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Note from the author

I'm going to have a note from the author section, very much at the risk of seeming pretentious, but I thought it was important to get it out in the open that this is/was a tribute to an RP, or rather three RPs that I was part of; that got resurrected twice over the years, and has literally just died again. The first one: aptly named Armoured Assault, managed to get farthest, and although my writing quality was consistently lower then the other two RPs, I can't help but feel that I managed to capture a character in my characters (I was playing an unorthodox game: a group of elite Mercenaries, rather then a single, unstoppable character), a feel I was unable to recreate in the later RPs. Perhaps I was trying to hard to recreate the original feel? Maybe I should have been more focused on writing an original story. If the RP ever gets revived again, maybe I can try again, and learn from the lessons that could only ever be learned in retrospect. However, I have little faith that the RP will bed resurrected again, after 3 attempts, I think both the original owner, and the owner of the two remakes knows to let sleeping dogs lie.

I am not however re-writing the RP in a more consistent narrative format, rather exploring the sub-plot for the Darkwoods (or the Blackwoods as they were known in the two remakes), that I very much planned to act on if any of those RPs had advanced far enough for me to act on properly.

My progress though, depends on three things:
How 'in-the-mood' I am; My ability to write with some professionalism rises and falls with my patience. If I can't concentrate then I'm not going to drone out some gutter reading just for the sake of it.
If its popular. Obviously, I'm not going to continue writing a story which people insist is complete trash with more plot holes then plot points.
If I can be bothered. This entire project of mine may just be doomed to a similar fate as its parent RPs. I could just loose interest and not bother. I hope that if that is the case, I will at least have the decency to say.

Any way. Without further delay, before I loose the will to write, I present:


A Matter of Time


The massive Peak-Eagle shuttle darted with a floaty bounce that belied the immense effort and energy required to keep the gargantuan, building sized slab in the air. Through the skill of its pilots, and the good grace of the instruments who had thankfully decided not to 'konk out', as they were prone to doing, the the shuttle hovered just above the minimum safe altitude, skulking under the veritable space scape of spikey, black clouds of flak above them.

The pilot grimaced as he checked the equipment, his superior; A well groomed man crouched into the cockpit. He had a clean shaven face, and a full head of plain black hair, combed almost entirely to the right, his dark blue eyes were worn and pale, and one could imagine that from those murky pupils, the man had beheld many a viscous scene, of which could turn an untrained mind insane. He wore the standard issue armour for mech pilots of his company, dark angular plates covered many vulnerable parts of his body, his shoulders, chest, shins and the like, his armours hue was a rather contradictory shade of black that was both dull and sharp at the same time. His baggy flight dress underneath the armour was identical to that of the pilots; black, tight at the joints and made of a rough, rigid material, and on the right shoulder hung the insignia of his company, adorned on a shield stood the silhouette of four, inseparable, identical trees. The Officer was none other then Wing Commander Jack Leyland of the Blackwood Company, an inspired military strategist and battlefield prodigy. He commanded with no small measure of success the Blackwood Company, a controversial mercenary group who's morals shifted with the tides of war.

The Pilot moaned a disgruntled sigh. 'Something Wrong Flight Lieutenant?' The man asked quizzically, not justifying the question with even a glance at the pilot himself, instead, the officer kept his gaze firmly out the window, and into the horizon. 'The Empire's forces are recreating the Somme up their, sir...' the Pilot frowned a response. The Empire of the Ebon hand had dispatched a forward company of its elite Air Marines Battalion, along with the notorious Blackwood Company to help secure a foot hold in the Province of Fel' Deran, an ancient province of arcane beauty. In the air, the high flying Marines were getting picked of by the many hidden AA emplacements along the rocky, tree freckled terrain. The officer shook his head, 'The Kingdom's Command Structure knew we were coming... 'No other way for them to of got so many AA guns set up along our flight path.' Jack noted as a fire covered Marine drop ship plummeted, arching dangerously close the Blackwoods Peak-Eagle as it went.

The Expeditionary force was loosing men and machines to anti-aircraft fire. And it was times like this that Wing Commander Leyland remembered why spies could play such a crucial role in the course of a war.

However, over the sun flared, evening horizon, the metropolitan spires and gleaming, utopian citadels or glass rose, as if part of a submarine rising from the water, and sure enough, the landscape just below soon began its steady, but sure transition from natural woodlands with hidden threats, the unruly suburbs with the figures of soldiers and mechs striding about their positions, ready to repulse the enemy who flew right over their heads. Jack broke in to a sadly short lived bellow of laughter. The curse of espionage had been shifted back towards the Kingdom command structure. For as their spies informed them of the Empires plans, the Empires double agents 'informed' them of a more audacious ruse. Much, if not all of the AA gear had been moved out of the city, to repulse a Marine Landing which should have been landing in the comparative safety of the outlying woods, but instead, the Marines dashed straight for the city centre, which was very much undefended.

As the suburbs became the inner city; and the family houses became small business buildings, and the small business buildings became mega business sky scrapers, so too did the racket of flak fire cease, and what drop ships remained limped tiredly into the city centre to unload their cargo into the various parks, car parks, and squares large enough to accommodate the landing force. Before the Kingdom of The Holy Order regrouped and made a push inwards, sealing the marines and Blackwoods inside the city.


Yeah, I know its not great, feel free to criticize and such. And hopefully I will continue tomorrow.