Tales of Calradia (Formerly Warband story and literature thread)
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Rangers Fury
Veteran
Nedews 说:I like it, looking forward for an update.Rangers Fury 说:
I wonder if this is after or before the first part you wrote. (BTW, don't let Matheld die)
I haven't decided.....I am thinking that because I changed so much (the names of companions....Max and Titus are both companion names now) that the two stories might have to be unrelated....which is unfortunate, however...if they are related, Matheld's name will now be Alia....I know, its confusing.....but it was to reinforce the whole Roman Idea that I had
Anyway, I'm glad you liked it....I actually only posted it when I did cause it was getting pretty long, I actually have a bit planned out...however, don't expect another for at least a week
Edit: BTW, when I write these, I only plan the VERY beginning of it (For this recent one, I knew I wanted a story about a common soldier)....I then sit at my computer, hit the reply button...and start typing....so I don't actually know what happens next.
Rangers Fury
Veteran
laheja 说:Rangers Fury 说:
It's called talent
Thanks man, that's the kind of support I need....I look forward to writing my next story!
Rangers Fury
Veteran
Alright, as promised I have a new chapter of my story for all of you fine people.
Tales of the Empire: Part II
The First and second Imperial Legions marched towards Jelkala, the capital of what was left of the Kingdom of the Rhodoks. Among the force of about 600 soldiers was Maximus Acilius, one of a fresh batch of Legionaries raised before the siege of the city. The legion was making very good time, and it was said that they would reach the town by noon the next day.
As the sun fell in the sky, the Legion was called to a halt. It seemed that their Lord, Gaius Septimus wanted his Legionaries to be well rested for the battle ahead. Max couldn't agree more. Even after his intense training, a forced march was taking quite a toll on his body. As soon as his tent was pitched, Max shrugged out of his armor and flopped down on his bunk and was soon fast asleep.
Titus approached the command tent at a brisk and determined pace. As he approached, one of the guards standing outside raised his hand, "Identify yourself."
Titus had no time for this kind of hindrance. "You know damned well who I am! I am Titus Sorio, Singulare and Tribune Logistica to his Lord Gaius Tiberius Septimus' First Imperial Legion!" he bellowed. The guard noticeably flinched, and then stepped aside. "Thanks you soldier." said Titus, his voice lower and more controlled.
Titus entered the tent to find Gaius sitting at a table at the middle of the tent. On the table was a map, with raised terrain, towns, castles, and figures to represent known forces. "My Lord," Titus announced as he banged his fist on his chest. "Good evening Titus...you must have something to say, otherwise you wouldn't have scared the crows out of that young Legionary out there."
"Yes Sire, I do have something." Titus stepped up to the map, "as you expected, a force of enemies has circled around us and is heading towards Veluca. However, there is something we did not anticipate. King Graveth is leading the force, and it is far larger than we could have ever expected. My scouts estimate at least 1000 soldiers will be outside Veluca by dawn tomorrow."
"Have you sent riders to Veluca to warn them of this force?" asked Gaius, concerned.
"Yes Sire. But I do not believe that the Fourth Legion can hold Veluca on its own."
"What would you recommend?" asked Gaius.
"I need all 400 cavalry, and at least three cohorts of mounted infantry."
"That would be all the horses we brought with us..." Gaius pondered.
"Sire, if I may, we do not have time to contemplate this."
"Of course, do it now."
Max was awoke to the sound of several horses outside his tent. He rose and donned his armor as a cavalry centurion entered his tent.
"Good, you're awake." the Centurion said, "Your cohort is to mount up and follow the cavalry as soon as you are ready...get your men up!."
The centurion left, and Max was left to wake his men. It was well before dawn, he realized, probably not even midnight yet.
15 minutes later, Max was climbing onto one of the Legion's reserve horses along with 240 other legionaries and 400 cavalrymen. Then he saw Titus Sorio emerge from a tent, equipped with cavalry armor. He climbed atop his horse, and began explaining the situation to the soldiers.
The cavalry detachment rode all night at breakneck pace, but the still didn't catch sight the Rhodokian forces until the sun rose. Max was tired, as was his horse, but he felt a determination...and then excitement as he realized what was about to happen. He saw the huge, outstretched, line of the Rhodok forces. It was located evenly between the himself and the town of Veluca. Even as he watched, the 4th legion began to empty out of the city, and form up battle lines. Then his orders came.
The reinforcement group of mounted men approached the rear of the battle. It was clear that the Rhodoks were getting the best of the fighting, due to their superior numbers if nothing else. Just when it seemed that the defending Legionaries' lines would collapse, the order to charge came. The mounted legionaries rode forward, flanked on both sides by 200 cavalry. The archers in the back of the Rhodok lines heard the thunder of the horses and turned. But before they could loose even one arrow, the mounted soldiers crashed into them. 240 mounted, armored Legionaries was more than enough to break the back lines of archers. As they fled, the Legionaries dismounted, and proceeded towards the main block of Rhodok Infantry on foot.
By this time, the Infantry had realized what was happening and was turning around. As the did so, Legion cavalry smashed into the flanks of the formation. The chaos of pitched battle began.
Max and his fellow soldiers of the 5th cohort approached the battle. When they were only 30 meters away, the Centurion called a halt...and the Legionaries unleashed there Pilia. The large Javelins tore through shield, armor, and flesh. After a minute of barraging the enemy force, the Centurion sounded the charge. Max lead his tent mate, and screamed a challenge as he hurtled towards the enemy lines. They met with bone crunching impact, and at first there was a stalemate, as both lines held. Max bashed a man with his large shield, and then stabbed him with his sword. The man collapsed, but Max didn't notice. He was already engaging the next soldier in line. The Rhodok line began to waver, and then it suddenly collapsed. Max let out a wild yell, and charged after the fleeing enemies, as did any Legionary who was still standing. Max's sword flashed out as he struck down soldier after soldier. And then suddenly, it was over. There were no more Rhodoks, and the two lines of Legionaries met. Max almost swung his sword at one of the 4th Legion's soldier, but he managed to stop himself.
Max let out a little noise...it was over. He had survived. He surveyed the scene of the battle, and he promptly threw up. The carnage was unbelievable. The mangled bodies of men and horses scattered the field. There were some places that you would not be able to take a step without landing on a dead soldier. The blood in some places stood in pools in the ground.
A man approached Max. He looked up, and saw it to be Titus. The other man just stood there for a few minutes watching Max. Finally Titus moved closer, and sat down beside Max.
"The first time is always the hardest you know," he said...but he didn't sound very convincing. Max grunted. "Not that it ever gets truly easy to anyone...but remember, we fight for the Rightful lord of Caladria...it is not our fault that these men opposed our Lord."
Max stood...unable to speak, he simply nodded.
The ride back to Jelkala was long and slow. But they had to get back to where they belonged. They arrived in the late afternoon to find the town already under siege. Arrows streamed down from the walls, and Javelin flew back. Men on both sides fell to these weapons, but for the most part the Legionaries were safe behind their large shields. Max saw all of this as he approached. He was exhausted from the riding and fighting of the past day, and it showed. But he was not the only one it seemed, as all the troops that arrived back were ordered to get some sleep. Max stumbled into his tent, and collapsed once more onto his bunk.
When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was the fact that the bunk beside his was missing an occupant. Max realized that his tent group had not come back from the fight unscathed. With this grim fact in mind, Max rose and woke the other 6 soldiers that occupied his tent. Even though none of the soldiers had really known the deceased, they all felt some measure of loss at his absence.
Max and his men exited their tent to find their Centurion standing there. "Men, I'm sorry...but you qualify as fresh soldiers right now. You are needed for the assault."
Max and his men stood with their shields raised above there heads as arrows fell all around them. The were standing at the base of one of the ladders that had been raised to the wall of Jelkala. Max stood grimly, and prepared to assault the walls.
Sorry, but that's it for now....getting sort of tired of typing for now...I might add more later, we will see.
Anyway, this concludes Part II of Tales of the Empire....I hope you enjoy it.
Tales of the Empire: Part II
The First and second Imperial Legions marched towards Jelkala, the capital of what was left of the Kingdom of the Rhodoks. Among the force of about 600 soldiers was Maximus Acilius, one of a fresh batch of Legionaries raised before the siege of the city. The legion was making very good time, and it was said that they would reach the town by noon the next day.
As the sun fell in the sky, the Legion was called to a halt. It seemed that their Lord, Gaius Septimus wanted his Legionaries to be well rested for the battle ahead. Max couldn't agree more. Even after his intense training, a forced march was taking quite a toll on his body. As soon as his tent was pitched, Max shrugged out of his armor and flopped down on his bunk and was soon fast asleep.
Titus approached the command tent at a brisk and determined pace. As he approached, one of the guards standing outside raised his hand, "Identify yourself."
Titus had no time for this kind of hindrance. "You know damned well who I am! I am Titus Sorio, Singulare and Tribune Logistica to his Lord Gaius Tiberius Septimus' First Imperial Legion!" he bellowed. The guard noticeably flinched, and then stepped aside. "Thanks you soldier." said Titus, his voice lower and more controlled.
Titus entered the tent to find Gaius sitting at a table at the middle of the tent. On the table was a map, with raised terrain, towns, castles, and figures to represent known forces. "My Lord," Titus announced as he banged his fist on his chest. "Good evening Titus...you must have something to say, otherwise you wouldn't have scared the crows out of that young Legionary out there."
"Yes Sire, I do have something." Titus stepped up to the map, "as you expected, a force of enemies has circled around us and is heading towards Veluca. However, there is something we did not anticipate. King Graveth is leading the force, and it is far larger than we could have ever expected. My scouts estimate at least 1000 soldiers will be outside Veluca by dawn tomorrow."
"Have you sent riders to Veluca to warn them of this force?" asked Gaius, concerned.
"Yes Sire. But I do not believe that the Fourth Legion can hold Veluca on its own."
"What would you recommend?" asked Gaius.
"I need all 400 cavalry, and at least three cohorts of mounted infantry."
"That would be all the horses we brought with us..." Gaius pondered.
"Sire, if I may, we do not have time to contemplate this."
"Of course, do it now."
Max was awoke to the sound of several horses outside his tent. He rose and donned his armor as a cavalry centurion entered his tent.
"Good, you're awake." the Centurion said, "Your cohort is to mount up and follow the cavalry as soon as you are ready...get your men up!."
The centurion left, and Max was left to wake his men. It was well before dawn, he realized, probably not even midnight yet.
15 minutes later, Max was climbing onto one of the Legion's reserve horses along with 240 other legionaries and 400 cavalrymen. Then he saw Titus Sorio emerge from a tent, equipped with cavalry armor. He climbed atop his horse, and began explaining the situation to the soldiers.
The cavalry detachment rode all night at breakneck pace, but the still didn't catch sight the Rhodokian forces until the sun rose. Max was tired, as was his horse, but he felt a determination...and then excitement as he realized what was about to happen. He saw the huge, outstretched, line of the Rhodok forces. It was located evenly between the himself and the town of Veluca. Even as he watched, the 4th legion began to empty out of the city, and form up battle lines. Then his orders came.
The reinforcement group of mounted men approached the rear of the battle. It was clear that the Rhodoks were getting the best of the fighting, due to their superior numbers if nothing else. Just when it seemed that the defending Legionaries' lines would collapse, the order to charge came. The mounted legionaries rode forward, flanked on both sides by 200 cavalry. The archers in the back of the Rhodok lines heard the thunder of the horses and turned. But before they could loose even one arrow, the mounted soldiers crashed into them. 240 mounted, armored Legionaries was more than enough to break the back lines of archers. As they fled, the Legionaries dismounted, and proceeded towards the main block of Rhodok Infantry on foot.
By this time, the Infantry had realized what was happening and was turning around. As the did so, Legion cavalry smashed into the flanks of the formation. The chaos of pitched battle began.
Max and his fellow soldiers of the 5th cohort approached the battle. When they were only 30 meters away, the Centurion called a halt...and the Legionaries unleashed there Pilia. The large Javelins tore through shield, armor, and flesh. After a minute of barraging the enemy force, the Centurion sounded the charge. Max lead his tent mate, and screamed a challenge as he hurtled towards the enemy lines. They met with bone crunching impact, and at first there was a stalemate, as both lines held. Max bashed a man with his large shield, and then stabbed him with his sword. The man collapsed, but Max didn't notice. He was already engaging the next soldier in line. The Rhodok line began to waver, and then it suddenly collapsed. Max let out a wild yell, and charged after the fleeing enemies, as did any Legionary who was still standing. Max's sword flashed out as he struck down soldier after soldier. And then suddenly, it was over. There were no more Rhodoks, and the two lines of Legionaries met. Max almost swung his sword at one of the 4th Legion's soldier, but he managed to stop himself.
Max let out a little noise...it was over. He had survived. He surveyed the scene of the battle, and he promptly threw up. The carnage was unbelievable. The mangled bodies of men and horses scattered the field. There were some places that you would not be able to take a step without landing on a dead soldier. The blood in some places stood in pools in the ground.
A man approached Max. He looked up, and saw it to be Titus. The other man just stood there for a few minutes watching Max. Finally Titus moved closer, and sat down beside Max.
"The first time is always the hardest you know," he said...but he didn't sound very convincing. Max grunted. "Not that it ever gets truly easy to anyone...but remember, we fight for the Rightful lord of Caladria...it is not our fault that these men opposed our Lord."
Max stood...unable to speak, he simply nodded.
The ride back to Jelkala was long and slow. But they had to get back to where they belonged. They arrived in the late afternoon to find the town already under siege. Arrows streamed down from the walls, and Javelin flew back. Men on both sides fell to these weapons, but for the most part the Legionaries were safe behind their large shields. Max saw all of this as he approached. He was exhausted from the riding and fighting of the past day, and it showed. But he was not the only one it seemed, as all the troops that arrived back were ordered to get some sleep. Max stumbled into his tent, and collapsed once more onto his bunk.
When he awoke, the first thing he noticed was the fact that the bunk beside his was missing an occupant. Max realized that his tent group had not come back from the fight unscathed. With this grim fact in mind, Max rose and woke the other 6 soldiers that occupied his tent. Even though none of the soldiers had really known the deceased, they all felt some measure of loss at his absence.
Max and his men exited their tent to find their Centurion standing there. "Men, I'm sorry...but you qualify as fresh soldiers right now. You are needed for the assault."
Max and his men stood with their shields raised above there heads as arrows fell all around them. The were standing at the base of one of the ladders that had been raised to the wall of Jelkala. Max stood grimly, and prepared to assault the walls.
Sorry, but that's it for now....getting sort of tired of typing for now...I might add more later, we will see.
Anyway, this concludes Part II of Tales of the Empire....I hope you enjoy it.
laheja
Veteran
The night was fulled with sudden barking of dogs and shouts of men. All the Vikings in great hall woke and grabbed their weapons.
Their Leader Yöimund shouted orders and brave men lined up front of the doors.
The doors flew open and all Yöimund men's poured out of the hall into black night full of fighting.
Yöimund killed first raider with savage twohand slash and lead his men forward.
They rushed into center of village killing every raider who was on their way, mostly they were illarmored and badly armed but still strong and savage raiders.
There were some dozen raider at village center looting and hacking and raping and burning there.
Yöimund and his companions rushed against them like stormwave to coast. The raiders were soon broken and banished. But drum's and battlehorns were all around them and more raiders came in every direction. Their numbers were almost twice as large as Yöimund's but they knew that every Viking was worth 2 of their own.
Then sudden marching footsteps echoed and 6*6 lines of Royal Guard emerged.
Yöimund and his men despaired, these were no simple raiders but the king's own heavily armored and battlehardened troops equipped with hard long steel blades, large square shields and steel and leather armored.
With one shout the enemy attacked, Yöimund charged against .
With deafening shouts and crash they impacted but only after a minute he realised that these kinds of enemies they had no hope of defeating.
Yöimund hacked one of Guards throat but as soon as he did that other who was more capable of wielding blade start his fight with him and that enemy was very capable, all around Yöimund men were dying and retreating.
Then suddenly the cowardly raiders who were previously just watching attacked their backs.
Yöimund and rest of his men were surrounded!
He finnaly killed his adversary but as he did that the rest of his men were killed.
Yöimund losing his sword took out long axe and savagely killed a guard and half a dozen raiders quick series of blows and breakthrough the raider lines and run forward water hoping of getting away and avenge someday.
Two raiders who were on his way were cut down with no slowing down and the water was only some metres away.
But as Yöimund jumped to water a lone arrow hit him in the neck and Yöimund crashed into water rapidly sinking.
The king forces were victorious...
Their Leader Yöimund shouted orders and brave men lined up front of the doors.
The doors flew open and all Yöimund men's poured out of the hall into black night full of fighting.
Yöimund killed first raider with savage twohand slash and lead his men forward.
They rushed into center of village killing every raider who was on their way, mostly they were illarmored and badly armed but still strong and savage raiders.
There were some dozen raider at village center looting and hacking and raping and burning there.
Yöimund and his companions rushed against them like stormwave to coast. The raiders were soon broken and banished. But drum's and battlehorns were all around them and more raiders came in every direction. Their numbers were almost twice as large as Yöimund's but they knew that every Viking was worth 2 of their own.
Then sudden marching footsteps echoed and 6*6 lines of Royal Guard emerged.
Yöimund and his men despaired, these were no simple raiders but the king's own heavily armored and battlehardened troops equipped with hard long steel blades, large square shields and steel and leather armored.
With one shout the enemy attacked, Yöimund charged against .
With deafening shouts and crash they impacted but only after a minute he realised that these kinds of enemies they had no hope of defeating.
Yöimund hacked one of Guards throat but as soon as he did that other who was more capable of wielding blade start his fight with him and that enemy was very capable, all around Yöimund men were dying and retreating.
Then suddenly the cowardly raiders who were previously just watching attacked their backs.
Yöimund and rest of his men were surrounded!
He finnaly killed his adversary but as he did that the rest of his men were killed.
Yöimund losing his sword took out long axe and savagely killed a guard and half a dozen raiders quick series of blows and breakthrough the raider lines and run forward water hoping of getting away and avenge someday.
Two raiders who were on his way were cut down with no slowing down and the water was only some metres away.
But as Yöimund jumped to water a lone arrow hit him in the neck and Yöimund crashed into water rapidly sinking.
The king forces were victorious...
Rangers Fury
Veteran
Is anyone actually on this thread anymore?
It really doesn't seem like it...
BTW, nice story laheja
It really doesn't seem like it...
BTW, nice story laheja
Alright, let's get this thread moving again.
The Raid
By Marnid
I,
The downtrod,
Now downtrod others,
I crush them,
I,
cover my ears,
To the screams of girls,
I hear them,
I ,
Shut my eyes,
To the bloody corpse,
I see him,
I,
See my captain,
With his knife drawn,
Slits his throat,
I,
Watch them,
Carrying away their harvest,
That they had sweat for,
I,
Hate them,
Rapists, murderers, thieves,
And I am one of them,
The Raid
By Marnid
I,
The downtrod,
Now downtrod others,
I crush them,
I,
cover my ears,
To the screams of girls,
I hear them,
I ,
Shut my eyes,
To the bloody corpse,
I see him,
I,
See my captain,
With his knife drawn,
Slits his throat,
I,
Watch them,
Carrying away their harvest,
That they had sweat for,
I,
Hate them,
Rapists, murderers, thieves,
And I am one of them,
Peter Ebbesen
Regular
Mmm, I've been asked by friends to post my somewhat puerile Warband AAR that is currently running in the Paradox Warband AAR subforum, My Inevitable Greatness, in this forum, but as unlike Monnikje I don't have either time or inclination to maintain the same AAR in two forums at the same time and I don't know this forum well enough to know its limits, I have chosen not to do so. This thread, however, seems like an excellent place to test the waters, so without further ado, and my apologies if this is a bit longer than most other entries, I present to you chapter 5, dealing with the introductory bandit quest:
So, there I was in Shariz with a very good horse, a very shrunken purse, and my late lover's hunting crossbow while wearing the good wool “wanton townswoman” costume that always turned on the late baron, rather the worse for the wear and with still a few faint bloodstains.
Fortunately, as I was to discover quickly, bloodstained clothing was not a rare sight in Calradia. With six kings struggling for the same ultimate prize, that being the control of all Calradia, and with every nobleman who fancied himself a leader brandishing ancient claims to more than his fair share, wars were fought over the least excuse and ended on the merest whim. These were small and petty wars and seldom achieved more than the change of hand of some dismal castle or war-torn village that had probably already been razed during the conquest. Some castles changed hands half a dozen times a year! It was sheer madness.
Glorious madness, of course, and the noblemen considered it good sport and a diversion from feasting, which, if anything, was the pastime of the nobility. You haven't fought a war until you've seen all the nobles defending a critical town send a messenger to the enemy asking for a time out because they have to return to Shariz for feasting, yet in my time I saw in actually done and honoured by the enemy. Twice!
To say that this made a mockery of war is an understatement; At least home on the steppes, when our war leaders had to abandon a theatre of war for a year or two and return home to a gathering it was because of the death of the overall war leader and the election of a new one, a matter of life and death as well as overall direction of a war, not for feasting.
When I first visited Shariz, this all lay in the future and my knowledge of the internecine warfare in Calradia scant, but the widespread bloodstains on the clothes of mercenaries and even a few of the town guards, those were very noticeable.
As was the brute who shot me as I was approaching my tavern in the evening fresh from the docks. Talk about a rough neighbourhood. Fortunately, it was but a flesh wound, but the knock on the head I received courtesy of his club laid me out straight.
I came to myself in the house of a merchant of Shariz. Apparently I hadn't been the victim of some degenerate bow-wielding robber-rapist as might have been feared (and would have been just my luck) but the victim of a common cutpurse, who had nicked the merchant's purse and was making a run for it, mistook me for a civic-minded citizen, and took a lucky pot-shot – or so the merchant conjectured, for he was himself a civic-minded citizens and rather lacking of imagination. He thought I'd been trying to stop the cutpurse, the more fool him.
I learned something that day of the highest importance: In Calradia cutpurses and other criminals were as heavily armed as trained warriors elsewhere. That was a good lesson to learn early on. They weren't as heavily armoured as trained warriors, in fact.. but I'll get to that soon enough.
Having examined me closer for wounds as he took me to his house, the blood stains in my clothes and the fading bruises on my neck and face as well as my general physique summed me up as a foreign mercenary, but a civic-minded one.
He told me a sob-story about how his poor brother had been captured by bandits and how he was looking for somebody to aid him, an honest, trustworthy, and, above all, cheap mercenary with military experience to free his brother and, incidentally, would I happen to know such a one? Now, you get what you pay for, and if he was in the market for discount mercenaries, I certainly qualified. I volunteered and he paid me a sum in advance to recruit some farmer lads to back me up, the more fool he.
I had half a mind to just do a runner with the money, but as my slate was clean in Calradia, I decided to at least look into the problem. Building positive relations with the well to do would likely pay off in the long run, if it wasn't too dangerous.
I rode to the nearest farming village, Mit Nun, and discovered that generations of warfare had so formalized the nature of mercenary employment that there was a standard non-negotiable hiring fee of 10 denars per man regardless of skill, of which they had little in any case, and health, which was worse. This fee was to be paid directly to the village elder who also kept a handy list of just which villagers were available so rather than perform individual negotiations, any passing stranger with a purse full of coin could just visit the village elder, be told how many recruits were available, and hire the lot on the spot.
Given the general level of destruction visited on villages on a regular basis in Calradia, this was probably the economic foundation of village life and, indeed, the habit of some casualties, both disappeared, gravely wounded, and in some cases dead or appearing so, to turn up back at their home villages for later recruitment strongly suggested that some of the smarter village elders were running a quite profitable business, as I were to discover in my travels.
I quite approve.
Be that as it may, I had barely left the village with four members of the salt of the earth running their hearts out trying to keep up with my spirited courser, when we were ambushed by a band of looters! There were only nine of them or so and all of them save one were, to my shock and appreciation, barechested!
I ordered my brave fellows to engage the looters while I stayed out of reach taking shots with my crossbow and was reminded with every bolt of just how much I hated firing a crossbow from horseback. Now, the crossbow is a fine weapon for a woman who isn't overmuscled like a man, but a bow is more elegant and easier to use from horseback, so I decided to acquire a hunting bow as soon as possible. While I was trying to fight back, my discount mercenaries were killed every last one of them, but they took four looters with them in death, leaving four barechested lunatics and one with a shirt, more raving than any of the others, eyeing me lustily. Or perhaps it was blood lust? With a certain type of man, it can be hard to tell the difference while they are wearing trousers.
I considered running away since none of them could keep up with my horse and since I had no intention of suffering either type of lust for little gain, but I was already down 40 denari so rode away from them to a decent distance and shot a looter and I did so again and again until I had put them all out of their misery, even the one wearing a shirt.
Which raised the obvious question: Just what sort of bloody idiot runs around half-naked in the desert heat ambushing travelers? It cannot be poverty, for they all wore trousers (and more's the pity), and their trove of goods included a very nice wool tunic and some leathers as well as several shirts, so it cannot be from a lack of opportunity. I concluded that they must have been driven mad by the heat and left the philosophical ramifications to the philosophers, to whom belong all things weird and irrelevant.
Stripping the dead of their valuables and exchanging some of my clothes for the better cast-offs, I left the bodies of the dead, both looter and farm recruit, to the desert animals. Deeming it unwise to return to Mit Nun for another bunch of recruits so soon and facing the awkward questions of just what I did with the first bunch, I rode to the nearby villages of Dibbain, Rushdigh, and Ayn Assuadi recruiting a new and stronger guard force. The merchant had suggested that I'd need at least 5 man to beat the bandits that took his brother but it wasn't his life on the line, now was it? I had 12 lads in my train as I began hunting for bandits.
Now, as it turned out the desert was just swarming with bandits in those days, so how was I to find the particular group of bandits that had taken the merchant's brother? I took advantage of a stratagem so deep and unlikely that no man would ever attempt it until all others had failed and then only in the blackest desperation: I asked people for directions. This novel approach led me directly to the bandits at a very low cost and we fell upon the bandits, putting them to the sword!
To be more precise, my gathering of armed farm lads did so, while I remained safely behind yelling inspirational phrases like “hit them in the trousers” and occasionally winging a bandit with a crossbow bolt. I am no fighter and never was and I saw no reason, then or ever, to risk my life in the front-line without a very good reason.
One of my stout lads was under the severe misapprehension that I had promised during the heat of the battle that whomever performed the bravest would receive some private sword practice, so to speak, and honesty compels me to admit to my autobiography, if nowhere else, that certain of my yells such as “Fight like a demon out of the icy plains and I'll sheathe your sword in something warm!” or “A soft reward for the hardest amongst you!” could have been so misinterpreted by the terminally dim and lecherous, when I was obviously referring to the desert sand and a good night's sleep, to take just two examples. Whatever the case, he came upon me after the battle demanding his reward with his comrades snickering in the background and even dripping with blood and sweat as he was, I gave him the reward he deserved.
