Tales of Calradia (Formerly Warband story and literature thread)

[Ludial]

Alright, so I decided to post my story here since it's set in Warband. I'll probably keep it in ZTS too since threads don't move that fast there.

It's called 'Man of the blade', and it's pretty grim so the people with faint hearts should probably stay away from it:

Ahh, this is life! The warm sun on my face, the stench of gore in the air and the pitiful cries of the sod hanging over the precipice. Apparently he's holding on to a branch and the rock face is too steep (almost vertical, to be more precise) for him to climb back. I wouldn't say he's lucky – his mates at least died quickly. I look back to where my ride, Groinkicker, is ripping in the bare arm of one of the fools, splashing more blood around the place than I did with my sword. I still have a hard time believing it – a flesh-loving horse! Must be from all the time spent in my company and the maddening heat in the desert where it grew up. Even hunters and destriers tend to keep a distance from it in the stables despite its small size and dog-like appearance. On the side, lying in the shade, is one of my spares – Fear. I always chuckle at the name I gave it. It can smell danger from leagues away and is faster than a Pravenian beggar's hand when it has to run from something. Fear gives it wings, so to speak... Somewhere behind me I can hear prancing and some kind of incoherent sounds. My unstable and mad as a hornet heavy spare, Terror. I don't know what happened to this animal in its early years and frankly I don't want to know. The fact that I'm probably the only person in Calradia it lets touch it and definitely the only person in the world that would leave it alive speaks enough about me, I guess.
I return my attention to the hapless looter hanging on his branch. By now he's started pleading with me in the name of whatever gods his unfaithful arse can come up with to help him up. I tell him clearly that the only way I'd help him is down, preferably facilitating that with a rock to his face, and that he can try and climb back up once I'm gone. And that he's lucky I'll be likely gone by the mid-afternoon, which he can make more difficult by pissing me off with his sobbing and making me stay till the sun is down. He shuts up. Being a ruthless knave myself, I have absolutely no pity for the types that try to slash your throat in the morning and cry for your help at noon just because you put them in an uncomfortable situation. Nut up or let die, I say. I think he'd rather let die. Village idiots turned brigands don't last long, in my experience. I get back to the scene of the fight (more like a morning exercise it felt like) and pocket the corpses for any valuables. I have to put my gauntlets back on to extract some coins from  my horse's mouth. Good thing it can't chew steel (yet) or I'd be left without a hand. After gathering everything of use (rusty falchions can still be sold to village smiths at a modest price) I peer at my looter. He's hugging his branch and trying to stay on top of it. From what I can see and smell, he already managed to lose control of his stomach, bladder and bowels at some point. An idea strikes me and I ask him if he has any money or other valuables on himself. He seems to respond positively (at least I think that the faint 'Uuh' was supposed to mean yes). I lower him a rope, pull him up, and then have to kick him thrice in the ribs in order to make him let loose of the damn thing. Talk about holding on for dear life! With a steel grip on the back of his neck I pin him down at the base of a tree and pocket him for whatever he has on his belt. A few denars and a good knife. I take them – one has to take all one can take in life, it will always come handy. With a farewell kick to his arse I leave him there and mount Groinkicker after cleaning its muzzle from all the blood. I call the other two animals and set off. After a few steps I hear meaty crunching from behind accompanied by weak and tearful groans and followed by a fading scream. I don't hear a thud, either silenced out by the sound of the hooves or by the shape of the precipice. After a few moments Terror shows up on my side, with a bloody muzzle. It knows its stuff. I rarely take prisoners or for that matter leave enemies alive, and while I thought that some backwater bumpkin shouldn't be able to do much to me, hatred can take a human to great lengths and heights. I actually allow myself to feel a bit sorry for the poor lout, as being eaten alive by a horse and then being thrown by it in a chasm is not a pleasant death. But then again, he and his mates shouldn't have picked a fight with me.
With these thoughts in mind, I continue down towards the foothills and towards Shariz, where the next head I've been paid for still stands (presumably) on the shoulders of a man that is as good as dead.

 

[MasterCaruyn]

Well-written! I like how the horse's name is Groinkicker and eats people 

 

[Lord Brutus]

A horse with a taste for human flesh? To Ludial, nothing is sacred. 

