Tale of the Week 9 - Submissions

[Aldgarkalaughskel]

Ladies and Gentlemen!

The Crusaders Have Arrived



This picture was [user]B. Ward[/user]'s first success in the PoTW tournament (PoTW 97), the very first step to his Bronze Medal. Now make your first step too.

Oh and have I mentioned the rules?

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1. Post a short text about this picture, with min. 200 max. 300 words, in a spoiler, with the picture in the front.
2. If you are a contestant you are honour bound to not read other contestants' writings until you have submitted yours.
3. The winner gets 1 point on the Leaderboard, if there are at least 4 contestants.
4. Deadline: last day of each week (Sunday).

[Theseus1234]

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Purpose



Jacques walked patiently in the first rank of the column. It had been a trying night, and not much sleep was to be had in the entire the camp. During the evening supper, the Englishmen had jested about the French, trying to provoke their former enemy into a friendly fight, but the gravity of the upcoming confrontation was just too much to bear. Now he was marching, swearing silently to himself every time his armored shoes became trapped in the billowing sand or when the whip of the wind snapped through his visor and scarred his eyes. However, his determination and willpower kept him from stealing away in the night. Jacques noticed that their numbers had dwindled as soon as they stepped foot in the Godforsaken desert and that even the night watchmen were starting to disappear as soon as the dark curtain blanketed the sky. As the days tolled on, they were raided by their own deserters, lacking supplies to survive outside in the unforgiving sands. But Jacques would never desert, no, for Jacques was a religious soldier to the core, and would give his own heart to save just the name of God if necessary, which is why he willingly entered the crusading campaign. Even now, he could sense that the two most formidable religions would crash together for their God. Heathen Saracens holed up in the sacred city, while Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Germans marched determinedly into position across the barren, cracked landscape that their Redeemer had lived and died in. Swords were unsheathed and shields readied as mighty flaming stones were hailed upon the City of Christ.

[Dead Sun]

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The Price of Faith

There were ten thousand of us here today, just a fraction of what Richard intended to bring, but today we were here with Guy. The swine, he caused our slaughter at Hattin, but still, he was King of Jerusalem, appointed by God. We had joined under "The name of God, Jesus and the Holy Sepulchre," but a few of us had learnt the truth; that the lords of Europe flocked to this place for its richness, not for "faith" or "enlightenment."
The seemingly endless desert stretched for a mile or so before reaching Acre's walls. The hot, golden sun shimmering off the specs of sand, and then glinting off our armour. The pure, blue sea extended miles into the distance, the salty smell lingering in my nostrils. The city of Acre still held fast, we had been here for only three months, but the citizens showed no sign of weakening yet. We saw them from time to time, creaking open their gates slightly to empty their waste out. They couldnt dump it in the sea as they had been blockaded, but they also couldnt dump it in the shore for it would stay in the city, we reckoned. But, recently, they've been using their catapults to launch it at us. The stink was unbearable, is unbearable! The gates havent opened since, not once, not a little dog had come out searching for scraps.
The flags, once waving, have begun to drop now, as the horns bellowed out. The Accursed Tower lay ahead of us, and we had been charged to lay an attack on it, by demand of "King" Guy himself.
"Soldiers! Forward!"
The horns blew and we began to move slowly at first, increasing to a jog, then sprinting, bounding our way to this massive tower. We cried to our God. I, in front, prayed quietly inside my helmet, noticing the movement on the walls surrounding The Tower. I looked back and saw only about 500 of us had charged.
"Ferenghi! Allah!"
The captain of the Saracens cried, and his troops cried also. The beating in my chest grew uncontrollable, the sweat unbearable. Our horns sounded again and we ran faster. Faster and faster. The arrows shot into the sky. Punding into the metal neext to me, i was one of few he kept running. Of the original attackers, more than 200 lay dead behiind us. The captain cried agai, his troops answering, and as the arrows flew into the sky, whistling at our doom, i ould only think of four words that summed up my feelings...
The price of faith

[Philos Sophos]

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The price of redemption

Outlands of Jerusalem,5th of July 1099...


It was a hot day...the sand was burning our feet and the sun was melting us.Everyone was exhausted from marching,we all wanted to rest,but our commanders told us to march a little longer because Jerusalem was just a few days march away.Everyone got a boost after that,they formed a line again and started walking in a normal pace.

But then,something happened.The men stopped and started searching for something...but they didn't have to search for long,it was already there for them.It was the Saracens who had been waiting for us.They outnumbered us greatly,and the men were scared.And they had a good reason for it too,because they were facing warriors who had been born here and knew how to fight in the desert.The commanders started forming a battle line and everyone quickly took their position.

A moment later,they charged...they killed many our men and we killed many of theirs as well.Seeing the swords clashing and men falling,I thought about my family back in France...I was here because of them,to seek redemption from god and the church.I was fighting for my family...that gave me my power.I took my sword and run towards a Saracen.I saw his face,he was afraid as was I...and a few seconds later,he was dead.I killed him with the edge of my sword.All the memories that he had,had been vanquished and he got his resting place here in the Sands of the Holy Land.But soon,the Saracens were getting more and more tired and our commanders gave the order to advance.

"Deus Vult!"yelled everyone.

The Saracens were frightened because of our spirit that hadn't been killed.They began to retreat and our cavalry charged their rear.After a few moments,every Saracen who had attacked us on that day was dead...the beach was filled with bodies and the sand was red.But noone cared-the commanders gave the orders to march forward towards Jerusalem.Tired,but still alive,the men began to march towards the Holy city once more and after a few days,we were finally there,sieging the the Holy city of Jerusalem...

[pericles_plato]

My first thing ever. I'm still working on my writing skills btw.

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The long hot day.


It was a hot and very humid day. The sea looks like it was boiling. The Crusaders were burning up in their armor. "It's way to hot to be here." said a warrior. "Quite in the ranks you dogs." yelled another warrior who was a leader of the unit. "Why, they can't even here us." said the warrior. "Steve if you talk one more time i'll push you into the water." yelled the leader. "Yes sir." replied Steve. They stood there waiting for the enemy to come. "They aren't coming Larry." said a warrior to the leader. "They will come, Bob." Said the leader, Larry. They just waited for the enemy to come. Clouds started going over there heads. "It sure is pretty out here" said Steve. "Hot, but pretty." “Pretty?” yelled Bob. “It’s way too hot to be pretty.”The men continued to wait. The enemy did not even come closer. The heat was killing the soldiers. It felt like burning alive. Steve got dizzy and collapsed. The last thing Steve saw were the men standing there beside him. The men he was friends with. The men who have been with him for years in the service to God. The men who called them selves..... Crusaders.

[Hector Barbossa]

My first story for this forum i thought i would write about the crusaders from the perspective of the other side hope you enjoy it.

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In their Gods own name

We watched as the infidel army marched through the sands,so many we could not count their numbers.They looked so proud as they marched towards our lines their armour dazzling in the hot desert sun.My commander was silent he had fought these dogs before he knew their worth,they would stop at nothing give no quarter so sure were they of their right.I asked myself why do they come? how dare they spill the blood of the glorious prophets followers, this is not their land it is ours our homeland these foreign heathen blasphemers come to steal and to enslave us.

A trumpet sounded and the infidels attacked, our archers fired into their lines many fell but still they kept coming driven on by hate and a misguided faith.I was now in the thick of battle my sword cut into the belly of my nearest foes and cried in triumph as i felt his life blood spill warm onto my hands, as he fell to his knees i took off his head with a swift downward swing.All around me men were fighting and dying i knew the prophet was smiling on me this day for although i fought and killed none were able to harm me.A huge man wearing the insignia of their holy soldiers screamed his war cry at me babbling in his strange tongue that i understood not, he was far too eager to kill me and he over reached with his sword stroke, his weapon hit the sand i cut his his throat watched as he clawed at it the only sound he made was a bloody gurgle.

And then it was over we pursed the infidels as they turned and fled, our commander sounded his horn calling us back he wished to waste no lives in the pursuit of cowards.Men stood cheering and dancing proclaiming we had beaten the infidel, our commander shook his head as he said we had beaten them for now we had won the battle they would be back and keep coming back, this he said was a war that would last down through as yet unborn generations he ordered us to march back home, on his noble face i could see only sadness.

[Juvenal]

Yes! Even with a crowd of soldiers doing nothing in the middle of nowhere, an idea still comes sailing out of the blue and bowls me over!

PS. The action is on the right of the picture, so you will need to scroll to see it.

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Like a Thief in the Night

The three Hashshashin ran across the dunes with fluid grace, black robes
concealing everything except their very existence, with even that easily
doubted by any but the most pious and fanatical of observers.

The Templar Lord had barely ceased to gurgle away the last of his life's
blood yet the three were already almost out of sight of castle and pursuers.

One, who had paused to sweep the horizon with a small spyglass, put on an
amazing burst of speed to catch up with the others.

Pushing back her cowl, Azzah (the Gazelle) gave her report.

“They have no horses and there is a small dust storm coming this way, so
we will be able to lose them easily”

Ra'idah the leader shook her head.

“They will have sent messengers, no doubt cavalry will soon be found to
ride us down. We shall keep to the plan”.

Reaching their hidden cache, they donned the clothing there and waited for
the storm. Fedheela (the most widely read) checked each outfit to ensure
it was correctly arranged according to custom.

***

The dust cleared suddenly, revealing the calm shore through shafts of
brilliant sunlight. The Templar guards came to a ragged halt and looked
around in dull bewilderment.