I melted into his manly arms, gave him a minute-long deep and promising kiss to a roar of appreciation from his friends even as his face contorted with the lack of air and the blood rushed to his nether regions, then kneed him in the privates and stabbed him in the heart as he came up for air, and, shaking my head and with my golden locks streaming in the wind, asked whether anybody else wanted a reward?
That was rather risky as they could have rushed me and killed me in anger for the death of their friend, but sometimes you just have to take a risk and establishing my uncontested dominance, not only as paymaster but as somebody not to be crossed lightly, was worth it. My actions were so unprecedented and unexpected that rather than reacting in anger, they took refuge in the peasant's safety: bowing their heads and accepting fate. It is the one that stands tall, who is chopped down first, and well do the peasants know it in these cowed lands.
So nobody took me up on my generous offer, least of all the merchant's brother whom we had freed and who had watched these proceedings with disbelieving eye and we began our return trip to Shariz.
During the night the brother and my remaining farm lads huddled around their fire, drinking deep and telling tales, while I sat at my own fire with my crossbow at the ready and my horse saddled, just in case, but the men ended up asleep so all was well. Exactly what they had been telling each other that night I shall never know, but it is a safe bet that invention and exaggeration soon took over.
I include this evening's happenings, innocent and terminally boring though they may be (though I was certainly not calm as I sat there hoping that my fragile dominance would hold!) because it turned out in the end to have far-reaching ramifications in a way I could never have anticipated.
We returned to Shariz, reuniting the merchant with his brother, and after they had been talking for a while in private, the merchant asked me to, and I swear this isn't a joke, go help seize the captain of the guard, a corrupt man who was the source of all evil and banditry in the region, a thoroughly vicious bastard of a man who liked beating up women just for fun, who went around kicking dogs in his spare time and, incidentally, somebody the merchant was willing to pay rather a lot to capture with a view to presenting him to the Sultan for punishment.
I believe I have mentioned already how I from an early age discovered that most men are stupid and governed by their feelings rather than taking the obviously superior rational approach? I believe I have, and this merchant gave me no reason to doubt that conclusion. To make a long story short, I was young and I needed the money, so I said yes and together with a bunch of friends of his we bravely beat up the guard captain's guards and took him into custody!
Well, that was the merchant's version when he presented himself to the Sultan, and who am I to disagree? I certainly wasn't present at that meeting, having taken a convenient ride in the countryside with my few possessions and my bunch of farm lads, busily hunting bandits and ready to speed for the horizon in case of pursuit.
My version, which I bequeath to my autobiography and you, dear reader, is that we weren't all that heroic, brave, and good at fighting. The merchant's friends bravely engaged the superior guards and got themselves harmed for it; I, rather than wearing my leathers and weapons, made sure to wear only a hidden dagger under a nice blue dress bought for the occasion out of the money the merchant had paid me and, giving it an artistic rip or two, ran from the scene with one of the guard captain's men in hot pursuit.
It isn't actually easy to rip clothing in just the right degree that it looks natural and just the right degree of sultry. Revealing and suggesting, innocence defiled, rather than tawdry and soliciting, that's the key! Though there is a use for both, depending on situation. Practice makes perfect, however, and while I had already performed some experimentation on a strict amateur basis during my years as a shop assistant, I gained a lot of both practical and theoretical experience in this regard as a lady in waiting and I put it to good use in this situation.
Racing to the front gates with the guard captain's man in hot pursuit, I cried out that most wonderful charge in the female vocabulary: “RAPE!”. A grizzled veteran, his wars done and retired to a sinecure as town guard, upon seeing this lovely well dressed foreign lady with her bodice ripped and tears streaming from her face, reacted in exactly the way I had planned for. He cut down my pursuer and, upon being told that I had been set upon by an entire gang of ruffians, offered upon his honour to track down every miserable soul and make them pay. He was a good man and true and made good on his word, and that is how most of the guard captain's men were defeated! Having made a friend and gained a champion of sorts, I later found other uses for him.
Editor's note: A couple of brief paragraphs extolling the virtues of older men and the stamina of veterans who keep themselves fit as well as covering some of the interesting situations they might find themselves in, should they be fortunate enough, while of interest to men of a certain age are not relevant to a greater public. Should the reader be interested, this is covered in the Collector's Edition. With illustrations.
Be that as it may, the Sultan was simultaneously happy to take the head of his corrupt guard captain and unhappy with the usurpation of his power, for he wanted no vigilantes acting in his capital city, thank you very much. He banished the merchant from the city, and a just reward that is for circumventing the law say I, and I, I was never mentioned with a word.
Or so I thought.
For me, bandit hunting had turned out to be unexpectedly lucrative, so I took my lads and went ahunting, putting the matter of the merchant and the Sultan out of my mind.
Chapter the fifth: A Merchant of Shariz
So, there I was in Shariz with a very good horse, a very shrunken purse, and my late lover's hunting crossbow while wearing the good wool “wanton townswoman” costume that always turned on the late baron, rather the worse for the wear and with still a few faint bloodstains.
Fortunately, as I was to discover quickly, bloodstained clothing was not a rare sight in Calradia. With six kings struggling for the same ultimate prize, that being the control of all Calradia, and with every nobleman who fancied himself a leader brandishing ancient claims to more than his fair share, wars were fought over the least excuse and ended on the merest whim. These were small and petty wars and seldom achieved more than the change of hand of some dismal castle or war-torn village that had probably already been razed during the conquest. Some castles changed hands half a dozen times a year! It was sheer madness.
Glorious madness, of course, and the noblemen considered it good sport and a diversion from feasting, which, if anything, was the pastime of the nobility. You haven't fought a war until you've seen all the nobles defending a critical town send a messenger to the enemy asking for a time out because they have to return to Shariz for feasting, yet in my time I saw in actually done and honoured by the enemy. Twice!
To say that this made a mockery of war is an understatement; At least home on the steppes, when our war leaders had to abandon a theatre of war for a year or two and return home to a gathering it was because of the death of the overall war leader and the election of a new one, a matter of life and death as well as overall direction of a war, not for feasting.
When I first visited Shariz, this all lay in the future and my knowledge of the internecine warfare in Calradia scant, but the widespread bloodstains on the clothes of mercenaries and even a few of the town guards, those were very noticeable.
As was the brute who shot me as I was approaching my tavern in the evening fresh from the docks. Talk about a rough neighbourhood. Fortunately, it was but a flesh wound, but the knock on the head I received courtesy of his club laid me out straight.
I came to myself in the house of a merchant of Shariz. Apparently I hadn't been the victim of some degenerate bow-wielding robber-rapist as might have been feared (and would have been just my luck) but the victim of a common cutpurse, who had nicked the merchant's purse and was making a run for it, mistook me for a civic-minded citizen, and took a lucky pot-shot – or so the merchant conjectured, for he was himself a civic-minded citizens and rather lacking of imagination. He thought I'd been trying to stop the cutpurse, the more fool him.
I learned something that day of the highest importance: In Calradia cutpurses and other criminals were as heavily armed as trained warriors elsewhere. That was a good lesson to learn early on. They weren't as heavily armoured as trained warriors, in fact.. but I'll get to that soon enough.
Having examined me closer for wounds as he took me to his house, the blood stains in my clothes and the fading bruises on my neck and face as well as my general physique summed me up as a foreign mercenary, but a civic-minded one.
He told me a sob-story about how his poor brother had been captured by bandits and how he was looking for somebody to aid him, an honest, trustworthy, and, above all, cheap mercenary with military experience to free his brother and, incidentally, would I happen to know such a one? Now, you get what you pay for, and if he was in the market for discount mercenaries, I certainly qualified. I volunteered and he paid me a sum in advance to recruit some farmer lads to back me up, the more fool he.
I had half a mind to just do a runner with the money, but as my slate was clean in Calradia, I decided to at least look into the problem. Building positive relations with the well to do would likely pay off in the long run, if it wasn't too dangerous.
I rode to the nearest farming village, Mit Nun, and discovered that generations of warfare had so formalized the nature of mercenary employment that there was a standard non-negotiable hiring fee of 10 denars per man regardless of skill, of which they had little in any case, and health, which was worse. This fee was to be paid directly to the village elder who also kept a handy list of just which villagers were available so rather than perform individual negotiations, any passing stranger with a purse full of coin could just visit the village elder, be told how many recruits were available, and hire the lot on the spot.
Given the general level of destruction visited on villages on a regular basis in Calradia, this was probably the economic foundation of village life and, indeed, the habit of some casualties, both disappeared, gravely wounded, and in some cases dead or appearing so, to turn up back at their home villages for later recruitment strongly suggested that some of the smarter village elders were running a quite profitable business, as I were to discover in my travels.
I quite approve.
Be that as it may, I had barely left the village with four members of the salt of the earth running their hearts out trying to keep up with my spirited courser, when we were ambushed by a band of looters! There were only nine of them or so and all of them save one were, to my shock and appreciation, barechested!
I ordered my brave fellows to engage the looters while I stayed out of reach taking shots with my crossbow and was reminded with every bolt of just how much I hated firing a crossbow from horseback. Now, the crossbow is a fine weapon for a woman who isn't overmuscled like a man, but a bow is more elegant and easier to use from horseback, so I decided to acquire a hunting bow as soon as possible. While I was trying to fight back, my discount mercenaries were killed every last one of them, but they took four looters with them in death, leaving four barechested lunatics and one with a shirt, more raving than any of the others, eyeing me lustily. Or perhaps it was blood lust? With a certain type of man, it can be hard to tell the difference while they are wearing trousers.
I considered running away since none of them could keep up with my horse and since I had no intention of suffering either type of lust for little gain, but I was already down 40 denari so rode away from them to a decent distance and shot a looter and I did so again and again until I had put them all out of their misery, even the one wearing a shirt.
Death and the Shirted Looter
Which raised the obvious question: Just what sort of bloody idiot runs around half-naked in the desert heat ambushing travelers? It cannot be poverty, for they all wore trousers (and more's the pity), and their trove of goods included a very nice wool tunic and some leathers as well as several shirts, so it cannot be from a lack of opportunity. I concluded that they must have been driven mad by the heat and left the philosophical ramifications to the philosophers, to whom belong all things weird and irrelevant.
Stripping the dead of their valuables and exchanging some of my clothes for the better cast-offs, I left the bodies of the dead, both looter and farm recruit, to the desert animals. Deeming it unwise to return to Mit Nun for another bunch of recruits so soon and facing the awkward questions of just what I did with the first bunch, I rode to the nearby villages of Dibbain, Rushdigh, and Ayn Assuadi recruiting a new and stronger guard force. The merchant had suggested that I'd need at least 5 man to beat the bandits that took his brother but it wasn't his life on the line, now was it? I had 12 lads in my train as I began hunting for bandits.
Now, as it turned out the desert was just swarming with bandits in those days, so how was I to find the particular group of bandits that had taken the merchant's brother? I took advantage of a stratagem so deep and unlikely that no man would ever attempt it until all others had failed and then only in the blackest desperation: I asked people for directions. This novel approach led me directly to the bandits at a very low cost and we fell upon the bandits, putting them to the sword!
To be more precise, my gathering of armed farm lads did so, while I remained safely behind yelling inspirational phrases like “hit them in the trousers” and occasionally winging a bandit with a crossbow bolt. I am no fighter and never was and I saw no reason, then or ever, to risk my life in the front-line without a very good reason.
One of my stout lads was under the severe misapprehension that I had promised during the heat of the battle that whomever performed the bravest would receive some private sword practice, so to speak, and honesty compels me to admit to my autobiography, if nowhere else, that certain of my yells such as “Fight like a demon out of the icy plains and I'll sheathe your sword in something warm!” or “A soft reward for the hardest amongst you!” could have been so misinterpreted by the terminally dim and lecherous, when I was obviously referring to the desert sand and a good night's sleep, to take just two examples. Whatever the case, he came upon me after the battle demanding his reward with his comrades snickering in the background and even dripping with blood and sweat as he was, I gave him the reward he deserved.
I melted into his manly arms, gave him a minute-long deep and promising kiss to a roar of appreciation from his friends even as his face contorted with the lack of air and the blood rushed to his nether regions, then kneed him in the privates and stabbed him in the heart as he came up for air, and, shaking my head and with my golden locks streaming in the wind, asked whether anybody else wanted a reward?
That was rather risky as they could have rushed me and killed me in anger for the death of their friend, but sometimes you just have to take a risk and establishing my uncontested dominance, not only as paymaster but as somebody not to be crossed lightly, was worth it. My actions were so unprecedented and unexpected that rather than reacting in anger, they took refuge in the peasant's safety: bowing their heads and accepting fate. It is the one that stands tall, who is chopped down first, and well do the peasants know it in these cowed lands.
So nobody took me up on my generous offer, least of all the merchant's brother whom we had freed and who had watched these proceedings with disbelieving eye and we began our return trip to Shariz.
During the night the brother and my remaining farm lads huddled around their fire, drinking deep and telling tales, while I sat at my own fire with my crossbow at the ready and my horse saddled, just in case, but the men ended up asleep so all was well. Exactly what they had been telling each other that night I shall never know, but it is a safe bet that invention and exaggeration soon took over.
I include this evening's happenings, innocent and terminally boring though they may be (though I was certainly not calm as I sat there hoping that my fragile dominance would hold!) because it turned out in the end to have far-reaching ramifications in a way I could never have anticipated.
We returned to Shariz, reuniting the merchant with his brother, and after they had been talking for a while in private, the merchant asked me to, and I swear this isn't a joke, go help seize the captain of the guard, a corrupt man who was the source of all evil and banditry in the region, a thoroughly vicious bastard of a man who liked beating up women just for fun, who went around kicking dogs in his spare time and, incidentally, somebody the merchant was willing to pay rather a lot to capture with a view to presenting him to the Sultan for punishment.
I believe I have mentioned already how I from an early age discovered that most men are stupid and governed by their feelings rather than taking the obviously superior rational approach? I believe I have, and this merchant gave me no reason to doubt that conclusion. To make a long story short, I was young and I needed the money, so I said yes and together with a bunch of friends of his we bravely beat up the guard captain's guards and took him into custody!
Well, that was the merchant's version when he presented himself to the Sultan, and who am I to disagree? I certainly wasn't present at that meeting, having taken a convenient ride in the countryside with my few possessions and my bunch of farm lads, busily hunting bandits and ready to speed for the horizon in case of pursuit.
My version, which I bequeath to my autobiography and you, dear reader, is that we weren't all that heroic, brave, and good at fighting. The merchant's friends bravely engaged the superior guards and got themselves harmed for it; I, rather than wearing my leathers and weapons, made sure to wear only a hidden dagger under a nice blue dress bought for the occasion out of the money the merchant had paid me and, giving it an artistic rip or two, ran from the scene with one of the guard captain's men in hot pursuit.
It isn't actually easy to rip clothing in just the right degree that it looks natural and just the right degree of sultry. Revealing and suggesting, innocence defiled, rather than tawdry and soliciting, that's the key! Though there is a use for both, depending on situation. Practice makes perfect, however, and while I had already performed some experimentation on a strict amateur basis during my years as a shop assistant, I gained a lot of both practical and theoretical experience in this regard as a lady in waiting and I put it to good use in this situation.
Racing to the front gates with the guard captain's man in hot pursuit, I cried out that most wonderful charge in the female vocabulary: “RAPE!”. A grizzled veteran, his wars done and retired to a sinecure as town guard, upon seeing this lovely well dressed foreign lady with her bodice ripped and tears streaming from her face, reacted in exactly the way I had planned for. He cut down my pursuer and, upon being told that I had been set upon by an entire gang of ruffians, offered upon his honour to track down every miserable soul and make them pay. He was a good man and true and made good on his word, and that is how most of the guard captain's men were defeated! Having made a friend and gained a champion of sorts, I later found other uses for him.
Editor's note: A couple of brief paragraphs extolling the virtues of older men and the stamina of veterans who keep themselves fit as well as covering some of the interesting situations they might find themselves in, should they be fortunate enough, while of interest to men of a certain age are not relevant to a greater public. Should the reader be interested, this is covered in the Collector's Edition. With illustrations.
Be that as it may, the Sultan was simultaneously happy to take the head of his corrupt guard captain and unhappy with the usurpation of his power, for he wanted no vigilantes acting in his capital city, thank you very much. He banished the merchant from the city, and a just reward that is for circumventing the law say I, and I, I was never mentioned with a word.
Or so I thought.
For me, bandit hunting had turned out to be unexpectedly lucrative, so I took my lads and went ahunting, putting the matter of the merchant and the Sultan out of my mind.
Let's hunt some stinking bandits!
Nodscouter
Count
Found this thread today, and already loving it, so here's my contribution:
Erik was walking down the streets. He was looking down on the ground, contemplating the last few days and the events on them. He ignored the calls and cheers from the people, they loved him and he knew it. He had after all helped them over and over again even before the Assault and capture of Wercheg, and he had proven himself capable of protecting the people, unlike their old Vaegir overlords, but taking the fortress with a lesser force than the garrison. He thought about the assault, how his axe buried itself again and again into the Vaegirs, how the blood had spattered over him and his soldiers as they cut the Vaegirs down, how the enemy arrows had pierced through his men skulls and how his men had fallen over the walls and broken their neck on the rocky ground. He walked down the streets until he came to the castle. There he walked towards the castle, but three meters away from it turned away from it and kept on walking. He smiled a bit at the expression of the guards, but the smile soon disappeared as he recognized one of the guards, the man had gone berserk when he had seen his brother impaled on a lance. A tear slid down his face, before it fell to the ground. He kept on walking, and eventually he got to the walls, the walls he had assaulted himself only a few days ago. The repairs were soon finished, but right now they were vulnerable. He walked up the stairs and sat down on the walls, looking out over his nation. He remembered an old saying: ''Those who take the sword will perish by the sword''. He wondered if it was the same with Nations, this was a nation born out of blood and axes, it wouldn't be too unlikely to say that it would perish by it. But if it would, he would make sure that there was no blood left to perish by when the time came. He sighed and looked out over the fields. The arrows had taken many of his men even before the reached the city walls, those who were too weak and tired or those who were too young and eager to lift their shields, they had been shot down by the arrows and then trampled down by the advancing army. He got up, and jumped down from the walls. He felt a quick sting in his legs, but brushed it aside and walked on. To many, it would look like he as if was just walking aimlessly, but Bunduk knew better. He had seen his Jarl jump from the walls and knew exactly where he was going. He looked down to the papers again and listened to the merchant complaining about not being able to trade with the Vaegirs now. Bunduk sighed. You'd think that a nation born out of blood wouldn't have to bother with the administrative details, at least for a couple of days, but no, the merchants and nobles would of course take the advantage now when the administration hadn't been properly established yet. ''...and the price of skins and hides would go through the roof, and how would your precious army have winter clothing to fight the Vaegirs then huh?'' the merchant rambled on. Bunduk was too tired for this, and he decided to end the conversation now. ''If you don't stop complaining, I will personally push you off the walls and shoot you through the heart if you're still alive. Do you understand?'' The merchant, both shocked and angered by the words, slowly nodded. He knew it was not an empty threat, it had happened before, when a Vaegir-supporting soldier had refused to carry out his orders. Bunduk had beat him down, punched and punched, almost killing him before Firentis had intervened, screaming that he should have mercy. Bunduk had snorted, and said: ''Very well, I will give this man a fine execution'' When Firentis tried to stop him again, Bunduk had kicked him in the stomach and dragged the soldier away, after which he had given the soldier ''A fine execution''. Bunduk had been given a sharp warning from the Great Jarl, much to amusement of Firentis. This had not stopped the townsfolk starting to fear Bunduk, and now his threats did not seem empty anymore to anyone, only perhaps to the Great Jarl. He watched as the merchant walked away, and when he thought Bunduk couldn't see him, he ran as fast as his legs would bear him. Bunduk smiled. ''If only I could do that to everyone'' he thought, knowing that eventually someone would report him to the Great Jarl. ''Ah well'' he thought to himself as he walked down the stairs from the wall.
Erik walked between the graves, taking a good luck at every one of them. He did not pray for them, he knew they would already have gone to Valhalla, they had all been brave men. He kept on walking between them until finally he stopped at one particular grave. It did not differ much from the rest, a small pile of dirt, with a symbol of one of the gods, most oftenly the god that the person had been most alike. This grave had a symbol of Odin. Erik know it from all the others, he did not know how, but every time he walked here, he would eventually wind up at this grave. He brushed off the dust from the name and looked at it. ''Björn Anundsson'' it said. He stared at the name for quite a while, eventually realizing that he had sat down during that time. ''I am sorry brother'' he whispered, as if trying to make sure only the corpse in the grave would hear it. ''I failed you''. He sighed. He took out a helmet from his backpack. He put it down in the middle of the grave. He didn't feel sorry for his brother, if you would go to Valhalla if you died in a battle and had fought bravely, then his brother would have gone to a place above it. No, he was feeling sorry for himself. He would no longer have his older brother and his wisdom by his side, no longer would they fight together in battle, well, at least not on this earth. He sighed again and took off his axe that he had been wearing on his back all the time and put it down next the helmet. It was his brother's axe, the one he had fought with during the assault. It was still covered by blood, both Vaegir and Björn's own blood. When Ymira had found it after the battle, he wanted to wash off the blood, but Matheld had stopped her. Matheld was a Nord too, she knew the traditions. Erik wanted the blood to be kept on the axe, as a symbol of his brother's valour, skill and honour in battle. After some time sitting and thinking, Erik rose to his feet and started to walk away. He looked at all the graves once more, feeling a cold chill down his spine. ''I failed them all'' he whispered to himself. ''I failed them''. After that he started his long walk back to the city. ''Once there is peace, I will build a great monument, one in Wercheg, one here and one in Alburq, to honour the soldiers who fought and died, in both assaults and defences, so that a new nation may be born out of flames and blood. He thought about it for a while, and soon realized that the nation had no official name. The people called it The Jarldom of Wercheg, the Jarldom of Alburg and many other names. The people called themselves either Nords, Werchegians or Alburqians. He realized that perhaps he did not need a name for it. They all knew what it was, and that was enough.
Alayen was standing on the walls. They called the city ''The Rock''. Well, used to call it. As most nobles of Calradia did not recognize the Nations independence, instead viewing the Jarl as nothing more than a petty bandit Warlord, they couldn't believe that Wercheg had fallen, and therefore most nobles had started saying that Wercheg weren't much of a fortress after all. Alayen smiled. ''If they would say that for every City and Castle we will conquer, then there won't be any fotresses left in a year or two'' he thought to himself. He was proud to serve under his Jarl. At first, he had come along for a chance for money and power, and didn't look to Erik as much more than an employer. But as the months and weeks passed, it changed. Now Alayen admired him. His just and genorous personality, his speed and strength in battle, the ambition he showed. It is too bad that all this might be for nothing, now that Erik has become depressed about his brother's death. Alayen never really knew Björn. He had seen him every now and then in battle or in the Commanders tent. He had been impressed by him, but he was nothing much out of the ordinary. A good warrior and a good general, both of them are common in the Kingdom of Nords and Nordland itself. He looked out to the sea, the merchant vessels from Nordland were arriving in the distance. He yawned. It had been a long day. The minor nobles of Wercheg and Alburq were hard to appease, but with Ymira by his side it was far easier to bring them into line. Alayen had really taken a liking to Ymira. Like him she was a Vaegir, and also a very sophisticated girl, despite not being of noble birth. He knew that Ymira sometimes saw that he blushed a bit when she looked at him, and he thought she liked it. Maybe one day when the war is over, if there is an end to it, then maybe his relationship with Ymira could be more than usual flirt.... His thought were broken by a lone man walking in the distance. Alayen didn't need more than one look to identify the man as Erik. ''He's back eh?'' someone asked behind Alayen. Alayen spun around to see Jeremus standing there, smiling. ''Damn it Jeremus, for the last time stop sneaking up on me!'' Alayen snapped. Jeremus laughed. ''I have been standing here for a good five minutes now, I didn't even try to sneak up to you, you just didn't notice me'' Alayen let out a sigh. ''Let me guess, daydreaming about Ymira again?'' Alayen looked up to Jeremus and blushed ''What? No..no... definitely not! I was... umm... looking for bandits'' Jeremus smiled at the attempted explanation. ''Please young man, we have all seen you. As soon as that girl waves to you we can't talk to you for an hour or two. You two may think that no-one notices, but the rest of us think otherwise'' Jeremus ignored Alayen's stutterings and looked over him. ''Yeess, that's definitely our Jarl. Let's go to greet him shall we?'' Alayen nodded, his face almost completely red by now.
''NO NO NO! DO I have to do everything myself?!?'' Artimenner shouted as hard as he could at the servant. He had been put in charge of the repair of the walls and towers. He was not pleased with the servants he had been given. The servant stuttered and mumbled incoherently. ''You're doing it wrong! You're setting the stones too far apart! If the Vaegirs come, they're going to cleanse this tower just by shooting at it, every single arrow would go through the holes!'' ''I'm sorry my lord'' the servant said. ''You better be! And look at these crossbow holes. You can't shoot a crosbow through that. We need every detail to be perfect! DO YOU WANT THE VAEGIRS TO TAKE BACK WERCHEG? DO YOU? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, IF YOU BUILD LIKE THIS!'' Artimenner shouted. He was extremely furious. After taking a few deep breaths, he calmly explained: ''Now, you are going to have work ten times as hard, and if I'm not pleased, you won't be getting off duty for the next 3 weeks! IS THAT CLEAR?!?'' ''Yes my lord''. Artimenner snorted. ''Good''. He walked down the stairs. If it hadn't been for incompetent servants, this fort would be able to hold off any attack. He stopped by a crossbow hole and inspected it. It was made for the Rhodok crossbows. ''Excellent machinery'' Artimenner thought. As he inspected it without finding any faults, to his surprise, he saw a strange figure closing in on the city. ''Ah, good, it's the Jarl'' he thought to himself. He was already dreaming about new propositions on how to punish stupid servants that he would propose to the Jarl. ''Yes, that would be just perfect'' he said in a low tone, as he thought of a especially good way.
Bunduk, Alayen, Jeremus, Artimenner, Firentis and Ymira had gathered in front of the gates, waiting for the Jarl to come. Alayen smiled as he saw Ymira, and then quickly looked away in fear of her looking back at him. Ymira did look at him, and she saw a very red face. Jeremus had been standing behind them and had been smiling all the time. As Artimenner came down he just rolled his eyes and grunted annoyed. As Bunduk saw Firentis coming, he shot him an glance. Bunduk knew that Firentis was a weak man. When the Vaegirs would come Firentis would let them get away, only to get stabbed in the back by them. War was War, if you can't kill a man, you're not a soldier, and therefore you shoudn't pretend you are one. As the Great Jarl came through the gate all the persons gathered in front of the gates stopped whatever they were doing and greeted the Jarl. Erik looked up at them and then sank his head back down. He brushed them aside and walked past them, mumbling ''Not today''. Firentis walked up to him and started saying ''Eri-''. Erik looked up at him and said ''Not today!'' in a far louder tone. Firentis was shocked, as were the rest of his friends ''And Bunduk'' he thought to himself and walked up to Erik again and said: ''Erik, pleas-'' Erik said ''No''. His voice was growing louder. Firentis followed him once again and put his hand on his Jarl's back. Erik reacted in a millionth part of a second and punched Firentis in the guts as hard as he could as he screamed ''NO!''. Bunduk looked upon amused, but as Artimenner turned his shocked gaze towards him, he stopped smiling again. ''Poor man'' Jeremus said. ''Who?'' Bunduk asked, still trying to hide his smile from the rest. ''Both'' Jeremus responded. ''He can't go on like this. We need him, the city needs him, the men need him. We can handle the city now, but if the Vaegirs come we must be unified with a strong leader!'' Alayen, just returning from his state of shock, said ''There must be something we can done'' ''Oh that's easy'' Artimenner said, the only that weren't shocked by the event. ''Just bring his dead brother back to life, and there you have it. And we get another soldier while we're at it!'' Firentis walked back to the group, looking like a humpback. He spat some blood on the ground and then sat down. ''This isn't a time for jokes Artimenner'' Ymira said angrily. ''I agree with Ymira'' Alayen proclaimed. Jeremus whispered behind him ''Of course you do''. Alayen shot him an irritated glance and Jeremus stepped forward. ''From what I know, he has no more family left here in Calradia right now'' Several of the persons nodded. ''We know he came from Nordland with his brother, which means he might have more family there'' Borcha walked in on the group and said ''I remember him telling me that his father was a soldier, fighting in distant reaches of Nordland'' ''Then there's not so much a chance that's he's alive is there?'' Firentis interuppted. ''Never mind finding him'' Artimenner went on. ''Well, there goes that idea'' Jeremus mumbled. ''There's nothing we can do, either he'll recover on his own, or he might abdicte or worse...'' Artimenner said. Bunduk responded ''Ever the optimist eh Arti?'' Artimenner looked annoyed at Bunduk, Bunduk knew he hated that name. After some time thinking they all said goodbyes and walked away. Alayen stayed behind and then walked after Ymira.
Blood. It was everywhere. Marnid looked down on the farmers corpses. He felt anger. Great anger towards the one who did this. 50 innocent men and women had been slaughtered like pigs. Their heads had been cut off and their bodies had been cut until there were no recognizing them anymore. They could not receive a burial. No-one could know who they were. ''Bastards...'' Bahehstur muttered ''Who would do this? Bandits wouldn't attack farmers. They know that the Jarl would strike them down. Besides, what is there to gain? Nobody would pay more than 10 denars a piece for a farmer-slave and they didn't seem to be loaded with goods either'' Marnid slowly nodded. Baheshtur jumped off his horse and started looking more closely at the farmers. ''They were coming back from Wercheg to their Village'' ''How do you know?'' Marnid asked. Baheshtur smiled. He had waited for that question ''Well, there are other tracks over there. They are old, but they are still deeper than those over there'' he pointed to the road towards Wercheg ''Meaning that they had been loaded with goods, sold it at Wercheg, and was going back towards... Ruvar'' Marnid looked up at Baheshtur. ''These farmers had on them a special woolen coat that is only made in Ruvar'' ''Ah, I see'' Marnid said. He looked at them for a while, then started going back towards the horses. ''Well, it's time to report to Wercheg eh?''. Marnid did not get a respone. ''Baheshtur?'' he looked around to see that Baheshtur completely frozen. His face were as snow and his eyes were focused on a corpse with an arrow in it. ''Baheshtur?'' Marnid repeated and rushed over to him. ''L-look'' Baheshtur stuttered. Marnid looked, and he saw it. He froze instantly too. ''No, no that's impossible. They are too occupied with the Khergits'' Marnid refused to believe what he saw. ''Then how do you explain that then? This is one of the finest Vaegir arrows, only made for Vaegir lords and the like!'' Marind put his hands behind his hands and mumbled ''No, no, no, no. They wouldn't leave the Khergit war for one small city! Last month they had barely a 100 men stationed here, why would they suddenly care about it so much now?'' ''It would be a sign of weakness to leave us alone...'' Baheshtur sighed. Marnid's anger had been replaced by fear and shock. Suddenly Marnid shook Baheshtur as hard as he could. ''WHERE DID THEY GO?'' Bahehstur looked up at him and suddenly realized something. He ran to his horse and rode up to a hill. The grass had been flattened down by boots and horseshoes. ''Alburg...'' Baheshtur said. ''Go to Wercheg'' he shouted at Marnid. ''NOW!'' Marnid did not delay any further and got up on his horse and rode like hell to Wercheg.
''There must be something we can do'' Firentis said worried to Jeremus. He still felt the blow, but he did his best to ignore it. Jeremus ignored him and said instead ''That might grow to a good bruise you know'' and pointed to Firentis stomach. Firentis looked up at him. Jeremus seemed to believe that this was somekind of wound or disease he could cure with a good operation. Firentis knew better. He knew from experience how it was like losing a brother. But he felt much worse. He remembered that fateful night, his sword going into his own flesh and blood and his brother looking at him with large eyes and whispering ''Brother...'' before finally slumping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Jeremus woke him up from his thoughts pointed out to the horizon and said ''Look''. From the way the man rode, it could only be Marnid, but he seemed worried, perhaps even fearful. ''Come'' Jeremus said and Firentis followed him down to outside the gates. Marnid saw them, but rode right through them without a care in the world, pushing them both down. ''GODDAMNIT! I have always said we should never have given him a horse!'' Jeremus shouted, both to Firentis and Marnid. ''I don't think that he wanted to hurt us, neither was he that bad a rider. He witnessed as Marnid turned the horse towards the castle. ''We should follow him'' Firentis said. ''Yes...'' Jeremus muttered.
The Stories of the Great Jarl of Wercheg: Chapter 1
Erik was walking down the streets. He was looking down on the ground, contemplating the last few days and the events on them. He ignored the calls and cheers from the people, they loved him and he knew it. He had after all helped them over and over again even before the Assault and capture of Wercheg, and he had proven himself capable of protecting the people, unlike their old Vaegir overlords, but taking the fortress with a lesser force than the garrison. He thought about the assault, how his axe buried itself again and again into the Vaegirs, how the blood had spattered over him and his soldiers as they cut the Vaegirs down, how the enemy arrows had pierced through his men skulls and how his men had fallen over the walls and broken their neck on the rocky ground. He walked down the streets until he came to the castle. There he walked towards the castle, but three meters away from it turned away from it and kept on walking. He smiled a bit at the expression of the guards, but the smile soon disappeared as he recognized one of the guards, the man had gone berserk when he had seen his brother impaled on a lance. A tear slid down his face, before it fell to the ground. He kept on walking, and eventually he got to the walls, the walls he had assaulted himself only a few days ago. The repairs were soon finished, but right now they were vulnerable. He walked up the stairs and sat down on the walls, looking out over his nation. He remembered an old saying: ''Those who take the sword will perish by the sword''. He wondered if it was the same with Nations, this was a nation born out of blood and axes, it wouldn't be too unlikely to say that it would perish by it. But if it would, he would make sure that there was no blood left to perish by when the time came. He sighed and looked out over the fields. The arrows had taken many of his men even before the reached the city walls, those who were too weak and tired or those who were too young and eager to lift their shields, they had been shot down by the arrows and then trampled down by the advancing army. He got up, and jumped down from the walls. He felt a quick sting in his legs, but brushed it aside and walked on. To many, it would look like he as if was just walking aimlessly, but Bunduk knew better. He had seen his Jarl jump from the walls and knew exactly where he was going. He looked down to the papers again and listened to the merchant complaining about not being able to trade with the Vaegirs now. Bunduk sighed. You'd think that a nation born out of blood wouldn't have to bother with the administrative details, at least for a couple of days, but no, the merchants and nobles would of course take the advantage now when the administration hadn't been properly established yet. ''...and the price of skins and hides would go through the roof, and how would your precious army have winter clothing to fight the Vaegirs then huh?'' the merchant rambled on. Bunduk was too tired for this, and he decided to end the conversation now. ''If you don't stop complaining, I will personally push you off the walls and shoot you through the heart if you're still alive. Do you understand?'' The merchant, both shocked and angered by the words, slowly nodded. He knew it was not an empty threat, it had happened before, when a Vaegir-supporting soldier had refused to carry out his orders. Bunduk had beat him down, punched and punched, almost killing him before Firentis had intervened, screaming that he should have mercy. Bunduk had snorted, and said: ''Very well, I will give this man a fine execution'' When Firentis tried to stop him again, Bunduk had kicked him in the stomach and dragged the soldier away, after which he had given the soldier ''A fine execution''. Bunduk had been given a sharp warning from the Great Jarl, much to amusement of Firentis. This had not stopped the townsfolk starting to fear Bunduk, and now his threats did not seem empty anymore to anyone, only perhaps to the Great Jarl. He watched as the merchant walked away, and when he thought Bunduk couldn't see him, he ran as fast as his legs would bear him. Bunduk smiled. ''If only I could do that to everyone'' he thought, knowing that eventually someone would report him to the Great Jarl. ''Ah well'' he thought to himself as he walked down the stairs from the wall.
Erik walked between the graves, taking a good luck at every one of them. He did not pray for them, he knew they would already have gone to Valhalla, they had all been brave men. He kept on walking between them until finally he stopped at one particular grave. It did not differ much from the rest, a small pile of dirt, with a symbol of one of the gods, most oftenly the god that the person had been most alike. This grave had a symbol of Odin. Erik know it from all the others, he did not know how, but every time he walked here, he would eventually wind up at this grave. He brushed off the dust from the name and looked at it. ''Björn Anundsson'' it said. He stared at the name for quite a while, eventually realizing that he had sat down during that time. ''I am sorry brother'' he whispered, as if trying to make sure only the corpse in the grave would hear it. ''I failed you''. He sighed. He took out a helmet from his backpack. He put it down in the middle of the grave. He didn't feel sorry for his brother, if you would go to Valhalla if you died in a battle and had fought bravely, then his brother would have gone to a place above it. No, he was feeling sorry for himself. He would no longer have his older brother and his wisdom by his side, no longer would they fight together in battle, well, at least not on this earth. He sighed again and took off his axe that he had been wearing on his back all the time and put it down next the helmet. It was his brother's axe, the one he had fought with during the assault. It was still covered by blood, both Vaegir and Björn's own blood. When Ymira had found it after the battle, he wanted to wash off the blood, but Matheld had stopped her. Matheld was a Nord too, she knew the traditions. Erik wanted the blood to be kept on the axe, as a symbol of his brother's valour, skill and honour in battle. After some time sitting and thinking, Erik rose to his feet and started to walk away. He looked at all the graves once more, feeling a cold chill down his spine. ''I failed them all'' he whispered to himself. ''I failed them''. After that he started his long walk back to the city. ''Once there is peace, I will build a great monument, one in Wercheg, one here and one in Alburq, to honour the soldiers who fought and died, in both assaults and defences, so that a new nation may be born out of flames and blood. He thought about it for a while, and soon realized that the nation had no official name. The people called it The Jarldom of Wercheg, the Jarldom of Alburg and many other names. The people called themselves either Nords, Werchegians or Alburqians. He realized that perhaps he did not need a name for it. They all knew what it was, and that was enough.
Alayen was standing on the walls. They called the city ''The Rock''. Well, used to call it. As most nobles of Calradia did not recognize the Nations independence, instead viewing the Jarl as nothing more than a petty bandit Warlord, they couldn't believe that Wercheg had fallen, and therefore most nobles had started saying that Wercheg weren't much of a fortress after all. Alayen smiled. ''If they would say that for every City and Castle we will conquer, then there won't be any fotresses left in a year or two'' he thought to himself. He was proud to serve under his Jarl. At first, he had come along for a chance for money and power, and didn't look to Erik as much more than an employer. But as the months and weeks passed, it changed. Now Alayen admired him. His just and genorous personality, his speed and strength in battle, the ambition he showed. It is too bad that all this might be for nothing, now that Erik has become depressed about his brother's death. Alayen never really knew Björn. He had seen him every now and then in battle or in the Commanders tent. He had been impressed by him, but he was nothing much out of the ordinary. A good warrior and a good general, both of them are common in the Kingdom of Nords and Nordland itself. He looked out to the sea, the merchant vessels from Nordland were arriving in the distance. He yawned. It had been a long day. The minor nobles of Wercheg and Alburq were hard to appease, but with Ymira by his side it was far easier to bring them into line. Alayen had really taken a liking to Ymira. Like him she was a Vaegir, and also a very sophisticated girl, despite not being of noble birth. He knew that Ymira sometimes saw that he blushed a bit when she looked at him, and he thought she liked it. Maybe one day when the war is over, if there is an end to it, then maybe his relationship with Ymira could be more than usual flirt.... His thought were broken by a lone man walking in the distance. Alayen didn't need more than one look to identify the man as Erik. ''He's back eh?'' someone asked behind Alayen. Alayen spun around to see Jeremus standing there, smiling. ''Damn it Jeremus, for the last time stop sneaking up on me!'' Alayen snapped. Jeremus laughed. ''I have been standing here for a good five minutes now, I didn't even try to sneak up to you, you just didn't notice me'' Alayen let out a sigh. ''Let me guess, daydreaming about Ymira again?'' Alayen looked up to Jeremus and blushed ''What? No..no... definitely not! I was... umm... looking for bandits'' Jeremus smiled at the attempted explanation. ''Please young man, we have all seen you. As soon as that girl waves to you we can't talk to you for an hour or two. You two may think that no-one notices, but the rest of us think otherwise'' Jeremus ignored Alayen's stutterings and looked over him. ''Yeess, that's definitely our Jarl. Let's go to greet him shall we?'' Alayen nodded, his face almost completely red by now.