 

[Ludial]

the idea is inspired in part by ancient myth and exaggeration of real events.
So, you guys like it?

 

[MasterCaruyn]

the idea is inspired in part by ancient myth and exaggeration of real events.
So, you guys like it?

Yeah I like it! I like the symbolic names you have for the horses   
Which myth is it based on?

 

[killer110]

I think it has something to do with the horses of Diomedes from Hercules' labours. They ate human flesh until Hercules fed them Diomedes himself.

Edit:+50 points for first post on page 12!

 

[Ludial]

I can't say for sure if it's based on the myth. I did read it when I was something like 12, so likely it did have a subconscious influence. What I did consciously base it on was the background bit from Warhammer Fantasy about Chaos Marauder horsemen keeping their rides on a diet of human flesh, and real life incidents of horses being put down after biting people (not eating them, tho; horses bite a lot but aren't carnivores).

Second installment:

Despite my best efforts the rest of my journey is fairly uneventful. I get into a fight in some roadside inn, as the serving wench I'm wooing with tales of my battlefield exploits becomes contested by a trio of caravan guards. The bunch thinks that they have more of a right to her because they're ugly, dusty and have more hands than me. Not that the last part wouldn't give them a fighting chance in the field or especially in a mugging, but I know how to turn the tables in a bar fight. Literally. However, as they are the ones that start turning over tables and braking earthenware just to provoke me, the whole affair ends up with them 'paying' a hefty sum for the trouble and a round for everyone (after I and a few other patrons beat them up in the corner and relieve them of their purses, of course).

The innkeeper is not very keen to let me stay despite the three fools' denars that I hand him for all the broken equipment, since the likes of me tend to be as much trouble as the rowdy hired spears. I somewhat dissuade his worries by telling him that he's not very likely to see me ever again, as I'm always on the move and would probably die in a war before I get to pass through his little establishment once more. Still grumbling, he gives me permission to take a room for the night, but warns me against stirring up any more trouble.

Just to make sure that wouldn't happen I go and check up on my horses to see if they haven't made a ruckus, as they are wont to do when they sense I'm in a fight. I half expect to see the three loons from earlier leaving in the dark with their horses covered in bruises and bites, but no such luck. I find Groinkicker slowly turning a wooden post into drool-soaked splinters, Terror chattering its teeth and banging its head against another post and Fear, wide-eyed, gently shaking in the hay despite the blanket. As I'm leaving I think to myself that those three would probably demolish the stable out of  boredom this time around as opposed to the last time they did it when they had to run from an angry mob. I notice in passing that all the other animals in there, including two big and scary looking mastiffs, are quietly cowering on the opposing side of the pens and trying to keep as much litter-filled space between themselves and my horses as possible.

Later in the night I still get to play under the serving girl's skirt, and leave early in the morning before she wakes up. I nevertheless leave a decently filled purse on her chest before I go off. She wouldn't get anything more from me than that and the memorable night it pays for, so I think that she should content herself with it for her own sake. Having  had to abandon one or two tearful maids in the past I'm frankly stupefied by how foolish a woman has to be to expect anything more than trouble from an unapologetic and murderous scoundrel like myself.

 

[MasterCaruyn]

Once again very well done, sir! I like how the horses have personalities, because usually they are "short-term solutions."

 

[Thule]

This is interesting, might as well post my one and only story up. 


"Rise of the Empire." 


Goxwain's yawn echoed into the morning mist and drizzle, and even without turning I could tell that he was leaning against the outer edge of the wall, staring out into the gray.  "Goxwain stand up straight, what if one of the nobles see's you?"  I shift my eyes left to get a better look at him, he knew the question was just to past the time, and why not?  Our shift on guard duty was almost over.  "Joss.  Shut up.  I mean what can they do?  Hang me?"  With that he chuckled to himself and let the unspoken statement hang in the air between us, and every guard that heard him.  Every soldier here was just a dead man walking.  Before I could reply to that statement though a bell tolled signaling the rise of the day, and our chance to get some food from the kitchens, before enjoying our day.  As we walked across the battlements towards the tower that would lead us down we exchanged pleasantries with our replacements and handed them our cloaks as the day promised heavy rain despite the fact that August was nowhere near ending.  Me and Goxwain then made our way to the quickly filling castle kitchens and grabbing our plates before eating with a relish. 

