Trapped and Abandoned ((solo))

[Tyrion]

((continued from shortly after where my profile history (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=3611) ends))

Tyrion wiped his sword clean of the blood that had been freshly shed upon it, and etched another notch into the base of the blade. The few survivors he had with him just cut down a small patrol force of rebels with a few casualties. Probably the only engagement that had gone well all day. But the day was going, and it was getting dark.

About two hours prior to this, Sergeant Tyrion X, First Platoon, Twelfth Company, had been involved in a battle where they were overwhelmed by a force two to three times their size of rebels. The 12th Company had been dispatched to a town named Breaundy, east of Radasanth, to quell a rebel uprising there. Their company, 170 strong, had been ambushed while travelling through a forest by a force of 300-400, and after intense fighting, they had been routed off. About fifteen routing troops had been rallied under Tyrion, deep in enemy territory, in an attempt to escape the heavily occupied forest and make it back home.

Seventeen notches. Goddamn this sword is getting old.

He looked at it for a moment, realizing how long he'd really been fighting for. It'd been about fourteen years that he'd served for now, serving for the twelfth company. Serving for the kingdom. He let out a short chuckle.

The kingdom. Ha. Not like they're gonna send anyone to find us anyway.

Tyrion glanced around at the forest that had recently become a battlefield. It smelt heavily of the flora and fauna that populated it, accented slightly by the stench of sweat and recently shed blood. Bodies lay strewn around, at least fifteen peasant and mercenary corpses in the immediate area, and seven or eight of Tyrions own soldiers. The force that had overwhelmed them a few short hours ago looked to be sending out regular patrols through the forest to mop up the routing troops or flush out possible scouts.

This rebel army is way too determined and well coordinated to be just a peasant uprising. These bastards have to be headed by a mercenary commander, no doubt with his own wealth or fame in mind. Not going to be easy getting out of here alive.

"Hey sarge, what now?"

Indeed. . . what now?

He couldn't seem to come up with a plan. The enemy was just too big. Too numerous. They couldn't just soldier their way out of here; they'd be cut down in no time. He had to think.

"Sarge?"

"We've gotta be careful. We're not getting out of here just charging straight through the forest, we're gonna need to have an element of stealth. Finesse." It was all Tyrion could come up with at the moment.

[Tyrion]

"But sarge, we're not rangers here. We're just soldiers, a big blunt weapon."

"Yeah, but even a big blunt weapon can be used to strike the right place in the right hands." Tyrion replied.

"Got anything in mind then?"

He didn't, and to be completely honest with himself, he wasn't even that confident that they were going to make it out of this forest alive. But he was right and he knew it, in the right hands, these big blunt weapons could be used as precision tools, but it would take coordination.

"How in the hell did that force beat us? I've seen battles where a professional army is outnumbered five to one, and they still won with minimal casualties. How did we lose?" Tyrion had something.

"I guess it was the surprise. They had the drop on us, and they came in fast and hard when we weren't ready for it. They scared the shit out of us; no one really knew what was going on, or how to react. They caught us in a situation where we were about as effective as a peasant militia." The soldier responded.

Exactly. Exactly what he wanted to hear. It wasn't luck, and it wasn't that the rebels were trained to fight as well as soldiers did. It was shock and awe. That's how they'd get out of this situation. Shock and awe.

"So that's what we do. Scare them so that they have no idea what's going on. They don't know how many of us they killed, and they don't know how big our initial force was, so for all they know, we've still got a full strength platoon in hiding out here. So we're going to make them believe it."

His plan was simple, but it worked on their company a few short hours ago, and goddamn did it ever work.

If they had patrols going around this forest, and if they were able to launch an attack that size on the company on such short notice, they had camps out here. There's no other way that they could have been ready to attack a company. All they would have had to do was rally the camps up, and just charge straight into the enemy, no tactics or formations involved. Tyrion had to learn from his enemy, he had to fight like them, because fighting like they did when they were ambushed was obviously a flawed tactic in this situation.

Tyrion looked around at the men he had with him now. There were eight others left, all from either first or second platoon. He knew a few of them quite well, and they proved just a few moments ago that they could fight out of formation with simple orders. They were all dressed the same as him, in the Radasanthian traditional battle dress, with a light iron cuirass and a longsword. Some had shields; some dumped them while they fled.

He also looked at his surroundings. He was going to have to be able to move and fight quickly, because the terrain around them was littered with rocks, dead and fallen over trees, and other assorted forest obstacles. Their gear was just too heavy to be fighting out here.