''NO NO NO! DO I have to do everything myself?!?'' Artimenner shouted as hard as he could at the servant. He had been put in charge of the repair of the walls and towers. He was not pleased with the servants he had been given. The servant stuttered and mumbled incoherently. ''You're doing it wrong! You're setting the stones too far apart! If the Vaegirs come, they're going to cleanse this tower just by shooting at it, every single arrow would go through the holes!'' ''I'm sorry my lord'' the servant said. ''You better be! And look at these crossbow holes. You can't shoot a crosbow through that. We need every detail to be perfect! DO YOU WANT THE VAEGIRS TO TAKE BACK WERCHEG? DO YOU? BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, IF YOU BUILD LIKE THIS!'' Artimenner shouted. He was extremely furious. After taking a few deep breaths, he calmly explained: ''Now, you are going to have work ten times as hard, and if I'm not pleased, you won't be getting off duty for the next 3 weeks! IS THAT CLEAR?!?'' ''Yes my lord''. Artimenner snorted. ''Good''. He walked down the stairs. If it hadn't been for incompetent servants, this fort would be able to hold off any attack. He stopped by a crossbow hole and inspected it. It was made for the Rhodok crossbows. ''Excellent machinery'' Artimenner thought. As he inspected it without finding any faults, to his surprise, he saw a strange figure closing in on the city. ''Ah, good, it's the Jarl'' he thought to himself. He was already dreaming about new propositions on how to punish stupid servants that he would propose to the Jarl. ''Yes, that would be just perfect'' he said in a low tone, as he thought of a especially good way.
Bunduk, Alayen, Jeremus, Artimenner, Firentis and Ymira had gathered in front of the gates, waiting for the Jarl to come. Alayen smiled as he saw Ymira, and then quickly looked away in fear of her looking back at him. Ymira did look at him, and she saw a very red face. Jeremus had been standing behind them and had been smiling all the time. As Artimenner came down he just rolled his eyes and grunted annoyed. As Bunduk saw Firentis coming, he shot him an glance. Bunduk knew that Firentis was a weak man. When the Vaegirs would come Firentis would let them get away, only to get stabbed in the back by them. War was War, if you can't kill a man, you're not a soldier, and therefore you shoudn't pretend you are one. As the Great Jarl came through the gate all the persons gathered in front of the gates stopped whatever they were doing and greeted the Jarl. Erik looked up at them and then sank his head back down. He brushed them aside and walked past them, mumbling ''Not today''. Firentis walked up to him and started saying ''Eri-''. Erik looked up at him and said ''Not today!'' in a far louder tone. Firentis was shocked, as were the rest of his friends ''And Bunduk'' he thought to himself and walked up to Erik again and said: ''Erik, pleas-'' Erik said ''No''. His voice was growing louder. Firentis followed him once again and put his hand on his Jarl's back. Erik reacted in a millionth part of a second and punched Firentis in the guts as hard as he could as he screamed ''NO!''. Bunduk looked upon amused, but as Artimenner turned his shocked gaze towards him, he stopped smiling again. ''Poor man'' Jeremus said. ''Who?'' Bunduk asked, still trying to hide his smile from the rest. ''Both'' Jeremus responded. ''He can't go on like this. We need him, the city needs him, the men need him. We can handle the city now, but if the Vaegirs come we must be unified with a strong leader!'' Alayen, just returning from his state of shock, said ''There must be something we can done'' ''Oh that's easy'' Artimenner said, the only that weren't shocked by the event. ''Just bring his dead brother back to life, and there you have it. And we get another soldier while we're at it!'' Firentis walked back to the group, looking like a humpback. He spat some blood on the ground and then sat down. ''This isn't a time for jokes Artimenner'' Ymira said angrily. ''I agree with Ymira'' Alayen proclaimed. Jeremus whispered behind him ''Of course you do''. Alayen shot him an irritated glance and Jeremus stepped forward. ''From what I know, he has no more family left here in Calradia right now'' Several of the persons nodded. ''We know he came from Nordland with his brother, which means he might have more family there'' Borcha walked in on the group and said ''I remember him telling me that his father was a soldier, fighting in distant reaches of Nordland'' ''Then there's not so much a chance that's he's alive is there?'' Firentis interuppted. ''Never mind finding him'' Artimenner went on. ''Well, there goes that idea'' Jeremus mumbled. ''There's nothing we can do, either he'll recover on his own, or he might abdicte or worse...'' Artimenner said. Bunduk responded ''Ever the optimist eh Arti?'' Artimenner looked annoyed at Bunduk, Bunduk knew he hated that name. After some time thinking they all said goodbyes and walked away. Alayen stayed behind and then walked after Ymira.
Blood. It was everywhere. Marnid looked down on the farmers corpses. He felt anger. Great anger towards the one who did this. 50 innocent men and women had been slaughtered like pigs. Their heads had been cut off and their bodies had been cut until there were no recognizing them anymore. They could not receive a burial. No-one could know who they were. ''Bastards...'' Bahehstur muttered ''Who would do this? Bandits wouldn't attack farmers. They know that the Jarl would strike them down. Besides, what is there to gain? Nobody would pay more than 10 denars a piece for a farmer-slave and they didn't seem to be loaded with goods either'' Marnid slowly nodded. Baheshtur jumped off his horse and started looking more closely at the farmers. ''They were coming back from Wercheg to their Village'' ''How do you know?'' Marnid asked. Baheshtur smiled. He had waited for that question ''Well, there are other tracks over there. They are old, but they are still deeper than those over there'' he pointed to the road towards Wercheg ''Meaning that they had been loaded with goods, sold it at Wercheg, and was going back towards... Ruvar'' Marnid looked up at Baheshtur. ''These farmers had on them a special woolen coat that is only made in Ruvar'' ''Ah, I see'' Marnid said. He looked at them for a while, then started going back towards the horses. ''Well, it's time to report to Wercheg eh?''. Marnid did not get a respone. ''Baheshtur?'' he looked around to see that Baheshtur completely frozen. His face were as snow and his eyes were focused on a corpse with an arrow in it. ''Baheshtur?'' Marnid repeated and rushed over to him. ''L-look'' Baheshtur stuttered. Marnid looked, and he saw it. He froze instantly too. ''No, no that's impossible. They are too occupied with the Khergits'' Marnid refused to believe what he saw. ''Then how do you explain that then? This is one of the finest Vaegir arrows, only made for Vaegir lords and the like!'' Marind put his hands behind his hands and mumbled ''No, no, no, no. They wouldn't leave the Khergit war for one small city! Last month they had barely a 100 men stationed here, why would they suddenly care about it so much now?'' ''It would be a sign of weakness to leave us alone...'' Baheshtur sighed. Marnid's anger had been replaced by fear and shock. Suddenly Marnid shook Baheshtur as hard as he could. ''WHERE DID THEY GO?'' Bahehstur looked up at him and suddenly realized something. He ran to his horse and rode up to a hill. The grass had been flattened down by boots and horseshoes. ''Alburg...'' Baheshtur said. ''Go to Wercheg'' he shouted at Marnid. ''NOW!'' Marnid did not delay any further and got up on his horse and rode like hell to Wercheg.
''There must be something we can do'' Firentis said worried to Jeremus. He still felt the blow, but he did his best to ignore it. Jeremus ignored him and said instead ''That might grow to a good bruise you know'' and pointed to Firentis stomach. Firentis looked up at him. Jeremus seemed to believe that this was somekind of wound or disease he could cure with a good operation. Firentis knew better. He knew from experience how it was like losing a brother. But he felt much worse. He remembered that fateful night, his sword going into his own flesh and blood and his brother looking at him with large eyes and whispering ''Brother...'' before finally slumping to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Jeremus woke him up from his thoughts pointed out to the horizon and said ''Look''. From the way the man rode, it could only be Marnid, but he seemed worried, perhaps even fearful. ''Come'' Jeremus said and Firentis followed him down to outside the gates. Marnid saw them, but rode right through them without a care in the world, pushing them both down. ''GODDAMNIT! I have always said we should never have given him a horse!'' Jeremus shouted, both to Firentis and Marnid. ''I don't think that he wanted to hurt us, neither was he that bad a rider. He witnessed as Marnid turned the horse towards the castle. ''We should follow him'' Firentis said. ''Yes...'' Jeremus muttered.
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Second part(Also included: BUMP!!!!!)
The Stories of the Great Jarl of Wercheg: Chapter 2
''...and then the Rhodok pikes will protect the flank from the cavalry, while the Vaegir archers and Swadian gunners shoot the cavalry that tries to turn around'' Artimenner went one, but Erik just couldn't care. Large map were rolled out on the board, showing maps of the different areas of the peninsula, with small figurines depicting different troops. He watched as Artimenner moved the pieces around, all while telling orders. Erik smiled, most of Artimenners tactics always failed during the battle itself, yet the Werchegs always won. As Erik watched Artimenner move the pieces around, he heard shouting outside. He soon identified it as Marnid and he shouted to the guards to let Marnid in. Marnid stormed past the guards as soon as the door opened, yelling: ''My Jarl! The Vaegirs, are coming from the south-eastern part of the peninsula, they slaughtered a group of peasants!''. Erik and Artimenner stared shocked, but soon they regained awareness and Erik asked ''Where are they now?'' ''Baheshtur said that they have proably regrouped just outside the border, but are now coming to back to Ruvar to take it'' ''Where is Baheshtur now?'' Artimenner asked ''He's warning the Alburqians and informing Visjarl Tredian'' Erik looked away to the windows. The Vaegirs, the horror is coming back. Erik looked back with eyes wide open ''But... wh-what about the Khergits?'' Marnid shook his head ''We don't know'' Erik sighed and looked at the maps. Ruvar, a small village in the Southeastern parts of the Jarldom. Erik looked at a messenger ''Call the Council'' The messenger was in shock like the others and looked at Erik ''NOW!''. The Messenger hurried out. ''Well Artimenner, your tactics better work now'' Marnid said. After that there were complete and total silence.
The Council gathered soon. The people part of the council were the following: Great Jarl Erik Anundsson, Visjarl Tredian de Rousillion, Klethi Rurikovich, Lezalit Árpady, Jeremus MacLothian , Ymira Gediminovich, Marnid al-Amiri, Borcha Genghisid, Firentis van Groningen, Deshavi Fatimid, Rolf Stenkilsätten, Baheshtur Timurid, Bunduk Kerne, Katrin Halfdansdottir, Matheld av Munsö, Nizar Seljuk and lastly Alayen Borisovich. Each person were informed by a soldiers of the events that had occured when they entered the council chamber, each one seemed more shocked than the last. Jeremus looked around and saw that Alayen were still standing up near the wall of the room, for some reason not seated yet. He looked on baffled, until finally he understood. As Ymira entered the room and seated herself, he saw that Alayen finally started moving and seated himself next to Ymira. As the last person entered, Baheshtur, the Great Jarl stood up and let out a sigh before starting to speak: ''Friends, we all know what has happened, the Vaegirs are on the move. They are coming from the southeast and are slowly marking their way towards Wercheg. The informants tell us that this is roughly half of the Vaegir army, lead by Yaroglek himself and a handful of his lords'' ''Some of who are my friends'' he thought to himself, before continuing on: ''We will have to engage them eventually, to protect Wercheg itself. We should wait a few days, when the Vaegirs are exhausted we will strike'' Nizar and Alayen rose up, both for different reasons. Nizar took the word first: ''We should not flee, we have defeated them over and over again! We can't risk the lives of the villagers and farmers. If we do not engage them directly the will burn and the Vaegirs will destroy every settlement they come across and then salt the fields. They want only revenge!'' ''Enough, Nizar, you've made your point.'' Matheld said ''If we do engage them directly, we will lose many soldiers. Far more soldiers than the farmers that would be lost if we did it our way!'' Lezalit took the word ''The Vaegirs will plunder and slaughter the cattle, and they will rest in the villagers' houses before they burn them. There won't be any difference if we engage them now or later, only it will buy us more time if we engage them now!'' Klethi muttered ''Believe me, the Vaegirs will not rest until they reach Wercheg. Yaroglek, short may he live, will forcemarch his soldiers and whip those who fall!'' Borcha shouted ''We have to whittle them down, if we surround them with Khergit horse archers and Swadian Knights tearing through their ranks during the nights, we can take them down when they reach Wercheg'' ''THAT WOULD TAKE TOO LONG!'' Marnid shouted ''THEY WILL BE HERE TO SOON FOR IT TO MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE!'' ''Calm down Marnid!'' Deshavi said with a bitter tone ''We have to engage them now, before the rest of their ''lords'' rally to that bastards banner!'' As several members were about to yell out their arguments, Lezalit shouted ''That is true, but where? Most of the peninsula are plains, where the Vaegirs would use their numbers and bows to their advantage.'' Rolf, who had been ignoring most of the arguments so far, suddenly rose up. ''I know a place'' all eyes turned to him ''Some time ago, I passed through a pass here on the Peninsula. It's called Therm of Pylaes pass. It is a long and narrow pass, where quality will win the race, not quantity. Therer are many great cliffs that the crossbowmen, the archers and the gunners can be positioned in. It lies on the road from Ruvar to Wercheg.'' Visjarl Tredian rose and said ''That may be good, but how do we get the Vaegirs to use the pass? They might as well go around it'' ''What we need is a diversion, a trap. I have a group of good brave Rhodoks that would do it. They could try to engage the Vaegirs' army and then run into the pass, only to be followed by the army!'' Bunduk shouted out excited ''Why would the Vaegirs follow a group of meager soldiers?'' Alayen asked ''We need someone important to go with them.'' ''I was afraid of that, but it's my men, and I shall go with them'' There were no protests. As much as they wanted him to stay, they knew there was no other option to be found. ''Good, then Borcha will take his Khergits and Tredian his Swadians and they will harass the army until when they reach the pass, where they will leve into the forests. Bunduk will be there waiting with his men, who will taunt the enemy into following them down the pass. The main army will stay here'' Erik pointed to a point in the pass around a small corner. ''The Archers willl be waiting in the third line and above the pass.'' The talk carried on for some time, but the main strategy had been laid out. The council disbanded in the afternoon, each man going out to gather his men.
