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Thread: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    Hesus de bodemloze's Avatar The Gaul
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    Default Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46



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    Nazgūl Killer's Avatar ✡At Your Service✡
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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    Surrounded
    Here we were, proud Teutonic knights... Proud warriors of the faith...
    Here we stood, fighting against the Pagan heathens...
    Here we fight, for the sake of all that is good...
    Here we die, for all that is wrong...

    I stood there, puddle of blood to my feet...
    My heavy armor barely allowing me to move out of the muddy ground...
    I stood there, slashing at my foe, and seeing the pink mist of his neck fly from my sword...
    I stood there, looking around me at the stained grassy ground, and the Pagans marched...
    I stood there, my brethren at my feet,
    I knew this would be my defeat.
    Here I stood, and here they came. From the left... From the right... They were all around us...
    "Platoon! Stand firm! Swords up!" The Grandmeister cried...
    I held my sword up and slashed down, he fell.
    Another came, I slashed at him and he blocked, I slashed to the left and he faded.
    I looked around me... The ground now ran red with blood... This would be our demise...
    I looked at the sun and it disappeared, leaving me cold...
    The deceitful sun lied to me.
    The skies turned red in according to the ground...
    The heavens and the Earth now marched against us, this was one battle we could not win...
    Why would we lose? Our quest is holy...
    How can these foul demons strike us down, I asked myself.
    I felt my helmet crack.
    I felt the red water on the ground. I looked up one last time and I saw death and destruction...
    Next to me lay the Grandmeister... Even the holiest has fallen...
    What hope remains for us, simple folk, if our holy leader was befallen by enemy hands?
    The answer came to me, as swiftly as the Pagan axe... "None"

    Last edited by Nazgūl Killer; June 24, 2009 at 09:50 AM.

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    SonOfAlexander's Avatar I want his bass!
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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    Teutonic Knight

    Our orders has grown thanks to Hermann von Salza,, we need to crush those pagans grandmaster pergiunis von staufen.
    We are Christians defenders of the faith. Assemble all men that we have around us in Riga, Lithuania will fall swiftly. Will their be reinforcements from Thorn ? No grandmaster we will have only 6000 men at our disposal.

    That will do knight Rutger. I want Siauliar that city its a strategic point.
    Men, knight, defenders of faith we are hear to make a difference today we march to defeat the pagans that cause much unrest and fear to the locals, I will not be going with you but my son knight Rutger will be joining you in a massive attack against them.
    With how many are they, magistrate ? More then expected grandmaster over 7000 men have come. Good, order them to begin to march!
    The army moved out of Riga in the direction of Sialuliar to the south west, their are many forest and places excellent for a ambush, the pagan now we are coming Sitrius. I now, we will be ready if the come. We moved over a river cross a snowily landscape and saw the city lying around some hills. Before we could even gasp at the beautiful city arrows came out of the sky, ambush! In formation! keep the flanks secure I screamd at Sitruis I was son of the grandmaster I brave fighter Rutger is my name, I have come here to fight pagans and so I will. Who is with me! I, so say we all, charge them!

    Pagans hiding in the woods. start to move to us.
    We stand in formation in a 4 line archers at the second line, cavalry at the third line.
    They are with so many. I saw our army fighting, if we where winning It didn't look that way, I know I had to to some think so I left my horse and took some of my best soldiers on foot, we attack a part of the pagan army, at my back their where so many, I didn't care, nor did my brothers,I turned my back and several of them wanted to attack me. But now stand still and dazzle at me, I tough hmm, the look scard. We fought and killed. One came running to me, ha I swinged my sword hold my shield tight to stop any arrows that could hit me. I stood steady with both of my feet on the ground with my helmet on and trought the little space I saw, him faling and so much blood coming out of his throat, A second I felt sorry, then I just fought on, the battle made the ice turn red. We killed them all, I kept the morale hight, our order had ones beaten the enemy long live the Teutonic Order!
    Last edited by webMaster412160; June 29, 2009 at 04:02 AM.
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    Benz282's Avatar Vicarius
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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    Title: "Man"
    Word Count: 494

    --

    Pastures, ripe with the aroma of nature in her element, are trampled by the boots of soldiers and horses bred for war. The ancient trees of our ancestors, bearing scars honorably earned by battling the weather for all eternity, fall so that Man might make machines made for throwing stones at "other" Man. Peasants run in the face of armies unaware that behind them they leave the very animals and plants that kept them alive. But where do they have to run? And what of the crops? They have no walls with which to hide behind. They have only their "masters" for protection. And so the conflicts of men result in the slaughter of animals and the scorching of fields.

