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Topics - Wolfsong

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Dwilight / Something that could only really happen on Dwilight?

« on: June 06, 2014, 02:52:54 AM »

Promoting somebody to a higher position of power, with more authority, just to get them out of a mid-level position you really want fresh new blood to slot into.

Roleplaying / Aftermath of the First Siege of Port Nebel

« on: November 08, 2013, 09:18:51 AM »

"Shields!" The call rang out, and somewhere down the line Balthasar was blowing on a whistle. The front line brought their shields up, while the later ranks lifted them high overhead. Arrows fell among them, dropping men indiscriminately. Waldor had his own shield lifted, standing somewhere in the front ranks, eyes for the fortress walls ahead. He barely recognized that, somewhere behind him, five men had already fell screaming.

"Advance!" Waldor shouted, hearing Balthasar's whistle take up his order - two quick, sharp tinny sounds. The company surged forward at a run as more arrows fell. Seven more men fell to arrows, trampled underfoot as the unit surged forward toward the stone walls. And what when they get there? Ropes and hooks? It was a prospect he hadn't even liked joking about, and now here they -- He spotted one of the few siege engines nearby, pushed flush up against the stone, already feeding men to the battlements high above. A wave of his sword, and another screamed order, and his men turned toward it like a shoal of fish, their mail glittering like scales.

The siege engine was cramped and overcrowded when they reached it. Men filtered up the covered rampways, all jostling elbows and curses and panting and prayers. Then - the walls, spilling onto the battlements. Waldor stumbled as someone behind him shoved, regained his balance, then forced his way back toward the front of the lines. Men ahead. Sword raised, Waldor charged the enemy lines - and his men, forced to keep up with their king, followed. A man who had run beside him, shield raised to shield Waldor, fell noiselessly as another arrow took him in the throat. And then the man to his left crumpled as an axe crunched into his midsection. Waldor killed with his sword, and watched men die around him, but nothing touched him.

Then a hand grasped his shoulder and yanked him backwards. Men formed around him, protecting him - some with their lives. He was pulled back to the siege engine. Their charge had been arrested; they were retreating. But then they were reforming, and reinforcements were scaling the siege tower again, and they were surging into the enemies for another go. Twenty of his original hundred were already gone: dead or wounded. Militia from a nearby tower fired down onto the scene, sewing more chaos. They retreated again, rallied, pushed forwards. A counter-attack: twenty more men dead in a few minutes of fighting, three of them taken in the back as they fled to safer ground. Waldor, again, shielded by their bodies - unscathed, screaming hate at everything that was within sword's reach, feeling a familiar terror grip him. Two siege towers burning nearby. He could smell the smoke, and hear the roar of the waves in the distance, crashing against rocks.

"Again!" His voice was going; he was already hoarse from shouting out commands, and Balthasar was nowhere in sight - though the familiar sound of his whistle cut through the din, so Walt knew he wasn't dead yet. But eleven more men were, lost somewhere as the company retreated from the battlements toward a smaller fortification, one the Southern League still held. More siege towers burning, as Waldor wrenched his sword free from the body of a young man. They'd lost more ground, had to scale the towers again. The rampways streamed blood, and were slippery underfoot. Waldor stumbled again, wild-eyed and grimacing, and the company overtook him, surged past him. But then, like the tide, his men returned before he could even reach them - some of them carrying men slung over their shoulders, or dragging the wounded, or wounded themselves and stumbling past. He watched them, looked ahead - just enemies there.

He hesitated, a part of him longing to rush suicidally forward, but sense and self-preservation prevailed.

"Retreat!"

They pulled the wounded, the dying, and the dead they had recovered down from the walls, through the siege towers that remained, streaming out toward their encampments. Waldor's armor was torn and rent, his body stained with blood - none of it his own, but much of it familiar. Deep, rasping breaths. The breeze on his face when they reached camp: a balm in the uncanny calm that settled over him. A quiet broken by the screams of the injured. A -

"Walt? Walt? You've been staring at the sea for the last half hour, Your Majesty. Did you hear what I'd said?"

Waldor snapped out of it and looked to the side where Balthasar stood, still in his scarred armor. Walt had changed hours ago, before they'd even purchased the ferry back to Fissoa, but his captain hadn't had that luxury. The mustachioed man carried a scroll.