King Yaroglek sighed. He was tired of all these wars. He had had to abandon the Khergits just as he were winning, and march down here to deal with a petty warlord claiming Wercheg for his own. ''Anythign wrong my liege?'' Boyar Nelag asked at his side. ''No, I'm just thinking if the nations would ever agree to a long truce. An end to all the war'' ''I doubt it my lord, Calradia was never made for peace'' Nelag responded. The King looked at him ''You're right, but one can wish'' Nelag smiled. ''Yes, yes you can. But I abandoned wishing a long time ago. It never brings you anywhere, and only disappoints you in the end'' Yaroglek smiled at his vassal's philosophy. ''We're crossing the border now'' Boyar Vlan said suddenly. ''It was here we slaughtered the traitors yesterday''
Francisco looked out over the field. He could see every now and then a Knight or a Khergit running out of range from the Vaegirs, but then turning back. They were close now. He looked and suddenly he could see figures appearing out of the mist. He suddenly understood what it was. ''Captain! Vaegirs coming from south-southeast!'' Bunduk looked up instantly. ''Yea, that's them allright. FORMATIONS!!!'' he shouted. The Rhodoks formed what did not look like a planned formation, but was actually a trick to make the Vaegirs fall into a false sense of security. ''AIM!'' he shouted. He held his arm high in the air, waiting for the right moment. Francisco looked tenseely over his crossbow. He still saw the knights and khergits. He watched his commanders face. It was compeltely devoid of other emotions than anger. Suddenly, the cavalry retreated into the forest. Bunduk saw his cue. ''FIRE!!''. A rain of crossbow bolts fell down on the army. Franscicso heard several screams of anger and pain from the advancing horde. Bunduk muttered ''Damn'' ''All right men, reload, but do it slowly, try to let the bolt drop to the ground a couple of times, we need them to be in a false sense of security'' Francisco did what he was told, he wasn't happy about it, but he did it. Another shower of bolts hit the Vaegirs, this time several of them intently missing the Vaegirs. Suddenly however, during the reloading, as shower of Vaegir arrows came down. He heard one of his men grunt as he fell to the grond gurgling. He had been hit in the throat. ''SHIELDS UP GODDAMNIT'' Bunduk yelled. He advanced to the hit man with his board shield above his head, and checked the pulse of the man. He grunted a couple of times as the shield was hit repeatedly, but finally he shook his head and left the man. He went to another soldier, who had also been to slow. He checked the pulse before yelling ''RETREAT!'' The soldiers heeded the order and ran. As Francicso tried to run, a strong arrow knocked his shield off his back, and soon after another hit him in the leg. He fell as he tried to run. He tried to scream for help as he crawled, but only weak sounds came out of his month. Suddenly, a arrow hit him in the side and all went black. He heard footsteps, a distant voice mumbling securing words, Bunduk shouting to the man as he felt himself being dragged away.
''Move! Move! Move!'' Bunduk's voice echoed in the pass. ''GODDAMN IT ROBERT, MOVE!''. Robert pushed himself over his limit, and he knew it. He didn't know if he would be okay if he survived the battle, but if he saved this man he was dragging right now, it would be worth it.
''Are the archers positioned?'' Erik asked. Artimenner answered: ''Yes my Jarl''. ''Are Bunduks men retreating?'' ''Yes my Jarl'' ''Are the Vaegirs following?'' Artimenner smiled at the last question. ''Yes my Jarl''. ''Then it's time'' Erik said as he walked out of the tent and picked up his axe and helmet as he went. He walked past the lines, and stopped in the first line. Artimenner knew better than to try and stop him. Erik looked at his friends around him. Ready to fight, ready to die. He smiled, the first real smile he had had for weeks now. It was time to see if the saying was true. A nation of blood, steel and flesh. He looked around to see his men cheering quietly. They would be part of one of the greatest battles of all of Calradia's history. It was indeed time.
The Stories of the Great Jarl of Wercheg: Chapter 2
''...and then the Rhodok pikes will protect the flank from the cavalry, while the Vaegir archers and Swadian gunners shoot the cavalry that tries to turn around'' Artimenner went one, but Erik just couldn't care. Large map were rolled out on the board, showing maps of the different areas of the peninsula, with small figurines depicting different troops. He watched as Artimenner moved the pieces around, all while telling orders. Erik smiled, most of Artimenners tactics always failed during the battle itself, yet the Werchegs always won. As Erik watched Artimenner move the pieces around, he heard shouting outside. He soon identified it as Marnid and he shouted to the guards to let Marnid in. Marnid stormed past the guards as soon as the door opened, yelling: ''My Jarl! The Vaegirs, are coming from the south-eastern part of the peninsula, they slaughtered a group of peasants!''. Erik and Artimenner stared shocked, but soon they regained awareness and Erik asked ''Where are they now?'' ''Baheshtur said that they have proably regrouped just outside the border, but are now coming to back to Ruvar to take it'' ''Where is Baheshtur now?'' Artimenner asked ''He's warning the Alburqians and informing Visjarl Tredian'' Erik looked away to the windows. The Vaegirs, the horror is coming back. Erik looked back with eyes wide open ''But... wh-what about the Khergits?'' Marnid shook his head ''We don't know'' Erik sighed and looked at the maps. Ruvar, a small village in the Southeastern parts of the Jarldom. Erik looked at a messenger ''Call the Council'' The messenger was in shock like the others and looked at Erik ''NOW!''. The Messenger hurried out. ''Well Artimenner, your tactics better work now'' Marnid said. After that there were complete and total silence.
The Council gathered soon. The people part of the council were the following: Great Jarl Erik Anundsson, Visjarl Tredian de Rousillion, Klethi Rurikovich, Lezalit Árpady, Jeremus MacLothian , Ymira Gediminovich, Marnid al-Amiri, Borcha Genghisid, Firentis van Groningen, Deshavi Fatimid, Rolf Stenkilsätten, Baheshtur Timurid, Bunduk Kerne, Katrin Halfdansdottir, Matheld av Munsö, Nizar Seljuk and lastly Alayen Borisovich. Each person were informed by a soldiers of the events that had occured when they entered the council chamber, each one seemed more shocked than the last. Jeremus looked around and saw that Alayen were still standing up near the wall of the room, for some reason not seated yet. He looked on baffled, until finally he understood. As Ymira entered the room and seated herself, he saw that Alayen finally started moving and seated himself next to Ymira. As the last person entered, Baheshtur, the Great Jarl stood up and let out a sigh before starting to speak: ''Friends, we all know what has happened, the Vaegirs are on the move. They are coming from the southeast and are slowly marking their way towards Wercheg. The informants tell us that this is roughly half of the Vaegir army, lead by Yaroglek himself and a handful of his lords'' ''Some of who are my friends'' he thought to himself, before continuing on: ''We will have to engage them eventually, to protect Wercheg itself. We should wait a few days, when the Vaegirs are exhausted we will strike'' Nizar and Alayen rose up, both for different reasons. Nizar took the word first: ''We should not flee, we have defeated them over and over again! We can't risk the lives of the villagers and farmers. If we do not engage them directly the will burn and the Vaegirs will destroy every settlement they come across and then salt the fields. They want only revenge!'' ''Enough, Nizar, you've made your point.'' Matheld said ''If we do engage them directly, we will lose many soldiers. Far more soldiers than the farmers that would be lost if we did it our way!'' Lezalit took the word ''The Vaegirs will plunder and slaughter the cattle, and they will rest in the villagers' houses before they burn them. There won't be any difference if we engage them now or later, only it will buy us more time if we engage them now!'' Klethi muttered ''Believe me, the Vaegirs will not rest until they reach Wercheg. Yaroglek, short may he live, will forcemarch his soldiers and whip those who fall!'' Borcha shouted ''We have to whittle them down, if we surround them with Khergit horse archers and Swadian Knights tearing through their ranks during the nights, we can take them down when they reach Wercheg'' ''THAT WOULD TAKE TOO LONG!'' Marnid shouted ''THEY WILL BE HERE TO SOON FOR IT TO MAKE ANY DIFFERENCE!'' ''Calm down Marnid!'' Deshavi said with a bitter tone ''We have to engage them now, before the rest of their ''lords'' rally to that bastards banner!'' As several members were about to yell out their arguments, Lezalit shouted ''That is true, but where? Most of the peninsula are plains, where the Vaegirs would use their numbers and bows to their advantage.'' Rolf, who had been ignoring most of the arguments so far, suddenly rose up. ''I know a place'' all eyes turned to him ''Some time ago, I passed through a pass here on the Peninsula. It's called Therm of Pylaes pass. It is a long and narrow pass, where quality will win the race, not quantity. Therer are many great cliffs that the crossbowmen, the archers and the gunners can be positioned in. It lies on the road from Ruvar to Wercheg.'' Visjarl Tredian rose and said ''That may be good, but how do we get the Vaegirs to use the pass? They might as well go around it'' ''What we need is a diversion, a trap. I have a group of good brave Rhodoks that would do it. They could try to engage the Vaegirs' army and then run into the pass, only to be followed by the army!'' Bunduk shouted out excited ''Why would the Vaegirs follow a group of meager soldiers?'' Alayen asked ''We need someone important to go with them.'' ''I was afraid of that, but it's my men, and I shall go with them'' There were no protests. As much as they wanted him to stay, they knew there was no other option to be found. ''Good, then Borcha will take his Khergits and Tredian his Swadians and they will harass the army until when they reach the pass, where they will leve into the forests. Bunduk will be there waiting with his men, who will taunt the enemy into following them down the pass. The main army will stay here'' Erik pointed to a point in the pass around a small corner. ''The Archers willl be waiting in the third line and above the pass.'' The talk carried on for some time, but the main strategy had been laid out. The council disbanded in the afternoon, each man going out to gather his men.
King Yaroglek sighed. He was tired of all these wars. He had had to abandon the Khergits just as he were winning, and march down here to deal with a petty warlord claiming Wercheg for his own. ''Anythign wrong my liege?'' Boyar Nelag asked at his side. ''No, I'm just thinking if the nations would ever agree to a long truce. An end to all the war'' ''I doubt it my lord, Calradia was never made for peace'' Nelag responded. The King looked at him ''You're right, but one can wish'' Nelag smiled. ''Yes, yes you can. But I abandoned wishing a long time ago. It never brings you anywhere, and only disappoints you in the end'' Yaroglek smiled at his vassal's philosophy. ''We're crossing the border now'' Boyar Vlan said suddenly. ''It was here we slaughtered the traitors yesterday''
Francisco looked out over the field. He could see every now and then a Knight or a Khergit running out of range from the Vaegirs, but then turning back. They were close now. He looked and suddenly he could see figures appearing out of the mist. He suddenly understood what it was. ''Captain! Vaegirs coming from south-southeast!'' Bunduk looked up instantly. ''Yea, that's them allright. FORMATIONS!!!'' he shouted. The Rhodoks formed what did not look like a planned formation, but was actually a trick to make the Vaegirs fall into a false sense of security. ''AIM!'' he shouted. He held his arm high in the air, waiting for the right moment. Francisco looked tenseely over his crossbow. He still saw the knights and khergits. He watched his commanders face. It was compeltely devoid of other emotions than anger. Suddenly, the cavalry retreated into the forest. Bunduk saw his cue. ''FIRE!!''. A rain of crossbow bolts fell down on the army. Franscicso heard several screams of anger and pain from the advancing horde. Bunduk muttered ''Damn'' ''All right men, reload, but do it slowly, try to let the bolt drop to the ground a couple of times, we need them to be in a false sense of security'' Francisco did what he was told, he wasn't happy about it, but he did it. Another shower of bolts hit the Vaegirs, this time several of them intently missing the Vaegirs. Suddenly however, during the reloading, as shower of Vaegir arrows came down. He heard one of his men grunt as he fell to the grond gurgling. He had been hit in the throat. ''SHIELDS UP GODDAMNIT'' Bunduk yelled. He advanced to the hit man with his board shield above his head, and checked the pulse of the man. He grunted a couple of times as the shield was hit repeatedly, but finally he shook his head and left the man. He went to another soldier, who had also been to slow. He checked the pulse before yelling ''RETREAT!'' The soldiers heeded the order and ran. As Francicso tried to run, a strong arrow knocked his shield off his back, and soon after another hit him in the leg. He fell as he tried to run. He tried to scream for help as he crawled, but only weak sounds came out of his month. Suddenly, a arrow hit him in the side and all went black. He heard footsteps, a distant voice mumbling securing words, Bunduk shouting to the man as he felt himself being dragged away.
''Move! Move! Move!'' Bunduk's voice echoed in the pass. ''GODDAMN IT ROBERT, MOVE!''. Robert pushed himself over his limit, and he knew it. He didn't know if he would be okay if he survived the battle, but if he saved this man he was dragging right now, it would be worth it.
''Are the archers positioned?'' Erik asked. Artimenner answered: ''Yes my Jarl''. ''Are Bunduks men retreating?'' ''Yes my Jarl'' ''Are the Vaegirs following?'' Artimenner smiled at the last question. ''Yes my Jarl''. ''Then it's time'' Erik said as he walked out of the tent and picked up his axe and helmet as he went. He walked past the lines, and stopped in the first line. Artimenner knew better than to try and stop him. Erik looked at his friends around him. Ready to fight, ready to die. He smiled, the first real smile he had had for weeks now. It was time to see if the saying was true. A nation of blood, steel and flesh. He looked around to see his men cheering quietly. They would be part of one of the greatest battles of all of Calradia's history. It was indeed time.
KillerDudeMan
I'll give it a shot. Really loved the stories you guys posted.
Balian knew the task his father had given him before he died. His father had ordered him in his last moments to protect the people, to fight and if need be die for them. There had been a truce between Swadia and the Sarranid Sultanate after a terrible war which had gone on for years. Not all lords wanted to stop killing those "dirty Muslims" and decided to disregard that a truce ever occurred. Count Montewar was one of those lords and the leader of them. He saw King Harlaus as weak and would raid and pillage villages of the Sarranids, attack caravans, and massacre any Sarranids he came across. Now Sultan Hakim marched with the might of his army towards Montewar's Jamiche Castle.
Balian had been given the village of Jamiche, the poorest village in the land, when he joined Swadia. He had turned a patch of dirt into the richest village in all of Calradia. He had an army of 150 Swadian knights and Men-at-arms. Balian and his army were on patrol for several days and were on they're way back to Jamiche. Balian saw smoke on the horizon and realized it was coming from Jamiche. He ordered the army to go as fast as possible and arrived there in a matter of minutes. As soon as he passed the palisade, what he saw made him feel lightheaded and sick. Every building was burned to the ground, bodies of peasants lay in the street, children had been hung on the great tree in the town market place. But that wasn't the worst of it: the main hall was on fire and there were screams coming from inside. The soldiers rushed to open the barred door, but before they got there, the building collapsed and there was complete silence except for the sound of burning wood. Soldiers broke down, they had built they're whole lives in this village, every one of them had a wife and children. Balian thought of his beautiful wife and the way she smiled and of his 3 children and the way they used to play with him. It was all gone. Two soldiers came out of the fields dragging a man by his hair. Balian recognized the man as a Sarranid. The soldiers threw the scout onto the ground and Balian asked almost in a whisper, "Who did this?"
The scout started laughing maniacally and said, "We did!! That's right, the entire army's moving to siege Jamiche Castle as we speak and you have no hope!!"
Balian told his men, "Do what you want to this man, and remember what he did." The soldiers dragged the man away to the fields as the man was screaming protest which abruptly stopped in several seconds and were replaced with gurgling sounds. Balian gathered his men in the town square and addressed them, saying, "My good and faithful men, today we have lost what we have lived for because of fools like Montewar. We can sit here and do nothing while innocents die throughout the kingdom... or we can rise back up, drive Hakim back to the desert, and keep more from suffering a fate as these people have. Hakim is on a war path and won't stop until Swadia is reduced to a pile of crap. I will be going to Jamiche Castle. Those of you who do not want to come may stay here or do whatever you want. I go to protect all those villagers outside the castle." Every man decided to go with him. Balian sent Alayen ahead with his scouts to see how far away the Sultan was from Jamiche Castle. After three or four hours, Alayen returned and reported that they were only a day's journey away. Balian yelled to the army, "GALLOP!"
They arrived at the Castle an hour before Sultan Hakim's advanced guard. There were still at least a thousand peasants running into the sanctuary of the castle once the Sarranid cavalry arrived arrived. Balian ordered his men to form into two lines with Firentis and Lezalit covering the left side and Alayen and Bunduk covering the right. Jeremus and Baheshtur stood next to Balian. Several men under a flag of truce were galloping towards Balian. Balian and his commanders rode out to meet them. Balian immediately recognized the man carrying the banner as Nizar and the leader as Borcha. Borcha said, "Balian! We meet again. My lord's quarrel is not with you, but with Montewar. Step aside and you and your men will not be harmed."
Balian replied, "We stand here to protect these innocents from being massacred like those at Jamiche. We stand here ready to die for them."
"So be it! Then you will all die," replied Borcha before he and his possy rode back to their lines. The second Balian and his commanders got back to their lines, they charged. Balian had only one wish: to punish every single Sarranid and get repaid in blood. As the two armies got closer, Balian realized that every single Sarranid in the advanced guard were all mounted and there were at least 500 of them. 300 meters. 200 meters. 100 meters. 10 meters. The two armies clashed with such ferocity it must have shook the whole castle. War cries, screams of agony from man and horse, the shattering of spears, the clang of shields deflecting sword strikes. Balian's spear drove right through a Sarranid's gut and was lost in another man. Balian drew his great sword and began hacking, slashing, and tearing apart every man who challenged him. Nearly every man in both armies were on the ground fighting because their horses had fallen. Balian looked around and saw that his men were slowly being surrounded and that fresh Sarranid Mamluke reinforcements had joined the battle. He saw Firentis and Lezalit cut off from their men and fighting back to back. Jeremus and Baheshtur stood next to their leader and protected him to the best of their abilities. Alayen and Bunduk were dueling Nizar and Borcha. He ordered his men to gather in the middle of the fray. There they would make their last, glorious stand. Lezalit was able to carve his way to Balian, but Firentis had fallen. Bunduk had been stabbed by Borcha and lay dead. Jeremus, Alayen, Lezalit, and Baheshtur were the only surviving commanders. Only 40 Swadian knights and 30 Swadian Men-at-arms were still fighting. Men fought with tooth and nail, using anything they could grab at to kill the Sarranids. Balian's men were exhausted, but fought on. They had nothing left to live for except each other now. After an hour's worth of fighting, only 17 men including Balian and the commanders still stood fighting. Nizar charged Balian and the began a ferocious duel. Borcha led his personal bodyguard directly into the fray. Baheshtur was slashed across the chest by Borcha and fell to his knees. He had carried his Khergit bow with him since he was just a boy and picked it up and in with his last breath, fired his last arrow right through Borcha's chest, killing him instantly. Lezalit was an angel of death out on the field, but even he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of the enemy. Balian struck a mortal wound to Nizar after Nizar had broken Balian's leg. Balian fought on without realizing that his whole army lay dead. Suddenly, he felt an immense pain in his stomach and looked down and saw a sword protruding. The last thing he ever saw was his faithful friends laying on the ground motionless and Sultan Hakim's massive army charging the proud army of Swadia with King Harlaus at the front of the charge. Then Balian fell to the ground and he went to join his wife and children. Balian's courageous last stand in front of Jamiche Castle saved every villager and caused the death of over 1000 of the Sultan's Cavalry.
Jamiche Castle was never taken back from the Swadians, but Count Montewar and all the traitor lords were publicly humiliated and then executed. Balian and all his men were given a king's funeral and were honored by every man in the Kingdom of Swadia.
Balian knew the task his father had given him before he died. His father had ordered him in his last moments to protect the people, to fight and if need be die for them. There had been a truce between Swadia and the Sarranid Sultanate after a terrible war which had gone on for years. Not all lords wanted to stop killing those "dirty Muslims" and decided to disregard that a truce ever occurred. Count Montewar was one of those lords and the leader of them. He saw King Harlaus as weak and would raid and pillage villages of the Sarranids, attack caravans, and massacre any Sarranids he came across. Now Sultan Hakim marched with the might of his army towards Montewar's Jamiche Castle.
Balian had been given the village of Jamiche, the poorest village in the land, when he joined Swadia. He had turned a patch of dirt into the richest village in all of Calradia. He had an army of 150 Swadian knights and Men-at-arms. Balian and his army were on patrol for several days and were on they're way back to Jamiche. Balian saw smoke on the horizon and realized it was coming from Jamiche. He ordered the army to go as fast as possible and arrived there in a matter of minutes. As soon as he passed the palisade, what he saw made him feel lightheaded and sick. Every building was burned to the ground, bodies of peasants lay in the street, children had been hung on the great tree in the town market place. But that wasn't the worst of it: the main hall was on fire and there were screams coming from inside. The soldiers rushed to open the barred door, but before they got there, the building collapsed and there was complete silence except for the sound of burning wood. Soldiers broke down, they had built they're whole lives in this village, every one of them had a wife and children. Balian thought of his beautiful wife and the way she smiled and of his 3 children and the way they used to play with him. It was all gone. Two soldiers came out of the fields dragging a man by his hair. Balian recognized the man as a Sarranid. The soldiers threw the scout onto the ground and Balian asked almost in a whisper, "Who did this?"
The scout started laughing maniacally and said, "We did!! That's right, the entire army's moving to siege Jamiche Castle as we speak and you have no hope!!"
Balian told his men, "Do what you want to this man, and remember what he did." The soldiers dragged the man away to the fields as the man was screaming protest which abruptly stopped in several seconds and were replaced with gurgling sounds. Balian gathered his men in the town square and addressed them, saying, "My good and faithful men, today we have lost what we have lived for because of fools like Montewar. We can sit here and do nothing while innocents die throughout the kingdom... or we can rise back up, drive Hakim back to the desert, and keep more from suffering a fate as these people have. Hakim is on a war path and won't stop until Swadia is reduced to a pile of crap. I will be going to Jamiche Castle. Those of you who do not want to come may stay here or do whatever you want. I go to protect all those villagers outside the castle." Every man decided to go with him. Balian sent Alayen ahead with his scouts to see how far away the Sultan was from Jamiche Castle. After three or four hours, Alayen returned and reported that they were only a day's journey away. Balian yelled to the army, "GALLOP!"
They arrived at the Castle an hour before Sultan Hakim's advanced guard. There were still at least a thousand peasants running into the sanctuary of the castle once the Sarranid cavalry arrived arrived. Balian ordered his men to form into two lines with Firentis and Lezalit covering the left side and Alayen and Bunduk covering the right. Jeremus and Baheshtur stood next to Balian. Several men under a flag of truce were galloping towards Balian. Balian and his commanders rode out to meet them. Balian immediately recognized the man carrying the banner as Nizar and the leader as Borcha. Borcha said, "Balian! We meet again. My lord's quarrel is not with you, but with Montewar. Step aside and you and your men will not be harmed."
Balian replied, "We stand here to protect these innocents from being massacred like those at Jamiche. We stand here ready to die for them."
"So be it! Then you will all die," replied Borcha before he and his possy rode back to their lines. The second Balian and his commanders got back to their lines, they charged. Balian had only one wish: to punish every single Sarranid and get repaid in blood. As the two armies got closer, Balian realized that every single Sarranid in the advanced guard were all mounted and there were at least 500 of them. 300 meters. 200 meters. 100 meters. 10 meters. The two armies clashed with such ferocity it must have shook the whole castle. War cries, screams of agony from man and horse, the shattering of spears, the clang of shields deflecting sword strikes. Balian's spear drove right through a Sarranid's gut and was lost in another man. Balian drew his great sword and began hacking, slashing, and tearing apart every man who challenged him. Nearly every man in both armies were on the ground fighting because their horses had fallen. Balian looked around and saw that his men were slowly being surrounded and that fresh Sarranid Mamluke reinforcements had joined the battle. He saw Firentis and Lezalit cut off from their men and fighting back to back. Jeremus and Baheshtur stood next to their leader and protected him to the best of their abilities. Alayen and Bunduk were dueling Nizar and Borcha. He ordered his men to gather in the middle of the fray. There they would make their last, glorious stand. Lezalit was able to carve his way to Balian, but Firentis had fallen. Bunduk had been stabbed by Borcha and lay dead. Jeremus, Alayen, Lezalit, and Baheshtur were the only surviving commanders. Only 40 Swadian knights and 30 Swadian Men-at-arms were still fighting. Men fought with tooth and nail, using anything they could grab at to kill the Sarranids. Balian's men were exhausted, but fought on. They had nothing left to live for except each other now. After an hour's worth of fighting, only 17 men including Balian and the commanders still stood fighting. Nizar charged Balian and the began a ferocious duel. Borcha led his personal bodyguard directly into the fray. Baheshtur was slashed across the chest by Borcha and fell to his knees. He had carried his Khergit bow with him since he was just a boy and picked it up and in with his last breath, fired his last arrow right through Borcha's chest, killing him instantly. Lezalit was an angel of death out on the field, but even he was overwhelmed by the sheer number of the enemy. Balian struck a mortal wound to Nizar after Nizar had broken Balian's leg. Balian fought on without realizing that his whole army lay dead. Suddenly, he felt an immense pain in his stomach and looked down and saw a sword protruding. The last thing he ever saw was his faithful friends laying on the ground motionless and Sultan Hakim's massive army charging the proud army of Swadia with King Harlaus at the front of the charge. Then Balian fell to the ground and he went to join his wife and children. Balian's courageous last stand in front of Jamiche Castle saved every villager and caused the death of over 1000 of the Sultan's Cavalry.
Jamiche Castle was never taken back from the Swadians, but Count Montewar and all the traitor lords were publicly humiliated and then executed. Balian and all his men were given a king's funeral and were honored by every man in the Kingdom of Swadia.
Nodscouter
Count
A little touch of Kingdom of Heaven in that one eh? Nevertheless, good story. You got potential friend, if you stop copying movies .
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