Tale of the Week 16 - Submissions

[molls]

New Lands lie before us, new challenges await us, new stories are to be told!

Will you have Pity with this one?
Picture of the Week 80

Rules:

1. Post a short text about this picture, with min. 200 max. 400 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).

[Musthavename]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

More than Meets the Eye

The brethren of the Teutonic order had fought for days on end, mercilessly slaughtering the natives in God's name. Each battle was bloodier than the last, their white colours stained with blood, sweat and dirt. And it was with that, that the conquest was nearing it's end. But inside a battle, there are many stories.

Ludwig von Wolfenstein was a long serving Knight of the Order. Captain of his unit, he was a gallant Crusader, chivalrous to his brethren, but mercilless to his enemies. On this, the final battle, he had fell at least eight of the heretic scum. Then, he felt a touch to his leg. Always alert and with lightning reflexes, he turned with his sword ready to parry his foe's attack. He looked down the ground.

"Maxmillion! What are you doing down there!", cried Ludwig.

"I am dying my old friend", responded the Knight's squire, clutching at his leg, his hand moving ever upwards.

"What.. what are you doing..."

"If these are to be my last hours, then I wish to at least die knowing I could say one thing.". The man reached upwards, closer and closer to where no Crusader would want to be touched by his fellow man.

"Er... Maxmillion... why are you doing this..."

"I love you Ludwig!!! Please, make my last few minutes on earth the happinest of my life!"

"HERETIC SCUM! PREPARE TO BE SENT TO HELL!!!"

"Err... what are you doing... err... NO NO I WAS JUST JOKING!"

"Only God knows if you were joking or not, and he shall pass judgement on you soon enough!"

As Maxmillion threw his bloodied and beaten arm infront of his face, Ludwig rose his sword and began the swing to end his friend's life. As the scream from his friend rose above the sounds of the battle, his sword was well and truly buried in his corpse. Ludwig had absolutely no defence against the Pagan berserker behind him, screaming the battle cry... "I LIKE CAKE!".

These stories happen on every single battle, and all are forgotten in the annals of history. So next time you read up on the Teutonic Knights, remember the soldier of melancholy known only as Maxmillion. Remember him as the man, who only ever wanted to be loved.

Finally, a ToTW idea that actually translates into something half decent!

[bomberboy]

This pic will do nicely.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

One Last Breath

The Knight sliced the pole with his blade watching the blood put on a ballet of crimson that sparkled in the sun. Then scouting out for another victim he spotted a lowly peasant looting a fallen comrade of his. That was his target charging over he slashed the peasant legs the blood shooting out covering his tunic in a red paint.

“Have Mercy ‘o great one please!”

The Knight looked, his eyes hidden by the deep shadows of the great helm he wore like a second skin. He grabbed the sword and plunged it into the peasants stomach a cry that sounded like a confused and fearful puppy entered the air. The knight twisted the blade and then released it.

The Knight prowled the battlefield.

Looking for his next prey.

[Kátz]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Zombie Hand

The battlefield was littered with the corpse of the dead. Victims after victims have fallen to the sword and the spear. The Knights slew any living body of the resistance army and slaughtered all of the wounded layed on the battlefield. Would they be insane enough to be called battlefiends?

Reznov, one of the resistance troop that joined the last line of the army, as a last hope to stem any knight attack. The battle had seemed impossible. But what can a desperate human do in such situation?

Before the battle starts, all soldiers said their last words before the expected death, "DO NOT FORGET THAT I WORSHIP THE GOD!!!"

When the battle started, Reznov had already known that the meaning of the battle is futility. When there is no hideout, then what remains must be defended. When both armies exchange arrows. The outcome began to look more and more obvious. As men and men started to look at the sky. Women and women joined the battle. But it is too late for them to be any help. The Knights had put everyone, including children to the sword!

Reznov tried to make a run for another city, but the Knights had surrounded the village. And so was killed. At least he thought and fallen to the ground. But how many stabs and slashes put to him, he didn't die. The knights tried putting him in stakes, but the flames doused away at his sight. The Knights put him to the ground once more, at this time, the hand moved by itself!
" Help me!, I'm going to hell!"
The funny screams can be heard everywhere, and all put to the ground and the corpses seem gone for a while. The Zombie after this dies and puts himself to rest.

[_TheChevalier_]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I'm a Monster

My name is Friedich Speer, my german name, I was born in Lithuania under a name that I forgot, so many years that I left my home, I was unhappy with anything related to the pagan gods and the boring life I had, so I escaped to the west with my horse and some clothes.

Finally I reached a Teutonic monastery and learned the catholic believes, which I liked, after that I decided to join the Teutonic Order.

That day we were marching to a pagan village, then I see a pagan army and our commander decided to wait a couple of hours for reinforcements, after two hours the reinforcements arrived and both forces prepared for battle.

Soon the fight started and our forces quickly took the advantage, the pagans could make anything to stop our charge, I was happy until I killed one particular spearmen, he tried to stab me, I blocked him and then he fell he claimed for mercy but I just stabbed him in the chest and then cutted his head.

I realised he had a pendant which looked familiar, I compared it with my pendant, I thinked about 5 minutes and I discovered that I have just commited the worst act in my life.

He was my brother, I'm a monsteeeer!!, I just killed my little pagan brother, I'm a monsteeeeer!!!!, I spit the cross, I hate you god, I hate this damn Teutonic Order, I hate you all!!!!!!!, I'm a cursed monster, a monster, a monster ...

Whoever find this text, you can find me in the in the road near Marienburg, please burn my corpse.

[Acco]

First Tale of the Week entry.
305 words.
Where I am, it's 11:30 PM on Saturday, so it would seem I got in just before the lock. ;-)

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Welcome to the new Baltics

The date is 1230 in the year of our lord, Prussian militant attacks persist and grow as cathedrals and churchs are plundered. Land captured by the Prussians results in the inhabitants being forced to convert back to the old days of Pagan lore. The Grand Duke, our lord, forced out these heathens with the gift of tribute...but this only encouraged the Prussians to continue their disgraceful attacks. The poor Poles were helpless as the Prussians had shown no mercy. The Pope issued the papal bull and approved that a crusade was sourly needed in this cesspool of war. The Poles invited the Knights. The Teutonic Knights. The day was gloomy, and damp, the sun had set quicker than usual. Birds were out in the skies, weary, watching...waiting. A rustle in the woods. Men dressed heavily, with the Cross on their uniform, with their heaumes (helmets) appearing as bull horns, advanced, making their marching heard. Their hands reached to their side and drew an iron sword, crystal clear. The Prussians, with their spears and light clothing, started a bone-chilling howl and charged at the enemies with ferocity. The Prussian most noticable, most brave, most young, screamed "THIS IS THE BALTICS!!!" as he jumped and smashed his sword against the Teutonic shield. The Prussian, of young age, his soul forever-strong, was smacked back as he hit the ground, complaining of a pain on his back. He attempted to stand and rejuvenate his strength, but alas, he could not. The Teutonics marched right over him, he held out his hand, begging for help, the poor soul. A man looked at the young Prussian, his eyes turned heaven to hell, he denied the Prussian's hand, stared at the Prussian, getting his utmost attention, and stated in a soft, convincing voice, his accent thick, but understandable..."This is the new Baltics".

[Juvenal]

My ideas seem to be getting darker these days...

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The Sword

Vashili had never been a great warrior. He was of the impoverished minor nobility and so served as a captain of the levy, unable to afford the panoply, and more importantly the string of horses, required of the Boyars.


But then his luck had changed. His company had cornered a small group of Polish nobles in a mill house. Following the storming party in, he found only one enemy still able to fight, but his sword traced a whirling arc of death about him and none were able to get near. But then by chance, the sword struck a hanging cauldron which fell knocking the man senseless. Vashili lost no time darting forward and running the man through with his hanger, with such force that it broke.


From that day, the captured sword seemed to bring Vashili fortune. He became feared and respected by his men having killed scores in single combat. Although none dared speak of it, they noticed that it was the sword that seemed to do most of the fighting, Vashili trailing behind it like a mere appendage attached to the pommel.


The nature of the fighting changed. Now the Teutonic Order was ravaging the lands that Vashili's lords had so recently conquered. They were grim foes who killed, not with the passion and hatred of normal men, but mechanically out of some inexplicable duty.


The Army of the Grand Duke saw fit to draw on even Vashili's men for the climactic battle. It went disastrously. A small body of Teutonic Knights had ridden into the mass of the Boyars, and incredibly had beaten them! Now Knights on foot marched with mechanical precision towards Vashili's line protecting the baggage.


With his men dying all around him, Vashili was still confident the sword would save him. Then a Knight strode up to him, face hidden within a hideous horned helm. Vashili raised the sword, and it did... nothing!


Straining at the pommel with both hands, Vashili never even noticed the swing of the mace that crushed his chest. He fell, numb with the shock, sword still held out straight before him.


His field of vision narrowing with approaching death, Vashili saw the Teuton calmly take the sword from his outstretched hand and step over him on his way to future glory.