    It is only men who have the power pray to the Gods, but do the Gods not love all? Do they not feel the pain inflicted on all life and all things? Or would they have it that only men receive their blessings so that they might destroy all else? And yet, to those pitiful men who follow Him, life is only sacred when it praises Him and His very presence in the world. And so they fight to "reclaim" all the little bits of the world that do not praise Him, so that His praise may be all the more.

    That is why they have come here and that is why we fight; so that this jealous God does not destroy all that is good in the world in the process.

    -:-

    Across the field there stood men of God. Men clad in armor and bearing crosses on their shields; hiding their faces hidden behind an visage of righteousness and conviction, though their eyes were without doubt consumed by the fires of fear and greed and hatred.

    When we but twenty paces from the enemy ranks, I broke loose from my fellows. I left behind my brothers and my friends so that I might face the menace first. I raised my voice to a roar that pierced through the tense silence that filled the clearing, rushing forth with my spear raised; ready to strike.

    I found myself high above in the trees, looking on as I fell to the earth. I watched as the body opened his arms so that it might be ready to embrace the Gods in the after-time. And I watched as the steel-man ended my life.

    But, the strange thing was that, despite watching myself die, I was not in the least bit afraid; I felt nothing. I closed my eyes, watching thousands of other men right in the midst of the twilight of their lives, and I realized none of it mattered. Men would die, the earth would be scarred, and yet the fight would continue all the same. In time, the earth would heal and, perhaps in some later day, men would learn to look past themselves and their faith to see the world for what it truly is...

    It was a dream.
    Last edited by Benz282; June 29, 2009 at 10:05 AM.

  6. #6

    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

    Let's rock

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    Behold the Demon

    "You have summoned the best and the worst of my army, foolish Lithuanians! I give you my children to fight in your battle. Now leave...
    And oh...
    "
    ...The madly evil laughter followed words of a dark and damning origin...the sound drones in my head, just like the autumn shower does upon the roofs of my hometown...
    Yet now, after having summoned them, we have a fighting chance. No...A victory at hand against those damned Christian Germanes! Teutons...monsters...Seven firstborns have been given to HIS hands, to ensure HIS helping hand in this conflict.
    A dire price...

    He who sacrifices his conscience to ambition burns a picture to obtain the ashes.

    That's the words we all heard as we left the depths of his foul realm...Grim faces remained the only expressions one could spot on any of us. We all gave our sons away for this. Now, we shall lead our people to salvation. Our men to victory...

    I feel a dark presence within me, and with secret appreciation, I can sense the same darkness around other six. I can sense the fear of my countrymen and brothers-in-arms when they look at the seven of us. Almost a terror...

    Finally, we charge, and the power of that presence surges through our bodies, and makes us leap ahead of the rest, as if we were winged.
    The moment of impact...I swing...And...

    All the field stops in one horrific moment...My body feels heavy as it always was before today...My legs shake...The sword has slid out of my hand...
    And all I can see ahead of me now, is what I know the others saw in me, a bare few moments ago...Red eyed deamon, with a dark aura of horror around him...
    The moment is over with a terrific clang of thousand bells as if gates of hell opened upon this field, and all I see is a claymore's blade cutting the air with ease and it's tip heading at my throat...

    He who keeps company with wolves, will learn to howl. Or be eaten by them...
    Last edited by Sunbird Alkibijad; June 27, 2009 at 01:40 PM.

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    tuore's Avatar Senator
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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    Angels & Demons


    As thunder clashes through the skies, our grandmaster rides towards our lines.
    Like an angel from the darkness he rides towards my regiment.
    Enemy is approaching, he says. My swordhand is shivering, ready to deal the killing blow.


    Grandmaster's unique armor is shining, as the last ray
    of light reflects from his armor.

    Are we ready to face the enemies, the demons of Lithuania?
    The question echoes in my head.
    Are we ready?
    God is on our side.
    Angels stand against demons.
    Heaven against hell.
    Thunder clashes again and we can see the enemy lines. They have no armors; they are protected by their heretical beliefs. Grandmaster blows his horn.

    We are marching. The world around me looks like a vision. It's unclear, it's rainy and it's dark. Are the demons there? All of a sudden i fall awake;
    enemy warhorn makes a long, scary noise.
    The Teutonic Knights march towards their final destiny. The pagans gods appear, and
    only the toughest will survive. Grandmaster's sword shines, as the thunder clashes again.
    I feel blood drops on my skin. Their arrows are hidden; looking like the rain.
    If i die, i will be taken to the God.