"Ditch your gear." He said, unstrapping his cuirass, "we're too heavy, we can't maneuver geared like this."

He dropped his cuirass to the forest floor, and tossed his shield aside.

"All you're gonna need is a good blade, because we're going to be killing way too fast to need to block or parry."

[Tyrion]

His men let out a laugh as they ditched their gear. Some pulled the light chain shirts off of their fallen mercenary foes and put those on, being far lighter then the plate that they'd be wearing before.

"Alright sir, what's the plan? Why're we going to be moving so fast?" the question came from one of the younger, newer soldiers he didn't quite recognize.

"We're gonna be employing the same tactics that those fuckers did. Hit them fast and hard; don't give them any room to even wonder what's going on. Make them believe we've got fifty guys storming in on 'em." The plan might even work.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention, attack who? Where?" One of the more veteran troopers asked.

"They've got camps out here, they've got to, how else would they deploy their attack so quickly? So we move like ghosts, and leave only a few alive to help spread the word. It'll cause a panic among their ranks, and give us some room to escape. We just need to do a little psychological damage."

Some of the men were nodding, a good sign. They knew the plan; they understood his train of thinking. Best of all, it showed that they agreed. It was the best shot that they had, and everyone knew it. But they had to start moving.

"Let's get going, and don't stop checking all of your angles, they could come in from any side. We'll form a horizontal line, with me in the middle and every man about four or five feet from each other. If I stop, everyone stops, and if I make this signal," he made a little 'bring it in' gesture with his hand, "everyone come to me. Got it?"

Several 'yep's and nods came from the men, and they formed up the line. Time to move.

[Tyrion]

The men moved quickly and silently through the gradually darkening forest for about ten minutes, without any significant event. The air got cooler, and the birds of the night had begun to come out, and began their hooing and purring. The eerie feeling of lonliness was only broken by the brief rumblings of his stomach and the regular pangs of pain coming from his legs and arms. He and the men had been on their feet the entire day, and hadn't a damn thing to eat or more then five minutes rest since breakfast. But in spite of the hardships, the men’s determination would just not break.

Then, like a predator catching sight of its prey, Tyrion saw the enemy. He immediately halted his movement and crouched down. He put his hand on the soft earth, grabbed a handful and smeared it on the exposed side of his blade. He wouldn't want to give away his position from something as silly as the glinting of a sword. He looked around him and saw the other troops doing the same, attentively waiting for an order.

It's hard to imagine that this bunch was just part of a disorganized company that was overrun by a weak peasant army. Look at the discipline now.

His troops looked around for the enemy, a few catching sight of the faint movement in the distance, about two hundred feet off, moving to the west of their north facing position. Another patrol perhaps?

I guess fear'll do that to you. Fear teaches obedience.

Tyrion quickly made the signal with his hand to form up on him, but then also put one finger to his mouth to signal quiet. They moved up to him, swords drawn, ready for action.

"I see 'em sir, off that way, looks to be about ten of 'em." One of the younger men piped up.

"Good eye, but one thing, if we're gonna continue like this, I don't want to hear anymore of that 'sir' shit. Out here, we're equals. I don't want your respect, I want your obedience. Just call me Tyrion."

"Got it," he replied.

"Now, we've gotta move quick, but the plan is simple. Form up the same line, rush up on 'em silently, and when we're right close, just start roaring. Go crazy."

Tyrion looked back in the direction of the patrol to make sure they didn't get out of sight.

"We'll wrap around them and envelop them from every side, make it look like we've got a platoon coming in on their asses. Try not to let a single one live, but don't get stupid and chase one of 'em straight back to their camp. Got it?" he continued, keeping his voice down so as not to give them away.

They responded with several nods, and then began to move in for the kill.

[Tyrion]

Tyrion and his unit of what could now be only described as guerilla-fighters moved quickly through the light underbrush of the forest, creating a soft rustling as they moved like a tiger, poised to strike. The enemy ahead, ever vigilant, kept watch for any sign of the company’s deserters, but would only dismiss the soft sounds of foliage they heard to be the animals of the night coming out to play. They had no idea of the threat creeping up upon them.

Only forty or so feet from the rebel scouts, the right and left wings of the line started to wrap around and form a half circle, ready to surround and envelop their opponents. Just as the two units were about to break into fighting, the patrolling rebels realized what the sounds had actually been. But it was too late.

