Excerpts from "A History of Calradia" by Simon Schama

[Pellagus]

They arrived at the gates of Praven late that afternoon. There was a small ceremony, with musicians, (Leonardo noted the sound was uniformly average and mentally made notes on how their instruments could be improved,) the chamberlain greeted them and made a big fuss of di Veluchi. They were led up to the castle, past the grand cathedral and formally received on the steps by the imposing queen, Kaitilus. There was a small speech by di Veluchi along with the presentation of some choice wines and a large bale of opulent red velvet. More speeches and then Leonardo found himself alone in a small guest apartment, with instructions to dress for dinner. Since he only had one other outfit, he decided to wear that. He kept the mail shirt underneath, just in case.

As he fidgeted with his collar, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find a young woman standing outside his room. She had dirty blonde hair which hung in loose curls across her bare shoulders and framed a pale oval face. Her dress was a simple black gown in the Swadian style with padded arms. Vertical slashes exposed pure white material underneath. She was so beautiful that Leonardo actually gasped. He felt heat rising behind his ears as he blushed.

“Erm.” he managed.

“I am to escort you to the banquet,” she said simply. To Leonardo it felt less like a request than an order. He finally remembered his manners and stuck out his arm. She stared at it uncomprehendingly, then at him.

They stood there in silence for a moment. Leonardo proffered his arm again. “Will you take my arm, milady?”

“Take it where?” she replied.

It dawned on Leonardo that there was something odd going on here. Another man might have seen the signs right away, but Leonardo spent rather a lot of time in his own head. People tended to be difficult problems that couldn’t be solved with a plumb line and some equations. (At least not immediately and not unless you happened to be designing a siege engine to solve them with.)  He tried another tack.

“I believe it is the custom for a lady to take the arm of a man when you accompany him,” said Leonardo by way of explanation.

“Not where I come from,” she said. “Come on.”

Leonardo hurried after her as she strode off down the hall. “Ma’aam, I really must insist…” He reached for her arm, but she anticipated him and gripped his elbow, applied a swift kick to the back of his knees and suddenly Leonardo found himself kneeling on the ground with a slim dagger at his throat and that wonderful face a few inches from his own.

“Don’t do that again.” She seemed to remember something else was required. “Please,” she finished. It slowly occurred to Leonardo that this lady might actually have less of a grasp of etiquette than he did. He was impressed.

Leonardo found his voice, it was rather more high pitched than usual, what with the dagger pressing into his throat,  “I meant no offence, it’s just my mum always said it’s manners and only polite you should take a lady’s arm when escorting her. Erm… I must say you have a very practical grasp of leverage.”

She seemed to find this amusing.

A smile crossed her perfect rosebud lips, “I also meant no offence, I’m a stranger here myself.” The knife disappeared somewhere and she lifted Leonardo to his feet. For a small woman she was amazingly strong, Leonardo noted. She took his arm.

“Lead on, sire.”

Not quite sure what had just happened, Leonardo felt himself being led off down the hall toward the sound of poorly-crafted musical instruments.

 

[The Mercenary]

The cold snow drifted down slowly, so slowly, so lazily, down. A single figure was in the snow, forcing its way through the mountain of snow very slowly. Something gleamed as the sun momentarily came out from behind the dreary, gray clouds that normally obscured it at this time of year. As it sank back, grayness and snow reclaimed the plains to themselves. However, the flash of sun had illuminated several things. The figure was hunched over, dressed in thick furs, and there was a long trail of crimson behind it. The figure stumbled and fell, staggering upright again, clutching its side. It continued forward through the dreary plains, skirting the forest to the west.

There was thunder on the horizon - no, not thunder, but war drums - nay, not war drums, but the sound of horses, a dozen of them. The figure turned, tilting her head back. A bright flash of bright green eyes, as Lady Lyrin Larktin made her third stand of the day, her hand-and-a-half blade held in her left hand as she looked about herself. The bastards were getting more persistent as she came close to the keep that the peasant had whispered off, she thought. She caught the gleam of armor to the east, and stepped back, huddling against a tree. The woman was wounded heavily, with a poisoned bolt that had struck her firmly in her left side previously. She had slain the assassins and escaped the city, but her progress slowed each day, and the horse that she had ridden from Geroia, not her favorite horse stabled with her knights, but a loan from her father, was lost in Jelkala. She looked grimly about herself as the riders approached rapidly. The furs she wore were keeping her warm, but her armor was not with her. She could get more sets when - if - she reached the fortress...if it existed. She grimaced, sheathing the longsword, and fell back further, reaching for a bent, warped longbow she had stolen on the way out of Jelkala and one of the poorly fletched arrows that were in the quiver she had grabbed.

She loosed the damaged arrow as the riders closed within a hundred meters, catching one's horse in the flanks. The horse whinnied and turned as the rider tried to regain control, ramming into a second horse and taking them both down. She dropped the bow, spinning and slashing out with her longsword at an approaching rider. A spurt of blood shot into the air as the keen edged blade bit through the man's armor and through his chest, nearly severing his arm and most of his shoulder. She smiled. She'd had the blade forged for her personal specifications ten years ago, when she was thirteen, and it had never failed her. She'd even named it, Sylvarthus. Death's Knell, in the language of her forefathers. She turned, ducking behind the tree and avoiding an axe blow that took a huge wedge of wood out of the young tree. She reversed her longsword into the man's thigh, slicing through flesh like butter and laying his leg open to the bone. She looked around the dark woods, with more riders approaching, and spun her blade, slashing into the gap that the man's axe had opened. The young tree, already almost fully severed by the blow, was split in two, and the Lady quickly kicked it, dropping the short tree into the path of the riders.

The commander of the patrol, a grizzled veteran named Viscount Harker Poltreer, reared. He was a paladin of the fanatical followers of the late Count Arowynd. The civil war had devastated Swadia, and even slain the aging Queen Katilus and extinguishing the rising star of the Count Arowynd. However, the paladins and crusaders who had survived had banded together, forgetting allegiances to Katilus or Arowynd in light of the new threat from surrounding kingdoms, and placed the High Inquisitor Jorund Dankdryn on the throne as the King of the Swadian Empire. They ruthlessly patrolled the borders - but the Sable Order had refused to acknowledge the King, instead disappearing mysteriously. Soldiers were patrolling and searching for the renegade Order, whom Poltreer had never trusted. They had had word that Lady Larktin, the matriarch of the Sable Knights, was fleeing Jelkala into Swadian territory, and he sought to capture her. He'd heard she was an exquisite fighter, and he had brought along his best available men to try and capture the wounded woman.

Unfortunately, things were not going so well. One of his men was lying crushed under a pair of horses, and the other had a broken leg. He'd seen the explosion of blood as his second-in-command, Baron Arcip Lornir, had his chest torn apart by the woman, and one of the crusaders had his leg ripped open by her. Now the woman had just felled a tree on one of his men, knocking the man unconscious and blocking an easy path towards her. He swore bloody vengeance on the heretical traitor, rearing and dismounting his horse. The soldiers followed suit and quickly formed a ring around the dangerous woman. Poltreer drew his heavy morningstar, his favorite weapon, and his heater shield, advancing towards the matriarch, as she turned and spotted him and readied that bloody, black longsword she carried.

His morningstar sailed through the air in a testing blow towards her hooded head. He couldn't make out her features aside from a few strands of frozen blonde hair that were blowing around out of the hood, and a pair of gleaming green eyes. She barely swayed, the morningstar missing her head by a few centimeters. He recognized that she was good. Very good.

Lady Lyrin looked at the commander dismissively. He was just another knight. She'd had her way with more than a few paladins or crusaders from the Swadian Empire, and they were disappointing foes. She waited as he stepped forward, feinting with the morningstar to her right. She stepped in, grabbed his morningstar, moving the weapon behind her left side harmlessly, and smashed the hilt of her blade into his helm. There was a dent in the reinforced steel so deep that the helm was ruined, and a satisfyingly loud hollow sound. She didn't need the finesse she normally fought with to deal with the idiot, she thought, as she swept the veteran's legs out from under him and severed both his hands with a single ebon slash of her longsword. He started screaming, as she turned towards the dozen or so soldiers left standing around her. They looked a little stunned that she had dealt with their commander so easily.

Poltreer looked stunned, as he stared at his arms. They looked shorter than normal. And there was blood spurting out the ends. He blinked a few times. What had changed? His...his hands! That was when the pain hit him.

That was when he started screaming.

The cold snow drifted down slowly, so slowly, so lazily, down. There was a large stain of crimson that was slowly being covered, and a long trail of crimson and footprints that were being effaced very slowly. In the snow, a dozen rapidly cooling bodies and a pair of hands. A figure in the far distance, was midway up the side of a large mountain. Lady Lyrin Larktin stood over top of a cliff, looking down at a peaceful, frozen lake. She advanced slowly, continuing up the winding path. The Sable Keep awaited her, concealed, six hundred meters away.

 

[Jhnking]

Farth dodged the Bandits rusty sword, and easly sliced his legs open, making him fall to the ground moaning in pain. Another came at him, and he easily loped off his head. He heard what seemed to be thunder in the distance, and looked up at the tallest hill. Up their was another rouge mercanary company, with some fresh caverly, probaly come to try and finish off him and his men. Farth swore and took out his horn, and on it blew it to tell his men to fall back to the archers.

As Farth looked behind as he ran, he saw the cloud of arrows from his archers at least sprout a man with two arrows each. He found a horse, and used it to cover the reatreat of his men. The cavarly on the cliff were forming formations, wich the rouge mercenary companys usaly never did. He saw one of them break of from the rest, holding a white flag.

The lone rider approached, and said "Seems youre in trouble my freind." It was one of the Swadian Lords, to come assist him. Farth replied "Thank you for assisting us sir, but most of them are dead." The Lord shook his head and said "This is a diversion set by the Nords. They made you want to think that it was just the bandits, and have you all in camp and kill you quickly." Thats when they heard the Nord battle crys and the sound of steel-on-steel.....

 

[Pellagus]

Ashmeadow was standing behind di Veluchi doing what personal bodyguards do, which is to watch other people very carefully, when Leonardo arrived in the banqueting hall. As such, he had a perfect view of the reaction of most of the people at the table. He couldn’t see di Veluchi’s face, (he would have paid good money to see it, however,) but he saw the merchant flinch visibly when he looked up. That had never happened in all the years he had worked for the man. Brother Beranz knocked his plate sideways as he half stood, looking for all the world like a cornered rat. The Lord Grainwad actually spat wine across the table. Queen Kaitilus raised an eyebrow at this impropriety, but said nothing. The murmur of conversation and eating died away. Leonardo led his escort to a place beside the queen, bowed, then went and sat beside di Veluchi.

William Ashmeadow had been in a lot of fights in his time; more than a few of them had been in taverns. There is a certain electric moment after a drink has been spilled, when things could go either way, when fresh drinks are bought or mothers are insulted.
It only lasts a moment. In the great hall, the moment stretched out to fill the entire evening. Slowly, conversation built again, but the tension never left the hall while she was there. She spoke something once or twice to Kaitilus and then she abruptly stood up and left. Ashmeadow observed the room as she swept past the assembled lords, who all stopped eating to watch her go. These will be interesting times, he thought as she ascended the steps out of the main hall.

Silaus di Veluchi savoured the fine wine he had brought with them. He looked at the pale, rather distracted looking form of Earl Rochabarth beside him, and then turned to regard Leonardo.

“She made quite an impression, young Leonardo. Your escort, I mean.”

“Did she? Well she is rather beautiful I suppose,” (at this, di Veluchi raised his eyebrows), “She was a rather odd person. I expect it’s a boring life being a lady in waiting.” said Leonardo absently as he picked through his food.

“Mmmm,” said di Veluchi, sipping his wine thoughtfully. “I wonder what she’s waiting for…”



He saw again one more time. It was late as Leonardo walked back to his room. He’d had his fill of whispers, wine and war stories. At the end of a carpeted hall, she stood by a narrow arched window, staring out across the rooftops of Praven lit by moonlight.
“I have a present for you, Leonardo da Veidar.” She offered him the dagger she had used on him before, sheathed in an elaborate leather scabbard, “See, it is made to be concealed in the sleeve.”

Leonardo took the dagger. “That’s… very nice. I can’t take it though. Really. I’d probably stab myself if I ever tried to use it. But thank-you, lady… I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Lyrin. Larktin. You do not know who I am?”

“Err no. Lyrin. That’s a pretty name. Are you sure about this dagger? Only it looks rather expensive… I’d hate to damage it.”

“I have many other weapons. You really do not know my name?

“I don’t think so. You’re not from Veidar are you?”

“Geroia.”

Slow cogs of realisation clicked in Leonardo’s prodigigious, if somewhat socially inept mind. A lady who wears a lot of black and is who very good with weapons.

“You’re Lady Larktin?” Leonardo stroked his scruffy beard thoughtfully. “That explains a lot about this evening actually. Mister di Veluchi was very interested in you. ”

“Was he? And you really didn’t know who I was?” she looked at him suspiciously.

“Well, no, I just assumed you were, well, a lady in waiting?” Leonardo was wilting under her gaze, partly in awe, partly in what he now knew with absolute certainty would be unrequited lust. She looked out over the city once more and sighed.

“It is rare to speak with someone who does not fear me. It is… unfamiliar.” She smiled sadly. “But not entirely unpleasant. Goodnight Leonardo da Veidar.” She strode away.

Leonardo spent a long time at the window, remembering her face and trying to make sense of what had happened that night. He wanted to ask her so many things; he even had some non-technical questions. However, tiredness eventually dragged him to bed. The next morning, the caravan rode out of the east gate and they left Praven behind. Leonardo did not look back.

 

[Jhnking]

There was at least three full Jarls armys heading for them. Farth swore and quickly blew his horn for his archers to fire at will. Most of the frontline men of the Nords were shot, but their sheer size made it seem that they didnt lose any. He rode his horse to his cavarly, and told them to follow him. He was planning a risky move......

Farh looked down of  his cliff with his small group of cavarly. The Infrantry and the Swadian cavarly were taking out manny, but they were fighting a loosing battle. Farth blew his horn, and the cavarly started charging down the manny trails from their cliffs. Farth thanked God that the cliffs were covered with brush, but also that there were cliffs at all. The enemy line of archers came up swiftly, and Farth and his men used random spears or lances they found to easily take them all down. Most of the spears were lost or shattered with the charge though, so they would have to charge through the enemy lines with swords alone....

 

[Pellagus]

As the afternoon wore on, the weather worsened. By the time they reached Uxkhal, it was raining. They spent the night at the tavern, though Di Veluchi stayed in the house of a fellow merchant. In the morning, it was still raining. Leonardo hunched in the saddle and shivered. Jeremus didn’t seem to mind.

“Kherg arrows don’t fly as well when it’s raining.” He passed a battered Nord helmet to Leonardo. “Here, keep the rain off with this.”

The caravan had reached Malayurg Castle by mid-morning. There was a welcoming committee waiting in the lee. Ashmeadow rode on ahead. As he approached, a horseman broke formation and rode up to meet him. The rider was an expert horseman, Leonardo noted. The horse was fast, but skittish. The man coped easily with the difficult beast, and came to a halt beside Ashmeadow, who waited patiently. They spoke briefly, then Ashmeadow rode back to join the caravan.

“Asugan Khan has been tasked with escorting us to Tulga. He vows no harm will come to us whilst we ride with him,” he turned to face his men. “Nonetheless, this is the steppe. Bandit parties attack hard and they attack fast. Stay close to the Khergits and defend the caravan.”

Heavy rain dinged off Leonardo’s helmet as they rode on. The landscape was rising into scrub and the forest quickly thinned out, giving way to patchy grass and dry-looking trees. The ground took on a scoured, parched look. The villages they saw looked poor and desolate. As they passed Ichamur the rain gave way to cold, driving winds that buffeted the riders. The sun was getting low in the sky, but Tulga was now visible in the distance.  Suddenly, there was a shout up ahead. The massed Khergit riders began to gallop, breaking right and drawing their bows. Ashmeadow swore.

“They’ve been attacked by bandits. Damn fools are going to leave us behind! Everyone, ride hard for Tulga, this could be a trap!”

The caravan picked up speed, nervous pack horses whinnying and shying fought against their panicked drivers. One of the caravan masters suddenly pitched up and rolled off his horse, blood spouting from his throat. An arrow poked out from his collar. Leonardo looked about wildly. They were coming up behind! Another group of bandit horses, maybe thirty or so. His horse needed no urging and broke into a gallop.
Leonardo bent low in the saddle as a brace of arrows whizzed past. The cold furrowed his brow and the dented helmet rattled around painfully on his head as they sped along. Through half-closed eyes he saw Ashmeadow and his knights come about and ride headlong into the approaching bandits. As they whipped past, pain shot across Leonardo’s shoulders. He lurched forward in the saddle, his head colliding with the horse’s neck. His helmet fell off and rolled away beneath them. His arms felt numb and useless and he felt himself slipping in the saddle. Tears of pain blurred his eyesight. His shoulders felt like they were packed with hot lead. Desperately he gripped the horse’s flanks with his legs and tried to see how far he was from the gates of Tulga. Too far away. He was pitching sideways when suddenly he was dragged upright and secure once more in the saddle.

“Leonardo!”

It was di Veluchi. Even through his agony, Leonardo was impressed by the merchant’s riding skill as he steered both horses toward the town walls. There was shouting up ahead. Khergit archers were pouring forth from the gates and firing past them. The bandits were faster than the mercenaries but the knights were by far the more skilled fighters and now they also faced volley after volley of deadly accurate Khergit arrows. The bandits scattered and fled. As they galloped through the town gates, Leonardo passed out.

 

[Jhnking]

It seemed as if time slowed down for the charge as they rode to the nord infrantry backlines. Some of the infrantry turned around to meet the attack, only to be cut down. He saw one of the jarls and started to ride fast for him. At the last moment, the jarl stepped out of the way and killed his horse with a thrown spear. Farth flew in the air, and as he thought were his last moments he remembered his mother and father butchered by the Dark Knights in their village, before they were defeated.....

He awoke in the medic tents, and saw injured soldiers were being treated by the surgeans and healers. He closed his eyes because the world was spinning and if he didnt he might lose his  breakfeast. One of the medics came over and told him to take some medicene, and Farth complied him. He was told to wait a few minutes before opening his eyes, than the medic left.

After a few minutes he opened his eyes and the world wasnt spinning anymore. He shook his head a little to get out the dazzyneas, and sat up. The medic tent was filled up completly, and he saw some injured people waiting outside, moaning in pain. He shook of the blanket and got up on his feet, and got his clothes in a pile near his bed.

After he changed  Farth went outside and saw that at least half of his men were killed or wounded, and the swadians didnt fair better. He asked one of the medics rushing past were the swadian lord was, and the medic said that he was lost in the battle. Farth swore, and then asked one of the wounded what happened to the Nords. The wounded man laughed a little, and said "We killed every last one of 'em two days ago. Some of them even begged on their knees, but we killed 'em too." He thanked the man and got a medic to attend to him when he could get him in the tent as fast as he could. He saw that if the medic tents were this full still, with more wounded waiting, that battle cost them a heavy price....

 

[Pellagus]

He awoke on a straw mattress to a dull ache across his back. He was in a simple room with unadorned adobe walls. An ornate brass lamp stood nearby on a carved table of some dark wood, casting a yellow glow around the room. Jeremus was sat beside him, grinning.

“Hello painter. You gave us a bit of a fright this afternoon. Time to get up, come on.”

Leonardo tried to move. There was pain in his shoulders, but nothing like before. He sat up.

“What happened to me?”

“This did.” Jeremus was holding up a vicious-looking barbed arrow. “Lucky you had that mail shirt on, otherwise you’d be dead. As it is, you’ll have a nasty bruise in the morning and some stiffness in your arms and neck. He was a big ugly bastard that fired it. Unlucky too. Ashmeadow rode into him and took his head off a heartbeat later. Here. Souvenir.” He gave the arrow to Leonardo and stood up.

“The Khan is trying to butter di Veluchi up after what happened so he’s had some fresh clothes made for you. Should have seen the lass that delivered them, cor. There’s some pretty ladies in Tulga. Makes you wonder why the men spend so much time with their horses. Get dressed, hero, there’s a fancy dinner later and you’re invited. I’m off round the town to see if I can spot that seamstress.”

With a smirk and a rude gesture which went entirely over Leonardo’s head, Jeremus left.



The room was dimly lit and full of large, smelly men eating and arguing. Leonardo felt a bit sick from all the odd food he’d eaten and had no idea what was going on. Music was coming from the courtyard below. There was a lady with not much on doing a dance which was both mesmerising and dizzying all at once. They sat on cushions around a series of low tables whilst a steady flow of servants brought small dishes of exotic and sometimes terrifying food. Sanjar Khan sat in a raised alcove with di Veluchi beside him. It seemed to Leonardo that they were talking and joking like old friends. Di Veluchi had a good grasp of Khergit dialect and was in the midst of describing something complicated with his hands. As always, Ashmeadow stood behind him in the shadows, watching the rest of the room. Right now he was watching the man entering the room. It was Asugan Khan. He bellowed triumphantly.

“We took chased those damned bandits all the way back to the plains and returned them to the earth!”

There was some cheering, but Sanjar Khan didn’t join them. He beckoned Asugan Khan forward. Leonardo couldn’t hear what they were saying as another course of strongly flavoured food was being offered to him by a servant. Suddenly Asugan was shouting something in Kherg and Ashmeadow had stepped forward between di Veluchi and the enraged Lord.

“Your damned fool charge left us exposed! I lost two good men this afternoon and four others are injured.” Ashmeadow spat.

Asugan cursed and reached for his sword. As he did, four men who had been sat on the cushions in front of Sanjar Khan immediately surrounded Asugan. Each one held a dagger poised to strike. The room went very quiet. Sanjar Khan stood, pushing his bodyguards gently aside he stepped close to Asugan. He looked from Ashmeadow to Asugan Khan.

“I have read that the swadians teach we are men of honour and chivalry. If this is so you must resolve this quarrel in open combat.” He turned to a servant. “Inform the arena master to make ready,” he gestured at the room, “Tomorrow morning you will fight each other. Tonight we will sit and eat together like civilised men.”

He stared pointedly between Ashmeadow and the Lord Asugan. With an almost imperceptible bow, Asugan Khan nodded and took his place amongst the other guests. Ashmeadow retreated to his position behind di Veluchi. The merchant turned back and said something to the mercenary. Whatever it was, a nasty smile spread across his face. He caught Leonardo watching them and winked conspiratorially before stepping back into the shadows. Di Veluchi beckoned Leonardo forwards.

“Sanjar Khan, this is the fine young man I was talking about. Leonardo da Veidar.” The great Khan had resumed his place in the alcove. He nodded to Leonardo. Leonardo bowed, his shoulder causing him to wince.

“The artist? Yes! I have heard much about your work Leonardo. I wish to commission a great work from you…”

The Khergits had never had much use for paintings in the past. A hundred years before, the Khans had been nomads, and you can’t hang a painting on a tent wall. The spices and the gold had brought wealth to the Khergits and the traditional campsites along the merchant trails began to take on a permanency. Now Tulga was a small but healthy town almost as large as Yalen. Trade brought people like di Veluchi and with them came the trappings of wealth from all over Calradia. Leonardo had noticed fine Velucan tapestries on the walls and high quality furs from Curaw. Now it seemed the Khans wanted their picture painted. All together. The idea fascinated Leonardo. Normally his stock in trade was small portraits for lords eager to advertise daughters of marrying age or egotists intend on leaving their mark on the world. Most of them were painted on wood. A few were worked on canvas and as an apprentice Leonardo had worked on frescoes in the councilman’s chamber in Jelkala.

The Khans wanted a painting the height of a man. The Khan wanted his armies pictured with their horses riding across the steppe, crushing all before them. It would hang in the merchants hall for all of Tulga to see. In the dim light of the alcove, Sanjar Khan’s eyes glittered.

“You can do this for us.” He smiled. Di Veluchi smiled.

“I will need to purchase a lot of canvas and some rather expensive pigments,” said Leonardo absently, his mind working over the details. “I can sketch the lords here and work on the painting in my studio. It is possible. Yes. I can do it.” He looked at di Veluchi.

“I-I have a condition.”

“Go on,” said di Veluchi carefully. Leonardo glanced at the Khan. He was watching this exchange with great interest.

“You use your influence to get the university finished. I’m no good with people and they laugh at my plans. And have far too many tea-breaks.”

Di Veluchi considered this, then he grinned evilly. “Agreed. No building will ever have been built faster or better in all of Calradia.  Now do we have an agreement?”

“Yes.” said Leonardo. Sanjar Khan clapped excitedly, like a child. He forced a cup of wine into Leonardo’s hand and shouted something in Kherg to the room in general. There was a lot of raucous cheering and jostling amongst the assembled Khans. Di Veluchi leaned forward.

“We’ll make a diplomat of you yet, Leonardo, well done. However,” he whispered,” Try a trick like that again with me and you’ll be walking back to Rhodokia.” He clunked  his cup against Leonardo’s and smiled. “Cheers!”

 

[Jhnking]

Farth awoke the next night in a cold sweat. Something wasn't right. There was something.......out of place. He got on his chainmail and his surcoat and put on his custom hand-and-a-half sword. It was designed by a master weapon smith in Praven to have not only a finely made edge on the blade but also a needle sharp point to stab better with. He called it Needles Point even, for it was known for its finely made point. It cost him about 90000 deners to, but the weapon was well worth the price.

 

[Pellagus]

The next morning Leonardo woke to the sound of someone banging on the door. He climbed off the mattress, feeling stiffness in his neck and shoulders and crossed the room to the door. It was Jeremus.

“Come on painter, rise and shine! Ashmeadow is going to fight Asugan Khan soon. Here, get something to eat and get dressed.” He pushed a plate and a cup into Leonardo’s hands. Leonardo sniffed cautiously. The plate held a strong Khergit cheese and a thick chunk of crusty bread. The cup contained a pale, weak-looking ale that smelled faintly of citrus. Leonardo’s stomach gurgled. He sat down and made short work of the food, between thirsty slurps of ale. Jeremus opened the shutters and looked out across the town.

“You know, it’s not a bad place this. You can see why the Khergs love it. There are wild horses out there on the plain. Gold too. And the women. I tell you this, painter. They’re very good with their hands. Look at the stitching on this jerkin!” Jeremus laughed at Leonardo’s blank look. He left Leonardo to his breakfast.

Not ten minutes later, Leonardo had washed and dressed and joined Jeremus in the castle courtyard. They made their way out of the keep and over to the arena, where a crowd of people were already milling around by the entrance. Word had got out in the town that a duel was to be fought between a Khergit lord and a mercenary knight. Jeremus pushed through the crowd and into a side entrance.

“Come on, we’ve got seats with the great Khan and his lords. I haven’t seen Ashmeadow yet. I wonder how he’s going to handle this?” Jeremus led the way under a series of rough-built wooden stands to a raised stone platform with a tented awning fixed above it. The awning flapped noisily in the steppe winds. A couple of servants fought to tie it down. The Khan had taken his seat and was talking with one of the lesser khans while his other lords began to arrive and jostle for good viewing  positions. Di Veluchi sat somewhat apart from the rest with a couple of Ashmeadow’s larger knights flanking him. He waved to Leonardo and Jeremus as they arrived.

“Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you slept well? It appears that the duel will begin soon. Have you eaten? The Khan has laid on a rather splendid feast for the occasion. Please, sit.” He indicated a pair of vacant seats for the pair.

As he sat down, Leonardo wondered what di Veluchi really thought about the fight? Was he angry with Ashmeadow? Or had he contrived this duel in some way? Leonardo wasn’t sure, but somehow got the feeling that di Veluchi would come out on top of the situation, whatever the outcome. There was a brief blast of a horn and a shout from the arena as a drummer began a steady beat. Asugan Khan had arrived.
He was dressed in fine lamellar armour and an open-face helmet with a small plume. His horse was the same skittish-looking courser as yesterday. It shied and whinnied repeatedly, but Asugan pulled taut on the reins and it obediently trotted to the edge of the arena. Asugan lifted his bow from his shoulder and notched an arrow, holding it slack against the bowstring.

Ashmeadow emerged next. He was wearing his full plate armour and a full face helmet. A knight shield rested across his lap and he had swapped his longsword for a war hammer. His charge was in full barding. Jeremus leaned forward, suddenly interested.

“What the bloody hell has he got an arbalest for?” he pointed and Leonardo noticed a massive crossbow slung beside the saddle. Interestingly, Leonardo noticed that the shield Ashmeadow was holding hid the crossbow so Asugan Khan would almost certainly not have seen it. Both fighters looked up toward the great Khan. The Khan nodded and the drumming stopped.
With a shout from the arena master, the duel was commenced. As Asugan brought his bow up to fire, he urged his steed with a sharp kick. The horse surged forwards. Ashmeadow slipped from the saddle and turned his horse sideways on to the charging Khergit lord. He hauled the arbalest up and, using the horse’s saddle as a brace, pulled the trigger. The crack as the crossbow fired rolled across the arena. Asugan Khan’s horse pitched forwards, dead.
The crossbow bolt had drilled neatly through its skull. There was a gasp of surprise from the crowd. Asugan Khan tumbled off his dead mount and into the dust. He rolled expertly and fired at Ashmeadow, who was halfway into the saddle and urging his horse forwards. The arrow sank harmlessly into the armoured flank of the charger. Asugan stood and ran to get some distance between himself and the by now galloping charger, as it rounded the edge of the arena and turned to bear down upon him. He fired again, catching Ashmeadow in the shoulder. The arrow glanced off the plate, but the shock caused Ashmeadow to pull the reins and the horse reared away from Asugan Khan. Cursing, Ashmeadow drew the reins across the saddle and spurred his mount onwards once more, readying his warhammer. Asugan began to notch another arrow, then changed his mind and instead dropped the bow and drew his sword.
Ashmeadow was almost upon him, swinging the warhammer down toward the Kherg lord. Asugan feinted and struck upwards with his sword. The flat of the blade smacked hard into Ashmeadow’s helmet. The mercenary roared and swung the hammer back, catching Asugan across the back of his head. Stunned, the lord shook his head and readied himself to face another charge. Too late. Ashmeadow had slowed and quickly turned his horse, before urging the charger into a gallop. The hammer swung round and up, catching Asugan Khan in the chest with a solid clank of metal against armour. The blow lifted the lord off his feet and deposited him in an unconscious heap on the arena floor.

William Ashmeadow removed his helmet and spat blood. His nose and mouth were caked with red. He slipped easily from the saddle and approached the prone form of Asugan Khan. Hefting the warhammer, he carefully kicked the sword out of reach of the Khergit lord. Asugan didn’t move. A ragged cheer broke out across the arena as Ashmeadow led his horse away. Leonardo looked round. Di Veluchi was being congratulated by the Khan. The Khergit gave a bag to the merchant which clinked as it dropped into di Veluchi’s hand.

“You had a bet?” said Leonardo incredulously.

“I wish I’d thought of that,” said Jeremus. “How much did you win, sire?”

“Not as much as the Khan it appears,” di Veluchi nodded in the direction of Sanjar Khan. Several of his lords had bags of denars waiting for their ruler.  “It seems mine was merely a side bet.”

“Crafty sod bet against his own man…” Jeremus said. There was admiration in his voice. Behind them, the arena master was organising a couple of servants. They loaded the unconscious Asugan Khan onto the makeshift stretcher and dragged him away.

 

[The Mercenary]

It was dark and stormy. A cliche written by so many authors, Lyrin thought. She was brooding at the top of the Ebon Tower, in a comfortably warm room high above the mountain. A cup of fine wine rested in her left hand, and she was clad in a warm fur robe to ward off the chills from the perpetually frozen mountain peak. A fire crackled behind her, and frozen rain lashed against the tower. Outside her room, four knights were always on duty to protect her. They had changed their ranks to accommodate the queen, and to signify their breakoff from the Geroian Empire. Her father had been...displeased by her decision, but he respected her and had allowed her to take all of the Black Knights.

Her mind was wandering. She turned, standing, clasping the robe around her, and called one of her attendants into the room. The woman was a capable fighter by the name of Zinnfaest, and was the Sable Matriarch's closest friend, having grown up together. She requested that Lord Grife, Lord Harkus, Lady Quellorth, Lord Purin, Lady Duskryn, and Lady Isolla be summoned to the war chamber, and turned back to her chambers as the woman bowed and left. Lyrin looked out the window again. She had...replaced the scheming Lord Tantius during the reformation of the Knights into the Sable Order. The man had been a thorn in her side, and she had had it removed with a knife. Lord Harkus was much more trustworthy and loyal to her and her whims. Lady Quellorth was another knight who was loyal to her without question, while Lady Duskryn was but a mercenary who had chosen to augment their forces. She sighed. The assemblage of her lieutenants and liege-lady would take some time, and she sipped some more wine, before she rose and disrobed. She shivered as the air contacted her bare skin, against her will, then shoved it away and reached for her dress, dressing with meticulous care in the light, airy dress. It was black and slender, low cut with no back, and no straps. The fabric hugged her form tightly, ending a little above the knees, with a slit in the side. A knife was strapped to her inner thigh as usual, but the sleeveless dress left her no place to hide her normal second knife, so she tossed it onto her bed. She disliked the formality that Lady Isolla insisted on, preferring her battle attire or her scouting attire, but she could not deny that she liked how she looked in the elegant gown, as she glanced at the mirror.

The woman, deciding she was attired properly, turned and left. The four knights fell into formation with her as she strode down the stairs, out into the courtyard, and entered the mountain itself. Eventually she came to the war chamber, where the six warriors she had summoned were awaiting her.

"It's time to decide our assault on reclaiming Swadia."

She appraised the assembled personages. Lord Grife, as usual, was looking at the tips of her breasts, while Lady Isolla looked eager. Lady Duskryn was always expressionless, while Lady Quellorth and Lord Harkus were both already looking at the maps. Lord Purin was looking as sour as usual, as he nodded, and turned to the tables.

"Swadia is being torn apart. The rebels under their High Inquisitor Dankdryn are mismanaging the country disgracefully. Crusaders."

She shook her head in disgust.

"All one has to do is mention heathens and they're willing to jump into lava to slay them, joust with windmills, or face insurmountable odds with no regard for their own well-being."

She paused, looking back at the maps.

"Now, Dankdryn being the dimwitted torturer he is, is waiting for us to make the first move. He has fortified Praven and Uxkhal, and has constant patrols, as they unfortunately found out while I was journeying to this haven."

She smiled at Grife, whom she knew to be responsible for the brilliantly constructed and fortified keep's creation.

"Praven is our target, where Dankdryn believes himself to be safe. He has a huge garrison and his main army encamped within the city limits; thousands of men if he pulls his army into the walls. Our goal is to draw the empty-headed man out of his little fortress. We will use a simple technique. March on the city with several hundred of my knights. He will charge out to assault us, and we'll hit him in the rear with six thousand knights, and use that hammer to crush him on the anvil. We will leave six thousand knights in these mountains to continue defending the kingdom we currently have, and the Sable Keep. Once we've secured Dankdryn, we castrate the imbecile, remove his tongue, eyes, and ears, then send the eunuch into the city. With a trebuchet. Assuming they do not capitulate, we take the city and fortify it."

She glanced at the others.

"Lady Quellorth, I know you enjoy castrations, so I will allow you to perform the honors on Dankdryn."

The young woman grinned and bowed partially before she remembered she was wearing a short dress, and quickly turned it into a curtsy. Lady Isolla looked over the plans.

"Lyrin, shall we assemble the troops and march on the morrow?"

Lyrin looked back at her liege.

"Princess, I believe that it would be best to march in the afternoon. Sable Knights work best at night, and if we drew Dankdryn out by evening, he would be doomed. There is a specific field where I wish to engage him...the same place where the Queen lost her head and the traitor's heart was split."

She smiled, as the Princess considered it, then smiled and nodded. The warriors filed out of the room, leaving Grife alone with Larktin. With some irritation, she noted that the man was still staring at the tips of her breasts.

"Grife, is there a stain on my gown?"

The Lord glanced up at her face, surprised, then smiled.

"No M'Lady. It just seems to be a cold night. Perhaps you would welcome some company tonight to ward off the chill?"

She glanced at the man.

"Join me for a glass of wine and some chess, then, Grife."

The man looked surprised at the invitation. After a moment, he stammered a reply.

"Uh...certainly, M'Lady. May I have some time to prepare?"

"Of course. Be in my chambers in half an hour."

Lyrin grinned internally as the flustered Lord turned and departed, bowing to her, heading for his chambers. It would be an enjoyable night and by this time in two days, she would see the insufferable buffoon Dankdryn's head mounted on a pike. She stretched and wandered back up to her chambers, calling for some wine, meat, and a chess set. She tossed her hair back and disrobed as Grife entered, grinning to herself again as the lord muttered something and averted his gaze. She was going to enjoy herself for the next week.

 

[Jhnking]

Farth ran out of the tent when he heard a distant sound of steel-on-steel. Men outside were gathering wepons, armour, and pikes. He unsheathed his sword and grabbed a man by his surcoat and asked "What's going on?!" The man said "The Nord bastards ambushed us! Theyve so far secured the north-east part of camp!" Farth swore and let the man go. He saw his horse near his tent and got it ready to go. He mounted and rode to the sound of the wepons clashing on armour.

As soon as he saw the battle, he knew they stood no chance. The enemy had the Nord Berserker Captain with them, and at least 6 jarls. He sounded the horn for the medics to get the wounded out before they got to the center of camp. He then rode with a lance first at the incoming Nords...

He saw the first jarl at the frontlines. He aimed his lance at him, and charged. The lance splintered when it hit the Jarls stomache, hopefully killing him, and threw the other half at a Nord horseman, who fell into a clump of six infrantry. He unsheated his sword with its familiar ring, and slashed a Nords head off, than quickly stabbed another in the neck. He dismounted, and urged his horse away. A Nord charged at him, weilding a double headed axe. The soldier swung his axe at his head, but he got up close and slashed the handle in half and quickly sliced the nord in two. Another three charged at him, but they quickly sprouted arrows and bolts from his archers and crossbowmen.

The battle reached the center of camp about an hour after it started. They couldnt hold the camp any longer. Farth sounded his horn for retreat. His men started to run to the direction the medics and wounded were heading, Suno. He whistled for his horse, and loaded up one of his men with a leg wound who wouldnt be able to outrun the Nords. Farth slapped the horses rear end with the flat of his blade, wich urged the horse to run faster. He turned and saw the Captain of the Berserkers charging at him by himself....

 

[Pellagus]

It was three days after the duel. Leonardo was sketching horses in a paddock behind the horse merchants house in the main square of Tulga. He had spent the past few days sketching the various Khans who were to be included in the giant painting. Today he was sketching horses and making notes about colours and pigments he would be using. It was a daunting prospect, but the idea filled him with excitement.
He was still sketching when he realised Ashmeadow was standing behind him.

“Mister di Veluchi wants to know if you have everything you need. He wants to be off tomorrow. He’s bought spices and he wants to get back to Jelkala within the week. We’ll be riding hard, but we’ll be travelling lighter. How is your back?”

Leonardo stood and stretched. Still a little stiff, but he felt fine. He told Ashmeadow as much.

“Good. Get your things together. The Khan has set a decree making sure his lords organise patrols as far as Narra. Of course, di Veluchi isn’t daft. We’re travelling home through Swadia. I heard this morning that the Nords have attacked Yalen and the town is expected to fall if the news is to be believed. I want to be back in Jelkala before then.”

“Well, I’m finished here really. I’ve got enough sketches to be going on with. The butcher was good enough to let me watch him render Lord Asugan’s horse. I’ve got some drawings of the musculature here somewhere…” Leonardo began to rifle through a sheaf of pages stuffed into a lap bag.

“No… Thanks. Just be ready to make way early tomorrow. Good-day, Leonardo.” Ashmeadow left.

Leonardo watched him go and then went off to find the horse merchant. He had some questions about saddle construction.


Two days hard riding brought them within sight of Jelkala. Ergellon Lake formed a shimmering halo behind the highest towers of the town as they rode down the valley. Leonardo was tired after the ride, but happy to see the town. He would have to return to Veidar to begin the preparatory work on the Khans painting. He would need to get his assistants organised. Most of them would be working in the fields and would probably have forgotten how to mix pigments into paints. His saddlebags bulged with sketches, all carefully packed and protected against the elements. One of the caravan horses sported a large roll of canvas strapped to its back and a specially bought jar of oil which had travelled with them from Uxkhal the day before. Presently, di Veluchi rode alongside Leonardo. They trotted in silence for a while until the lake fell out of sight behind the forest and the town walls. Finally he spoke.

“We are nearly home, Leonardo. I will attend to your university as promised. I trust you will start work on my gift to the Khan?”

“As soon as I reach Veidar I intend to start, sire. I must warn you though that the council may call on me to build siege machines. If Yalen is lost to the Nords, I imagine that High Councilman Graveth will wish to recapture the town.”

Di Veluchi waved dismissively. “Hah. Warmongering fools. You know something? When we are at peace, I trade wine and cloth. When we are at war I sell wine and cloth, only then the wine is for dulling pain and the cloth is for dressing wounds. My agent in Yalen will have already met the new ruler. I guarantee my trade will not be interrupted by a change in the colour of flag on the gates.” Leonardo wasn’t sure how to react to this outburst. Di Veluchi continued.

“Graveth and Ragnar and even your friend Lady Larktin should be relics of the past. It sickens me to deal with their murderous hides! Do you know I trade velvet with the Geroians? They hate me as much as Graveth does, and yet still they buy from me. They hate me because they cannot fight their wars without someone like me to sell them weapons and pay them their taxes. It’s almost funny. Do you know how much Larktin’s little adventure cost me in trade? Nothing! I actually made more money because they panicked and bought all my stock.” He spat in the dust.

“Look at William Ashmeadow there.” He gestured to the head of the caravan, where Ashmeadow was riding. “He is thirty years old and feels it every day. A life as a soldier is normally short and painful and they get to die in bed if they’re very lucky. He has bought a house in Veluca and the tavern keeper’s daughter is to be his wife. This is his last job for me and he traded it for favourable terms on wines from my vineyards. That is a man I can deal with.” In the distance, a column of soldiers was forming.

“He is a brave man,” said Leonardo.

“Brave men are fools and Ashmeadow is no fool. You saw how he dealt with Asugan Khan. ‘Fight on your terms.’ But he is tired of the endless fighting, as am I.”

A thought occurred to di Veluchi and he turned to look at Leonardo. “You are not a warlike man. Why do agree to make siege weapons?”

“They fascinate me,” Leonardo said simply. He watched as they approached the soldiers. A Rhodok sergeant was shouting at the men while a group of councilmen argued.

Di Veluchi laughed. “That is why I fear men like you more than I fear men like Graveth. A man who would attempt to make Greek fire because it fascinates him. Leonardo, I implore you. Say no this time. Stick to your painting.” He rode ahead to rejoin the front of the caravan.

Leonardo watched him go. Soon they were separated in the crush of troops leaving Jelkala. At the gate, he waited for the crowd of soldiers to pass, before he turned his mount and took the road for Veidar, leading his pack horse behind him. On reflection, di Veluchi had a point. Why spend a week building siege engines in a muddy field outside Yalen when he could be painting? He looked back towards Jelkala. In the fading light, the soldiers were already marching north.


Epilogue

Sun streamed in through the high windows. Queen Kaitilus stood watching the procession of knights from the cathedral far below. A black shape moved in her periphery. She did not turn.

“I still cause to wonder why you surrendered to me,” she said to the room behind her. There was no reply. Queen Kaitilus smiled to herself. “And you still have no cause to answer me. Very well. What did you think of our visitors?”

“The merchant? I have seen him before. He visited my father’s court once or twice. Father did not like dealing with him. He said he was dangerous, though I saw no reason to fear him. He is fat and carries no weapons.”

“Hmm.” The queen closed her eyes and turned her head into the warmth of the sun. “And you are young and have much to learn. What did you think of the painter, Leonardo?”

“He was strange. He did not seem to fear me.”

“No. I think he was quite taken by you. You should have reciprocated. An intelligent man like that could be useful to Swadia.”

“I do not like… politics.”

Kaitilus smiled and turned to look round. Her eyes slowly became accustomed to the shadows.

“No, you are not a politician. You need to learn. Perhaps that is why you are here?” Silence. The queen realised she was gripping her sword rather too tightly. She relaxed her grasp and looked around. Kaitilus was alone once more. 

End

 

[The Mercenary]

Lyrin stretched and yawned, her green eyes almost glowing as she opened them and looked up. She felt deliciously comfortable and satiated, her hair fanned out on the pillow as her hands rested behind her head. She kicked the covers back, baring her torso to the cool air of the room she laid in and grinned to herself, goosebumps rising on the naked flesh of her arms and breasts. She listened to the roll of thunder and the storms around the peak and sighed contentedly, glancing at the man sleeping silently next to her. It must have been late morning or even almost early afternoon, as she'd slept well and she'd spent the entire night sighing on top of him. She closed her eyes and yawned again, then sat up, prodding the man in the side until he woke up.

"Get out of my bed and get dressed."

She spoke casually as she climbed out of the bed. The man watched the slender woman admiringly, how the light played off of her white, softly sensuous curves, resembling a lioness or a sleek leopardess as she padded softly towards the wardrobe, ignoring the clothes scattered on the ground. Before doing anything, she picked up a small, slender knife and buckled it to her inner thigh carefully. She looked for some undergarments, but not finding any, shrugged and reached for a pair of clean breeches, pulling them over her smooth, beautifully clear white legs and the smoothly hairless, bare flesh of her groin. She looked at the man as he laid back, replete in his satisfaction.

"I told you to get out of my bed and get dressed. We leave tonight."

The man glanced at her cockily.

"What was that you said the first time we met? It'd be a hot, simmering day in the Arctic before you'd ever consider letting me into you?"

She glanced at him coolly.

"Zinnfaest!"

The woman poked her raven-haired head in.

"Yes, m'Lady?"

"Escort Lord Grife out of my quarters, please."

"Yes, m'Lady."

The woman warrior stepped into the room and not too gently grabbed Grife, pulling him out of the bed and out of the Lady's rooms. The Lady stretched with a smirk, thrusting her breasts towards the man as he was dragged away by Zinnfaest. Lyrin grinned, looking about herself, and reached for a comfortable shirt. As she pulled the shirt over her head, the well-defined, toned muscles of her abdomen were clearly visible in the light, stretching easily before the shirt covered them. The lithe woman rubbed her shoulders and yawned again, efficiently buckling her black armor on and running a hand through her hair, tossing it back and sheathing Sylvarthus at her right hip. A rich black velvet cloak adorned her back, clasped with a golden brooch crafted in the shape of an autumn leaf, and royal blue threaded through the black cloak, forming beautiful designs against the black background. She rubbed her hands and walked out of her chambers, nodding at the four knights who fell in formation behind her as she made her way down to the dining halls in the mountain.



More to come when I'm bored.

 

[Jhnking]

Farth dodged the Captains sword and quickly sent a whirling attack, but the Captain blocked it. A Nord soldier rushed in to help the captain, but he ordered him to stand back, that Farth was his to kill. The nords made a circle around the two of em as they watched. The Berserker Captain then sent an overhead attack at Fart, but farth quickly sidestepped and tryed to cut his arm off, but he was off balance and made only a small gash. The Captain screamed with rage and with a powerful swing to the left he tryed to cut Farth in half, but Farth blocked it with his sword and quickly tried a stab, but the Captain blocked it. Farth then tryed a overhead slash, but the captain blocked again and their blades were locked. Farth said "I wonder why you seem so confident when you're about to die." The captain laughed and said "Oh, and a pathetic pawn of the bastard Swadians is going to kill me? The Captain of the Berserkers? I don't think so."

Farth quickly pulled away and slashed again, but the captain blocked and stabbed at him.
Farth was to slow and the sword entered his right side of his chest. He fell to his knees, the world mute almost besides him and the Captain. He just stared at the sword in his chest and dropped Needles Point to the ground. The captain pulled his sword out of him and kicked him to the ground, were Farth blacked out.

 

[Feragorn]

Chapter XII: Outlanders

Graf Ulrich von Liechtenstein: Not much is known about this renowned noble's early life, except that he hailed from a kingdom west of the Rhodoks. He came to Calradia in 1257, and immediately made a name for himself as the chief vassal of Lethwin Far-Seeker during his overthrow of King Ragnar of the Kingdom of Nords. After Lethwin's final victory over Ragnar in 1258 at Sargoth, Graf Ulrich led several successful campaigns against the Khergits and Vaegirs, expanding Nordic rule to almost all of the previous Vaegir territory.

In addition to being a successful military commander, Graf Ulrich is also known for his one-man campaign to preserve Chivalrous Honor in Calradia. For six months, he rode the land, taking quests whenever he could, and acting as the defender of Ladies' honor in the noble courts. This period was called the Frauendienst by him, and was documented in a manuscript he wrote later in life. He defeated thirty-seven Lords in single combat as part of this campaign. He gained renown as a terrifying opponent, usually defeating his adversaries with a single lance blow or a stroke from his Great-axe.

He spent the rest of his life participating in tournaments, and defending the Nordic lands from repeated Khergit attacks. He also amassed a collection of rare arms and armor, which spanned from chainmail surcoats to plate armor to unique Samurai armor. However, he was always seen with his Winged Helmet and chainmail surcoat at tournaments. He retired to his city of Tihr and died there at the age of 87.



((Will post more documenting the Frauendienst and Campaign to overthrow Ragnar later.))

 

[CCDK]

A prayer before I die

Here we stand again waiting for the command
We look at the mass that will greet us with steel
Beggars in arms, lords, saints and knaves
When this battle ends who cares
They will all fill the same shallow graves
on this cursed field

Oh God we scream and yell
We beg and curse but who listens?
Who would pity us in this mire of misery
The living victors tell the story
forgotten are the dumb and silent slain
on this cursed field

Will I live to tell the tale?
what will the price be I ask
Am I to part with a hand or more?
Perhaps ill live past this day
drunk with blood and pain
on this cursed field

Let me keep I beg,
My mind, my eyes, and hand
Let me crawl away when the deed is done
Whole in body if not in mind
Let me think that you can be kind
You God of slaughter and blood
Rest on this altar I will not
I will live even in insanity
On this day of offering
I beg you, take my brother, not me
on this cursed field

 

[Josef_the_Pretender]

Now that's what this thread needs 

 

[The Sniper]

mind if i add my own?

 

[Josef_the_Pretender]

Sure, go ahead. This section open to all