    I only want to know, which god is the true god: Their pagan gods,
    or our God Almighty?
    Arrow flies and scratches my neck. Painful, but i will survive.
    Blood is everywhere. The blood, this blood around me is spilled for the gods.
    But which one is better?
    Thunder clashes again, and blood fills my eyes. All i see is red; but even in this situation, i can see God in my eyes. And at this point, when i'm falling into darkness, everything is clear

    Thunder breaks the sky, when i finally realize.

    "Which god is better, the demon god in hell or the angel god in heaven?"
    Neither. The true god is in our heart.

    Last edited by tuore; June 24, 2009 at 03:22 PM.


  8. #8

    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    Our Time is Ending


    My beloved sons and daughters, a new beast has come from the West. From his horned head of steel his voice calls on you to kneel before a new god. In his right hand he holds the sword that demands your submission; in his left is the shield adorned with the cross where his peasant-god perished.

    His god said the strong shall follow the weak, and so it has been. First came the priests of the peasant-god; they were foolish, haughty men who dared violate the sanctity of our oak groves and brought low the sacred trees that housed me and my brothers and sisters. I cried out for vengeance, and you rid our forests and glens of their foul presence. You brought back the old ways to your brothers and sisters who had fallen under the spell of the new god, and you sent to the underworld those who still clung to those delusions.

    But you have called down the anger of the metal beast. Silently he smashes through our warriors, casting aside their axes and spears like playthings, gutting their bodies like pigs. He stops at nothing, his countenance revealing naught but the grim determination of his eyes, searching for his next sacrifice to the peasant-god.

    I know little of the peasant-god, but to conjure such mighty armies and rule all of the West with commandments of mercy and forgiveness is the mark of a truly potent being. For many thousands of years, I – and my brothers and sisters – have protected you in the darkness of the piney woods, the turbulence of the cold seas, and the bitterness of the winter’s wind. But this new god brings a power we do not understand.

    Yield to the metal beast and worship his god if you must. The promise of a divine mercy that will spare you from the fires of the underworld is a tempting one indeed. If you yield, then so shall we. For only through you do we live.

    Pray to the peasant-god, but forget not the stories that were told to you as children. The oak groves still have much to teach you and your descendants, even as you accept the new god as your Lord. Forget not the household gods that protected the hearths of your families, or the witches and trolls and other fell beings that lurk in the woods, or the spirits and gnomes that see you safely on the path in the forest. Your hearts will be a dwelling-place for a new God, but that dwelling-place was built by the old ones.

    Our time is ending, but forget us not.
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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    The earth shivered as they marched in their thousands, the tips of their jagged pikes stabbing the mists. Pagan Lithuanians marched alongside Russians from Novgorod and Poles from Krakow. Stefan's heart raced as they got closer and closer. All his life he had waited for this, the day of reckoning. He remembered the first time, when he was only sixteen.

    Five years later and minus a finger he stood in front of the grod of the Slavic host, his mind wandered away from the battlefield. Bloodlust be damned, he wanted to go home. Damn the ranks, damn the entire order! He never asked to become a monk, a warrior monk at least.

    Maybe one of the friars in Mainz would take him as an apprentice....plenty of wine and women there. Battle scars would make them flock to him. Honestly, who cared about the christianization of the pagan realms to the east? Send someone else, let the Grandmaster go himself, stop bothering Stefan of Marlburg for the love of Gott!

    As the faces of the Lithuanians got clearer and he could distinguish a moustache or two, lightning cleft the sky in two. Thunder boomed like the laughter of demons, and Stefan knew that the foul gods of his enemies were present that day. Images of the last raid invaded his brain, burning idols and shrieking women with bare breasts flying at him with long unkept nails. In the center of the room was the heathen swiatowid, the main statue with four faces.

    Thunder reverberated in the battlefield and Stefan was snapped awake. The horde was only a few steps away. Heedless of his comrades, heedless of life and limb, Stefan charged alone and struck.
    Last edited by Legio; June 28, 2009 at 08:17 AM.

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    SonOfAlexander's Avatar I want his bass!
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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

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    The Bottomless Cauldron

    I put on my chainmail... heavy, strong, reassuring... I adorn my helmet... my breathing echoes and my sight recedes to a horizontal slit... I grasp my shield... The iron and oak feels like a vanguard to my soul... I raise my head...

    Today will be a day of God, a day of his doing and his will... Lithuania shall be cleansed.