Gunther the Lame called his men to attention.

“They must have had a boat waiting, there's no point looking around here,
we're going back!”

As the grumbling men-at-arms turned to go, Gunther couldn't help noticing
that three nearby soldiers in red and ochre surcoats seemed strangely
attractive. Shaking his head to banish the sacrilegious thoughts, he
resolved to scourge himself for twice the usual time in his cell that evening.

Retracing their steps, the Templar Guards trudged clumsily off into the
distance... except for three in red and ochre who moved with fluid grace.

[Sensi Karate]

My first story so bare with me.

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North of Jerusalem, 22nd of August 1102

The last couple of days took there wear on the Catholic soldiers of god. We had been marching to Jerusalem for months now, with the desert leading us on our way. The days were horrible and the nights were atroshish. We had been taking heavy fire from archers to the East and West and we left many men behind from the raids. We had fought to survive, and no men would leave after what we'd been through to get to the Holy Kingdom of God. Still, life felt desolated near Jerusalem, we had not crossed a single peasant or wanderer for the last week and we started to wonder if our commander was directing us in the right direction. As the sun faded away, and the darkness crept upon the lifeless dunes of time, we made camp for the night. My knees were shaking as I huddled close to one of the few fires that were illuminating the camp from the darkness around us. After a small dinner from our near-empty rations, men beside me started to bangle on about there children and wives who they'd left at home. In the start of our campaign to Jerusalem, many of the men would banter about wars between other catholic factions. Now, however it seemed as if we had become a nation ourselves, instead of bickering anymore we would just talk about the more peaceful lives we had before this, even if it wasn't that different at all. I left the camp fire to enter my small, cold tent. Before I slept in my small damp bed, I prayed we would be successful in our crusade to Holy City of Jerusalem, I prayed for my children and wife to be safe tonight, and most of all, I prayed for peace.

As I awoke the next morning, a horn was sounded across the camp. As I stubbled out of bed and looked outside, I saw the most beautiful and elegant thing in my life, Jerusalem. The large towers were seen in the distant and many of the men packed there belongings as fast as they could. As we lined up to march to the Holy City, I thanked God for listening to my prayers, it was as if he had Taken Me Under his right wing, and I was forever grateful to him. Let us hope he heeds my prayers once more, and takes the Holy City away from the heretic Islamic people. "We march to Gods City!" shouted our commander as the boots of thousands marched off to reclaim Jerusalem.

~Sensi

[Schrödinger]

First tale, written on the spur of the moment kind of thing

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Only for their God

The hard, cruel sun of the Palestine beat mercilessly down on the backs of the knights, enrobed in thick fur and swathed in the dead-weight of armour, they boiled gently alive like a French chef's lobster in the wait for a Saracen on the horizon. Each was enclosed in an own captule of pontification, wrapped in the thoughts of the loved ones they had left behind, whom they may never set eyes on again. All were in this for God, be it by pretence or true faith. Catholic Europe had sent forth the men of the land in a vain hope to 'rescue' the land they believe Holy from those they term barbaric and infidels, the worshippers of Islam. These men had come forth at the words of men such as Fulk of Charters, of the great speakers and preachers of their lands. And they were from many lands, the many states and warring kingdoms of feudal Europe. Bavarians, Bohemians and Burgundians side by side. English and French united under one banner. Aragonese, Castillians, Basques and Leones, together for their faith. Milanese and Genoese shoulder to shoulder, under the benevolent protection of their Lord.

They hated each other by principle, these peoples, from birth they were espoused their racial enmities, which smouldered deep in the mind of each one even as they waited motionless, sweating in the wait for battle and perhaps death. Thousand of enemies, united, by the power of God, only for their God.

[Medicus]

Let's see if I'm any good at this.

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I hate sand. Hate it with a passion.

Why the hell did we come here? How on Earth was I convinced by the lies they told? I was an idiot, that’s all. An idealistic young fool who thought he was doing the Lord’s work. Don’t the Muslims think the same? We go about it the same way - killing as many of the other as possible. No “God of Love” could ever enjoy such an act.

It’s starting. Over the rise of a hill they come, thousands of them. A man next to me falls to the ground, an arrow in his neck, blood trickling into the sand. Again with the sand, you say? It’s everywhere here, gets into everything: your eyes, your mouth, your food, places you don’t want to know about.

Our own leader gives the order for the cavalry to charge. They’re massacred; the enemy is just too good at his art. He has lived here for thousands of years; I’ve been here for two. What hope do I have?

He gives the order to charge. Instinct takes over. My feet start moving on their own. I can’t help it. I know I’ll be killed, yet I still do it. Why? Why do all of us, Christian and Muslim, fight over a few thousand square miles of land, when our every impulse tells us to turn and go home?

I don't think I’ll ever know.

I hate sand.