"Twenty of us came through the battle - mostly the veterans. About ten more have since recovered. That leaves twenty men... unaccounted for, as of yet. The rest are dead. We don't have the bodies, though, so we'll have to offer their widows - or mothers, whichever it is - an extra month of pay. It's in the contract. And that'll be expensive. A hundred gold, at least, to do it right. And these were all my men, even the new ones. It should be done right."

Waldor leaned against the side of the ferry and closed his eyes.

"Double it," he murmured after a moment, opened his eyes, then pushed straight. He reached over to clap Balthasar on the shoulder, held it a moment, then lowered his arm. "And throw in an extra five gold per child, for the ones with families. I'm going to see the wounded."

"See the wounded" amounted to strolling across the deck and climbing down through a small trapdoor into Hell. The lower deck of the ferry was covered with bodies - wounded, mostly, though a few now were draped in their cloaks. They'd be kept for as long as the smell stayed down. When the breeze died, though, the dead would be sent overboard with prayers and apologies. Most of them wouldn't mind, he thought, since it meant extra gold to their loved ones.

Waldor made his way along the rows of blankets and pallets, stopping here and there to offer some quiet encouragement, or confident banter. The Lurians were dogs, he agreed. And the Barcans - not so bad after all. Just look at them fight. And Fissoa? Fissoan men chew stone - everyone knows that. Why else all these damn sieges? Fissoans love walls. They love tearing them down. And, passing a man who cried out, his bandages soiled and his leg gone: Nasia will protect your children. To another, who begged his forgiveness: You've done well. Rest. And another, who just stared at him as the light died in his eyes: You stand at Nemordiabel's side. Go knowing you've fought well for Fissoa, and for your king.

The words were ash in his throat.

Later, in his own quarters, Waldor undressed and sat on the edge of the bed, a sheet of paper laid across his lap and quill in his hand. He wrote clumsily, but sincerely, a torrent of words that he later would palm off on his scribe with the instructions to send it as soon as their birds got their bearing.

Dwilight / Great Dwilight War, Pt. 2: The Southern League vs. Luria Nova

« on: November 08, 2013, 12:50:27 AM »

After Luria Nova throws eight hundred men at the walls of Qubel Lighthouse, and suffers defeat, the Southern League responds by drawing together an army of over two thousand men from three different realms. These forces charge the fortress of Port Nebel and do considerable damage, but fail to meet the last of the militia in battle after routing the present mobile forces of Luria Nova and are forced to retreat.

Here's the match up according to Statistics.

The Southern League:
Military strength: 153,442
Active nobles: 112
Food supply: +93
Economic strength: 38,730
Current population: 884,158

Luria Nova:
Military strength: 48,537
Active nobles: 48
Food supply: +1.2
Economic strength: 17,284
Current population: 477,294

Any bets on how many peasants will die by the end of this one?

Feature Requests / Tournaments, Pt. 5: Other, Minor Changes

« on: September 23, 2013, 04:01:48 AM »

Title: Tournaments, Pt. 5: Other, Minor Changes

Summary:

Additional suggestions for tournament changes.

Details:

- remove the ability to buy drinks for everyone
- implement betting based around the staggered match system proposed in Pt. 2, as well as allow betting in early rounds to determine grand winners, etc. (Such as betting on if a knight makes it through round 1, or betting on if a knight wins the entire tournament.)
- allow participants and spectators of a tournament to post messages to the region the tournament is being held in.

Benefits:

- mostly just getting rid of stuff that no longer really fits, and some small additional changes to make tournaments more inclusive and fun

Possible Exploits:

- none

Feature Requests / Tournaments, Pt. 4: Allow for More than Just Cash Prizes

« on: September 23, 2013, 03:47:18 AM »

Title: Tournaments, Pt. 4: Allow for More than Just Cash Prizes

Summary:

Allow items to be put up as part of the grand prize in addition to the cash prizes already awarded for the winner of the melee and joust.