    By my hand. By the hands of a knight.


    I stand silent. The carved bone scabbard, that had for too long been a resting place for my sword was now hanging from my belt like a man hangs from a noose. The arena for this morn was a great cleft in the land, a plain between 2 forests where the woods pressed in from either side, giving every man the feeling that he was being watched... or hunted.

    Not I though, for I had the Lord behind me... along with hundreds of other noble warriors, dedicated, and feeling exactly the same emotions as I.

    I draw my noble steel, inherited through generations. The flash of metal shone through my helmet as I heard the hissing of a million celestial snakes behind me. We were ready.

    The grass of Lithuania was uprooted my my boots as I ran, tearing the Baltic soil from it's cold grave. My mind was centred entirely on the hetahen before me, bearing axes and furry hats... I felt utlimate revulsion at these dirty people, stained with the mud of Satan...

    A cry of pure war left me as the lines met. I let the eager weapon go, unleashing it's fury like a bloodthirsty hound on a weak leash. It attacked the... thing before me, slicing to the left and decapitating the wretch. I let fly with a foot, punting the corpse before me as I pushed forward to another murder... the day grew longer...

    Storm clouds gather overhead... I kneel, watching blood drip from the horns of my helmet to the virgin soil... where is God? Is he the weight on my body, the chainmail that slows me... is he in the weight of my shield... or is he that echoing in my sweat stained helmet, that maddening echo of the heart's driving beat in the small space, yet so grand as a cathedral...

    The chronicle of the Knights of the Holy Kingdom of Lithuania, The Year of Our Lord, 1290

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    Juvenal's Avatar love your noggin
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    Default Re: Take your place at the campfire. - Tale of The Week 46

    The following is based on history, although Johan himself doesn't actually appear in the annals (probably too busy collecting recipes) and is definitely not related to Jamie Oliver.

    PS. The tray is visible in the bottom-left corner of the picture.

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    The Gourmand

    Johan of Oliva, Knight of the Order of Dobrin, was a fine soldier for Christ, but that
    didn't make him any easier to live with. On a previous crusade, he had delayed his
    march to the relief of Duke Conrad locked up in the castle of Plock because his herring
    hadn't finished smoking.

    Duke Conrad had returned the favour by stripping Johan of his command, but family
    connections in the form of cousin Christian, provided him with a new force of
    mercenary Courlander woodsmen.

    Johan soon regretted his luck, the men's tastes were coarse and their cooking skills
    appalling. But as time went by, Johan and his woodsmen came to an uneasy
    accommodation. They would do their best to learn haute cuisine, and he would
    render their enemies into bloody giblets.

    It is a truism that drastic outcomes come from small decisions. It was cousin Christian's
    meeting with Hermann von Salza, Grandmaster of the Teutonic Order (and inventor
    of the hangover cure), that led to the declaration of a new crusade, and the granting
    of Chelmno Land to the erstwhile crusaders. All they had to do was go and conquer
    it from the heathen Prussians.

    Years of warfare followed, every spring a new group of crusaders came from the
    west to help push the Prussians back, only to lose most of their gains when the
    crusaders went home in the autumn. But progress was made, and now Johan was
    besieging the pathetic broken-down fort of Honeida, last stronghold of the Warmians.

    The siege had dragged on and supplies were low. Johan became increasingly irritable
    at the lack of choice. Chef was doing his best, but there is only so much that could
    be achieved with game and wild vegetables.

    Then, at last, the garrison came out to fight! Chef had made petit fours with the last
    of the flour. Unwilling to miss the experience, Johan brought the poor man with him
    to battle, bearing the delicacies on a shield.

    With the enemy almost upon them, Johan had worked himself up into a good
    battle-rage. On an impulse he decided to take a bite from the tray. After all, he
    might not survive this battle to enjoy them!

    Raising his great sword high to order the charge, Johan stopped short, his face slowly
    turning purple with rage. The petit four had been made with pottage! He spat it out
    and reflexively swung the sword around in an arc which connected with the offending
    tray, and sadly also with the neck of its bearer.

    Gazing helplessly at his former chef as he crumpled to the ground, Johan addressed
    the men: “Err, sorry, my mistake...” he blurted lamely.

    The Courlander Woodsmen looked at Johan, their dying comrade and the approaching
    Warmians and seemed to come to a collective decision. Gathering tightly around their
    former master, they put their axes to good use one last time and walked over to offer
    their culinary services to the enemy.

    Last edited by Juvenal; June 29, 2009 at 03:58 AM.
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