inverted1

Number four in the Colours of War saga see the introduction of the last of the main characters (at least those that i've planned.) The next story goes back to Pvt Carter in the Alara region. Anyways, comment and enjoy! The Colours of War The Faithful Part 1 of the Capture of Port Saphire Steam rose off Hikawa RyutaroÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s head as the sea spray washed over him. He lent further forward on the safety barrier to try to catch as much spray as possible. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅCareful Hikawa, drowning after falling off a lander isnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t the most heroic death.ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

ya, good poem, different and pensive. Not genius, but a damn good piece of work. 8/10 kittens. I love kittens also. They go great with ketchup.

well it looked ok on my spellcheck... say Xewleer, what happened to the review deal with sephy? i have 2 more of these things ready to go

The Colours of War The Pilots Part 1 of the Kessel Raid The summer afternoon sky was a brilliant deep azure, the blazing sun lancing straight through Karl MarkenÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s shades. There wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t a cloud in the sky. His Thunderbolt, Serial 743, was running perfectly, all systems green. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅCutlass flight, this is cutlass leader. Turn 40 degrees right on my mark. Mark.ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

Ok... I wrote this as a blog for my myspace n its gone down well, so I figured I'd post it here. Its basically a story of my experiences in Spain three years ago. Enjoy. The Story of the Que Fuerte Well, J has written 3 damn impressive blogs, so I thought id give it a shot with the 1st Spanish exchange. Whether IÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ll get Kudos or lynching is another matterÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ Note: Firstly, I apologise to any real gods and ask everyone to remember that all religions are true for the given value of truth. Secondly, this is not an exact account of the Spanish exchange, my memories are vague at best and some of the facts may have been changed slightly for a cheap laugh. Finally, to the RosalesÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s, if youÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢re reading this, donÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t for one second think that I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t have the best time en tu casa, you know how much I love you guys! Part 1: A brave leap sideways As I waved to my family as the bus lurched out of the school gates, the reality of what I was doing dawned on me. I had allowed myself to be taken on a two-week exchange trip to Spain, where I would stay with a Spanish family. In their house. On my own. Oh [cabbage]. We were going. There was no backing out or dodging or putting off or hurriedly changing the subject anymore, it was actually happening. What was I thinking? I didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t even want to go, I only signed up to stop my mother from harassing me about it. My Spanish was bollocks and I would be on my own. Well, thatÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s not strictly true, I told myself and looked around the bus as discreetly as possible to see who I knew. Behind me was Dan, Josh and Jamie, who were vague friends from breaks and lunches, with Ku, LozÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s friend in my Spanish class. Then there was Rhi, a girl in my form who I got on OK with. She was clearly an exchange old timer, daughter of the teacher in charge with an exchange partner who came to England once a year. Then there was Liz Radley and Kate Allen, the other two girls in my year. Behind them was an assortment of imposing (to me) older kids. To my front was Jakki Moxon in her trademark flowery dress and an anoraked-up short guy with a faintly worried expression. I was later to discover that he was Mr John ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅThe LockÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

cheers larrr very stupid question again, but... which month now?

ello all hate to moan, but where is my review? :-k

either of you guys can do mine. Coz I have the next 3 Colours of War done and ready to go :D

say Sephy, when is my next review up? I don't mean to complain, just to clarify n whatnot

hellu! can one of you review the next installment of The Colours of War please? it be here: http://forum.tip.it/viewtopic.php?t=678731

The Colours of War The Old Salts Part 1 of the Cadarian Sea Conflict All that could be heard was the deep thrum of The Sea HawkÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s twin diesel/gas turbines and the mournful creaking of the cabin slowly tilting from left to right. What a bunch of misfits, Alexi Kolmya thought to himself as he surveyed the ships officers before him. Captain Kolmya slowly gazed at each one in turn. He started with Lieutenant Valmir, the weapons department commander. Despite the fact that he was standing rigidly to attention, he seemed poised to leap into action. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅSo, Mr Valmir, you are the Weapons Officer.ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

this looks great so far - looking forward to seeing more of it

how about mine?

how about mine?

sounds fair. i look forward to my review!

im not too bothered who does the Colours of War, so long as one of you do it. Its been there for a while now.....

