The Guardians of the Legend were protecting a Sword of Great Legends from all persons, even themselves. A Lord by the name of Grifindor arrived with an impressive army of at least 20 well armed men, and demanded access to the Sword. He was promptly denied access. His plan of intimidation failing, he turned his back and moved down the hill.
Moments later, he and all of his men turned around in a fit of rage, swords raised and lances at the ready. I called my men to arms, we stood 6 strong, 3 archers, 2 light cavalrymen and one heavy cavalryman. The ensuing battle was likely the most intense moment (in PW) of my entire existence. Horses slain, men dismounted, arrows in the air, the battle soon looked hopeless when the enemy mob was able to reach our archers. In a stroke of luck, the enemy's inexperienced warhorses were unwilling to traverse the rough terrain located inside of our small, ruined encampment. The archers were spared, for now. Myself and my cavalrymen were more than occupied fighting up to 5 enemy horsemen at a time, attempting to support one another when possible. Slowly, however, the enemy's massive force made it impossible to effectively pick any of the enemy off. After slaying one enemy, I began a tactical retreat down the hill to get a better fighting arena for my horse. My allies maintained the defense on the hill as long as they could, but none of them survived the battle.
Taking my trusty lance, one by one I picked off the enemy's fastest cavalrymen. I kept retreating into a wheatfield, in an attempt to get away from my attackers. They, however, were not tricked and continued to give chase. Continuing in the battle, I was able to finish off an unbelievable 18 men in total. Despite this, the enemy Lord Grifindor claimed the hill fort as his own, and, more importantly, stole the Sword right out of the ground. I was forced to retreat into the forest for hiding, lest I be slain. My wounds were gaping, however I knew I could trust the support of some friends.
In the forest was a tribe of Rangers, old friends and battle partners. Many times before we have helped each other stave off hopeless odds, and I knew they wold support me in my time of need. After short deliberation and conversation, they agreed to help in my attempt to reclaim the Sword. Over the next month (15 minutes) I gathered some vagrant knights and old friends to help defeat the mightly Lord Grifindor in a final battle.
Scouts reported that Grifindor and all of his men were holding a melee and jousting tournament in the local arena. After consulting the leader of the Rangers, we decided to set an ambush and make an ultimatum: return the Sword, or face the consequences. Travelling down from the mountains with my new allies, we set up outside the only entrance to the arena. The Rangers made an arc formation around the door, as to shoot hostiles upon leaving. I set my cavalry a slight distance away from the door, on both sides, ready to charge. Shouting in the loudest voice I could (I still had not fully recovered from my wounds), I demanded the Sword be returned to it's rightful place. Unsurprisingly, the request was denied with vigor. I gave another shout, informing them of the impending action to be taken against them. That got their attention, and the entire tournament halted to find out what was going on. Lord Grifindor, angered by this disruption, sent his men against mine.
The Rangers immediately began firing, and I gave the order to charge. Grifindor's men were easily picked off by a combination of expert archer volleys and cavalry charges. Seeing that his men were getting slaughtered, the Lord Grifindor himself stepped towards the arena door, Legendary Sword in hand. I made a special sweep in an attempt to strike him down before he could cause damage. He dodged my blow, but it did not save him from being pelted with arrows. The battle began to die down, however it was far from over. Some of the enemy's ranged units mounted the walls of the arena and began to fire upon my men. My steed took a bolt to the side, but was still able to give chase to Lord Grifindor, who mounted a riderless horse. In a final chase to the end, Grifindor's desire for blood ended up in the cause for his death, he was distracted by the Rangers when I was able to give him a great slash to his side, killing both his horse and him. I immediately swung back around and picked up the Sword that caused all of this bloodshed.
I called out to my men that I would be returning the Sword, and they knew it was time for a tactical retreat. The arena was still pouring out with men, ready for vengeance for their leader. I made a break through the chaos towards the hill that was the home of the Sword. Riding with the wind at my back, I was able to quickly return the Sword. The ex-Lord Grifindor left the ruins unguarded, leaving it extremely easy to return the Sword back to where it belonged.
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