Details:

- in addition to cash prizes, allow for items (weapons, armor, scrolls, jewelry) to be put up as additional grand prizes
- this will not replace cash prizes, but be in addition to cash prizes
- this will only pertain to the grand prize of a each part of the tournament, not to second or third place
- customizable: you decide which part of the tournament (joust or melee, if applicable) the additional grand prize goes to, so you could have unique weapons AND gold paid out to the winner of the joust, while the melee winner only gets cash, or vice versa, or have a sword as a grand prize in the melee, and armor or a lance in the joust.
- item has to be in the possession of the one hosting the tournament
- item damage freezes during the tournament, but does not reset - if a helmet is offered at 32%, it goes to the victor at 32%.

Benefits:

- allows for more meaningful victories in tournaments; instead of just getting a cash payout, you could acquire weapons or armor that would display later in battles, etc., and have a history behind them beside just "I paid some peasant for it."

Possible Exploits:

- none

Feature Requests / Tournaments, Pt. 3: Personalize How the Match is Fought

« on: September 23, 2013, 03:24:04 AM »

Title: Tournaments, Pt. 3: Personalize How the Match is Fought

Summary:

Currently, tournament matches run without any input from the player/character. I'd like that to change, and to allow players some measure of control over the matches their character fights.

Details:

- before a round is calculated, allow players the option to select from one of three or so options for each match, dependent on what type of match it is: joust or melee. (Such as: "aggressive, defensive, throw match, balanced" strategies, or "low, high, throw match: - or whatever.)
- this is mostly so that knights will have the option of throwing a match, or losing intentionally - therefore eliminating themselves from the rest of that part of the tournament
- when attempting to throw a match, a knight's relevant skill (swordfighting or horsemanship) is tested. The higher the skill, the more chance that knight has of their deceit going unnoticed. The lower their skill, the more chance they have of being found out.
- knights who are found to have thrown a match lose prestige and honour instead of gaining it

Benefits:

- allows for backroom dealings, match fixing, and would allow people to lose intentionally against their liege lords, Kings, and other Rulers if they so desire.

Possible Exploits:

- people might try to rig entire tournaments this way, in order to keep prize money within the realm that sponsored the tournament, or to increase the chance of other members of their realm from winning - not sure if that's an actual exploit though, since other realms could denounce those who do so, and there would be a way to determine (failing to hide a thrown match) if somebody is acting dishonorably. Also, rigging tournaments sounds awesome and would be a good excuse for realms to war each other.

Feature Requests / Tournaments, Pt. 2: Stagger the Rounds

« on: September 23, 2013, 02:41:58 AM »

Title: Tournaments, Pt. 2: Stagger the Rounds

Summary:

Currently, tournaments run all at once in a large bloc of text, and then everybody goes home. Change that so the rounds are staggered throughout the tournament, giving people time to roleplay, write and react about the earlier matches, and speculate on the matches to come.

Details:

- list the random match up of knights in both the grand melee and joust before the round begins so people know who they will be matched up against for that round, ie "Round 1: Sir Jontos Perrimont vs. Lord Pemberly Harristan", and so on until all knights are matched in both the grand melee and the joust, with extras as wildcards, then the round runs, then the next match up is picked from the victors of round 1 and displayed at the end of round 1, and round 2 runs a turn later.
- stagger the rounds, so that only 1 or 2 rounds run a turn
- conclude with the finals as usual, and then allow everyone a turn before sending them home

Benefits:

- more ability to roleplay and react to what's happened in a tournament during the tournament
- makes tournaments more fun more immediately, instead of the "waiting for the big scrolly bit of text to run" it currently is now
- will make the changes proposed in "Tournaments, Pt. 3" possible

Possible Exploits:

- may make tournaments drag on for even longer than they already do; while this is not an exploit, it could be used by realms to ambush enemies who have the majority of their forces at tourney, etc. - again, not an exploit IMO, but more of a benefit: cutthroat, dishonorable dealings.

Feature Requests / Tournaments, Pt. 1: Allow Realm Council to attend

« on: September 23, 2013, 02:31:48 AM »

Title: Tournaments, Pt. 1: Allow Realm Council to attend.

Summary:

Allow realm councilors (judge, general, banker, ruler) to attend tournaments as either participants or spectators.

