Tales of Calradia (Formerly Warband story and literature thread)

Welcome to Tales of Calradia.
  I made this thread because I thought it's time we had a place to write the stories of Warband.  Write warstories, wooings, Calradian folktales, legends, histories, poems, song (tavern song inluded), or even just short stories.  Try not to use too much foul language, and keep sexuality from overwhelming this thread.  Do not post large works (3000 words or more) unless seperated into several posts.  Please do not post things like: "...me and Harlues killed vagir scum, neer Alburk..." and write your best.  Remeber, all types of literature is allowed.

I will begin this thread with a story

The Decision

  "Lord Anaer!" shouted a bloodied soldier in a deep voice.  He was the thinnest thing Count Anaer had seen.  But then again, he had seen little.  Anaer gritted his teeth.  Ymira had sewn up his leg.  She wasn't very good at it and it had been in a hurry.  He looked back.  The crashing of axes and swords, the screams of men, Swadian and Vaegir alike filled the night.  The Swadians he left behind were his friends.  His countrymen who had come to save him.  They had walked into a trapp.  Clais was wounded in the back, tredian was on his heels, and Ryis was surronded.
  The soldier ran next to his horse:  "We can't keep up this pace! My brother is wounded, my father is hobbling on his good leg.  And we aren't the only ones."  Anaer looked at this mans face.  He was haggard and torn, with a bloody axe at his side.
  "Your a nord?" asked Anaer.  "Ambean I think." The man nodded:
  "Born and raised," he said.  "I'm going to be married there next June.  My father was an old soldier though and Swadian too.  Wanted to go on one more before he died."  Anaer smiled with his mouth but couldn't with his eyes.
  "We are glad to have you with us," he said.  "I'll see what I can do."  The soldier saluted him and headed back in line.  Bunduk rode up beside him.
  "Sir, We can't keep this up," he said.  "The Vaegirs are gaining."
  Anaer sighed, "I know..."

  "Sir! Vaegirs are riding fast on us!" said an old knight.  "They are under banner of truce."  Anaer sat up.  He saw dust up the road a little.  His saw the heraldry of Boyar Valishan.  Anaer had fought him less then an hour ago.  The Boyar rode up to him.
  "Anaer de Amai!" he shouted.  "The day isn't yours, you may have beaten me, but up this road, the King awaits you!  I also know that you are running from my men down the road!  Surrender!"
  Anaer felt something he hadn't felt since boyhood.  Fear.  He and his men were in no condition to fight.
  "Surrender and you will be well treated," he said.  Anaer looked back at his men.  They were broken from the defeat.  They had left their kin's corpses behind.  He had never said these words till today.
  "Is there any way you can let me pass."  The boyar had known Anaer as a worthy adversary who never backed down from a fight.  Until now.  For a moment he sat in his saddle stunned.  "I beg you on behalf of every man I command, let me pass."
  The Boyar cleared his throat:  "I can't let you pass Anaer.  I can't let my feeling on this decide the matter.  You must surrender.  It is the only honorable thing to do."  Anaer dismounted, gritting his teeth.  He walked up to the Boyar...and kneeled.
  "I beg you to let me pass," he said.  Tearsfilled his eyes.
  "I can't Anaer..."

  As the Vaegirs departed Anaer.  His mind raced.  He remembered his wife ten miles down the road at their halls in Sargoth.  He remembered he promised he would return to her.  He remembered her kiss, and his lips ached.  He rembered Ryis down the road.  He remembered clapping hand with him on his wedding day.  He remembered Harleus and his haggard eyes, Clais and his brokeb eyes, Tredian and his angry leer.  He remembered the men hobbling behind him.  he remember the innocents in Sargoth, how if they didn't return what the Vaegirs would do.  They would burn the homes, raping the women in them.  They would slit the childrens throats, and make the garrision watch before they slit their throats.  How they would break into the great hall and see Lady Elys...lovely Elys.  He thought of the ragged soldier's filthy hands on his wifes body.
  He screamed out.  He saw his only path.
  "Bunduk!' he shouted.  "Gather the men, and get the lots..."

  The soldier watched him come.  He wanted to spare them this.  He wanted to tell them they could win.  They couldn't.
  "Men of Swadia,' he said.  "We can't escape at the pace we are going.  In two hours the Vaegirs will slay us all, and they will raze Sargoth."  The men shouted out.  Some wanted to fight.  Some wanted to run.  "We can't all make it home.  Draw lots, whoever draw the short will stay behind and hold them...when the rest escape."  Shouts of horror filled the air.  Bunduk was able to quiet them and the lots were drawn.  Howls of terror, sighs of relief, and sobbing rang about.  Anaer's heart was breaking when he saw the young soldier who talked to.  His hands were shaking.  He had picked a short.  He looked up at Anaer.  Some had cursed him.  Some had begged him.  But this one smiled at him.
  "I suppose Elly will be waiting a long time for me,' he said.  "Milord," he said looking up at him.  "Tell 'er I love 'er if you ever see her."  Anaer howled inside.  "It was my honor to serve you milord."
  Anaer clasped the shaking hand.  "I am the one who was honored."

  In fifteen minutes, the chosen were left to die as the rest escaped.  Anaer made it to Sargoth but the other Swadians were not as lucky.  Most of them weren't...

What a great idea to make this and what a great story, hehe i even got the chills at one point

Ill think of a story to put in later

Thanks, I'm hoping I wont be alone in this thread.

This thread should be in the Duck & Spackle Tavern.

Keep up.

True.  But I was thinking that this is WB players, and would be out of place in the duck and spackle.

 
    Swadians charged down the hill, right into the middle of Vaegirs. The suprise moment was on their side. Vaegir troops had no chance to win. King Harlaus, in middle of battle rubble, where Vaegir elite troops were fighting for their lives. He had thrown he's shield away before battle, sayng that he doesn't need that to fight those Vaegir barbarians. He had given he's plate armor to a random farmer. The King's sword was colored red from Vaegir blood, he's face was  unrecognisable from the blood of the fallen Vaegirs. Lord Plais was fightin on the second front and chasing down the boyars who tried to run away from Swadians.

Screams  of the dying Vaegirs was in the air, waiting to be quieted by the sword of a Swadian Knight.
The day belonged to Swadia.

This is one of the tales of the "War of Vaegirs and Swadians-Truth about King Harlaus". (To be continued)



Sorry if my English is bad, I'm twelve and from Estonia.

Bravo!  Very good.  I hope to see more.

Edit: Your twelve? How did you learn such good english.  Also, some advice, give more detail, but not too much more when you write.

Computer games, movies and a little bit from my English lessons from school. But from school I had also have to learn words like: car,apple,man etc. So most of my English still comes from other places.

You are very good at english if those are your primary sources.

Edit: Oh, and long live Swadia.

"Let's get that bastard! I heard he raped three women during the looting of Ruluns." said Lord Clais.

Click to expand...

Id change that line, might be hard for a man to get it "over and done" with 3 women in one sitting.

liked your story though, brought me back a memory of my war with the vaegirs...charging 1000+ vaegirs alongside the King and his men

  I doubt Clais would have qualms about Vaegirs raping peasants.

I would prefer less thinking upon such matters though

Sorry for my spelling and whole my English but i'm not native english speaker.
It was dark, rainy night Wulf woke up from his sleep with a scream.
- What is it dear husband? - Sonadel asked.
- Your father...
- What about my father?
- I saw him covered in blood with hundreds of pikes around him.
- It was just a bad dream go back to sleep Wulfie
- You are right it was just a dream, goodnight dear.
Just as he laid down again he heard his guard voice behind the door.
- Count wake up. I have a report from scouts.
- I'll read it tomorrow.
- It's really urgent, it's about rhodoks.
- Go Wulfie it must be urgent if he came here to wake you up.
- Right I'll go read it and come back to you in one moment so don't get up honey.
Wulf came out of the bed put his housecoat and went to the hall.
- Show me this report soldier. - He said thinking why this soldier is so pale they should have enough food and he told the cook to give bigger portions to raise morale.
- Right sir - Soldier gave him opened wet letter he recognized Deshavi's writing instantly.
' Count Grainwad lost the battle with huge rhodoks army under Count Etrosq command, he didn't make it to Ergellon castle and was imprisoned by rhodoks. Etrosq is advancing in the direction of Uxhal which i think he will besiege. Count Delinard don't stand a chance with this army. I will continue scouting on them until you give me new orders.
Wulf made his decision when he was still reading. He took a pen and wrote quickly 'Go to Uxhal we will meet there'
- Gather all man soldier and send messenger to Deshavi with this letter, also send messengers to Klargus and Devlian tell them that rhodoks are going to attack Uxhal and i'm asking them to land me a hand.
He returned to the the bedroom quickly clothes and put on his clothes.
- What happend darling? Sonadel asked
- Your father was captured and rhodoks are going to attack Uxhal soon. I'm going to help defending Uxhal.
- Father... Father was imprisoned? How? It's impossible! -Sonadel started crying.
- Don't worry i will save him soon i promise sweetheart. - He said while he was leaving the room.
He went out of the castle and met Firentis waiting for him near the city gates.
- What happend? Where are we going Wulf?
- Rhodoks are attacking this scum Etrosq thinks that he can take Uxhal.
- No way, rhodoks should be treating their wounds after last campaign.
- I don't believe it too but it happend and we must fight them again.
- Get mounted man, we are going to kill some rhodoks! - Firentis shouted.
- HAIL!

When they were one day road from Uxhal messenger from Klargus arrived.
- What is Klargus answer?
- My lord Count Klargus will give his full support he told me to give You this message 'Let's meet at Uxhal and kill as many rhodoks as we will see' that's what he said.
- Tell your lord that i'm gratefull and i won't forget his help.
- Let us meet gain my liege.
Wulf was really reliefed cause he knew he wouldn't stand a chance with just Delinards army and uxhal garrison.
- That's great news my liege.
- Yes Firentis but i'm still waiting for massage from Devlian messenger should arrive yesterday.
- We don't know if our messenger reached him cause i've got reports that rhodoks desserters are attacking travelers on the road.
- I hope he will show up.
- We should get going.
- Yes order our men to set out.
While travelling to Uxhal they met small rhodoks party but they ran too fast so Wulf didn't pursue them.

Next morning they arrived at Uxhal and met with Klargus before going to the castle. They were shocked with what they saw in town and heard from Delinard
- Devlian betrayed us! He took half of the garrison telling me he need them to take care of some rhodoks parties near border and didn't returned.
- Maybe he was defeated?
- I really don't know. Wulf it's a shame for me but i'm scared of what will happen in two days.
- Don't panic Delinard. Matbe we don't stand a chance defending in siege but we can win on the open field. You have to be brave cause your man will look at you.
- Wulf is right. We can... no, we must win! Think of all these people in town and what rhodoks will do to them.
- You two are right siting here crying and shacking won't solve anything I will go with you and die with You if we have to but I will not let any rhodok scum take one step into this city.
- That's the spirit. I will now go to my scouts and hear about enemy i'll be back in  one hour and we wil decide how we will defeat them.
- I'll tell my militia what to do when we depart.
Wulf went to his camp in front of the city gate.
- Good to see you my liege
- I'm glad you are save Deshavi. What do you know about the enemy.
- Yes, there's about 2000 men half of them are recruits but there are many veterans and sharpshooters, most of the rhodok lords are accompanying Etrosq. They have plenty of food prepared for a siege so they are slow. I think we can fight them only on flat terrain and we have to take care of crossbowman and sharpshooters first.
- They are slow so we can let our man rest until tomorrow. We will fight them near town cause there's plenty of flat grass fields. Firentis.
- Yes my liege.
- Tell Delinard and Klargus that we will depart tomorrow and that they should let their man drink some wine cause tomorrow many will die.
To be continued...

Good, I thought no one would see this little thread.

I'm better at reading than writing in english. But your story about my beloved swadia inspired me

Thank you, Long live Swadia!

  Harleus sat in his high wooden throne.  He slouched in his chair, holding a tankard.  He was old.  Old and decreipt.  Weak as well.  He remembered when his name was remembered for the meaning it held.  In the old tongue, Harleus meant strength.  Harleus was fear.  Now the name hung on every fools tongue, every gossips breath, or by the young, forgotten.
  Long ago he had won his throne from a girl.  A strong-willed hot-headed girl.  Back then, he was a Duke, from a minor house in a minor providence.  His throne had hung on the support of men he thought were his friends.
  They were little more then the bandits they routinly butchered.  Greedy fools who wanted his friendship less then those who said they hated him.  They whispered sweet music in his ear, and daggers into his eyes.  He hated them.
  He sat there, comtemplating the slave, who, after toiling for a day could lay his head on his pillow and close his eyes and dream.  A king could not.  He sat back in his windowless hall, devoured in the night...   

hmm i will give it a try. Dont expect any miracles though, and excuse my english sometimes. It isnt perfect.

An army rode east to the sunset, a mighty army, a well trained army, and a country's last hope.
A Lord was in command of that party, a lord who no one knew just 1 year back. His army was honed from battle and training, from hardship and hunger. The army loved their commander. Now he was known as the bravest commander in Calradia. Fighting east and west, throwing his life into danger for his men and country, he inspired his men to great deeds. And now he was Swadia's last hope.

His name would go down into the history books, whatever the outcome of the war. Lord Aemon.

Lord Aemon looked behind him, his army strung out on the road behind him. He knew, that the battle to come, would decide his fate, and of his kingdom. ''Mylord, our scouts report there is a large battle raging only 5 miles from here!''. Alarmed, Aemon swung in his saddle to look at the man.''Are you serious Borcha? How can it be our scouts only now picked it up''? ''The scouts were circumspect mylord, they wanted to know what was going on and as such it took more time''.Aemon looked at Alayen. ''Alayen, ride ahead and try to reach our men there. Tell them we are coming''. '' DOUBLE TIME'' he shouted to his army, and they increased their speed, and Aemon fervently hoped they were in time.

''Lord Grainwad! The line is wavering! All along the line, Swadians were fighting for their lives, fighting to survive this onslaught of Khergit troops throwing themselves against the line of Swadian bodies with no regard for their life.'' We HAVE to hold on! Grainwad shouted, he knew he was losing this battle. His army was becoming smaller with the minute. It had all collapsed when Count Harlingoth had gotten himself cut off from the army, the damned fool! '' LOOK OUT  a knight shouted to Grainwad, and he managed to parry a thrust to his heart in the nick of time with the price of a shallow slash on his arm.'' The man against him was covered in blood, be it his blood or some one elses, he could'nt see. With a mighty roar he took down the man, and he went down screaming.''RALLY MEN, RALLY TO ME''. His men, shouting as loud as they could formed a circle around him.''He cried to the heavens as the Kerghit host surrounded him.''FOR KING AND COUNTRY''. And with barely 50 men left, he charged in the mass of Khergit flesh.

''CHARGE'' Aemon shouted. His cavalry in a line on either side of him, they raced downhill to the chaotic melee that had engulfed the Swadian host. The banner was still flying proudly though, so they held on. But how long would that last? Thundering hooves of 100 knights made the very ground shake. A line of armoured beasts right from the Khergit nightmares came riding of the hill. Aemon looked to the right and left and shouted,'' SOUND THE HORNS''. A clear call came from both sides. A call that only Swadian horns made. And an answering call came from the encircled host. ''CHAAAAAAAAARGE''.

Grainwad Could'nt believe his eyes. Was this a dream? Was this really happening? He watched, enthralled how the massive line of Horsemen came bearing down on the shocked Khergits. The first were already routing before the knights even hit. It was the most beautifull sight he had ever seen. The banners with the prancing horse, white on blue was clearly seen in that line.''By god! it is Aemon''! With renewed energy, he threw himself at the panicking Khergits, they were starting to run!
And then, the cavalry hit.

Slashing left and right, Aemon was like an angel of death on the battlefield. His men on his side, they carved a bloody path through the Khergits. More and more were running now. He heard Rolf faintly through the din of battle. '' THEIR LINE IS BREAKING MYLORD''. He saw it was true, The khergit line was in disarray and he saw the banner of Count Grainwad move forward. He hoped fervently, that Grainwad still lived. ''VICTORY! VICTORY FOR SWADIA!'' he bellowed, and his men echoed his cry.

Standing on the field of battle, Aemon smiled as he looked Grainwad make his way to him. '' Great timing there Aemon, we were on the point of collapse''. Aemon nodded at the man.'' You did a marvellous job holding this host here''. ''I was afraid i would not come in time. Aemon looked around as he replied''. '' a great many have been slain here''. Alayen was wounded severly, and so were ymira and borcha''. ''I have lost 20 knights in the charge, they will be hard to replace''.

As Grainwad held out his hand, Aemon shook it.'' Aemon, i am damned happy my daughter decided to marry you''. He said with a grin.

My humble efforts, 'bout my male character, Giacomo, a mercenary.


The dice fell on the upturned shield rattling, tumbling, colliding and seperating. As they came to rest, six pairs of eyes stared at the wooden squares. A couple of coins were placed on to the shield by one of players, who scooped up the dice and tossed them down on to the shield. Once again they danced and rolled across the uneven surface, eventually coming to a halt.
Standing over the shield Giacomo, Mercenary Captain, watched the money change hands and the game continue. His attention was only half on the dice rolls, his eyes constantly flicking up to stare at the dust that rose over the ridge. His scouts had ridden back to the Company twenty minutes beforehand, give or take, and after the initial rush of activity to pull on armour and check weapons, his men had settled down to wait it out until the Swadians reached them.

Running his hand through his beard, Giacomo turned away from the dice players and looked over their position. Where he stood was at the centre of what would be his defensive position, where his fourty crossbowmen would face down the might of the enemy's charge with barrages of steel tipped bolts. To his left, where the ground dropped severely to flatten out behind their ridge, his men-at-arms were still being armed and armoured by their squires, whilst several of the crossbowmen walked the heavy destriers up and down the grassland to warm the animals muscles. Lances lay in the grass, along with shields, each one bearing the Company's field and symbol, a white wolfs head backed by a gray dagger on a black field.

Folding his arms, he shivered against the cold breeze that drifted along the ridge. Nearly summer and still the wind was cold, easily finding its way through both linen tunics he wore. The woollen grey trousers he was clad in held out far better against elements, but that was fine for his legs, as the fighting would be hot enough as it was without the heat of wearing a woollen tunic making it even more uncomfortable. At least with the lighter weight linen it would help to keep him cooller, even if he felt cold.

Above him in the blue sky, a cloud drifted over the sun, plunging the ridge into shadow, which made Giacomo shiver once more. Once the cloud had passed over he felt the intense heat of the sun smother itself over his skin. Arms still crossed, he slowly moved over the ridge to where the Company's sole wagon, laden with food, equipment and the paychest stood with horses ready in case the worst happened. The Sergeant guarding the wagon picked something up from the wagons bed as Giacomo approached and unceremoniously tossed a bundle at his Captain, who lost in his own thoughts staggered as the heavy padded coat hit him, the sweat-stained material filling his nostrils with its stench.

He grabbed at the padded jacket, pulled it away from his face and swallowed nervously. Fear always upset his stomach when he began to equip himself for battle. Positioning his men, choosing where to fight and how, preparing traps and surprises for the enemy all seemed like a game, given a grim reality when faced with the prospect that shortly steel would cross steel, blood would be spilt, bodies mangled by blades and bolts, lives broken or taken away in moments. He could feel the tension inside him, tieing his stomach into knots, making his muscles shiver. He looked up at the bright, clear sun, with eyes half closed. Let me live, whatever or whoever is up there, let me live.

His bowels churned inside himself as he looked up at the Sergeant, a Rhodok man who was clad in a coat of mail, a long sword buckled to his belt, who seemed completely at ease, stacking the crates and barrels as far forward in the wagon as possible to make space where casualties could be placed. Glancing to his left he could see the Company's doctor, a small Swadian with a bald head, clad in an apron spattered with black patches. Blood, all Giacomo could think, mens blood, womens blood, Hells, probably even childrens blood. How much more would coat that apron after today?. He looked away as the doctor laid out his tools, a series of knives and saws, tongs and probes. The sawbones looked up and caught the Captains gaze and gave him a nod. Giacomo looked hurriedly away, pulling on his padded jacket as he moved up to the wagons tail. Sat neatly on the wagons rear was his sword, pick, dagger, short sword and shield, with his arming cap on top. A leather belt, three inches thick with two buckles, lay coiled like a snake next to the weapons. The Sergeant, who must have placed the equipment so neatly for his Captain, ignored him completely as Giacomo tried to thank him.

Having buckled the jacket, he swung his arms to make sure he would not be hindered by the garment, or that the clothing beneath had gathered at one spot which might annoy and distract him. Satisfied he unfolded the thick arming cap and pulled it over his long hair, which lay tied in a tail, falling down his back like a glossy wave of golden brown silk. Tieing the straps of the arming cap firmly beneath his chin, he picked up the leather belt and the short sword, threading the scabbards leather loop on to the belt. The weapon was known amongst the Company as 'Butcher' because of its similarity with carving knives. Its single edge was sharper than a razor, whilsts it tip would pierce leather and cloth as though they were butter. It hung just over his right thigh, the scabbard trailing past his leg. When he ran it banged against the limb, but he could live with the annoyance and bruising for the speed that the weapons placement gave when he drew it.

Hauling the scabbarded sword off of the wagons bedding, he lifted the hilt to his lips, kissing the elongated, faceted pommel for luck. The sword was his favourite weapon, forged by a master, a beautiful blade he'd taken from the body of a Noble who had found one day that he needed it no longer. It's blade was just over three feet long, narrow and flexible but strong enough to take a hit from a heavier weapon. The quillons on the hilt angled gently towards the blade, whilst the grip was covered in lambs leather, dyed black. What Giacomo loved about the weapon was how functional and unadorned it was. It's beauty was in the brilliance of its forging, not through exterior adornments.
He drew it a short way from the scabbards mouth, relishing the slight resistance of the fleece lined scabbard, his eyes caught as ever to the wispy lines on the steel from its forging. He slid the weapon fully into the scabbard and buckled it into place on the belt, where it would hang over his right hip.

Next came the knife, which sat just over his right buttock, where his right hand could grab and draw it quickly and efficiently. It was an odd weapon to Calradia, a ballock knife, which Giacomo had brought with him on his travels. It's blade was double-edged, with a narrow tip. Like the 'Butcher' it was wickedly sharp, and mostly used for meals, but it was useful in a tight spot in a melee. Its wooden hilt was varnished and capped with bronze, which was kept polished so that it shone like gold. Giacomo had been told that where the knife was most commonly used it was often held in the shield hand along with a buckler.

The last weapon was his pick, a weapon he hated as much as he loved it. It was a brutal weapon, with a lead weighted hammer head one side, and on the other a long spike, a length of square metal that ended in a long sharp tip. It was not a weapon with finesse, it lacked balance, but it went through most armour so easily that he rarely used his sword in battle, at least not against armoured foes. Problem was when it became trapped and he'd have to discard it.

He stared at the pick as he buckled on his belt. It was the first weapon he'd use and the first he'd discard. Depending on the situation he'd move on to the sword if the fighting was spaced and he had room to wield it, otherwise it would be the 'Butcher', with which he could thrust out from behind his shield into an opponents vitals whilst keeping himself covered with the large board shield.
As he set to buckling the belt, he felt the weight settle above his hips. When he started moving around it would feel odd at first, he'd be almost sluggish but after a few moments his body would be comfortable with the extra pressure.

Snatching up the pick and his shield, he made his way back up to the ridge, where the doctors two assistants walked amongst the men, each with two pails. The first pail contained salt, whilst the second water, and in each pail was a cup. The cup in the salt pail would be filled with water, then three pinches of salt would be added and each man forced to drink the vile mixture fully. Then the second cup containing water would be given to them, which they'd empty down their throats, would be refilled from the pail, and then emptied once again. Giacomo nodded with satisfaction. He'd seen soldiers pass out in the midst of combat through dehydration, had seem men stagger around after battles fighting headaches and migraines brought on by a lack of liquid and so each man was forced before battle to drink water drawn from a nearby water source if possible. If there was not one available then the salt was mixed with watered ale, which tasted even worse.

Giacomo walked amongst his men, exchanging greetings, grinning and joking with them as he moved from group to group. He stopped to stand and stare at the dust cloud that was ever so much closer than it had been. A wide valley seperated them from that far ridge, perfect for the Swadian horsemen, which was why he had ordered his men to prepare several traps for them, including a long ditch filled with spikes, loosely covered in grass. It looked odd, he knew, but at the speed the horsemen would be coming at, with the limited vision from their closed helms, they'd never see it, or if they did it would be far too late. He just hoped the Rhodok reinforcements would reach him in time. He scratched at his beard, as his grey eyes stared at the ridge. The approaching force was large, larger, he was sure, than his Company.

"Captain? Your orders sir, if you would." He turned to find one of the doctors assistants behind him with his pails and the knowledge of what was coming almost made him gag. He could order the man away, but no, that would not work. He'd been very strict with his orders, that he must drink the disgusting mixture along with his men, and if he tried to avoid it then he was to be hounded until he did it. He hated himself for that stipulation but the gathered Sergeants had been there and it had sounded good to put himself on the same level as the mercenary soldiers. Now he was not so sure. He put down his shield and pick, readying himself for the ordeal.

The grey liquid swam inside the clay mug, grains of salt spinning in their own private whirlpool. He took the mug, closed his eyes and raised the beaker to his lips. He could smell the liquid, and whilst his mind screamed at him not to do it, he tipped the salt water into his mouth and almost gagged. The bitter taste tore at his mouth, burning his throat. He forced himself to swallow, feeling it make its way down his gullet. He opened his eyes looked into the cup and groaned. It was still half full, he could feel his stomach rebelling. The assistant was looking at him expectantly, he could sense the Company's eyes upon him, and mustering his courage he downed the rest of it. Resisting the urge to throw down the mug and grab at the one filled with water, he passed the cup back to the assistant. Say something, his mind urged, do something like a hero would in a book, some gesture, anything, just do it!. Instead he mumbled his thanks and took the proffered cup of water. The clay was cool to the touch and when he gulped at the water it tasted sweet after the bitter aftertaste of the salt. It slipped down his throat easily, a cool stream to scour his throat. He passed the cup back to the assistant who refilled it.

Nodding his thanks, Giacomo sipped at the water as he stared at the ridge. Anytime now, they will crest that ridge and we'll see what and how many we face. The fear he had felt earlier had disappeared, replaced with a keen impatience to get the damned thing done, to have it over. His fingers tapped at the earthenware mug as he stared. He wondered what his father would have advised. Guillame had been a very successful Guard Captain back home, a grizzled veteran who had been awarded his rise to the ranks of lesser nobility by his service to the local Lord. He had a lot of sense in that head of his, his mother would remind him, knew far more 'bout fighting battles than half the Lords in the lands. She'd always been convinced that Giacomo's father should have been a Captain in the Kings Royal Guard, but Giacomo knew his father would never have taken up such a role. Bumlickers, he'd exclaim, Good fer cleaning the Kings arse, standin' still looking pretty and not much damned bloody else.

As he watched the far crest, a vision crept into Giacomo's mind, a memory of a day when his father had been trying to teach him to play chess. The sun had beat down on them from the flawless blue sky, a small wind had stirred at the leaves of grass and provoked a gentle rustling sound from the leaves on the trees. His mother and sister had been sat upon a bench embroidering, whilst the kitchen girl had been peeling vegetables. His father, a man who played chess as efficiently as he fought in war, had routed him several times already, and with a look of irritation had barked A good commander never draws his weapon. His men are his weapons, and how well he wields 'em will win or lose the battle.

A glint of light reflected on a polished surface, beneath the looming dust cloud, dragged him back to the present. The enemy had arrived.

rapier17 said:

lots of words

Click to expand...

Excellent post rapier, I'm gonna have to set aside a couple hours (10-20 minutes) to read that.