when you see Meng, tell him I owe him a drink for saving my life. We learn from our mistakes, and things can only improve from now on!”
“I hope they can,” Kuat said, more to himself than to Jantung, who heard anyway.
“Ah, think not of our losses, but of defeating a forced to be reckoned with, and the joy that awaits us back at the stronghold!” he said. “We’ll have at least one night of feast and celebration before the council is called, and I for one look forward to it!” He raised his voice for the final statement, resulting in a loud cheer from the seventh legion, who raised their tankards to the thought.
“Another two pints for the both of us!” Jantung shouted across to Otak. “Come, Kuat, join us in song before the eighth legion arrives and kicks us out!”

The seventh legion of the Order raised their tankards once more and their rough voices joined together for one final melody. It was the Song of the Fallen Tree, an old hymn of the wilderness.

Come forth, come forward and stay your fears
I have but my song for all to hear
From the great fallen tree which saw from on high
The legends and tales of ages gone by

From the gifts of the God Saradomin the wise
The green of the grass and the blue of the skies
To the wars of the Gods, which drew the end near
Till they were banished from the land they held dear

Into the wild marched the Sabres with pride
To fight for the weak with their every stride
And Gilenor’s Dynasty the true strength of man
Their damage incorporated onto the land

In the depths and the deep, the struggle began
Battles for power, between clan and clan
Many men fell in resolutions of violence
The land stained with blood and echoes of silence

Many grew strong, their forces divine
The titans of which stood the test of time
An age of corruption in the dark abyss
With light from the guardians of the wilderness

Forces of gladiators, and knights armed in black
In constant collision of siege and attack
The unprepared would be dead on arrival
A reign of terror with no chance of survival

The war rages on, unto this day
And no force can hold the bloodthirsty at bay
The fallen tree, I witness it all
Each day from the sunrise until the nightfall.

Chapter Four

A Haven Upon Ancient Foundations

"It does look better trimmed."

Fikiran studied the gold cape, before tying the fasten around his neck. It had an embroidered teardrop shape, with a newly-added lighter trim and tassets which draped just above his boots. "I think we will put it into production for the army."

"It is not so much the cape, but the bearer that makes the impression," Otak said.
"Ah, but there is no harm in a well-dressed bearer!" Fikiran replied cheefully. "Now, let us see what our adversary has to offer."

With those words said, he nodded to his tailor, and the two Lords of the Order marched through the large wooden doors before them into the Great Hall. The hall itself was the central room of the Order's Altar. Two gilded thrones for himself and Otak sat on a raised platform at the front, past the doors to the chambers. A circular mahogany table for the Council of Meng, Kuat, Jantung and Cinta stood upon the ground in front of the thrones. Four longtables spanned the length of the hall, enough seats to house at least two hundred. Two great wooden doors at the far end stood shut, which gave access to the courtyard beyond. A stone balcony and sixteen pillars surrounded the hall, and eight large, golden banners of the Order draped from the whitewashed rooftop.

Fikiran and Otak took their seats on the throne.
"Step forward," Fikiran said to the messenger, who waited at the far end.

As he strode forward, Fikiran took note of his attire. His ragged clothes were a deep black, as were his boots and gloves. Metallica, by the look of it. His face was clean-shaven, and his hair a thick blonde.
"I am Kerasan, and I speak for the Pengrusakan Clan," The messenger said, halting before the Council's table.
"And what business does Pengrusakan have with the Order?" Fikiran asked tonelessly.
"Twelve nights ago, a caravan of Pengrusakan were attacked by raiders carrying the banner of The Order in the woodland to the North. The caravan was on a mission of peace, carrying food and water to our northern outposts. Pengrusakan understands this as an act of war."
"I remember that so-called raid," Otak said, "I was there. A group of The Order was out collecting timber for the fires, and we were attacked by a pack of rangers."
"What happened?" Fikiran asked him.
"We had fifty or so of the army accompanying us for protection," Otak said. "We butchered them." Fikiran laughed.
"You attacked our unarmed and defenceless caravan, this is no laughing matter," Kerasan said sternly.
"From what I hear, it was your armed rangers who attacked our woodcutters," Fikiran said. "I apologise if the thought of Pengrusakan resorting to such a desperate and immoral lie to create dispute comes across as slightly amusing."
"Your council member is the one who tells the lie," Kerasan began, but Fikiran rose to his feet.
"You WILL NOT insult my council, here in my own castle!" His face burned with anger, but his voice had only raised slightly. Even so, his words echoed eerily around the deserted hall.
"Sit," Otak said quietly to him. Fikiran resumed his seat.

"Your castle?" Kerasan laughed, pleased with the reaction he had provoked. "You sit on your Saradomin-gilded thrones, while below your feet rest Zamorakian relics. You think you have power, here in the north. You have nothing."
"If you want a war, we will give you a war," Otak spoke up, before Fikiran could reply. "I warn you, we have fifteen thousand men at arms, and we have just claimed victory against the Ibanists of the Eastern coast."
"We have heard of your petty victory against a force a tenth of your size," Kerasan said, "You know nothing of the art of clan wars. You may continue your so-called voyage into our wilderness. But note that when you set foot into our territory, it will be your end." And without another word, Kerasan turned and set off down the hall towards the doors.