Details:

- allow realm council members (ie, the four rulers of a realm: banker, judge, ruler, general) to attend tournaments, either as combatants or as spectators*
- if as spectators, add ability to spectate
- if as spectators, allow other classes (beside only just warrior) to attend tournaments, but only spectate

Benefits:

- more fun, more roleplay
- puts more power in the players' hands, and removes needless limitations (ie, if people are worried about how a realm might run itself without its King present, then have the characters themselves forbid their King from leaving, etc. - don't make it impossible, and then call it a feature)
- makes holding a tournament to celebrate an occasion more possible - now, if there's a tournament called by the Ruler, the Ruler can actually attend and respond to roleplay messages directed at him, etc. Ie, "This tournament is to celebrate my birthday!" ("Oi, where's the King? It's his birthday. It's his party. He's paying for it. Why isn't he here?")

Possible Exploits:

- none that I can see

Other:

When this comes up, the argument against it typically is "but no one would ever dare joust against their King!" Or: "Kings never jousted historically!" Wrong. Kings jousted just as much (depending on their personal love of the tilt) as any other knight, and sometimes even more often since they had the funds to pay their way through any number of tournaments. Hell, King Henry II died in a jousting accident. There are accounts all over the place of rulers jousting.

From wikipedia: "Froissart describes a tournament at Cambray in 1385, held on the marriage of the Count d'Ostrevant to the daughter of Duke Philip of Burgundy. The tournament was held in the market-place of the town, and forty knights took part. The king jousted with a knight of Hainault, Sir John Destrenne, for the prize of a clasp of precious stones, taken off from the bosom of the Duchess of Burgundy; it was won by Sir Destrenne, and formally presented by the Admiral of France and Sir Guy de la Trimouille."

Additional "Tournament, Pt. X" will address the issue of throwing a match so their liege might win, however.

Helpline / Changing a Realm's Short Name

« on: September 05, 2013, 01:11:16 AM »

I noticed that it appears the short name of a realm cannot be changed from the Government Page in Politics. Who would I have to contact to name the short name, if the short name is wrong? (ie, somebody originally made the short name of the realm in form of the formal name of the realm.) For instance, say the realm is trying to reform from a Republic to a Monarchy, but the short name includes in it the "Wonderful Republic of Guam" - so any change to the long name would be the "Kingdom of the Wonderful Republic of Guam."

Roleplaying / The Death of Adventurer Madison

« on: May 23, 2013, 02:24:51 PM »

Madison crept along on her stomach, ignoring the brambles and thorns that caught in her clothing and tore at her skin. When she reached the crest of the low, grassy hill, she lifted up onto her elbows and peered out over the valley below.

Undead. Thousands of them, milling about aimlessly, some with purpose, their jerky shambling immediately recognizable. A few burnt fields were nearby, a smoking farmhouse.

Madison dropped back flat to her belly and cursed softly. Even with her little band of commoners strewn about Vaal, an army like that was - was...

Suicidal?

She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood, then once again levered herself up - this time onto her knees. She reached for the longknife, spear and rusty old sword she'd left lying nearby. A quiver, a gnarled longbow, its string water-stretched but still, barely, serviceable. Her armor would make noise, so she left it behind. It'd only draw their attention. And all she needed to do was remain unnoticed until she was close enough to kill their leader - behead the champion, and the rest would crumble back to dust before her eyes.

Why the hell was she out here again? It wasn't as if she owed that nobleman any oath of loyalty. She wasn't even native-born to the region. And yet here she was, doing his bidding because... because...

Because he was cute.

Gods, she was stupid sometimes.

Moving slowly, trying to match her movements to the jerky staggering of the undead, Madison crept down the hill. Mud-caked from head to toe, with dry blood on her skin: she matched them in appearance, but the wind had changed. Her smell drifted toward them, stirred them, and the mindless mob moaned in animal hunger. They couldn't place her exactly, though, not just yet - they milled about restlessly, questing with their hands, and she avoided them, ducked her way through the throng of undead and -- and then --

-- one turned, lunged for her, and the entire plan collapsed in on itself. The entire army - for army it was - imploded toward her with screams, clawed hands, sunken eyes and howling mouths. In a panic, trying to break free of the swarm, Madison stabbed, hacked, suffered bite after bite as she fought her way toward the edge of the sea of bodies, back toward the hill where at least there would be high ground in her favour. Blood blurred her vision. A gash had opened a jagged, shallow wound along her forehead, over her eyes.

