Like those in N.E.W., various short scenes are used throughout O.L.D. to bring the game to life. Here's one example. If this piece of text (from Wade Rockett) doesn't make you want to play O.L.D., nothing will. Plus, you have no soul!
The tall, graceful elf sat alone at the writing desk in her tent. On it lay the still unused journal her betrothed gave her before she left for the border. Well, she thought, no time like the present to make an entry. She opened it to the first page, took up her fountain pen, and wrote:
I am Capt. Agathe Drake, daughter of the house of Albanus. Today, it seems, I am very likely to die.
Outside, lightning flashed; seconds later came the rumble of thunder. “Awful weather for a massacre,” she muttered.
“Ma’am?” Drake looked up to see Lt. Ivo in the doorway. His cloak was drenched and rain poured from the broad brim of his hat. “Sentries report goblins to the northeast.”
“How many?”
“Thousands, ma’am.”
She nodded grimly and stood, straightening her tunic. “Right. Time to let War-Chief Korkush know what elves are made of.”
“Steel and starlight, captain.”
“Steel and starlight, Ivo.”
The goblin army appeared at the crest in less than an hour. The elves could see them standing in ranks in the pouring rain, their banners held high and their spearheads glinting whenever lightning flashed. Drake had hoped the sentries’ report was exaggerated, but as she gazed on them with a practiced eye she estimated at least two thousand on the field. She could see War-Chief Korkush with his captains, and could imagine the smile on the crafty old goblin’s face as he counted the elven muskets arrayed against him.
“I rather hoped there’d be more,” Cpl. Skarskad said drily.
Here they come,” Ivo murmered. A roar went up from the goblin ranks, and several hundred warriors began to charge the eastern wall. The elves at the barricades squared their shoulders, their mouths set in grim lines as they readied their muskets.
"At one hundred yards, volley fire, present!" Ivo shouted. The earth shook with the thunder of the goblin’s charge.
"Aim!" A hundred musket barrels snapped into position.
"Fire!" With a deafening crash the musketeers fired into the charging goblins, spitting fire from their muzzles and filling the air with a cloud of blinding, acrid smoke. Through it Drake heard screams of pain, rage and fear as the elf-shot found its deadly mark.
"Volley by ranks! Right rank, fire!" Ivo shouted. Another volley tore into the goblin army. Drake could see warriors falling into the mud, to be trampled by their oncoming fellows.
"Front rank, fire! Rear rank fire, reload!" With a precision like dwarven clockwork the musketeers took turns cutting down swaths of the enemy. But it wasn’t enough, and in moments the goblins were at the walls, stabbing with swords and spears, trying to wrest the muskets from the defenders’ hands. The musketeers fought back with their bayonets and sabres. Some drew charged wands designed for close-range fighting and aimed blasts of frost and fire at their foes.
Drake unsnapped the holster at her hip and drew her wand of ash. Pointing it at the sky she cried out in the ancient tongue. A fountain of golden sparks leaped from its tip, rising a hundred feet in the air. They swirled, coalesced, and all at once the sign of the Summer Queen blazed brightly overhead. A cheer went up from the defenders.
“Steel and starlight!” she shouted. And drawing her blade, Agathe Drake leaped into battle with a song in her heart.
The tall, graceful elf sat alone at the writing desk in her tent. On it lay the still unused journal her betrothed gave her before she left for the border. Well, she thought, no time like the present to make an entry. She opened it to the first page, took up her fountain pen, and wrote:
I am Capt. Agathe Drake, daughter of the house of Albanus. Today, it seems, I am very likely to die.
Outside, lightning flashed; seconds later came the rumble of thunder. “Awful weather for a massacre,” she muttered.
“Ma’am?” Drake looked up to see Lt. Ivo in the doorway. His cloak was drenched and rain poured from the broad brim of his hat. “Sentries report goblins to the northeast.”
“How many?”
“Thousands, ma’am.”
She nodded grimly and stood, straightening her tunic. “Right. Time to let War-Chief Korkush know what elves are made of.”
“Steel and starlight, captain.”
“Steel and starlight, Ivo.”
The goblin army appeared at the crest in less than an hour. The elves could see them standing in ranks in the pouring rain, their banners held high and their spearheads glinting whenever lightning flashed. Drake had hoped the sentries’ report was exaggerated, but as she gazed on them with a practiced eye she estimated at least two thousand on the field. She could see War-Chief Korkush with his captains, and could imagine the smile on the crafty old goblin’s face as he counted the elven muskets arrayed against him.
“I rather hoped there’d be more,” Cpl. Skarskad said drily.
Here they come,” Ivo murmered. A roar went up from the goblin ranks, and several hundred warriors began to charge the eastern wall. The elves at the barricades squared their shoulders, their mouths set in grim lines as they readied their muskets.
"At one hundred yards, volley fire, present!" Ivo shouted. The earth shook with the thunder of the goblin’s charge.
"Aim!" A hundred musket barrels snapped into position.
"Fire!" With a deafening crash the musketeers fired into the charging goblins, spitting fire from their muzzles and filling the air with a cloud of blinding, acrid smoke. Through it Drake heard screams of pain, rage and fear as the elf-shot found its deadly mark.
"Volley by ranks! Right rank, fire!" Ivo shouted. Another volley tore into the goblin army. Drake could see warriors falling into the mud, to be trampled by their oncoming fellows.
"Front rank, fire! Rear rank fire, reload!" With a precision like dwarven clockwork the musketeers took turns cutting down swaths of the enemy. But it wasn’t enough, and in moments the goblins were at the walls, stabbing with swords and spears, trying to wrest the muskets from the defenders’ hands. The musketeers fought back with their bayonets and sabres. Some drew charged wands designed for close-range fighting and aimed blasts of frost and fire at their foes.
Drake unsnapped the holster at her hip and drew her wand of ash. Pointing it at the sky she cried out in the ancient tongue. A fountain of golden sparks leaped from its tip, rising a hundred feet in the air. They swirled, coalesced, and all at once the sign of the Summer Queen blazed brightly overhead. A cheer went up from the defenders.
“Steel and starlight!” she shouted. And drawing her blade, Agathe Drake leaped into battle with a song in her heart.
