Originally Posted by
Scaeva
First Entry in the Scroll of the Mighty Tilde, Verses 1-75, The Tale of the King's Tournament and the Exile of the Mighty Spacecaptain Radz
Oh great tilde, Hear the pithy words of your humble servant, recounting a tale of both great bravery and treachery...
Uncounted downtimes ago, when the spacelanes were plied by mighty warlords, there existed the epitome of honour and valour, the peerless Spacecaptain whose name echoes in history, known only as The Radz. Our tale begins with the calling of many brave spacewarriors to the annual tournament, sponsored by the now aged Spaceviking King Hilmar and his myriad of sworn swords. Many a brave spacecaptain from around the realm could be found awake late into the night, refining his tactics and priming his strategies, and the Radz was foremost among them, pouring all of his skill and the fire of his will into practicing the storied art of theorycrafting.
However the Radz was rivaled by the notorious troll wizard Bacchanalian, whose crafty wiles had lifted the Rote Kapelle clan of spacecaptains to nearly the pinnacle of yearly tournament mastery. The Bacchanalian made use of all his craft, charm, and honeyed tongue to sway the hearts of his fellow spacecaptains, who nominated the sinister charlatan for the position of tournament captain. Reluctantly, the Radz put the wishes of his fellow warriors before his own pride, and agreed to submit himself to the dominion of the Bacchanalian. And when the time arrived for the first melee, the Radz and his fellows were not left unsated by their wizard-leader, who managed to vanquish the undisciplined horde of Black Legion space pilots against which he valiantly strove. Commanding his brethren from the saddle of his mighty ebon Curse battlevessel, the Bacchanalian had achieved a victory worthy of song.
However, the Radz was filled with doubts. Following the appointment of the wizard as leader of his brethren, the testing arenas had mysteriously become highly unavailable. Our valorous hero had begun to suspect a sinister motive in the machinations of his rival. Forsooth, he attempted to sway the minds of his fellow warriors against the evil wizard. However, the Bacchanalian had convinced them with his promises of gold, glory, and free access the tender mancavern of his sworn bodyservant and shieldbearer Brent the Pathetic. The Bacchanalian even enlisted the help of a well renowned jester and herald, Gorion the Unwaving, who stirred the doubty huskarls with a moving recitation of the mighty Conan's invocation of Crom the Brave.
In a last effort, the Radz donned his armour, reinforced with many spells and enchantments to protect him from any flames breathed upon him by the mage and his followers, and attempted to warn his heretofore companions of the dangers of the dishonourable Perihelion Alliance. In a stirring proclamation, he implored his fellow warriors to beware the fearsome Tengu dragonships, whose missiles would blot out the sun. But the ever-crafty Bacchanalian would not let his toadies be swayed, and his thunderous battlecry resounded throughout the realm. "We shall make use of our dampeners, and conquer them in blaster range," cried the wizard, "and we shall emerge victorious, bathed in the blood of our eternal enemy." And the Bacchanalian mounted his mighty CreoDron steed, and called forth his most steadfast supporters, and their fearsome Myrmidons and Griffins to do battle with the Tengu menace.
Yet on this day, the Bacchanalian had decided to strike a blow not against the enemy, but against his rival captain. His honeyed tongue and mighty Eos steed were no match for the barrage of flaming arrows launched from the mighty Tengu dragonships, and he and his miserable ilk were struck down by the Army of the Perihelion Alliance. And lo, the Radz cried to his former allies, "You have earned your defeat, ye who hath followed the silver tongue and empty promises of the Bacchanalian." And the Radz cast down his banner, and rode off on his mighty white steed, protected from the parting shots of his countrymen. In exile, he would await the chance to return, and unleash the furious cyclone of his vengeance upon the enemies of Rote Kapelle.
So ends the First Chronicle of the Mighty Tilde~
Second entry in the chronicle of the almighty tilde, as transcribed from the Sacred Tree of TXW-EI
Here I recount to ye gathered masses an aged tale of nigh unyielding valour in the face of treacherous banditry and ambuscade,
It was the final days of the first fortnight of an epic clash between the gathered armies of the Rote Kapelle, still flush with shame from their tournament exploitation at the hands of the notorious troll wizard Bacchanalian, and those of the Star Fraction, headed by their giant sluglike she-emperor, Jade Constantpreen the Effervescent, shim whose mighty girth and echoing voice shook the very pillars of the earth.
Despite a preemptive assault on the Star Fraction citadel in the nearby low-security fiefdom of Julianus Sodetermined to-do-everything-on-his-own, Rote had suffered several near-crippling blows at the hands of their blood enemies, who, according to the arcane decree of King Hilmar and his Spacevikings, had even accrued more blood tokens in the mighty valhallan tournament.
Undeterred by these reverses, one brave pilot decided to strike a blow for freedom against the heel-licking lapdogs of the Star Fraction he-empress. Our intrepid hero's name has been passed down through the mists of time, and to this day alehorns are still upturned in his honour amongst those feasting in the comfort of many-halled Valhalla. The Master of War, his name will remain etched into the sacred scroll for time uncounted, called his doubty shieldbearers and retainers to arms, to fight against the eunuch forces enlisted in the Sansha bandit army of he-empress Constantine and his consort Revan.
As the valiant warriors loaded the enchanted missiles into the bountiful saddlebags of their freshly groomed Golem-class destrier, the Master of War spoke to them thus, "Men and gentlebeings, we go forth for gold and glory, and in search of the ever-elusive praise of our countrymen, and we shall return with our shields, our upon them," and lo, the fearless warriors clashed their swords, freshly pressed from ploughshares in a manner lost in the mists of time, and went forth seeking battle and glory.
As the warriors formed their shield wall and closed for combat, they were confident of succcess, their minds enchanted with thoughts of gold and blood running through their as yet untried hands. Their battle line drawn, the Masters of War confronted the arrayed forces of their treacherous Sansha foes, assuming a tested wedge formation to charge the lackeys of the she-emperor, they had only begun surging forward when they were set upon by the hidden eunuch forces, their Golem-class steed peppered with missiles, our heroes fought back valiantly, but were slaughtered to a man in a manner most pleasing to the god of combat.
Those who had gone seeking riches and glory found little of either, Yet they live on in memory, celebrated as those who have instructed us that the first maxim of glory is that she is a poxy harlot, whose pleasure is immediate and fleeting at its best.
So ends the Second Chronicle of the ~
emote ourselves.
feels great, o/
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