"So breakfast again was gruel, gruel and bread.  I seriously thought that we would have it better here in Jelkala, than those that came in from Ibdeles, but from what I hear it's the same for our kind everywhere."  I looked over at Goxwain again and shook my head.  He was rounder in the waist than most of the men on the guard, yet he was still able to complain about the food.  "Yeah well Goxwain, we're not nobles, remember even if we're veterans we are still soldiers, and in these hard times we shouldn't be surprised that all we eat is gruel.  Better than the early days atleast when we had nothing to eat but grass and snow."  My fellow Sharp Shooter looked at me with discerning eyes before shrugging and pushing himself away from the table and standing, me mirroring his actions and making room for more men coming in.  Gruel and bread had been the food we had eaten since the loss of Veluca several months ago, and with the loss of Yalen several weeks ago we have had to drink watered down Ale.  As Goxwain explained it, we were eating the rubbish while the nobles still were throwing away meat, or so he said, I was about to offer him a retort so he wouldn't keep going before I literally ran into a young boy, no more than twelve. 

"Sorry sirs, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, I was-"  Goxwain cut him off with a gesture which brought on a raised eyebrow from me.  Goxwain while the type to complain wasn't the type to interrupt.  He looked at the lad before speaking.  "Where you from boy?"  The wee thing looked up at us before telling us he had come from Dumar with one of the nobles.  Goxwain eyed him warily at this point.  "Who was your mother boy?"  The question caught him, and me, off guard.  "My mother sir?"  Goxwain's eyebrows came down which made me chuckle a little until he snapped at the boy to tell him her name.  When he did it was as if he had seen a ghost and pulled me aside quickly.  "Joss that's my boy!"  I let the information sink in, before leaning to the side and getting a look at the two before nodding.  "I can see that, thank god that he didn't inherit your good looks."  I smiled until he pushed me and giving me a look that he was serious.  "Well then what do you want me to do Goxwain?"  He looked over his shoulder and nodded.  "Keep him away from me, before I left I told his mother to tell him I was dead, and I plan on keeping it that way."  He stopped speaking and looked as though he was racking his brain for a solution then he looked at me his eyes desperate.  "Take him to the scholars, and tell them to tell him about Ceasar, and these past four years since he has arrived.  If he appears to be intelligent, maybe Ceasar won't do anything to him.  I'll give you two weeks pay to do this, so please no questions and just do it."  Goxwain then left in such a hurry that I was still to stunned to follow before sighing and looking at the boy who could have been no more then twelve.  "Come lad, he has urgent business, and so do I, but I would like to show you something first."  The boy nodded and followed quietly the sound of his footsteps almost masked by the sound of pouring rain.






Bah.  Can't say it's the best, but its been a while since I wrote a story.  P.S. this will kind of be like DA 2 format.

 

[Lord Tristan]

  Tanner looked at the men crouching next to him. All looked worried, but he knew they would fight to the death for Mionetti, their commander. Tanner tightened his grip on the longbow in his hands. Lives for money, humanity is forever cursed with greed. Mionetti raised his hand into the air, then quickly put it back down at his side. Tanner raised slowly with the rest of the men, and picking up one of the many arrows stabbed into the ground before him. He drew slowly, trying not to wear down his muscles and hooked his finger onto his lip. The seconds felt like hours, when finally the final signal was shown, the sound of a sparrow. Arrows hissed across the sky, slicing through the Sarrinad tents shredding them to pieces. He heard one or two screams, and a few men ran out of the remaining tents. Tanner slipped his way closer to the camp with the other archers. They shot another unchivalrous volley of arrows for safety measures, but no sounds were heard. They swept in and looted the camp.
    Tanner took his share of the loot and sat next to a barrel of ale, it's foul odor reaching his nostrils. The next thought made him stop breathing for a moment. All of the tents were empty. It was a large camp, made to hold hundreds of men, but there were only a few dozen.
  "It's a trap!" Tanner shouted, but no one heard him in the merriment of their victory. Not wasting another moment, he head for the bushes. when he got to safety two moments passed, he realized the enemy were trying to make Mionetti and his men drunk and relaxed. His suspicions were confirmed when he saw a lone figure ghost through the night and return to the army. Then, the carnage started. Hundreds of men charged quietly through the night, leaving the celebrating army unwary. Screams were heard, and minutes later the sarrinids stood over Mionetti's corpse, celebrating the victory. Tanner snuck up on one man who was taking a wizz and strangled him, taking the man's outfit and short sword.
  Tanner made his way through the camp, acting as any other soldier. His bow still slung around his back, he went behind the commands tent. Drawing and nocking an arrow, Tanner cursed and wept to himself. So many friends dead, and soon he would be with them. He shot, hearing the general choking on the blood caught in his throat. He then shot any other men that were nearby, quickly becoming surrounded as the enemy hungered for Tanner's blood. He drew his shortsword and fought honorably, his bravery making up for all of the men who died that day. 

The enemy was so angered that Tanner's body was hung from the highest pole, desecrated for his sins against the enemy. His spirit haunts the area, screams are still heard when he appears, with sudden shafts of pain spearing anyone who comes near that one pole as if an arrow is cutting through them. Tanner's spirit will always fight for Calradia.

 

[gutsaxe]

All good but the above 'whizz' and rough sentance is a little annoying

 

[TMAN78]

Well here goes.
                                                Mount and Blade: The Retribution of the Swadians.                                                                                 

He looked at his army, 2000 highly trained men were waiting for his orders. The Nords started this war against the swadians, destroying village after village, torturing the men, raping the women, and killing the children. The swadian king had sent his best general to utterly destroy the Nords, Hollar Delgin. He had proved himself time after time fighting against all the enemies of swadia. The mighty general wiped out the Nord armies that were destroying swadia, he had the generals crucified, their screams could be heard for hours before there throats were slit,ending their suffering. After defeating the Nord's weak armies he took over all of Nordia, capturing all the castles,villages and towns, except one. "CHARGE" Hollar shouted at the top of his voice, immediately the mass of swadian troops rushed to the town. The crossbowmen were firing volley after volley of bolts over the wall, killing hundreds of men, the first wave of infantry were on the wall, but the nords were defending their home ferociously and the infantry was cut down, the Nords foolishly started taunting the swadians and in response they were given a volley of bolts that killed many nords, the volley was more deadly than usual, breaking shields,armour, bones. The Nords were scared, they retreated into the center of the town, preparing a last stand, As the infantry formed up they opened the gates, allowing the fearsome swadian mounted knights entry to the town. many of the knights had lost their families to the Nords and so they unleashed a fearsome charge at the Nord barbarians, the moment the charge hit the mass of infantry bones were crushed, organs showed through broken skin and the nords surrendered. That night the city was burning, not one sole Nord survived the Retribution of the swadians.

Well hope you enjoyed it, my first bit of writing for a game.Thanks for reading

 

[Ludial]

So, here's the last part that I've actually written, whatever comes next will be after the paper I have due next week in school:

I soon come close to Shariz. In the afternoon heat the only thing I feel is sleepiness, but I still try to keep my eyes open. The sultan puts good effort (or at least puts the needed pressure on his servants so they put the effort) into keeping his little playground of an oasis a safe, heavenly garden. But nevertheless, bandits and deserters can be found roaming the area, and I'd be damned (beyond the measure to which I already am) if I let any dregs surprise me. The city itself is built next to the sea, amidst somewhat arid grasslands. Not many farms, but surely lots of herds. Groinkicker gets jittery, as he apparently remembers I bought him somewhere in this area.

Upon entering the city, I notice two things. One is all the decoration adorning the buildings – flower garlands, pennants and flags, strange patterns painted onto the walls. The mark of a ruler who prefers to spend his time holed up in his little illusion of careless bliss instead of actually running his country. The second thing is the group of bloodied and weary Sarranid soldiers who have come in right before me. Mostly horsemen, mind, with half of their steeds literally dead with exhaustion on the ground. I notice there aren't even enough horses for everyone and figure many must have ridden two on a mount. I'm guessing the smell of all of this is what causes my own rides to make a ruckus right in front of the main gates.

