The Secret Adventures of Oliveloaf Cromwell
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Rules set: House 25mm fantasy rules
Miniatures: Smorgasbord
It was a dark day in the land of the Dragon King. Civil war burned with baleful fire, its
kindling the common man. From the dark
Northlands and the Western coast came the zealot rebel Oliveloaf Cromwell,
striking ever deeper into the heart of the land. He preached a new age of piety and liberation. Never again would a hedonist King rule from
Eastminster. Depravity would be chased
into the sea, sin forbidden, purity made the highest of all values. Of the unwashed, the people of the soil,
many flocked to his cause.
But wise men knew better, and knew fear. For his intent to outlaw sex would in one
generation have been the end of us all.
Thus it was that King Rickhart Draconis took the field to
champion our heritage and traditions.
Few could doubt his conviction, for never had King Rickhart turned a disapproving eye upon the amatory
arts. Nor did the House of Draconis, or
of any nearby nobleman possessed of an attractive wife or daughter, lack for
blood heirs to the King.
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Dazzling pyrotechnics flash from behind the battlemented
city walls of Muleborough. King
Rickhart’s besieging army takes cover behind their mantlets, but it is no
sortie. Deep within, Cromwell’s high
acolytes are attempting to purify the city’s notorious red light
district. It is said that the
energies they called forth were so powerful that even the stained glass
windows of the cathedral were washed to clear panes.
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Outside the gate, a brave squad of halbardiers stands in
the gap.
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And the news comes in … Lord Cromwell’s main army
approaches! If King Rickhart is to
prevail, he must take Muleborough by nightfall. Drums roll. Horns
sound. And the air is thick with the
thunder of boots … .
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The halbardiers are thrown back as knights in armor assail
the gate. Asian mercenaries flank
them to the right, while behind them the arquebusiers of Eastminster cover
their approach.
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Behind the wall, mortars spout smoke and death as
reinforcements are rushed to the gate.
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The lizard folk had made a dark pact with Cromwell,
gambling on the expectation that laying eggs in fetid pools would be no human’s idea
of “sex.”
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Lumbering siege towers are mired in the moat, but not
before their bridges reach the walls.
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The defenders struggle with vicious passion against the
assault.
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But King Rickhart’s host give them a relentless pounding.
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And when shadows grow long, the tide of battle is
unmistakable. As many a maiden has
yielded in King Rickhart’s bedchamber, so yields Muleborough to his army.
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And so the good King gained the city. And there was much revelry in the streets,
and joy was in the hearts of all.
Except perhaps in the hearts of the defending troops. And the merchants and householders whose
buildings were ignited in the fighting or looted afterward. And such locals as may have been hanged on
scanty evidence for complicity with the enemy.
And any of the local women who had not found a suitable hiding place by
the time the incoming soldiers were granted an evening’s liberty. But such are not things fit for the
attentions of the victor’s historian … .
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