Tyrions soldiers roared with power, swords raised, clashing finally with the enemy. The look in their eyes was a mix of bewilderment and fear. A couple tried to run, but they were the first to be cut down. The soldiers that held their ground to lock in battle with Tyrions unit stood a little longer, but met the same fate.

No more then half of the initial enemy stood after the initial charge, and those that were still alive wouldn't be for long.

Tyrion, who held the center position of the line, cut down two runners right off the charge. A third met to engage him, armed with a long farming pitchfork. He stabbed hard at Tyrion, and almost caught him in the shoulder, but luck mixed with the terrible aim of this peasant left Tyrion standing. With his opponent off balance, he moved in swiftly and caught him with a downward strike. His blade cleaved into the flesh, rending him from his right shoulder down to the belly.

Tyrion pushed the body, now attached to the blade, with his foot to the ground, freeing the weapon. He glanced around to make a quick assessment of the situation, to find that his men quickly dealt with the few left standing.

Breathing heavily, Tyrion crouched to the ground in exhaustion.

Damn. Am I getting too old for this?

His other troops, still fairly fresh, looked to their commander. A few chuckled and one of the veterans, one whom he'd known for quite a while, piped up with, "looks like your body doesn't seem to agree with this line of work anymore, eh sarge?"

He let a short laugh escape his lips, as he regained his composure and stood. Not only was the battle a success, but also the tactic was proved to work. The men cut down a unit twice their size without so much as a single casualty. Perfect.

"You see the look on their goddamn faces? They were scared as hell!" One of the younger soldiers quipped. The men laughed as they looked around at the destroyed enemy. Tyrion knocked a few more notches into his blade as the men made small-talk.

Twenty. I've got a feeling I'm gonna need a longer sword once the day is done. . .

He smiled a little bit, and then turned to address his troops.

"Alright, settle down. That was just one scout unit, and that little skirmish was just a test. It proves that this tactic is quite effective, but we've gotta get the hell out of this area, because that battle was anything but quiet. So shut your mouths and get back into the formation," Tyrion barked at his men, "and, uh, fantastic work boys," he finished, grin on his face.

[Tyrion]

Though he was tired, Tyrion was feeling particularly upbeat after the most recent entanglement with the enemy. He felt like he and his men were actually going to make it out alive. That engagement was exactly the kind of thing Tyrions troops needed to keep their spirits high, to keep them going.

But he began to think about what would happen when they made it back. No one but him and his men would know of what went on after the company routed. As far as anyone was concerned, Tyrion and the small force he was leading now was just a bunch of deserters afraid for their life.

How will the military react when a sergeant and a few nobodies show up at the city gates? Will they recycle them back into the regiment? Rejoin the garrison as a few hardened troops that have seen their share of battle? Or would they be seen as cowardly deserters, fit only for the gallows?

The latter thought sent chills up and down Tyrions spine. The worst part about it was that it was the thing most likely to happen.

Goddamn government. . .

But his mind was wandering, and that was a thing that couldn't be had at a time like this. It had been about fifteen minutes since the ambush on the rebel scouting party, and their bodies had to have been figured out by now. Tyrion figured with the time they'd traveled overall so far, they had to be about a mile and a half from the end of the forest. A good two or three hour’s travel from there, that's including the rest that they all desperately needed.

But Tyrion just couldn't shake the thought of execution for deserting the twelfth. He stopped for a moment, and signaled for his men to form up on him.

"You see somethin' sarge?" One of the vets whispered to Tyrion, looking around.

"No, I figured we'd take a short break, the Gods know we need it," he replied.

A look of relief filled the men’s faces. They sat, leaning against trees and started to pass a little bit of time with some quiet chatting.

* * *

"Say we make it out alive," Tyrion began, "what happens then?"

"Hm? You mean, 'when', right? When we make it out alive?" The man responded, with a grin.

"Heh, yeah, when we make it out," Tyrion went on, "where do we go? Back to Radasanth? How'll we be greeted? As heroes? Or deserters?"

"I never really thought about it. I've been too focused on just staying alive, and not making any dumbass mistakes. I guess I figured that you'd know what to do?"

"Yeah, well, I'm just a simple soldier, same as the rest of us. To be honest, all I know is the fighting, I don't know what to do when we get out of here." Tyrion said, brooding a little more on the subject.

"But, we should really get going. We're only making it easier for them to find us the longer we stay here."

And with that, Tyrion readied his men, assumed formation and continued on westward, toward the end of the forest, and toward freedom.

[Tyrion]

It just kept getting darker, and it seemed like no matter how fast they tried to move, the suns patience for them kept running thinner. The tree canopy, blocking out a fair bit of light when it was day out, seemed to almost completely shut out the suns rays at this time of day. Or night now, it would seem.

So far, this darkness was working only to their disadvantage. Some of the men were having a hard time moving at the pace Tyrion needed, because they were creating too much noise tripping over unseen rocks or brushing large bushes that blended in with the ground. It had forced the small unit to slow their pace even further.

But the sun going down to expose the night sky didn't only hold disadvantage, because it appeared that the rebel forces scouting parties were now equipped with torches, illuminating their positions against the rest of the forests background. Already, the guerilla unit had managed to slip by two of these scout units undetected because it was so easy to locate them.

But that wasn't the only advantage. The temporary camps set up to coordinate the operation were also lighting up their torches, lamps and fire pits. About a half hour since their break, the men had finally come upon a camp. This was the perfect opportunity.

Tyrion held his position and signaled for his men to come in, as they were used to. This was it, their moment to shine.

"Alright boys. We could bypass this camp, no problem. Tack another fifteen minutes onto our travel time and wrap wide right around it, we go by unnoticed," he began, "but, say we go through. How much damage do you think we could do? Not only to the camp and the operation itself, but to the minds of these rebels?"

The troops nodded, understanding where he was going with this. A few were obviously unsure of the plan, possibly thinking of the success rate.

"If we hit them right, we could eliminate the camp outright. We wouldn't even have to cause a high body count, just play with them a little bit. They lose a camp that size, and they're gonna think we've got a highly skilled platoon coming through here hitting choice targets," he went on, "it'll make them think twice about how and when they attack, and it might even cause them to abandon their cause."

"I know that if we were in their position, and we started losing men and camps like this, without ever even seeing the enemy, I'd be scared that I was next. I'd desert, no second thoughts, right there." One of the soldiers commented, and he was right, that's precisely what Tyrion was thinking.

"Exactly. But I'm not gonna bullshit around with you guys here. Even though this has a good shot at working if we're coordinated, there's bound to be a few of us go down. Might even be me, but if we just go around, these bastards will be as vigilant in hunting us down as ever, and we won't have an easy time getting out of this forest. But we do this right, and I guarantee that half their force gets scared when they hear the news and abandons the cause."

"So, are we gonna do this?" Tyrion asked his men, already knowing the answer, getting back the yes's that he needed to hear. He proceeded to explain the plan.

The camp looked to be five or six multi-person tents, situated around a fire pit. It had an approximate population of thirty, with ten or so standing guard outside or patrolling the perimeter. The plan was to set up in position circling the camp, each man at a key point with a perfect charge line toward or near a guard position. They were to storm in, following Tyrions lead, roaring as they charged in, to take the immediate position. After the guards were down, they'd quickly clear the tents, and then proceed to light the tents aflame. Once it was all said and done, they'd leave as swiftly as possible westward, toward the edge of the forest.

"Everyone understand the plan? Alright, move into your position, and don't get close then a hundred feet from the camp, to make sure you're not detected. And when I start roaring, I wanna hear everyone roar, because they've gotta believe we're a massive force." Tyrion explained. The men nodded, and they all moved out.

Tyrion sat in his spot for about a minute to make sure the men were in place. His heart was racing and he could hear it pounding in his ears. But this was it, the moment of truth.

[Tyrion]

Tyrion saw the man he was to bring down. His back turned to Tyrions position, gazing into the fire, mind obviously wandering. He wouldn't even know what hit him; he wouldn't even have more then five seconds to think. He and the men around him would all be dead, and their last thought would be, 'what's that noise?' Tyrion smiled a little bit.

He gritted his teeth, wiped the sweat from his face, gripped his sword tight and took one last deep breath. Then he stood and broke into a charge.

Tyrion roared, and heard the corresponding shouts and roars from the other men, emerging from their positions in defilade and from behind trees. His target only had the chance to turn slightly and become wide-eyed before he realized that he had a sword tip coming out of his stomach.

He spit up a little bit of blood onto the forest floor, and slid off of the sword, into a little pile on the ground. A second guard, not being taken care of by his soldiers, rushed over to Tyrion to avenge the death of a comrade.

Tyrion brought his blade up in front of him, just being able to deflect the blow. His sword bounced back and rendered him off balance. Tyrion stumbled, and saw the man come back at him for a second blow upon him, only to be stopped short by one of the other soldiers. He stabbed quickly, and then pulled the blade clean from the body as it slumped over, and moved to engage another.

The outside guards were taken care of with relative ease, but it appeared that some of the men inside the tents had been awake. They rushed out to see what the commotion was, only to meet Tyrions troops in battle.

Tyrion cut another down as he rushed out of his tent, and he fell face down onto the soft soil of the ground. About half of the camp had been killed within the first minute of fighting, and the battle turned into one-on-one combats between soldier and rebel, with the initial surprise factor gone. But that was the least of their worries.

All of a sudden, out of one of the nearby tents emerged what can only be described as a giant. The man had to be at least seven and a half feet tall, barely dressed, and wielding a massive warhammer nearly as tall as him. The beast had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. He looked around at the fighting going on in the camp, and exclaimed,

"Who would DARE disturb the sleep of Graeluk, mercenary lord?!"

The behemoth of a man snarled and looked around for a suitable target. Tyrions eyes widened as Graeluk made a beeline straight for him, his weapon locked firmly behind his body, ready to swing.

Tyrion put his sword up in a defensive position in front of him, bracing for impact as the earth shook with each massive step. When the mighty warhammer finally connected with Tyrions feeble defense attempt, the blade was knocked clear out of his hands into the nearby woods, and Tyrion stumbled around, trying to stay on his feet.

The giant grinned and brought his weapon back up above him, and slammed it back down as Tyrion stumbled out of the way. His eyes quickly scanned the area, looking for any possible way out of this situation. All of his soldiers were locked in combat with the enemy, not possible of aiding him. Weaponless, he couldn't do anything. He needed to do something quick, or he was going to be a pancake.

He noticed a large, square shield on the ground not far from him, in the hands of a fallen rebel. It was the only thing readily available that was any what close, so it would have to do. The beast brought his hammer back for another swing, and Tyrion quickly dove toward the shield.

Graeluk swung his massive weapon and missed, stumbling around and off-balance. Tyrion quickly pulled the shield off of the fallen enemies arm and frantically attempted to strap it onto his own. The giant man, clearly annoyed at the little evasive man let out a frightening roar and looked at Tyrion. He finally got the shield strapped on, and not a moment too soon, because the behemoth was moving in for another attack.

Graeluk swung yet again and connected with Tyrions newly collected shield, causing them both to reel back slightly. Tyrion tried to brace himself through the pain he was putting his arm through, and had to come up with something quick.

Goddamn this bastard hits hard, and this shield isn't gonna do much in terms of damage, especially to something that size. But. . .

Tyrion glanced over towards the fire pit. He let out a soft chuckle and backed his position up to put some distance between him and his opponent. Graeluk, showing determination, came at Tyrion yet again with a swing. Tyrion anticipated this one and could step out of the way before he took a hit. He then moved to position himself where the beast was between him and the fire.

He had him now. Graeluk brought his weapon up above his head, and Tyrion sprung into action. Shield locked firmly against his shoulder, Tyrion collided with the giant, sending him stumbling backwards, right toward his demise.

As Graeluk stumbled into the fire pit, he realized what the error of his positioning was. Set completely aflame, he dropped his weapon and proceeded to run toward his tent, thinking it to be some sort of shelter. He went mad trying to put himself out, only to light other tents aflame as well.

Any rebel fighting at the moment had now broken at the sight of their commander in flames. Tyrion ditched his shield, and followed his men away from the encampment. He quickly snatched up his blade from the forest floor and proceeded to run off to the west with his troops.

[Tyrion]

After a good ten minutes of running, Tyrion and his men were finally out of sight of the now set-ablaze camp. They all stopped and Tyrion slumped down on the ground to rest. They were all exhausted, mentally and physically, after that. Coughing and wheezing, Tyrion started to laugh.

"What's so goddamn funny?" Asked one of the men, leaning against a tree.

"My God. . ." Tyrion coughed and tried to get some breath back, "did you see the look on that bastards face," he coughed again and spit up some blood, "when he tried to get in his tent to put himself out?" Tyrion let out a mix of a hoarse cough and a laugh, spitting up yet even more blood.

The men all started laughing. They all realized that this was probably the shittiest day any of them had ever had, and that that fight signaled victory, and them making it out of it all with their lives.

"Damn, Tyrion," one of the veterans continued, "that fucker had to be worth, what, five notches?" the men kept laughing. Tyrion pulled his blade out and knocked three more notches into the hilt.