Curious and arrogant as I am, I ask directly a paled soldier sitting on the ground and holding with his left hand the stump where his right hand had obviously been in the not-so-distant past. The man is the only one that is neither milling about nor unconscious, and he at least has the strength to tell me that Durquba has fallen and Ahmerrad is still under siege. I leave him, as he doesn't need to tell me more. Arwa's rebellion is blowing full force and the sultan is indulging in debauchery in his gardens. Rather typical. Though the only thing that gives me any reason to worry is the possibility that the Desert Hawk shows up with a siege army at the gates of Shariz. Not that a siege isn't the perfect way to carry out an assassination, but in that case my own sorry hide would be at great risk. I weigh my chances and decide it wouldn't be likely before I finish my job, but keep a mental note to be on the lookout for raiders on my way out. If there's one smart thing in the Desert Hawk's forces, it's all the brigands and peasantry he's managed to buy, bully or hype into following him and Arwa. Having seen them die by the droves and still smother their enemy at the first siege of Bariyye, I'd be in quite the predicament if even a scout force shows up in the area. I know the people of the desert to be even crazier than their horses.

While all the twisted wheels in my head are turning, I go about my routine. Find a spot to lodge, ask around the tavern (alcohol can do wonders to a man's tongue). Some drunk pauper pulls a sword on me because I bump into him by accident. Knowing better than to confront him for nothing (there is such a thing as too many bar fights in a single day), I try to make up, but he insists. A swift kick to his groin and shield to the face convinces him of his error, also knocking him out and relieving him of his purse and blade. Then I continue working – by the evening I know the exact location of my target's holdings, the approximate size of his personal guard and their reputation when it comes to doing their own job (the typical thing for a minor noble who makes a profit from commerce – not shabby but not particularly great either), as well as the people in his household apart from the soldiers. This is where things get interesting – the man has no sons and the two youngest of his four daughters are as of yet unmarried and without candidates for marriage. This is where I already know how I'll most likely pull it off. Something that would work perfectly with Sarranids,overly possessive of their women and daughters, who on their side tend to jump at any opportunity for an affair because of the closed-in lives they usually have. The trick is actually rather old, and I have experience with it (Swadian nobles fall for it every time, and especially ones from Suno, where everyone falls for it no matter their status). What I have to do now is somehow get access to the man's household. Not expected to pose a problem, as I have one very employable quality – I'm  a hired blade. With experience. The first part of the con would be to sell my services to him. Sniffing around the markets yields that the man is preparing a large caravan to depart within several weeks, with everyone of his household presently in Shariz. I'm satisfied with the prospect, as this would give me time to work and the perfect setting for finishing the job.

 

[Lord Tristan]

All good but the above 'whizz' and rough sentance is a little annoying

Sorry, I was tired and it was midnight... was bored with little else to do. Im thinking up another story, might post it in a day or two.

 

[Lord Tristan]

Galdren's hand froze as the word "Thief!" was shouted into the crowd. He quickly drew his hand from the nearby woman's purse and sprinted away, weaving away from everyone in his path. Confusion spread through the horde of villagers as guards fanned through, looking for the thief. Galdren risked a look over his shoulder, and sighed in relief. He wasn't followed. A flash of white flew by his head, drawing blood from his ear. Without thinking, Galdren drew his knife and threw it at the Swadian Militia, listening with regret as the man choked on his blood.
  "Sorry." he muttered as he drew the knife and continued running. A strong hand gripped his arm, the force of it sending Galdren to the floor, grovelling. The hilt of a blade bashed him on the head, and everything went black.
 
  Galdren soon awoke to the cold stone floor of a prison cell. Grasping his head, he looked around. Everything was hazy and distorted, but he could make out the shape of two people and the clicking of keys in a lock.
  "Leave us." The one better dressed spoke with a hard voice of many battles. The soldier looked unsure.
"He... he killed Phil, Are yo-"
"Now."
  The man soldier hurried away, as if frightened. Galdren recklessly tried to tackle the well dressed one, but the man simply pushed him down. He scoffed loudly at Galdren, something that sounded hearty but chilled his blood.
  " Most would bow before me, boy. Now, stand before your king." And Galdren stood, but with no regard for Harlaus's presence. His voice spoke, hard but with a hint of youth tainting it.
  "Why are you here?" Suddenly, he was back on the floor, his cheek stinging from the hit. Harlaus scoffed that same laugh again.
  "Fool, I will do the talking. Now, enough trying to sugar-coat this. The Nord's are coming soon, and Ragnar with them. You are going to kill him with those pretty knife skills of yours." A small glimmer of hope for his escape flashed in his eye, but the next remark shattered it. "Now, if you try to run, I will have a reward of one hundred thousand denars placed on your head. Succeed, and you will be paid that much. Do it or rot, your choice." Galdren nodded hopelessly, knowing that he could never get Ragnar, but what choice did he have?
  "You will leave in the morning."

  Galdren walked into the Nord camp dressed as a footman. A sword hung at his side, but he would not use it, as his knife was hidden in his boot-sheath. Galdren carried some wood to make it seem like he had a task to do, and to be less suspicous.
  "Hey, you!" Galdren jumped and shivered with fright, until the voice continued. "Bring those over here." He abided by the command, bringing the wood to a bunch of Huscarls sitting around to camp fire. Most of them carried on with their conversation, but one inspected him critically. "Where is your beard, boy?" Galdren was about to answer, but his Swadian accent would stick out. Luckily, another one piped in teasingly. "Haha! The lad is too young." They all started to burst into laughter. Galdren turned away ignorantly. He made a show of looking like he was embarresed, and headed towards Ragnar's tent.
  He saw a figure huddled around the campfire, and silently drew his knife, heading towards it. His hand slipped quickly over the man's mouth, slitting his throat quickly. He turned and looked at the face.

  It was a Swadian corpse.
 
  Suddenly, Galdren felt a cold feeling in his stomach, then hot. He looked down to see a blade protruding from his body, no pain. No pain at all. His eyes shifted focuses, and started to fall forward, the blade no longer in his stomach. He collapsed on the ground. And he felt nothing. The last thing he heard was "Only a boy? Damn it Harlaus! You will pay!"

 

[Lord Tristan]

This is an amazing thread, I feel bad that no one is posting in it anymore. If you guys want it to be dead, then this is the last time I will bump it. But post, people!

 

[bonez899]

Saw this thread and well got me thinking and I'll try and keep posting but i'm going to post  chapter part at a time and try to make a captivating story and please give all critisism possible as I really have some issues with punctuation.

 

[bonez899]

Chapter 1
Today I left home, today I left my village and everything I know. I do this action not lightly but because in this cursed land called Calradia there is always war between the nations and in this newest bout of war my village was raided I tried to stop the soldiers at first but then one of them pulled his razor sharp sword from his belt and threatened me if I didn’t stop so after that I went into the hills around town and watched as the soldiers raped, pillaged, and salted the fields so that we cannot prosper for many years until we plough new fields. I left this village because my family was one of the first to be killed and I cannot stay there with next to nothing my family dead and my house burned, I start this journey on my quest to revenge with an old saddle horse and a purse full of 100 denars, one that I found on the ground shortly after leaving my village. I head for the closest town to where I currently am a town that I have but visited once as a boy and the only thing I know about it is the name, Tula.

 

[Lord Tristan]

Chapter 1
Today I left home, today I left my village and everything I know. I do this action not lightly but because in this cursed land called Calradia there is always war between the nations and in this newest bout of war my village was raided I tried to stop the soldiers at first but then one of them pulled his razor sharp sword from his belt and threatened me if I didn’t stop so after that I went into the hills around town and watched as the soldiers raped, pillaged, and salted the fields so that we cannot prosper for many years until we plough new fields. I left this village because my family was one of the first to be killed and I cannot stay there with next to nothing my family dead and my house burned, I start this journey on my quest to revenge with an old saddle horse and a purse full of 100 denars, one that I found on the ground shortly after leaving my village. I head for the closest town to where I currently am a town that I have but visited once as a boy and the only thing I know about it is the name, Tula.

Well, this is the only criticism I have to give. That is too long of a time without a rest. Try reading it out loud exactly as it is written, you would be out of breath

And I think this thread should stay. I can never stick to writing long stories and AAR's, but yet I love writing. This is good if you want to write short stories while reading other ones. My all time favorite was Rapiers, and I am sad he stopped writing :/

Edit: Also... they raped the fields? I will never understand those soldiers... what a sad time we live in!

 

[bonez899]

whoops... umm maybe should of added a few more words there but it should be read something as "I watched the soldiers as they raped and pillaged and after they were done I saw them do the worst action yet, salting the fields that are the village's lively hood."