And then, there, the champion before her.

In desperation, bleeding from half a hundred cuts already, Madison threw herself at the creature, bringing her longknife - where had the sword gone? the spear? she'd broken her bow strangling a gap-mouthed farmer boy who had. just. refused. to. die. - up to slash at its face. All she had to do was kill it, open its throat, sever that spine - and she would live. Just that, and she'd escape the jaws of death yet again, like the lucky bitch she was.

Ice in her side, then fire.

And darkness.

Quote

After 3 hours, you finally find an organized undead army.
They are lead by an undead champion, an evil creature with more power and intelligence than the usual lot.
You fight with zeal and strength - but the undead are unimpressed. They feel neither pain nor fear, but you do. Lots of it.
Then you give up trying to defeat them and you only try to get away - but you find yourself surrounded! There are too many of them, they corner you and then the champion comes for you. It is a hard fight, and you put down a couple of them. But it is no use. Then, you feel a sharp pain as the rusty blade of the champion enters your abdomen. You don't feel it leaving you through the other side, thankfully. He stares at you with that undead grin on his face and watches you slowly bleed to death.
You have been killed. Alone and outnumbered, you are dead.

Piecemeal armour left piled on a hill.

Feature Requests / Adventurer Monster/Undead Reports a la Scribe Reports

« on: May 22, 2013, 11:55:18 AM »

Probably been suggested before, but I hate how as an adventurer, if you hunt monsters/undead, and don't save the link somewhere, there's no way to go back to that hunt. If you accidentally refresh, or click away - you're screwed.

All I want is for your most current monster hunt, and most current undead hunt, to be saved in a tab like Scribe Notes are for nobles. Maybe even include foreign adventurer hunts, as well.

Helpline / Battlemaster down?

« on: March 25, 2013, 10:56:20 PM »

I'm having some weird issues where I can absolutely not connect to battlemaster.org or bugs.battlemaster.org, but I can connect to this forum. I'm not sure what would cause it, but I get redirected to a page (from http://www.website-unavailable.com/) stating:

"The computers that run battlemaster.org are having some trouble. Usually this is just a temporary problem, so you might want to try again in a few minutes."

Nameserver trace for battlemaster.org:

Looking for who is responsible for root zone and followed b.root-servers.net.
Looking for who is responsible for org and followed a0.org.afilias-nst.info.
Looking for who is responsible for battlemaster.org and followed ns3.lemuria.org.
Nameservers for battlemaster.org:

ns4.lemuria.org returned (SERVFAIL)
ns3.lemuria.org returned (SERVFAIL)

This has been going on for at least 4-5 hours of being completely unable to log into the game. I've tried clearing my cache, using other browsers, etc.

Is it my end, or yours?

Questions & Answers / Unit Naming on SMA Dwilight

« on: February 27, 2013, 04:48:03 AM »

On the wiki page about Dwilight and SMA, it says unit names like '*^*RTN*^* Luluzluzluz' are inappropriate. That said, what about names like: '1st Regiment, Black Company'? Is including any kind of army designation inappropriate, or only acronyms and silliness?

Roleplaying / Landing in Panafau: A Young Man's New Perspective

« on: November 29, 2012, 02:19:15 AM »

Expect this thread to be updated periodically as RP progresses.

To keep updated on House Graves and its newest son:
One Graves Digs His Own; The Rise of a Mercenary

Soon to come:
Dueling Women, a Life Lesson Learned
Origins of the Girl
The Many Adventures of Puke the Magnificient
The Mother I Never Knew

--

A Beautiful Country

The sun had set on a chaotic scene - troops landing in longboats and smaller skiffs, rushing ashore, sloshing the surf and churning up sand. But there had been little blood, and fewer deaths.

Acting-Captain Puke had crewed the longboat Waldor rode in with violence and apathy, barking low-toned orders at men and laying about with the flat of his scabbard - beating on shields, shoulders and helmets. The sailors were terrified him, and bent to the oars with manic desperation. Puke was as expressionless as a dead fish, mechanical, fearless because fear was something only thinking men felt. In a way, Waldor envied him. He could not stop thinking about the day Lord Tarkus had died. Ranulf had elected to stay behind in Fissoa, head of the household guard, and Waldor missed his company, his reassurances. Puke offered no such wisdom.