Twenty-three. . . nah.

Tyrion knocked one more in, because even though they represented individual kills, that giant was worth at least two men in Tyrions eyes.

All the men breathed a sigh of relief, and Tyrion counted up the men with his finger.

Three, four, five. . . six plus me. We had nine going in.

The troops noticed what Tyrion was doing, and counted for themselves. They all bowed their heads for a moment and fell silent. Respect for those that died, and those that helped make that a success. He owed those dead his life, because each of those men played an important part in their victory.

They sat and rested for a moment to catch their breath and regain their composure.

* * *

"Look at that," one of the men said, pointing west, "looks like we made it out."

The night sky could be seen, not too far off, where the forest ended. They finally made it out of their prison, and out to safety.

"Well," Tyrion said, trying to stand, "let's get moving."

[Tyrion]

They spent the next few hours stumbling across the plains of Western Radasanthia, before finally arriving at the gates of Radasanth. They were finally home, finally free, and most of all, finally safe. They all had talk that they were quitting the military the second they got back, especially after surviving that hellish ordeal.

Some of the younger soldiers said they were going back to their parents or their girls, and the veterans just wanted to go home to their wives and kids. When Tyrion really thought about it, he didn't have anything other then the army. His wife died of a plague years ago, his parents lived halfway across the world, and he didn't even have so much as a house. When he couldn't spend time sleeping at the garrison barracks, he spent it at the inn.

But there was no way in hell he was going through anything like that again, so he was just going to have to find some way to adjust to a normal life. Maybe he'd get some sort of honest job and make a living. Maybe even buy a house?

Or maybe he'd become a mercenary? A sword-for-hire, soldier of fortune, make his money that way.

Whatever he ended up actually doing, he'd decide in the morning.

"I'm not even going to the barracks. I don't ever want to see that goddamn place again. I'm just going to the inn." Tyrion said, upon entering the city limits.

"So what should we tell the Lieutenant?" asked one of the men.

"Dammit. . ." Tyrion though for a moment, "just tell him I'm fucking KIA."

And with that, they went their separate ways.

((since I mostly consider this to be an extension of my history, I'm not asking for any monetary rewards or gear or anything like that. the only major updates to Tyrion is that he ditched his armour, and he quit the military))

[INDK]

Maybe my memory doesn’t serve me well, but this thread is a lot better than anything I remember seeing from you before George. Congratulations! Don’t know what you were doing away from Althanas, but it probably helped!

And the total is 66.

Storyline

Continuity: 7. This would have been higher if I knew something about who your character was before all this started and who and why he was fighting. I didn’t need much, just something would have helped. Keep in mind most war stories are told from “real” wars, so people already know what the bad guys and the good guys are about. Perhaps you might have wanted to piggyback this on a previous quest.

Setting: 8. This was very good. As a North American, I had all these allusions to war movies about the U.S. in Southeast Asia, and that made my imagination begin to run rampant. Excellent use of both archetypes like foliage and diction suited to modern warfare. It was done in ways that were not tacky but added excitement.

Pacing: 7 This was awesome at the beginning, but the action really fell too quickly. Things I felt were more exciting when Tyrion was strategizing for his platoon than when he was fighting Graeluk. I’m being a bit generous here, because of how impressed I was in the early going.

Character

Dialogue: 4. In particular with the NPCs, but to some extent with Tyrion at well, I found myself wondering if the spoken dialogue was things that characters might actually say. In particular, I’d imagine in the heat of battle, words would be quick and heated, probably not even in complete sentences. The way your characters spoke seemed more appropriate for a dinner party.

Action: 6. Your battle strategy was somewhat above mere hack and slash, but your fight with Graeluk left much to be desired.

Persona: 6. While I felt I got a good enough image of Tyrion the soldier here, I didn’t really understand his final decision. Was he worried about being termed a deserter? Was he just sick of war? I couldn’t really figure out why he wanted to leave the army.

Writing Style

Mechanics: 8. No real complaints or qualms in this regard.

Techniques: 4 I didn’t really see much here that really stretched you, and while I understand you kept trying to write with a sense of urgency, there are techniques you can use that are neither verbose nor overly flowery.

Clarity: 9. This was one area where you were very strong.

Wild Card: 7. One of the real things I liked about this thread was that it was the kind of thread I don’t see every day. Good job on that regard.

Spoils
Tyrion receives 667 EXP and 120 GP

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP added! Good job Tyrion!