Could one of you guys do the Colours of War: The Conscriptees sometime?

say, sephiroth since your back, have a look at my latest fic (The Colours of War: The Conscriptees)

If anyone plays Advanced wars they'll know what this is about. The Colours of War Conscriptees Part 1of the Alara War The wood seemed empty, Carter reasoned. Still, he could be very wrong. The wood could easily swallow a tank unit without a trace. Carter almost wished that was the case, with artillery and air support to boot. That way heÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢d see some real action in this damn war. The Alara region of Orange star had been disputed by Blue Moon since the beginning of the two countries existence, but in recent history, there had been no real hostility. However, under the command of C.O Olaf, a wave of Blue Moon troops had swept through the area, in a deadly surprise attack. That was two months ago. Since then, Orange StarÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s chief C.O Nell had battled OlafÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s forces to a standstill. And Orange Star had mobilized. Commercial factories had been converted to make weapons, tanks, planes, guns, and bombs. The Army had been placed on high alert, cities had been fortified, civilians evacuated, plans drawn. Orange Star was going to war. And the call had gone out. Men from all walks of life were called to serve. Tankers, pilots, sailors, drivers, medics, cooks, engineers, Soldiers. That was why Ben Carter, apprentice baker, was advancing towards this wood in Alara wearing an Orange Star infantry uniform that was still stiff and uncomfortable and was cradling a Mark 5 machine gun at the hip. Along side him were four other members of his squad who, like his equipment, were still unfamiliar. He had only met them three days ago, when he shipped out from basic training. On his left, roughly five meters away, was Pvt Roy West, a lean, rugged man native to Alara. His eyes were scanning the land with fiery vengeance to reclaim his homeland. Despite his fierce personality, Carter liked him. When he wasnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t raring to personally retake Alara, he was friendly and sociable. On Carters right was his squad leader, Sergeant Howard. Everyone else in the squad was new, ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅConscripteesÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ

thanks! I know that the plot is slightly cheesy, but im going to mix in some nasty stuff too.

ok then. ahem.... i offically request a review of my story, The Tale of Kouldris the Redeemed, please. ahem.

Yeah, take a look at my fic plz. Im currently writing the sequel too. Watch this space!

thanks for the reviews :D im currently writing a sequel, so tell your friends! Erm, where is this review topic? I can't seem to find it or I would post on it...

hey there everyone. Im new to this forum. Hi. I wrote this ages ago and only just remembered it. i thought it post it here, see what you guys thought. So enjoy, and please comment. The Tale of Kouldris the Redeemed This is not a story of how things happened, But how they could happen. So keep your blades sharp, and your bows strung. In the Beginning The Blue Moon tavern was packed to the rafters with the citizens of Varrok and the adventurers of Runescape. The fire glowed and crackled in its hearth, beer tankards rose merrily and contented laughter rung about the place. Outside it was freezing cold, one of the worst winters in living memory, but inside the building there was warmth and happiness. It was day off for the palace servants, and they wanted to spend their hard earned wages. The people were happy. Except one. In the corner furthest from the fire a tall figure was slouched against the thick wall. He wore a dark green cloak, with its hood concealing his face, a hardened leather jerkin over an olive shirt, green trousers covered leather chaps and tough knee length leather boots. On his arms were dull steel vambraces, shoulder guards and worn gloves. He had a fearsome long sword, nearly two-thirds his length around his waist, along with numerous pouches attached to his belt. There was an unspoken agreement between him and the other drinkers. He sat as far away from them as he could and they sat as far away from him as they could. Although nobody knew, his name was Kouldris and he was in trouble. His life had never been good, but he seemed to have things sorted out. The criminal gang had given him a roof over his head and gave him the chance to prove himself. He was the rising star in their ranks, an expert at stagecoach ambushes and attacking travellers, doing quite well. Although he had pangs of guilt sometimes, he had ignored them. Until that one night where everything had gone wrong. He was now a wanted man by the Varrok City guard, The Blood Wolves, his own gang and about seven other criminal rings. But this was not what was now bothering him. He was well into his pint and his conscience was nagging him. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¹ÃâYou canÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t remember the last time you did a good deed. Not One. You are a criminal. You have brought misery upon yourself and others. You have wasted your life. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ His train of thought was by a gust of freezing air, as a party of men arrived. They were a rough lot; five in total all swaying on their feet. Daggers were barely concealed in boots or at sides and their bodies were covered with scars and tattoos. Behind them, one dragged a small girl, who was sobbing quietly. They slumped towards their stools, one dragging the girl in clad in rags behind. She resisted for a second and the man beat fiercely her around her head. ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâ¦Ã¢â¬ÅMove dam you, slave, move!ÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬ÃâÃ