TEATRC tribute & universe expansion

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The Traitor

The sun set over yet another Swadian battlefield. The carrion birds flew above; the birds buzzed around exposed and mangled flesh. The looters had already come out to loot the dead and the wounded for anything of value. Swadian Militia trampled among the mud and corpses to finish off the wounded with katzbalgers and knives. Those they missed would be no doubt killed by the looters. The wounded of the victors had already been carried off to their camp. Officers trampled around the field to make butchers' bills of the dead in the fading sunlight. In the distance, the Swadian cavalry looted and pillaged the camp of their foes. Yet the defeated were not another invading force.

The Swadian commander, equipped in typical Swadian armour, lifted his sallet's visor and loosened his bevor to issue a quick order to a messenger, who would ride at speed to Ulm, where the Duke there would send a message post-haste to the Emperor in Vienna. He was sweating heavily after a day's hard work, and patted his horse beside him. His squire ran up to him after an errand and took away his warhorse, gauntlets and shield. Two veteran landsknechts walked up to their commander. They dragged a prisoner in chains behind them. He was partly armoured and bleeding. The landsknechts threw the prisoner at the Swadian Baron's feet. One of the landsknechts, wearing medium plate and a burgonet, stood to attention, then said to the Swadian Baron,

"Here's the enemy commander, sir. Bloody traitor."

The Swadian Baron nodded and dismissed them. He closely inspected the man before him. His armour, despite the dents, damage and dried blood, clearly showed that he was a man of wealth. He then spoke.

"Well. Look where you are now. A former Knight of the Empire, now reduced to a weak and feeble man. What do you have to say, fool?"

The defeated man grunted, rose to a kneeling position and stared at the Swadian, then replied,

"Soon Swadia will fall. In the future, I shall be remembered as the Swadian who left the Empire and fought for a true cause..." He coughed in the middle of his sentence.

"...  and started a revolution in motion... for history is written by the victors. You are a fool to believe Swadia will stay strong. The Emperor is a lunatic, an imbecile! The power of Fi..."

The man was interrupted by a sharp punch by a gauntleted fist to his right cheek, causing him to spit blood, and keel over, winded. His assailant was a silent man, covered in blood and breathing steadily under an archaic helmet. There appeared to be steel eagles' wings sticking out of the top of his helmet, though one "wing" was hacked apart. He wore a dirty, torn and vaguely coloured tabard over hard, dull Swadian steel. A bandage covered a part of his lower left arm, a shield was at his feet. A longsword was in a battered leather scabbard at his waist, and a war hammer hung from his belt too.

The man in chains breathed heavily, then looked back up at the two Swadians above him.

"Heh..  May you die horribly at the hands of the Brigadiers, you bastards. Perhaps a.." He coughed up more blood.

"... a flaying might do you some good." He laughed weakly, then coughed up more. He believed he saw a dagger in the ground, and began to reach for it when a metal-encased foot pressed against his chest and shoved him back.

"Perhaps you're mad. Or perhaps it's the stupid Filaharnism that's gone to your head." The Swadian Baron looked at the pathetic man on the ground, growled, then told the two landsknechts,

"Take him away! He will stand judgement, and no doubt will be killed." He laughed grimly.

"You'll be lucky if you get a decapitation, traitor." He spat in the man's face as the landsknechts lifted him up and started to take him away. The prisoner tried to retaliate, but failed. The Swadian Baron's companion left towards the camp, and he was left alone in the middle of the field as the sun approached the horizon.

He stared at it, towards the west, towards the Filaharnic scum. An officer, one of his aides, rode towards him, dismounted and gave him a sheaf of papers. The officer spoke to his commander,

"Well, not many 'true' Filaharnists, sir. Not many Brigadiers or whatever you see in the Filaharnic Armies, I mean. Mainly Swadian and Ellisian infantry, with a few mercenaries."

The Swadian commander digested this news.

"What is Mondo doing... last I went to Vienna the Generals said that there weren't any real major pushes by the Filaharnists this year. But all of a sudden there's a large army of traitors showing up in the North?" The Swadian paused. "Perhaps he's trying to wear us down. To divert our troops. To lower our morale. No-one likes killing 'brothers' anyway. What do you think?"

The officer shrugged and replied, "That's why I'm an aide and you're in command. Well, apart from the fact that you're in command because you're a Baron, but... Anyway, don't ask me. I'm just here to help you and fight the enemy of Swadia."

The Swadian Baron quietly sighed and shook his head. He dismissed the aide and stared at the horizon again. The screams of those being killed had quietened to groans. In the forest nearby, the screams of the routers being run down had ceased. The Swadian reflected on the landscape, as he attempted to clear his thoughts of the ideas jammed into his mind since the campaign's start..

Another harvest season ruined, another community ruined.

He turned away and walked towards his camp.
 
The Road

The smoke drifted over a Swadian field. Another border battle had brewed up. Two men sprinted across the dead ground, one man with a strange 4-barreled gun, another with an arquebus. The second man also had a large leather haversack. They jumped into a small ditch behind a dead tree, and the man with the captured repeater rested it on the wood, then aimed at the enemy approaching to the right of his position; a unit of Ellisian Spearmen. Swadian Landsknechts had marched forwards to face them. Ellisian Medium Javelineers, sometimes called "Thureophoroi" after the Ancient Ellisian troops, ran forwards from behind their comrades to lob javelins at the Swadians, but they were repelled by a group of peasant missile troops on a small hillock behind the pikes. The captured Kaiserlicher weapon opened up upon the Ellisians.

After the four barrels were emptied, the second man opened up his bag and took out a metal, round case with a handle on the bottom. He removed the lid and it revealed four cylinders arranged in the same fashion as the barrels of the repeater which were slightly larger than the barrels themselves. In each cylinder was a paper cartridge. The second man ripped off the top of each cartridge, then the first man placed the repeater over the metal case. Each barrel fitted inside a cylinder, and each cartridge inside each barrel. They then tipped the thing over and the second man tapped hard on the case and the cartridges fell inside the barrel. They then proceeded to ram down the barrels to secure the cartridge. The gunner primed the gun by using powder from a powder horn, then proceeded to fire it.

This speedloader was a crazy Swadian idea of reloading captured repeaters.

The Ellisians closed towards the Swadian pikes, then screamed "FILAHARN VULT!", extending the last syllable into a war cry as they charged towards their foe. Across the entire field, Ellisians and Lowlanders echoed their comrades as they too charged. The Ellisians in the front fixed the Swadian pikes on their shields, and tried to jab at the Swadians with their spears or else hack away at the pikes with their short swords.

To the right flank, a small squad of Great Armours of Zollern, accompanied by Doppelsoeldners, charged head-long against a formation of Ellisian and Gunther-Piedmont infantry. An equally small unit of Hands of the Pope joined the fray with an escort of Brigadiers lead by a propugnator. A mighty clash of polearms ensued. A giant of a Swadian, a Great Armour Sergeant, swung his hammer at a bunch of Hands of the Pope, knocking them down, and then his counterpart, armed with a sharp poleaxe, came forth and the two dueled until the Filaharnist managed to knock the Swadian off-balance and stabbed the polearm into his face.

To the left flank, Mylesian cavalry armed with javelins entered a running fight with Swadian border cavalry armed with light spears and swords. Above the Swadian positions on a hill, two bombards fired shot into the approaching Brigadier formations approaching to reinforce the front line, gouging lines deep inside the formation of ironclads, though they simply reformed their ranks and marched on. Behind them, two crude mortars fired; one blew up. In the centre, a group of Swadian militiamen ran to exploit a gap in the lines of spearmen. They fell upon the Kara-Khitan archers to the rear with short swords and axes, only to be pushed back by drunk Lowlanders.

In the long grass far to the right, beyond the lines, two Swadian huntsmen crawled through out of a small copse into the long grass. The sniper of the two, armed with a hunting rifle, aimed at the Filaharnist commander, who was anxiously surveying the field, for if he broke this defence then a gap would open in the fragile border. A step closer towards the heathen capital for Filaharn.

The Swadian fired.

The bullet span through the skies, then struck the Filaharnist's second-in-command, who had ridden forwards. He had planned to then turn left and ride to the Ellisian reserve, but was instead, dead, his corpse leaning on his horse's neck, with a bullet in his neck.

Yet another death on the frontier.
 
I know the feeling of wanting to write something, but hesitating to do so because so few people read it on this forum.(Actually, only the ones who like to write stories themselves are interested in reading what others have to write, so that comes down to only a handful of people.)

I find them very well-written. Especially The Traitor is intriguing. How would it be possible for Swadians in the north to defect? Why would they choose to do so when they're not even on the front-line. The work of undercover Filaharnist missionaries is not much documented. Though I doubt that there will be much Filaharnism left in the north or south after this battle. It would have been more of a tactical and demoralizing move by Mondo to secretly gather new Swadian converts from all over Swadia, into a suitable place in the north to attack a weak spot and cause fear. He will probably not be able to cause such a gathering again after this failed attempt.

As for The Road, it is well written but lacks a story.
But I guess you did intend it as a description of a battle, so it's successful in that.
One would imagine that these Swadians would learn to make Repeaters themselves after capturing so many from their Kaiserlicher 'brothers'.
 
I didn't really want to focus on anyone for The Road, just to do a short-ish narration of those unknown battles that lead up to Vienna. As for the repeaters, I suppose Swadian industry won't make them as they have to keep arming the new conscripts and forge the cannon.

For the Traitor:

I'm not entirely decided on the backstory for that, really.

I never decided on faith of the bulk of the defeated Swadian infantry.  Surely there would be some Swadian Filaharnists, as those hiding in their hideouts from the inquisition came out and armed themselves, or Swadian expatriates who had converted to Filaharn while in Ellis, though these would form a small portion of the army.

It could be possible that the Knight dragged his fief with him (the theory would be that they swore to follow him, not the Emperor, or that they were somehow convinced/forced into fighting against their brothers) or that they were Filaharnists.

Gathering all the Swadian Filaharnists seems a bit too much of a waste for Mondo, though. Mondo's pretty sure that Vienna will fall, and might hope that the Swadian Filaharnists will join him afterwards.
 
That is true. Mondo would have needed Swadian collaborators to run the city and the surrounding region if the city hadn't been almost destroyed.

In that this case, that really leaves a question mark on what Mondo(or whoever was the commander) was thinking when starting such an uprising. It's not prudent to let the only people you will get help from initially after the conquest, get slaughtered. He wouldn't have the had the illusion that they would actually win, would he?
 
If all of that's just a diversion, why did Mondo commit Hands of the Pope to that little fight as well?

Surely they are so rare/well trained/valuable that Mondo or the Pope wouldn't want them anywhere but the most important armies?
 
Who said that the two stories were related?

In the first one, I suppose whoever funded the uprising would have hoped that the knight would have fielded more troops and was probably not expecting the Baron's troop being there; it was autumn and it would probably be presumed that the Northern forces were finishing the campaigning season in Laurian lands.

However, like Operation Market Garden, there turned out to be a relatively able force there, probably resting or resupplying so it could fight back.

In the second one a small force of Hands of the Pope were sent in with a vanguard of the Filaharnist army the break the Swadian line in a last-ditch push to Vienna. The battle isn't over, it's merely the opening moves. It could last for days. It could be finished if the Swadians rout. It could be finished if there was an FF event which utterly smashed the morale and troops of one army.
 
No, I was saying something like one of the Swadian mortars missing epicly and landing in the middle of melee which the Swadians were winning, killing most of them, especially the Swadians. The other Swadians get scared **** and there aren't enough to fill the gap so they run away after LT reinforcements start an all-round push?

EDIT Clarification:

This road block is not directly outside Vienna. It is on the border. The flat land behind the road block means that the LT can probably reach Vienna from the border in a week. If the HSE chose to fight on the flat land they would get owned. This is simply a holding procedure to buy time.
 
Sounds good, but how about the Swadian mortar shells fall short, AND they're all duds, except the last one that falls. That one is operational and sets off all the others.


Makes for an epic, "Oh, ****" moment.
 
It doesn't really matter.

All that matters is that the Swadian holding force either gets routed, destroyed or retreats and the floodgates are now open for the LT to enter central Swadia whenever they want unless Swadia launches a huge counter-attack.

I haven't decided on the time period of that battle so it could be Early 1505 or Winter 1504, which means that the Siege of Vienna is imminent.
 
THOUSAND WORD STORY GOGOGO!

The Madcap Adventures of Aelffrid Hershey, Lunatic Lord of Mirth and Master of Merriment

“And that my King, is how the Elephant sat on, and therefore squished, Pope Theron II.”
Emperor Sigismund Augustus leaned back in his throne, with his face scrunched up as if he was thinking. “So, you mean to say that after the elephant sat on the Pope, he died?” Aelffrid nodded, his Jester bells ringing with the movement. Sigismund sighed. “It’s just not doing it for me. My boy, you’ve got to step up your act. Find me three funny things in the next week and you keep your job.” Aelffrid looked puzzled. “Sire, are you saying that unless I can make you laugh, you’ll fire me in a week?” Sigismund shook his head. “No, you’d be executed.” “Oh. Jolly good…”

Three days later

Aelffrid sat in his quarters at the Swadian Royal Palace. Three days had passed since he was informed of his impending doom. No new ideas had popped up. Aelffrid hung his head. Hmm... Popping... That gives me a few ideas. He strode over to his desk to write a letter to a very good friend in the southern lands.

Three days later, again

Emperor Sigismund Augustus had just finished one of his insane rages. Not just any insane rage, but one of his most magnificent. He had thrown over tables, fired pistols at court persons and family members, swore so badly that God himself wouldn’t have forgiven him, and generally been an *******. News had come in from the borderlands that Filaharnist raiding parties had attacked Swadian settlements, and the worst thing was that the raiders were Swadian converts to Filaharnism. This was inconceivable in the eyes of Sigismund, and it showed. He issued an order saying all Filaharnists or suspected Filaharnists were to be burnt at the stake. Nikephoros’s legacy still ran strong.

Sigismund sank into his throne with an exhausted look on his face. Nobody in the throne room said a word. They all just stared at him with eyes wider than the Volga. Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors of the throne room smashed open, and twenty men poured in, all brawling with what looked to be large fish. Two men, who seemed to be the leaders of each group, were having at each other with marlins, while the others men from each side had sea turtles strapped to their arms as shields, and salmon or bass for swords. One man went down with a very meaty *thwack* as a fish thudded into his head, and another bashed a man with his turtle shield. Then, as the melee reached what seemed to be a crescendo, a column of water poured into the lower levels of the throne room, washing all of the combatants away and out the doors.

A snicker was heard from Sigismund. He stopped, seemingly shocked with himself, and looked at his chest, to see if maybe the sound had indeed emanated from him. He looked back up and sent out a massive guffaw. The other, understandably confused, guards and lords in the room nervously laughed along.

Aellfrid strode in, wiping his hands on his trousers, then nonchalantly started cleaning his fingernails with a Zweihander that he had taken from a shocked guard. “Well, my liege, did you enjoy the first act?”

Sigismund wiped tears from his eyes. “I very much did. It’s a good thing too, as I was about to have you sent for to be executed. Today is the last day, and you do have two more funny things to show me.” Aelffrid looked up at him. “Were you now? And who would have had the honor to arrest the court Jester?” Sigismund shrugged. “Why, your brother of course! He’s served me so well in the past, that the least he could do is arrest you.” Aelffrid gritted his teeth. “My, ah, illustrious brother would only do what your Highness wishes. Perhaps it may be a good idea to dismiss him for a short while?” Sigismund glared. “One more outburst like that and I’ll do you for treason! Sibling rivalry is not tolerated in my court!”

Aelffrid shrugged.  He waved his hand and a corps of Swadian military drummers marched in, drumming a swift military march.  Behind them marched three Lion Throne Elephants, also stepping in time. And on top of the elephants were three Ormeli dancing girls. The drummers stopped, and so did the elephants. They then lifted up their front feet, placed them on the backs of the elephant next to them, and then did a two legged circular march, seemingly guided by the dancing girls’ feet.

Sigismund laughed again. “Very good, Aelffrid. You may keep your job, and your head, yet.” Aelffrid smiled. “There’s still one more act, highness.” The dancing girls dismounted the elephants and started a slow belly dance on the floor in front of the throne. The pace gradually quickened, and then the drummers gave a loud, single drumbeat. Three consecutive clangs were heard and three bronze balls rolled out from under the ankle length dresses of the dancing girls. Sigismund’s eyes widened. The pace quickened again, and another drumbeat was given, and this time, a silver ball twice as large as the bronze balls fell and rolled out from under the dresses. Sigismund’s eyes widened again. The pace quickened a third time, a third drumbeat was sounded, and then three massive gold balls fell, clanged, and rolled out from under the girls’ dresses. The dances and drums suddenly stopped as they fell, and Sigismund looked amazed. “V-very impressive Aelffrid, but, as you may have noticed, I didn’t laugh.” Aelffrid looked at him knowingly. “Of course sir.” Sigismund coughed. “Well, son, before I have you executed, may I ask you something? How did they conceal those three metal balls for that long?”

Aelffrid chuckled. “Well, my liege, things are a bit looser in the southern regions after all.” Sigismund thought for a second, then a smile came over his face and he started a massive belly laugh that quickly spread across the whole room.

Aelffrid turned and started to walk out, then stopped and faced the throne again. “My lord, they’ve got other talents as well.” He winked, then walked out.
 
hahaaa, I loled at the reference to the Fish Mod

Though I thought you had initially misspelled his name because I thought(as you can see in the story idea) the correct name was to be Aelffried not Aelffrid. Are you perhaps German and know the correct spelling of the name?

Anyhow, I thought you were going to do more of his life story and how happy he was now and about his stinging correspondences with his family. Oh well, this is amusing too.
 
Bunduqdari said:
hahaaa, I loled at the reference to the Fish Mod

Though I thought you had initially misspelled his name because I thought(as you can see in the story idea) the correct name was to be Aelffried not Aelffrid. Are you perhaps German and know the correct spelling of the name?

Anyhow, I thought you were going to do more of his life story and how happy he was now and about his stinging correspondences with his family. Oh well, this is amusing too.
Click to expand...

Oh, about the misspelling, that was just a misspelling. I had no idea. I was originally going to have more of a confrontation with the good sergeant, bu the doesn't really show up here. When I write, it just sort of happens.
 
The Death of Julia

Two figures were running through the thick Ehlerdah forest, one leading with a pistol in hand while the other holding on to the first figure, while carrying something else in her arm, held tight to her chest. Behind them were about two dozen more figures holding thick square shields and spears as long as their figures. Behind those two dozen were hundreds of bulking figures in heavy armour, screaming at the figures they are pursuing.

They reached a small clearing; in the middle of the clearing were three trees that poked out of the horizon like towers watching guard.

“How far?” said Julia, checking on her child as she had her other hand held tightly to the noticeably brown-skinned Laurian.

“Just beyond those trees,” said Simoun, the brown-skinned Laurian, pointing toward the horizon. “Za-ib, the Forest Man, should be hidden somewhere here in this clearing.”

“How do we find out where he is hidden?”

“We don’t, Lady Julia, it would defeat the purpose. Keep running Lady Julia; keep up men!” The other two dozen figures were now clearer: they were Ellisians. Since Simoun had called to them, it had now been obvious to those chasing the group that they were deserters.

A line of men with calivers had appeared from the forest, behind the Ellisians, lead by an armoured figure on a horse. Raising his sword, he was struck on the shoulder by an arrow from the distance. Julia and Simoun did not notice this; neither did the Ellisians who just continued running.

“Za-ib has informed me,” said Simoun, who stopped talking for a bit to jump over a small rock, “that he has been able to gather a few more men to aid us. They would be hiding in the woods.”

A row of gunfire erupted from behind them, as the Ellisians crumpled from the gunfire. Most continued running, holding onto a limp, throwing away a shield or a spear, the others fell facedown onto the flat grassy earth. Shouting could be heard from behind them as the Ellisians screamed at Simoun that the Lion Throne was charging.

Simoun let go of Julia, urging her to run, as he aided a wounded Ellisian to continue running.

Julia was greeted by a row of interlocked square shields as she reached the tree line, their spears pointed out at her. Julia did not fear, for she was sure that these were the men Za-ib spoke of. Sure enough, those in front of Julia lowered their spears and opened a gap in their wall for Julia to enter.

A Forest Man greeted her as she approached, the man bowed before introducing himself. “Lady Julia, I am Gideon, Brother-in-Arms to Za-ib, I am here to escort you to the lands of the Imperial State.”

“Thank you, let us wait for Simoun,” said Julia, looking back to the figure of Simoun, holding onto an Ellisian as he trudged on to get to the forest.

“Simoun is to join the battle, Lady Julia, we must continue.”

“But Simoun!” protested Julia.

“Simoun knows what he risks by aiding you, Lady Julia,” said Gideon, his face anxious as his hand held onto his bow and an arrow. “All of us know the risks, Lady Julia, but your life is more important than the lives of all these men and my own. I would die today to keep you alive, Lady Julia.

“Very well,” replied Julia, though her tone was sullen. She followed Gideon as they ran through the forest. Sounds of battle can be heard from behind them. Julia had a hard time ignoring it, though the density of trees was thinning. It wasn’t very long before they reached the edge of the forest, where three horses were waiting.

“We are here. These horses have been trained, they know the way to the Imperial St-“

A bullet came from behind them; Gideon fell on the grass as his temple bled out. An armour-clad Brigadier came from the forest, an arrow sticking out from his sword arm. Having reloaded, the Brigadier aimed the pistol at the child in Julia’s arms – before he himself fell to the ground as he was struck with a bullet through the temple.

“Simoun!” shouted Julia, relieved that Simoun had returned.

Simoun emerged from the forest, brandishing a bloody sword and throwing away the pistol. His pistol arm was bleeding from what appeared to be from nowhere, but he seemed to pay no heed to it. “Za-ib is covering our escape. We must go, Julia.”

Julia handed Simoun the child as Simoun mounted one of the horses nearby. “His name will be Gideon,” Julia said, picking up the dead Gideon’s helmet – still intact, with no bullet holes – and placing it neatly on the child. “I won’t be going with you, Simoun.”

“What?” shouted Simoun, making little Gideon cry. “Julia this is no time for games, we have to go!”

“No, I can’t make my child inherit my war, Simoun. I’m staying with Za-ib. I’ll be fighting for the future of my child.”

Simoun knew a lost cause when he saw it and gave up trying to argue with Julia. “You are going to die, Julia, you know this,” said Simoun. Julia picked up the sword of the dead Brigadier, tying it to her belt.

“I know, Simoun.”

“Goodbye, Julia,” said Simoun, his face looking solemn as he rode off.

Julia stood there, next to the body of Gideon and the Brigadier, watching Simoun ride off with her child, little Gideon. “You know a safe place to go to, Za-ib?”

“I know a place,” responded a voice from behind her,  which Julia acknowledged with a nod.

It's meant to end like that.
 
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