"Leave him," Otak said to Fikiran.
"There is no honour left in the North these days." Fikiran sighed.
"As long as the Order stands, there will be." Otak replied.
"He's right about one thing," Fikiran noted, "Taking the Altar here as our keep was a mistake."
"But too much time and money has gone into it to change," Otak said. "It has become our haven upon ancient relics, even if they are unholy. It is what we make it now that counts. But enough of diplomatics now, we will settle things at our next congregation. Will you join us for the feast tonight?"
"Nay, I am far too weary from the journey and the bloodshed and the politics of it all."
"It would do you well to join an evening of hot food, dances and cheer then," Otak said, rising to his feet. "And a good impression would be given to the Order. After all, we have been victorious against the Ibanists! It is a night for celebration!"
"Another night," Fikiran said. "But now I will go to my chamber and have some peace and quiet. Give my best to the others."
"As you wish," Otak said, and he stepped down from the platform towards the Great Hall's doors, leaving Fikiran alone with his thoughts.

"For Saradomin!" Was the cheer, as the tankards of Asgarnian Ale clashed together in celebration. The courtyard was alive with festivity. Much of the army were taking their rest in the barracks, but at least six thousand people had shown to attend the feast.

Otak strode to the gates of the coutyard. The keep was on a hilltop, overlooking the town. Despite keep and courtyard being the size of the castle of Falador, the surrounding town - so large it could be called a city - was just as impressive. The sheer size of the Order reflected in their lands. At least two miles wide and long, the town was filled with wooden huts for the entire population of the Order. Many had brought their families along, once they saw that the clan had began to bring order and peace to the chaos of the north. They had built chapels and farms, even a market of stalls. In the centre of the village lay the Barracks - a massive building of stone five stories high. Inside its walls lay the armoury and the granary, as well as housing and care for the majority of the army. The entire land was surrounded by a thick wooden fence spanning at least ten miles, with a solid stone gatehouse to the very north. The Altar was at the southern end, and it's hind naturally protected by streams of molten rock which rose from the ground.

Otak could see the torches upon the Barracks, the lights shining from the windows of the town, and smoke rising steadily from their chimneys. Even he had to stop and appreciate the sheer size of what had grown from the small group of six dedicated friends only a few years previously.
Two figures were walking down the road towards the courtyard. As they came into the light, Otak greeted them with a smile.
"Jantung, Cinta. You both look amazing."

Cinta was the sixth member of the Council, behind Fikiran, Otak, Kuat, Meng and Jantung. She did not take part in the military side of their endeavour, but rather was chosen to sustain the economics and the community. Many considered her to be the heart of the clan. She was only a year younger than Jantung - the second-youngest - and had long brown hair and green eyes. Despite her preference for simple clothing, she had come in a dark-blue dress with her hair in a bow for the occasion. Jantung, likewise, was dressed in a semi-formal fashion of a black top and trousers.
"Good evening Otak," Cinta said pleasantly. "Have we missed much?"
"Not at all, dinner is about to be served. Kuat and Meng have already arrived."
"Is Fikiran not attending?" Jantung asked.
"No, he wishes to remain alone tonight, and gives you both his best wishes." Otak said with a smile. "Come, let us dine."

The strong scent of meat wafted up from the mass of fires littered around the courtyard. At least two hundred wild boars were on spitroasts at any one time, while barrels of ale continuously rolled in from the stockpiles. Outside the keep, the three Council met with Kuat and Meng. They were seated on two wooden chairs beside one of the many campfires, enjoying what was clearly not their first tankard of ale. A band of flutes, fiddles and viols carried an upbeat melody through the air, and several of the Order had join in with song and dance.
"Good evening friends!" Kuat said merrily. "The boar is excellent, my compliments to our hunters."
"On your feet sirs!" Meng said to Otak, who had gone to take a chair himself. "Let us join the dances!"
"Ah, I only dance when I have some ale in me!" Otak replied, taking his seat. Kuat passed him a tankard.
"Greenman's finest," he said, as Meng, Jantung and Cinta joined the dance, leaving the two of them at the side. "I hear Pengrusakan have declared war?"
"How did you know about that?" Otak asked in surprise. Kuat laughed.
"I'm Council of the Order!" he said. "Such news travels fast, you know!"
"Incredibly," Otak said.
"Ah, it was that messenger they sent," Kuat explained. "He almost started a row before leaving. Saying we were butchers and thieves. Of course, I made sure he left without another word!"
"Very astute," Otak commented.
"As is my way!" Kuat said cheerily. "Come, try the boar!"
The music changed to a slow waltz, as the last rays of the sun began to fade. Meng and several others departed from the campfire for more food and ale, leaving Jantung, Cinta and a few others. She turned to leave, but paused as Jantung took her hand.
"Stay for one more dance," He said softly. "The night is still young." She looked at him and smiled. He smiled in return, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the flickering fire.