And then there was the Girl.

She had sat beside Waldor on the small craft, fussing with the leather straps of his baldric and the cinch of his belt. The shield - his shield, though he hadn't used it before - rested against her knee, as did another scabbarded sword, a hook-barbed spear and a smaller buckler. How she intended to carry it all was beyond him. When he had asked, she had shrugged and, with an angry set to her mouth, told him it was a squire's duty. He had left it at that. When he had been her age, he had gut-knifed a mercenary who had raped his mother.

Now he strode across the beach, kicking at arrows that had been fired in defense of the coast and still jutted, broken-shafted from the sand. Rumors were filtering up from the other companies that cavalry had been spotted a little further inland. Memories of the charge that had broke them - killed so many of his men - came back to him. The spear in his shoulder, the long wait, feigning death, while his soldiers had wept and cursed and bled out beside, above and beneath him. The heartfelt prayers and bitter screams. The agonized squeal of a horse impaled by a pike, crashing forward onto itself, the broken flop of its rider. The blood and bile that had churned the sand into sludge. His hand clutched at the hilt of the longsword that rode at his hip, taking comfort in the weapon, if not his own skill with it.

His grip on the blade only relaxed when he reached the scouts. He'd sent them on ahead to wait near where the beach met tangles of grass, vine and thornbrush. Both were hidden when he arrived, but a rustle of underbrush and a quiet, hissed call led him directly to where they crouched, their quilted armor decorated with thorns, leaves and smears of dirt. Waldor had shed his own chainmail back at their makeshift camp, and wore only his padded under-armor, too. He was more comfortable in it, anyway.

He crouched nearby after a mindful look about, then started to smear the cloth with dirt, leaves and rotted plant matter. It stunk, but he was used to it.

"Patrok," he whispered, greeting the elder of the scouts, a man nearly twice his age. "Gren." The younger, who could have easily passed as Waldor's twin in poor lighting. "I only need one of you tonight. The borderlands have most been canvassed, but I don't want surprises. There's rumor of cavalry hiding in the woods somewhere." He'd drilled these soldiers in use of the shortsword and pike, and they had all left their bows at home, but that changed little. A cavalry charge still set him on edge.

"Let me come with you," Gren spoke up suddenly, earnestly, and Waldor had to bite back the urge to clasp him on the shoulder as he may have once, to embrace him like a brother. He was no longer a sellsword captain. He was a knight, and there was distance between them that could never be broached. Instead, he looked questioningly at Patrok, and nodded when that older man nodded his own approval.

"Granted." Waldor murmured, lifting his head to stare about the thornbrush and scrub. "Patrok, keep patrolling about here, see if you can't get a bead on those horsemen. We'll be back before dawn. If you get the chance, pass back to Puke that I want the nearest village plundered. All the food they have, strip it. We'll need the provisions. Nothing else. I don't want a single serf harmed, or a single bit of gold taken. Not by my men." It would be cruel enough taking their harvest from them.

"Come on, Gren," he added softly, pushing past the two to creep further into the brush along the beach, skulking like no noble had a right to. The boy - his own age, he had to remind himself - followed with a pleased grin that quickly melted into professional seriousness. They did not speak during the entire patrol. They did not have to.

Night fell.

Waldor eventually returned, caked in dirt and debris, to where his men had set up under Puke's dull, watchful gaze. He stood near one of the pitched tents and stared at the forest that cropped up in the distance, cleaning mud from his hands.

"Your father's duchy," a soft voice said at his shoulder, and he turned to see the Girl staring out at the trees with a mixture of solemnity and expectancy. Clearly she wanted a response from him, but he had none to give. He nodded a little, returned his attention to the woods, and ran calculations in his head: stores of grain, injuries, the cost of hiring sailors to crew them back to the warships anchored off the coast. Logistics a captain should always worry over. But she was persistent. "You are home."

That gave him pause.

Home?

Waldor Graves thought of a stretch of coastline to the southwest, where bones bleached in the surf.

"It is a beautiful country."

Background / Medieval Agricultural Yields and Equivalents

« on: October 29, 2012, 06:06:16 AM »

Not sure if posted before, but I've always found this helpful and informative: