bonez899 说:
Maybe "I watched the soldiers as they raped an pillaged. Worst still, they salted the fields so that no crops may grow."
Tales of Calradia (Formerly Warband story and literature thread)
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Maybe "I watched the soldiers as they raped an pillaged. Worst still, they salted the fields so that no crops may grow."
Lawrence stared at himself in the shallow pool of water. A disheveled figure looked back at him with brown hair, brown eyes, and a look of anticipation a fright about him. He looked a second longer, than turned away. All these years leading up to this. The seven years as a grovelling page, doing humiliating acts for the knight's and the older page's amusement. The seven years as a squire, holding the flag, replacing swords, rescuing his knight when he was taken prisoner... it all led up to this. He had one more test in the kingdom of Solsetur, an upstart kingdom led by King Archer. Custom dictates that before you are accepted into knighthood, you must defeat a fellow squire in a tournament. That was what he was preparing for.
Lawrence headed towards the dressing rooms to equip his armor, when a page enters. The looks on the page's eyes show pure worship. Lawrence could tell that this young boy has felt the challenge of the life of a page. It was obvious that he respected Lawrence for surviving through those humiliating times. Acknowledging that the squire is here to help dress him, the elder squire solemnly nods. The armor is loaded on starting with boots, greaves, chestplate, bracers, spaulders, gloves, and helmet. It feels heavy at first, but as it was distributed through his whole body he grew used to it. Lawrence flipped his last coin at the page. If he won this, we would get enough money to support him for life. If not... no, he shook his head to dispel the thought. Bad thoughts led to failure. The old squire made his way towards the armory to select his weapons.
He gripped the heavy lance. It was weighted with lead, a prank from a sixth year page. He decided to let it stick, as it would let him master the lighter weight lances if he could master this one. And that he had. Next, he buckled on his longsword, below it the short sword, and a knife just in case the combat got a little too close. Lastly, he gripped his shield. The emerald leaves on the white background symbolized his will to fight for his country, while remaining honorable.
A bell chimed. Time to go. Lawrence headed toward the arena door, took a deep breath, then opened the door.
Lawrence headed towards the dressing rooms to equip his armor, when a page enters. The looks on the page's eyes show pure worship. Lawrence could tell that this young boy has felt the challenge of the life of a page. It was obvious that he respected Lawrence for surviving through those humiliating times. Acknowledging that the squire is here to help dress him, the elder squire solemnly nods. The armor is loaded on starting with boots, greaves, chestplate, bracers, spaulders, gloves, and helmet. It feels heavy at first, but as it was distributed through his whole body he grew used to it. Lawrence flipped his last coin at the page. If he won this, we would get enough money to support him for life. If not... no, he shook his head to dispel the thought. Bad thoughts led to failure. The old squire made his way towards the armory to select his weapons.
He gripped the heavy lance. It was weighted with lead, a prank from a sixth year page. He decided to let it stick, as it would let him master the lighter weight lances if he could master this one. And that he had. Next, he buckled on his longsword, below it the short sword, and a knife just in case the combat got a little too close. Lastly, he gripped his shield. The emerald leaves on the white background symbolized his will to fight for his country, while remaining honorable.
A bell chimed. Time to go. Lawrence headed toward the arena door, took a deep breath, then opened the door.
spartan012
The Last Stand
This was it. The last alliance of Rhodoks and Khergits against the rest of the realm. I am Kurt Noyan of the Khergit Khanate. For 2 years now, we had put up stiff resistance with our Rhodok allies against the rest of the realm. However, even courage and tactics had its limits when the enemy can pour rank after rank of men against us.
I had watched as many of our soldier charged into the howling dark, against all odds, standing against the mighty chargers of the Swadian Knights and Sarranid Mamlukes, the hail of arrows and bolts from the enemy's rangers. However, even the bravest of soldiers will still fall to fatigue and the bloodlust of the enemies and trampled under the hooves of the enemies' steeds.
I assessed the noyans and counts who were standing firm in front of Tulga. There were only 20 of them, excluding me. As the marshall, i am leading the final battle against our foes. The fate of the 2 kingdoms lies in this battle. King Yargolek, King Ragnar, Sultan Hakim and King Harlus will definitely be involved in this battle. They will definitely want to see us succumb under the 'might' of their army, beg them for mercy. I have lost good friends in this war. It's time to make their sacrifice count.
Several Khergit scouts galloped back from the horizon. I knew that this did not bode well.
"How many?" i asked the scouts before any of them could speak.
"At least 10,000 cavalry and that was all we saw, your honour." one of the replied.
I turned and assessed my army. With our combined might, we have managed to field 3000 Khergit lancers, 4000 Khergit Horse Archers, 3000 Rhodok sharpshooters, 3000 Rhodok Sergeants and roughly 1000 assorted militias. We were definitely outnumbered.
"Battle formations! All lords, assemble the army. Time is not a luxury," i ordered.
I saw the weariness in the men's eyes. We were all exhausted from the long war. However, if any of the four monarchs took control of Caladria, it would spell doom for the realm. All four were horrible kings. Sultan Hakim was nothing but a treacherous schemer, always planning the downfall of enemies and allies alike. King Harlus was a lazy king who would feast frequently at the expense of the welfare of his people. King Yargolek was weak, unable to fend off and protect his people against the bandits. King Ragnar was a stubborn king who refused to improve his army or adapt for that matter. Too traditional.
Behind us stood Tulga, the last fortress held by us. King Graveth and Sanjar Khan will lead the sharpshooters and archers on the walls of the keep and defend the city's walls.
My battle formation was pretty standard. The sergeants and spearsmen will form the frontal battleline. The Sharpshooters will be safe behind the rows of spearsmen, standing on a hill. The lancers and horse archers will cover each side of the flanks of the battle formation. The militias will guard the front of the city gates.
As the men got into position, the first of the enemy riders appeared like a wraith at the horizon of the steppes. Then more thundered on. I saw many of our men's shoulders sinking. Seeing so many banners, especially those of the 4 monarchs, i could begin to feel the terror myself. The rampaging lion on Harlus's banner, the twin tigers on Yargolek's, the Falcon on Ragnar's were all known to inspire fear in the enemy.
I spotted a Vaegir horseman making his way towards us. Stopping 30 steps from us, his demand was clear. Yield or die. Our reply? An arrow right between his eyes. I got the desired result. The hordes of enemy horsemen began charging towards us. I noticed no form of order within their ranks.
As if for an eternity, i looked on as the horsemen brought down their lances, ready for the strike through our shield wall. With a wave of my hand, all the horse archers rushed foward and begin firing at the enemy horsemen, engaging from afar. The knights and mamelukes were not bothered by the hail of arrows but it proved the opposite for the lighter horsemen and man-at-arms. Many fell to the hail of arrows and the charge started to become disorganized. With some continuing their charge, while others turned to engage our horse archers. My horse archers made a flanking maneuver on either side of the enemy's ranks and continued their skirmish, before making a u-turn back to our lines.
Meanwhile, the pikes and spears of the Rhodok infantry lived up to their names. Even the heavy horsemen were stopped by the disciplined and iron-willed spearsmen, and in their vulnerable positions, slaughtered by the legendary Rhodok sharpshooters. I turned and looked at the carnage. We only suffered a few infantry losses. The same cannot be said for our foes. Many of their steeds and their riders lay dead, and the surviving ones turned and fled.
A small victory.
It brought us a small respite but then i saw it. My scouts had been duped. More riders poured ahead. I estimated at least another 10,000 more horsemen. Holding their flanks, were their heavy infantry and huscrals. But what i saw next made my blood run cold.
Black knights.
End of part 1
This was it. The last alliance of Rhodoks and Khergits against the rest of the realm. I am Kurt Noyan of the Khergit Khanate. For 2 years now, we had put up stiff resistance with our Rhodok allies against the rest of the realm. However, even courage and tactics had its limits when the enemy can pour rank after rank of men against us.
I had watched as many of our soldier charged into the howling dark, against all odds, standing against the mighty chargers of the Swadian Knights and Sarranid Mamlukes, the hail of arrows and bolts from the enemy's rangers. However, even the bravest of soldiers will still fall to fatigue and the bloodlust of the enemies and trampled under the hooves of the enemies' steeds.
I assessed the noyans and counts who were standing firm in front of Tulga. There were only 20 of them, excluding me. As the marshall, i am leading the final battle against our foes. The fate of the 2 kingdoms lies in this battle. King Yargolek, King Ragnar, Sultan Hakim and King Harlus will definitely be involved in this battle. They will definitely want to see us succumb under the 'might' of their army, beg them for mercy. I have lost good friends in this war. It's time to make their sacrifice count.
Several Khergit scouts galloped back from the horizon. I knew that this did not bode well.
"How many?" i asked the scouts before any of them could speak.
"At least 10,000 cavalry and that was all we saw, your honour." one of the replied.
I turned and assessed my army. With our combined might, we have managed to field 3000 Khergit lancers, 4000 Khergit Horse Archers, 3000 Rhodok sharpshooters, 3000 Rhodok Sergeants and roughly 1000 assorted militias. We were definitely outnumbered.
"Battle formations! All lords, assemble the army. Time is not a luxury," i ordered.
I saw the weariness in the men's eyes. We were all exhausted from the long war. However, if any of the four monarchs took control of Caladria, it would spell doom for the realm. All four were horrible kings. Sultan Hakim was nothing but a treacherous schemer, always planning the downfall of enemies and allies alike. King Harlus was a lazy king who would feast frequently at the expense of the welfare of his people. King Yargolek was weak, unable to fend off and protect his people against the bandits. King Ragnar was a stubborn king who refused to improve his army or adapt for that matter. Too traditional.
Behind us stood Tulga, the last fortress held by us. King Graveth and Sanjar Khan will lead the sharpshooters and archers on the walls of the keep and defend the city's walls.
My battle formation was pretty standard. The sergeants and spearsmen will form the frontal battleline. The Sharpshooters will be safe behind the rows of spearsmen, standing on a hill. The lancers and horse archers will cover each side of the flanks of the battle formation. The militias will guard the front of the city gates.
As the men got into position, the first of the enemy riders appeared like a wraith at the horizon of the steppes. Then more thundered on. I saw many of our men's shoulders sinking. Seeing so many banners, especially those of the 4 monarchs, i could begin to feel the terror myself. The rampaging lion on Harlus's banner, the twin tigers on Yargolek's, the Falcon on Ragnar's were all known to inspire fear in the enemy.
I spotted a Vaegir horseman making his way towards us. Stopping 30 steps from us, his demand was clear. Yield or die. Our reply? An arrow right between his eyes. I got the desired result. The hordes of enemy horsemen began charging towards us. I noticed no form of order within their ranks.
As if for an eternity, i looked on as the horsemen brought down their lances, ready for the strike through our shield wall. With a wave of my hand, all the horse archers rushed foward and begin firing at the enemy horsemen, engaging from afar. The knights and mamelukes were not bothered by the hail of arrows but it proved the opposite for the lighter horsemen and man-at-arms. Many fell to the hail of arrows and the charge started to become disorganized. With some continuing their charge, while others turned to engage our horse archers. My horse archers made a flanking maneuver on either side of the enemy's ranks and continued their skirmish, before making a u-turn back to our lines.
Meanwhile, the pikes and spears of the Rhodok infantry lived up to their names. Even the heavy horsemen were stopped by the disciplined and iron-willed spearsmen, and in their vulnerable positions, slaughtered by the legendary Rhodok sharpshooters. I turned and looked at the carnage. We only suffered a few infantry losses. The same cannot be said for our foes. Many of their steeds and their riders lay dead, and the surviving ones turned and fled.
A small victory.
It brought us a small respite but then i saw it. My scouts had been duped. More riders poured ahead. I estimated at least another 10,000 more horsemen. Holding their flanks, were their heavy infantry and huscrals. But what i saw next made my blood run cold.
Black knights.
End of part 1
spartan012
The Last Stand Part 2
This was not happening. I had not expected it. Would those 4 monarchs actually sink that low to hire these lowlifes. These abominations to humanity.
"Marshall, what now?"
I turned to find Count Matheas right behind me, flanked by two of the elite Rhodok Sergeants. In his Rhodok full helm, i may not be able to distinguish his expression but his posture showed me that this was a fight he wanted to bail. I can't have that, not now.
"Count Matheas, send word for the archers to have their quivers restocked. have the wounded tended to immediately. I need everyone who can hold a weapon to fight. Understood?" i barked.
"Yes, Sire!" came the reply. However he still walked unsteadily back into the shieldwall.
I retreated back to the command tent, calling all the noyans and counts. In all this darkness, a gleaming hope did provide us with an advantage. The soldiers within Tulga had managed to craft 5 catapults. This would be a valuable asset to us. Our enemy will no longer be disorganized, and with the deadly Vaegir marksmen, they could defend and attack at the same time.
"Lords of Rhodoks and Khergits! I need you to steel yourselves. We will be a leading example to our men. We will be there for them and if need be, die with them. If you choose not to fight, you can still bail." None of them moved.
"Well, let's get this battle underway, shall we?" asked Kramuk Noyan. In all this terror, it was people like Kramuk that banded the people together, regain their resolve to fight. Looking at him, i felt unworthy to lead.
Looking across the vast steppes, i observed the enemy troops. I saw fifteen partially completed siege towers. I could feel my heart rising. The enemies' horsemen begin to form a wedge formation, with the black knights leading the vanguard. Right behind them, the familiar shields of the huscrals formed tight shield walls, reinforced by vaegir and swadian medium footmen and sarranid light guards. The threat however, was still the black knights. It was said that they could annihilate an entire company of soldiers themselves. Having faced and been captured by them before, i knew their limitations and knew that they were not as strong as the rumors made them to be. Still, i mused over the fact that they could destroy up to three ranks of spearsmen in their first charge.
"Sir. Look," one of my horse archers pointed.
In the distance, although hard to make out, i spotted the 4 monarchs preparing their rallying speeches. The battle will commence soon. I turned and saw the bleak faces of my soldiers. Some of the infantry were even lying slump against their pikes.
Leaving my position, i rode towards the front of the shieldwall. Many of the Rhodoks never ever saw me face to face, eye to eye before. But they all knew who i was. In the battle against the other kingdoms during the first year of the war, i had crushed a force of 20,000 Swadian and Nord troops in a battle near Suno, with a mere force of 2,500. I was supposedly the stuff of legend, with my tactics supposedly compared to demigods like Alexander the Great. If only i were that good.
"Men," i roared. "This may be the last time i am addressing all of you. What you see now, across the plains are your enemies. That may look ferocious but do they even know about valor?"
The soldiers of the Khergit Khanate started to perk up, but the Rhodok soldiers still looked very weary.
"What are you fighting for?" i continued. "We lose now, they will raid our lands, rape our women and slaughter the children. Everything we stood for these 2 years would be meaningless. Our dead comrades died protecting what they believed in. You want to let their lives go to waste?"
The Khergit horsemen remained silent. However, i could see the resolve in their eyes. The Rhodok were yelling, thumping their weapons and clashing their shields. They were ready. I am ready.
Today is a good day to die.
End of part 2
======================
Thanks bonez. I'll try to make the story as interesting as possible
This was not happening. I had not expected it. Would those 4 monarchs actually sink that low to hire these lowlifes. These abominations to humanity.
"Marshall, what now?"
I turned to find Count Matheas right behind me, flanked by two of the elite Rhodok Sergeants. In his Rhodok full helm, i may not be able to distinguish his expression but his posture showed me that this was a fight he wanted to bail. I can't have that, not now.
"Count Matheas, send word for the archers to have their quivers restocked. have the wounded tended to immediately. I need everyone who can hold a weapon to fight. Understood?" i barked.
"Yes, Sire!" came the reply. However he still walked unsteadily back into the shieldwall.
I retreated back to the command tent, calling all the noyans and counts. In all this darkness, a gleaming hope did provide us with an advantage. The soldiers within Tulga had managed to craft 5 catapults. This would be a valuable asset to us. Our enemy will no longer be disorganized, and with the deadly Vaegir marksmen, they could defend and attack at the same time.
"Lords of Rhodoks and Khergits! I need you to steel yourselves. We will be a leading example to our men. We will be there for them and if need be, die with them. If you choose not to fight, you can still bail." None of them moved.
"Well, let's get this battle underway, shall we?" asked Kramuk Noyan. In all this terror, it was people like Kramuk that banded the people together, regain their resolve to fight. Looking at him, i felt unworthy to lead.
Looking across the vast steppes, i observed the enemy troops. I saw fifteen partially completed siege towers. I could feel my heart rising. The enemies' horsemen begin to form a wedge formation, with the black knights leading the vanguard. Right behind them, the familiar shields of the huscrals formed tight shield walls, reinforced by vaegir and swadian medium footmen and sarranid light guards. The threat however, was still the black knights. It was said that they could annihilate an entire company of soldiers themselves. Having faced and been captured by them before, i knew their limitations and knew that they were not as strong as the rumors made them to be. Still, i mused over the fact that they could destroy up to three ranks of spearsmen in their first charge.
"Sir. Look," one of my horse archers pointed.
In the distance, although hard to make out, i spotted the 4 monarchs preparing their rallying speeches. The battle will commence soon. I turned and saw the bleak faces of my soldiers. Some of the infantry were even lying slump against their pikes.
Leaving my position, i rode towards the front of the shieldwall. Many of the Rhodoks never ever saw me face to face, eye to eye before. But they all knew who i was. In the battle against the other kingdoms during the first year of the war, i had crushed a force of 20,000 Swadian and Nord troops in a battle near Suno, with a mere force of 2,500. I was supposedly the stuff of legend, with my tactics supposedly compared to demigods like Alexander the Great. If only i were that good.
"Men," i roared. "This may be the last time i am addressing all of you. What you see now, across the plains are your enemies. That may look ferocious but do they even know about valor?"
The soldiers of the Khergit Khanate started to perk up, but the Rhodok soldiers still looked very weary.
"What are you fighting for?" i continued. "We lose now, they will raid our lands, rape our women and slaughter the children. Everything we stood for these 2 years would be meaningless. Our dead comrades died protecting what they believed in. You want to let their lives go to waste?"
The Khergit horsemen remained silent. However, i could see the resolve in their eyes. The Rhodok were yelling, thumping their weapons and clashing their shields. They were ready. I am ready.
Today is a good day to die.
End of part 2
======================
Thanks bonez. I'll try to make the story as interesting as possible
Nightglider
Aww...no more stories?
All ran out of juice?
All ran out of juice?
I just woke up, man! everything is blurry... I will get one out later today.
bonez899
Squire
Chapter 2
After a day’s hard traveling I reach Tihr, such a large disgusting smelly place that it is, never before do I remember there being this many people in one place. After asking several people where to look for work I finally ask someone helpful who recommends going to the tavern as many people go there to find workers when they are in need of them, as it is a place of social where many hundreds pass through each week and each week dozens are hired for different jobs.
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the tavern was a group of young men around my age crowded around a table so I go over to investigate and see that they are clustered around a grizzled old Man in the outfit of a Huscarl and with enough scars to prove his outfit correct telling stories of the wars. Since I have nothing better to be done in the moment I join the crowd and listen, two hours later I go to my lodgings inside the tavern with a sense of purpose. I am going to join the army of the local lord and fight the kind of people who sacked my village. One way or another I will get revenge on the people who sacked my village, whether I get paid to do it or not.
Hope it suits you guys for now and I'm going to try to make chapter 3 longer.
After a day’s hard traveling I reach Tihr, such a large disgusting smelly place that it is, never before do I remember there being this many people in one place. After asking several people where to look for work I finally ask someone helpful who recommends going to the tavern as many people go there to find workers when they are in need of them, as it is a place of social where many hundreds pass through each week and each week dozens are hired for different jobs.
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the tavern was a group of young men around my age crowded around a table so I go over to investigate and see that they are clustered around a grizzled old Man in the outfit of a Huscarl and with enough scars to prove his outfit correct telling stories of the wars. Since I have nothing better to be done in the moment I join the crowd and listen, two hours later I go to my lodgings inside the tavern with a sense of purpose. I am going to join the army of the local lord and fight the kind of people who sacked my village. One way or another I will get revenge on the people who sacked my village, whether I get paid to do it or not.
Hope it suits you guys for now and I'm going to try to make chapter 3 longer.
spartan012
Haha. Why is Tihr always smelly? Not a bad chapter but it would be better if it were longer.
Just leave this 'ere... part 3 of Unbent, Unbowed, Unbroken...
It was long after dark when the sacking that covered the slit was torn away by the wind, throwing the soaked cloth across the tiny chamber. Rain, no longer impeded by the flimsy barrier, flung itself into the room, the thick droplets hammering hard against the pale body that lay upon a thin palette, shivering as the cold water fell upon his bare, bruised skin. Even as his body shivered, he managed to sleep, even if it was fitful. Living as a beggar had hardened him to the harsh discomforts of life, compounding the lessons learnt from years of life as a mercenary.
When they had bundled him from the tournament field, bruised and battered, he had been treated as a murderer. Every step of the way, from the proving grounds to the castle, he had been beaten, the soldiers eager to hammer him with cudgels and scabbard clad swords, raining blows down upon him with spear butts. He'd been unable to resist the strikes or even protect himself, his hands bound tightly behind his back with coarse rope, a leather gag rammed between his teeth.
His eyes slowly opened, lids flickering as he took in his darkened surroundings. A groan erupted from his throat as he recalled his predicament, the sound drowned by the rattle of rain and howling wind. With pain dogging each movement he rose to his feet and, braving the rain that was still being hurled through the archers slit, stared out across the castle and Praven. The city itself, from his position, was cloaked by the inky night and weather, but every so often the warm glow of a torch or fire would break up the darkness. In the courtyard far below he could see the grooms and squires miserably huddled in the rain, keeping their masters mounts in hand whilst King Harlaus, ruler of Swadia, was entertaining the amassed Lords and Ladies. A pang of hunger rose from his stomach as his mind eagerly imagined the rich foods and drink the nobles would be enjoying.
Leaning against the wall, with only the wind and rain to keep him company, Giacomo went over the days events for the hundredth time. Neither he nor Devlian had succeeded in unseating the other during the final joust. As the grooms took the mounts from the field, the two warriors had stood before the Royal box. With the shaking, whimpering squire behind him, Giacomo had stood stock still as King Harlaus rose from his seat. Devlian, his squire having unbuckled his helm, had pulled the steel from his face. Even with his golden hair matted to his skin by sweat, with his cheeks reddened from the joust, he still looked every part the noble paladin and warrior. He bowed low to Harlaus, straightened and took the helm his squire proffered, one more suitable for combat on foot.
Giacomo, having kept his helm still in place, bowed stiffly, but Harlaus would have none of it.
“Let us all see the face of the man who has won the last six tournaments no less! Come Delinard, remove your helm, let the crowd see their champion!”
In the face of the Royal command, and with the crowd screaming for Delinard, Giacomo had no choice. The squire, his hands shaking, had managed to unbuckle the chinstrap and pulled the steel from the mercenary's head. A heartbeat later the entire field was silent. From the Royal box a woman screamed, a man swore. Devlian, having been armed by his squire, had his blade raised to the mercenary's throat, ready for the command to cut Giacomo down. Lady Rosewitha, recognising the sweat matted mercenary, had her hand clamped to her mouth whilst her friend, Gaeta, had fallen into a swoon but was being ignored, much to her irritation, as every head craned forward to stare at the commoner.
Harlaus, a smile on his lips, leaned both hands upon the wooden rail, and stared at the man before him. He saw a man, not yet thirty, with long brown hair, a pale complexion and of average build. What caught his eye most were the clear grey eyes that stared unwaveringly into his own. Eventually, with his tone fairly dripping with amusement, he spoke.
“I had wondered who it was who had the audacity, the nerve and, not to mention, impudence to take Delinard's place. I could not think of any man who would step forward and joust in the place of our favoured champion. I must admit that I could not fathom why Delinard's lance work was so careless. The greatest lancer of our army unable to knock a sapling like Devlian from his mount?”
Beside Giacomo, Devlian reddened, but the steel did not move so much as an inch.
When Giacomo said nothing, Harlaus raised an eyebrow. “Well sir, as you have had the impudence to do as much as you have, you may as well dance until the end of the song. Arm him.” With a nod to the squire, Harlaus sat.
As the swords came together, ringing dully across the tournament field, the fight could be considered a foregone conclusion. Devlian was tall, strong, agile, young and used to handling weapons on a daily basis. Giacomo however was shorter than his opponent, weaker from months of poor diet and living conditions and had not properly handled a weapon in seven months. His only saving grace was his quick, instinctive footwork, yet not even that could save him in the end. For a minute they circled, each seeking to wrong foot the other and when the first attack came, with the crowd starting to grow restless, it was as quick as lightning and if it had struck no doubt Giacomo's padded armour would not have been enough to protect him from the blunt weapon. A quick intuitive sidestep allowed Giacomo to evade the blade, bringing his own clumsily to bear. Devlian didn't even bother to respond as the blade sailed past him. Giacomo knew that beneath the expressionless helm, his opponent was smiling.
The three hits, when they came, were so fast that Giacomo was still staggering from the first when the third cracked against the steel of his helmet. His legs caved from beneath him, the crash of his body lost in the roar of the crowd that competed with the ringing of his ears.
Slowly, with infinite care to not upset his bruised and battered body, he lowered himself back to the palette, curling his limbs tightly to his body, feeling a brief glimmer of warmth amidst the cool film of water upon his skin. He lay there, pale and stark amidst the gloom of the room, ears listening to the steady beat of the rain. By now the wind had fallen to a gentle whistle as it sought its way through the opening, so that little rain was swept into the damp room, and eventually, exhausted as he was, Giacomo fell into a deep sleep.
It was long after dark when the sacking that covered the slit was torn away by the wind, throwing the soaked cloth across the tiny chamber. Rain, no longer impeded by the flimsy barrier, flung itself into the room, the thick droplets hammering hard against the pale body that lay upon a thin palette, shivering as the cold water fell upon his bare, bruised skin. Even as his body shivered, he managed to sleep, even if it was fitful. Living as a beggar had hardened him to the harsh discomforts of life, compounding the lessons learnt from years of life as a mercenary.
When they had bundled him from the tournament field, bruised and battered, he had been treated as a murderer. Every step of the way, from the proving grounds to the castle, he had been beaten, the soldiers eager to hammer him with cudgels and scabbard clad swords, raining blows down upon him with spear butts. He'd been unable to resist the strikes or even protect himself, his hands bound tightly behind his back with coarse rope, a leather gag rammed between his teeth.
His eyes slowly opened, lids flickering as he took in his darkened surroundings. A groan erupted from his throat as he recalled his predicament, the sound drowned by the rattle of rain and howling wind. With pain dogging each movement he rose to his feet and, braving the rain that was still being hurled through the archers slit, stared out across the castle and Praven. The city itself, from his position, was cloaked by the inky night and weather, but every so often the warm glow of a torch or fire would break up the darkness. In the courtyard far below he could see the grooms and squires miserably huddled in the rain, keeping their masters mounts in hand whilst King Harlaus, ruler of Swadia, was entertaining the amassed Lords and Ladies. A pang of hunger rose from his stomach as his mind eagerly imagined the rich foods and drink the nobles would be enjoying.
Leaning against the wall, with only the wind and rain to keep him company, Giacomo went over the days events for the hundredth time. Neither he nor Devlian had succeeded in unseating the other during the final joust. As the grooms took the mounts from the field, the two warriors had stood before the Royal box. With the shaking, whimpering squire behind him, Giacomo had stood stock still as King Harlaus rose from his seat. Devlian, his squire having unbuckled his helm, had pulled the steel from his face. Even with his golden hair matted to his skin by sweat, with his cheeks reddened from the joust, he still looked every part the noble paladin and warrior. He bowed low to Harlaus, straightened and took the helm his squire proffered, one more suitable for combat on foot.
Giacomo, having kept his helm still in place, bowed stiffly, but Harlaus would have none of it.
“Let us all see the face of the man who has won the last six tournaments no less! Come Delinard, remove your helm, let the crowd see their champion!”
In the face of the Royal command, and with the crowd screaming for Delinard, Giacomo had no choice. The squire, his hands shaking, had managed to unbuckle the chinstrap and pulled the steel from the mercenary's head. A heartbeat later the entire field was silent. From the Royal box a woman screamed, a man swore. Devlian, having been armed by his squire, had his blade raised to the mercenary's throat, ready for the command to cut Giacomo down. Lady Rosewitha, recognising the sweat matted mercenary, had her hand clamped to her mouth whilst her friend, Gaeta, had fallen into a swoon but was being ignored, much to her irritation, as every head craned forward to stare at the commoner.
Harlaus, a smile on his lips, leaned both hands upon the wooden rail, and stared at the man before him. He saw a man, not yet thirty, with long brown hair, a pale complexion and of average build. What caught his eye most were the clear grey eyes that stared unwaveringly into his own. Eventually, with his tone fairly dripping with amusement, he spoke.
“I had wondered who it was who had the audacity, the nerve and, not to mention, impudence to take Delinard's place. I could not think of any man who would step forward and joust in the place of our favoured champion. I must admit that I could not fathom why Delinard's lance work was so careless. The greatest lancer of our army unable to knock a sapling like Devlian from his mount?”
Beside Giacomo, Devlian reddened, but the steel did not move so much as an inch.
When Giacomo said nothing, Harlaus raised an eyebrow. “Well sir, as you have had the impudence to do as much as you have, you may as well dance until the end of the song. Arm him.” With a nod to the squire, Harlaus sat.
As the swords came together, ringing dully across the tournament field, the fight could be considered a foregone conclusion. Devlian was tall, strong, agile, young and used to handling weapons on a daily basis. Giacomo however was shorter than his opponent, weaker from months of poor diet and living conditions and had not properly handled a weapon in seven months. His only saving grace was his quick, instinctive footwork, yet not even that could save him in the end. For a minute they circled, each seeking to wrong foot the other and when the first attack came, with the crowd starting to grow restless, it was as quick as lightning and if it had struck no doubt Giacomo's padded armour would not have been enough to protect him from the blunt weapon. A quick intuitive sidestep allowed Giacomo to evade the blade, bringing his own clumsily to bear. Devlian didn't even bother to respond as the blade sailed past him. Giacomo knew that beneath the expressionless helm, his opponent was smiling.
The three hits, when they came, were so fast that Giacomo was still staggering from the first when the third cracked against the steel of his helmet. His legs caved from beneath him, the crash of his body lost in the roar of the crowd that competed with the ringing of his ears.
Slowly, with infinite care to not upset his bruised and battered body, he lowered himself back to the palette, curling his limbs tightly to his body, feeling a brief glimmer of warmth amidst the cool film of water upon his skin. He lay there, pale and stark amidst the gloom of the room, ears listening to the steady beat of the rain. By now the wind had fallen to a gentle whistle as it sought its way through the opening, so that little rain was swept into the damp room, and eventually, exhausted as he was, Giacomo fell into a deep sleep.
RAPIER! Bravo, another good story.Nightglider
Awesome! It's alive again
The roar of the crowd was deafening from the quiet of the break room. Wincing a bit at the sudden light and noise Lawrence tightened the strap to his helmet and walked up to his horse. A cheer broke out when he was noticed. Lawrence pet his mount's head and whispered slowly and reassuringly to the anxious creature. Sliding his foot into the stirrup he hoisted himself onto the horse. The same page who helped him handed him his lance, and Lawrence took his own shield from its place on his back. Finally he looked at his opponent.
The man sitting across from his wore the emblem of a sword through a skull. The man's muscular body and the way he held his head high marked him as a noble. Probably son of an impoverished lord as Lawrence was. The opponent held the lance as easily as he. The man's steed was pure white and well rested. For the first time in awhile, Lawrence was nervous.
A horn blew and the two sped forward. Months, no, years of training took over Lawrence. He held the jousting lance light in his hand, holding it level. His breathing slow, his body relaxed. His face went stone hard. His lance hit the opponent's shield, as the opponent hit Lawrence's. The shock jerked both of them back. They were both still in the saddle. Lawrence and the opponent turned around and went straight towards each other. They both switched to a gallop, charging toward one another. Both shields were hit. The lances shattered, and the force of the blow throwing both of them out of their saddles.
Another horn blew out. Without hesitation the pages ran out to give the two squires a dull longsword. Both Lawrence and the opponent circled one another, testing each other's weaknesses. The opposition's left arm seemed to be hurt from the lance hit, and Lawrence knew he himself limped because of landing on his leg. They charged as one, and hit as one. Both hit the shield arm, and the crowd grew silent as the two engaged in combat.
Lawrence struck perfectly executed attacks at the enemy. The drill from eight years ago ringing in his head. Strike, block, feint, stab, block. Each word was rehearsed and well known. He glanced quickly at his opponent's moves. The man seemed to be moving gracefully and striking swift. Lawrence had the power, the opponent had the speed. They kept at it for what felt like hours. White hot pain shot through where blows had connected, and an extra wave of adrenaline when he hit the enemy. He was in the middle of another drill when he head a familiar voice ring in his head. Don't keep to the same thing. Surprise is the key to warfare. No doubt he will get into the rhythm of your moves. Switch it up before he does.
Remembering his knight-master's words. He quickly made up a new rhythm. He quickly bashed his shield into the opponent's. Quickly he feinted at the head and kicked the man's knee. Lawrence then bashed the hilt on the man's head and brought the sword around into the other squire's side. The figure in front of him crumpled. Relief washed over Lawrence, then the pain of his many wounds hit him. He fell to his knees and wept. The tears would not show through his helmet.
Realization struck him that the crowd was roaring. Remembering what he did, he threw his helmet onto the ground and stood over the unconsious body of his opponent. He had won. He had won. The words tasted fresh in his mouth. As if he could say it a thousand times and it would never grow old. He had won. He turned to King Archer and knelt. He would be in King Archer's personal army. He would fight by the king's side.
He screamed out the words "I have won!"
(To be continued.)
The man sitting across from his wore the emblem of a sword through a skull. The man's muscular body and the way he held his head high marked him as a noble. Probably son of an impoverished lord as Lawrence was. The opponent held the lance as easily as he. The man's steed was pure white and well rested. For the first time in awhile, Lawrence was nervous.
A horn blew and the two sped forward. Months, no, years of training took over Lawrence. He held the jousting lance light in his hand, holding it level. His breathing slow, his body relaxed. His face went stone hard. His lance hit the opponent's shield, as the opponent hit Lawrence's. The shock jerked both of them back. They were both still in the saddle. Lawrence and the opponent turned around and went straight towards each other. They both switched to a gallop, charging toward one another. Both shields were hit. The lances shattered, and the force of the blow throwing both of them out of their saddles.
Another horn blew out. Without hesitation the pages ran out to give the two squires a dull longsword. Both Lawrence and the opponent circled one another, testing each other's weaknesses. The opposition's left arm seemed to be hurt from the lance hit, and Lawrence knew he himself limped because of landing on his leg. They charged as one, and hit as one. Both hit the shield arm, and the crowd grew silent as the two engaged in combat.
Lawrence struck perfectly executed attacks at the enemy. The drill from eight years ago ringing in his head. Strike, block, feint, stab, block. Each word was rehearsed and well known. He glanced quickly at his opponent's moves. The man seemed to be moving gracefully and striking swift. Lawrence had the power, the opponent had the speed. They kept at it for what felt like hours. White hot pain shot through where blows had connected, and an extra wave of adrenaline when he hit the enemy. He was in the middle of another drill when he head a familiar voice ring in his head. Don't keep to the same thing. Surprise is the key to warfare. No doubt he will get into the rhythm of your moves. Switch it up before he does.
Remembering his knight-master's words. He quickly made up a new rhythm. He quickly bashed his shield into the opponent's. Quickly he feinted at the head and kicked the man's knee. Lawrence then bashed the hilt on the man's head and brought the sword around into the other squire's side. The figure in front of him crumpled. Relief washed over Lawrence, then the pain of his many wounds hit him. He fell to his knees and wept. The tears would not show through his helmet.
Realization struck him that the crowd was roaring. Remembering what he did, he threw his helmet onto the ground and stood over the unconsious body of his opponent. He had won. He had won. The words tasted fresh in his mouth. As if he could say it a thousand times and it would never grow old. He had won. He turned to King Archer and knelt. He would be in King Archer's personal army. He would fight by the king's side.
He screamed out the words "I have won!"
(To be continued.)
DarkShogun417
Knight
Count Matheas looked grim, standing over the table, looking down at the map. Grim indeed. There was a hardness in his eyes, an effort in his speech. He was grim because he knew what was going to happen. All of his loyal soldiers, from the hardened sergeants to the nervous recruits, all of them. They were going to die.
The Swadians, curse them, had set up a trap for him. And he had fallen into it easily. A few days earlier, the count had been forced to cross the river near Jelkala. He had hatched a plan to flank the Swadians as they crossed the bridge. He would travel up the mountains towards the village of Ruldi, then where the river ended he would turn around and go down the mountain on the other bank. So he marched his army, from the hardened sergeants to the nervous recruits, up to Ruldi. But the Swadians knew. They knew, and they set up the trap. Where the river ended, there was a line of Swadian shields, blocking their path. And soon Count Matheas saw the 2nd army coming from behind him on the bank he had just traveled. Now he was the one being flanked. All of them, from the most hardened sergeants to the most nervous recruits. Trapped. And now we come back to Count Matheas, grimly staring at the map, wondering what he was going to do.
to be continued...
The Swadians, curse them, had set up a trap for him. And he had fallen into it easily. A few days earlier, the count had been forced to cross the river near Jelkala. He had hatched a plan to flank the Swadians as they crossed the bridge. He would travel up the mountains towards the village of Ruldi, then where the river ended he would turn around and go down the mountain on the other bank. So he marched his army, from the hardened sergeants to the nervous recruits, up to Ruldi. But the Swadians knew. They knew, and they set up the trap. Where the river ended, there was a line of Swadian shields, blocking their path. And soon Count Matheas saw the 2nd army coming from behind him on the bank he had just traveled. Now he was the one being flanked. All of them, from the most hardened sergeants to the most nervous recruits. Trapped. And now we come back to Count Matheas, grimly staring at the map, wondering what he was going to do.
to be continued...
Dominic woke as usual to the dull ache in his right shoulder. It was always much worse when they camped on the cold ground. The ground was covered in silvery dew, so at least he had made it till morning, a slight victory. The horses grazed only few yards away, tied to a line between two trees. Banda looked up at him in greeting, before ruturning to the lush grass. He was finally recovering, the bright blue black lustre returning to his coat.
Pain shot through him as he dragged himself up into a sitting position, and glared at Alayen, who laughed at his obvious discomfort. After the pain of sitting had passed, he began his daily ritual, gradually moving his shoulder, bareing the pain with a grin. Rotating the joint, Stretching the mucsle. He knew from bitter experiance that to ignore this would be agony on the road later. Alayen threw a lump of salted beef over, which he gratefully started gnawing. His friend caught his eye, before nodding towards the road, some 50 yards through the trees behind them. "Traffics started early, might have been a caravan though" Dominic nodded his reply, rising as he did so. He reached down, and shifted the horse blankets, revealing a chain-mail hauberk, mantle and sword. His shield and lance rested against a tree close by. Alayen took the subtle hint, and began packing his saddle bags ready for the days ride. They didn't talk, they were both to tired, weary from weeks in the saddle.
His mantle lay in a heap over his mail, and he remembered the day he donned it, years previously, miles from home, the starched white linin sparkling in the bright summer sun, blazing red cross defiant, unbending. Such glory, Hundreds of men from all over Calradia gathered in response to the call from the high bishop of Suno to wage war on the heathen, who would force pilgrims and true believers from the Tomb of emperor Markus, butcher innocent men and women of the faith. Three hundred Knights, Viegir and Swadian, brothers in god, took the mantle as a sign of thier devotion. Beilevers even came from The cold Nord lands, men amoungst savages, Rhodocks and thier wicked crossbows, men of all creeds and alligences came to swear to liberate Hertula and follow Bishop Ora to eternal glory.
Dirty, bloodstained, and patched around the shoulder Dominic pulled the garment over his head, the same sense of duty now as then, before mounting Banda and joining his sole companion, Sir Alayen, Knight of Hertula, on the road to Ukxhal.
Pain shot through him as he dragged himself up into a sitting position, and glared at Alayen, who laughed at his obvious discomfort. After the pain of sitting had passed, he began his daily ritual, gradually moving his shoulder, bareing the pain with a grin. Rotating the joint, Stretching the mucsle. He knew from bitter experiance that to ignore this would be agony on the road later. Alayen threw a lump of salted beef over, which he gratefully started gnawing. His friend caught his eye, before nodding towards the road, some 50 yards through the trees behind them. "Traffics started early, might have been a caravan though" Dominic nodded his reply, rising as he did so. He reached down, and shifted the horse blankets, revealing a chain-mail hauberk, mantle and sword. His shield and lance rested against a tree close by. Alayen took the subtle hint, and began packing his saddle bags ready for the days ride. They didn't talk, they were both to tired, weary from weeks in the saddle.
His mantle lay in a heap over his mail, and he remembered the day he donned it, years previously, miles from home, the starched white linin sparkling in the bright summer sun, blazing red cross defiant, unbending. Such glory, Hundreds of men from all over Calradia gathered in response to the call from the high bishop of Suno to wage war on the heathen, who would force pilgrims and true believers from the Tomb of emperor Markus, butcher innocent men and women of the faith. Three hundred Knights, Viegir and Swadian, brothers in god, took the mantle as a sign of thier devotion. Beilevers even came from The cold Nord lands, men amoungst savages, Rhodocks and thier wicked crossbows, men of all creeds and alligences came to swear to liberate Hertula and follow Bishop Ora to eternal glory.
Dirty, bloodstained, and patched around the shoulder Dominic pulled the garment over his head, the same sense of duty now as then, before mounting Banda and joining his sole companion, Sir Alayen, Knight of Hertula, on the road to Ukxhal.
The sun had risen to its highest point before the ancient city of Ukxhal drifted over the horizen, great eastern gatehouse and cathedral spire only just visable through the heat haze of a summers day on the plains. In fact, if it hadn't been for the 20 or so lightly armed men surrounding them with malice in thier eyes, Domanic and Alayen might have considered themselves lucky to be so close to the city, but now the distant towers sat mockingly just out of reach. Both Knights were still mounted, though stationary with swords drawn and shields raised. Five looters already lay scattered about, all dead, thier blood now staining the mounts and blades of thier victims. The trap had been clever, if not masterfull, Domanic had to give the looters that, a cart laid up in the road, how could two knights sworn to protect the innocent resist such bait. Only once the ambush was sprung did he realise the obviousness of the ploy, grudging respect going to the leader for playing within sight of Ukxhal, where the two warriors would start to feel more relaxed.
One of the few men on armour stepped forward nonchalantly, sword swinging limply by his side, before bowing deeply only 10 yards from the knights. "Sir knights, do forgive my overactive brethern, they lack the civilisation of gentlemen such as ourselves" Alayen only just managed to stifle a laugh, which thankfully didn't carry far. "How rude of me" The bandit sneered, "My name is Captain De Rayal, of the free swadian milita" He gestured around him, at the motley band. He turned to face Ukxhal, almost a mirage six miles distant, and continued. "Duke Delinard, in his infinate wisdom, refuses us, calls us outlaws, murderers, but such labels are grossly wrong" He stared at the ground despondantly before turning back to his audience animatedly left palm outstreched, and Dominic thought he played the part almost convincingly, had it not been for the armed men surrounding them, "Gentlemen such as ourselves must help each other, mustn't we? A little coin, is all I ask, so I can feed and clothe my men, say 500 denars, a trifling sum to great knight such as you" He smiled, as innocently as a man with three front teeth missing can manage, almost convincing himself of his own oratory brilliance, but his face fell as Dominic responded
"And if, we refuse, on account of you being little more than a comman thug, backed by desperate men, what say you then" with an innocent smile of his own, which while in possession of all his teeth, was less convincing.
"I would say, Sir knight, that we really need that coin, and you are outnumbered sir"
"And you sir, are outclassed" Alayen shot in, indicating himself up and down with the tip of his sword. The bandits had apparently had enough by this point, throwing themselves forward as one, straight at the dancing blades of the experianced trained warriors. Only a handfull had any armour, and with a weapons inventory comprimising of farm tools and rocks they couldn't stand against sharp steel. It took the deaths of ten men to halt the attack, the rest breaking off to run into the forests, leaving two sweaty and tired men to recover and finally make the dash to the city.
One of the few men on armour stepped forward nonchalantly, sword swinging limply by his side, before bowing deeply only 10 yards from the knights. "Sir knights, do forgive my overactive brethern, they lack the civilisation of gentlemen such as ourselves" Alayen only just managed to stifle a laugh, which thankfully didn't carry far. "How rude of me" The bandit sneered, "My name is Captain De Rayal, of the free swadian milita" He gestured around him, at the motley band. He turned to face Ukxhal, almost a mirage six miles distant, and continued. "Duke Delinard, in his infinate wisdom, refuses us, calls us outlaws, murderers, but such labels are grossly wrong" He stared at the ground despondantly before turning back to his audience animatedly left palm outstreched, and Dominic thought he played the part almost convincingly, had it not been for the armed men surrounding them, "Gentlemen such as ourselves must help each other, mustn't we? A little coin, is all I ask, so I can feed and clothe my men, say 500 denars, a trifling sum to great knight such as you" He smiled, as innocently as a man with three front teeth missing can manage, almost convincing himself of his own oratory brilliance, but his face fell as Dominic responded
"And if, we refuse, on account of you being little more than a comman thug, backed by desperate men, what say you then" with an innocent smile of his own, which while in possession of all his teeth, was less convincing.
"I would say, Sir knight, that we really need that coin, and you are outnumbered sir"
"And you sir, are outclassed" Alayen shot in, indicating himself up and down with the tip of his sword. The bandits had apparently had enough by this point, throwing themselves forward as one, straight at the dancing blades of the experianced trained warriors. Only a handfull had any armour, and with a weapons inventory comprimising of farm tools and rocks they couldn't stand against sharp steel. It took the deaths of ten men to halt the attack, the rest breaking off to run into the forests, leaving two sweaty and tired men to recover and finally make the dash to the city.
For all the velvet in Jelkala,
And all the furs in Khudan,
The entire kingdom of Swadia,
Is what I'd give to hold your hand.
All the silk in Yalen,
And all the spice in Halmar,
All for the maiden for whom I have fallen,
As all other women are subpar.
For all the dates in the Sarradak,
And all the ale in Tihr,
All of Calradia will always flock,
To you whenever you may be near.
And all the furs in Khudan,
The entire kingdom of Swadia,
Is what I'd give to hold your hand.
All the silk in Yalen,
And all the spice in Halmar,
All for the maiden for whom I have fallen,
As all other women are subpar.
For all the dates in the Sarradak,
And all the ale in Tihr,
All of Calradia will always flock,
To you whenever you may be near.
Ah, I love both of them. Awesome work!
