Com and vote for your champion - Tale of The Week 47

[Hesus de bodemloze]

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Submission 1

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Heathens

I look upon these people with disgust and hatred, but also pity them for the naivety. Who are they fighting for? Some devil playing a flute lurking in the forest? Ha! I spit on them and their childish dreams. Their lack of understanding of our Lord is why we take up arms today. We meet them head on in battle, pitting our Holy Faith against their devilry. We are here to carry out God’s Will.

In the moments before battle, the passion in which we recite our pre-battle prayers is matched by the ferocity of the Lithuanian’s reckless shouting. They seek to unnerve us, to abandon our Holy mission and flee the field. But there is nothing that can break out Faith in the Lord Almighty. Fleeing might grant us a few more years, but will mean eternal punishment thereafter, for we will have betrayed God and forsaken our Holy mission. But none of us will flee this day.

I can hear the bloodlust of some of my fellow soldiers. They do not realize that this war is not an adventure, but a disease. The heathens are the infection, and the plague has spread to us creating doubt and dishonesty. It must be purged…for our Lord in heaven.




The trumpet sounds. We ride.


The stomping of hooves increases, and my lance lowers as if by instinct. The first Lithuanians I run through with my lance will be shown the Glory of God.

I will show these pagans power of the Cross, even if I must carve it into their flesh!

Submission 2

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The Charge

The Prince’s bodyguard is assembling on the ridge above the battle below. Soon the Prince will raise and then lower his sword to signal the charge. The final blow that must break the enemy or the battle will be lost.

A knight was often a rebel on horseback. This is my first service in battle. My father served before me. If I am lucky to survive, perhaps my sons will be able to serve after me. I am not here on adventure, but is service to my Prince.

A knight risks all on the not so certain footing of an animal charging as much out of fear and terror as from the skill and training. The heavy weight of armor and man meant the advantage of mobility is for only a short burst and then the charge dissipates or the men and horses are engaged in a melee. The results of war are always a coin toss. Today again I am betting on life.

Often the dust whipped by wind and horse was so thick that the lead horses were all but invisible to the next rank. Today there would be no dust, but there was wind, a wet wind. It was blowing on the rise where we were assembled as well as on the battlefield below. The wet ground would instead be so churned by the first rank, that the second rank risked loss of a horse’s leg in the slippery muck.

It is not necessary that our opponents do everything right to win the war. If we win the battle, but do not pursue the enemy with vigor, there will be another day and then another battle. Then there would be yet another coin toss to which we may ultimately lose the war.

The battle has gone on long enough. It is time. The Prince raises his sword. We begin the march against the enemy flank. Now the Prince lowers his sword and the march becomes a gallop. The coin has been tossed into the air. The fate of my life and that of my comrades will be decided when the coin lands upon the ground.

Albertus, a young lad beside me, stands high on his mount. With his sword raised high, he passes and shouts to the Prince, “I am with you!” The next moment, his sword drops to the ground. And then he too falls to the ground. Dead! A lucky shot from one of the archers not yet running away has hit its mark. My horse jerks and recoils as we pass over the dead body.

Soon there are many more men closing in. They shout for me to surrender. I raise my sword. My horse has been struck a fatal blow. I have my honor, but I have lost the coin toss. The plague of war has taken another casualty.

Submission 3

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Dark clouds like a slab of black
Rain like a sheet of ice
Dripping down blades thirsting only for blood
They come like a white tide
Thundering, thundering
Louder than the heavens
Even god feels small
At the tides fury
Tide breaks on screaming rocks
Screaming rocks that buckle and cry
Crying, crying screaming, screaming
Rocks asunder icy veins
Pebbles lying rocks writing
Trees fallen iron shattered
Bone broken hearts ripped
The rides tips are laced with blood
The heavens thundered high above
Their hands and bodies are red with guilt
The rocks red in shame and pain
Lives ended flames extinguished
White hot pain with a thousand knives
Feels like ice and fire and lies
Tide of white
Upon the plain
Field of red
Strewn with head and leg and dead
A new thunder echos off the sky
A smaller thunder
Lines of rocks come crashing in
Beating back the tide
Now they lie
Crosses in the darkest light
Proudy worn in spite
The tide ebbs
Puddles left on the red field
Puddles in the flickering light
As the slab gives way to bright
Rocks roar and cheer
Amid their broken kind
The rocks lie
Waiting for the end

Submission 4

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

"War-Demons"

The Teutonic Heavy horse glided through the mist like ghostly apparitions as the dim moonlight danced with the
black and white coverings that adorned both rider & mount. With pointed helms, they seemed not, like mounted
knights but ghostlike demons from some Hellish realm. From the coast they came to recapture good Christian lands
from the pagan dogs. “For Christ.” Onward “For Christ”

“Beware the Teutons,” all the village children were warned. “Disobey your parents and the Demon Teuton’s will
gobble you up”…. Shemeal and his friend Toric paid this warning little heed as they stayed out overnight, again as
they always did when they took fishing trips out to the coast.

A sizable contingent of Heavy Horse had been sent ahead to clear out all the small villages in the area and
hopefully ensnare a sizeable pagan force with a “Mongolian Feint”. A deceptive trick, learned and paid for with
countless Christian lives’ when the Mongols almost pierced the heart of Europe so many years ago.

The Boys trip had been successful and halfway home they made camp, and consumed their bountiful harvest. As they
always did, they told tales of ghosts and goblins before finally falling sleep as the last embers of the fire faded
away into the late fall night. Little did they know that bloated stomachs could indeed bring nightmares to life…

A disturbance woke Shemeal but in his grogginess he could not place it. Curiosity caused him to rise, but after
taking a few steps he unlaced his trouser front as his bladder commanded that he moisten the ground. Even in the
moonlight his incoherence wouldn’t allow him to put the pieces together.

Vibrations shook the ground and shaded apparitions rode toward him with an ever increasing gate. Ahhhh... his eyes closed,
as the relief he sought was now at hand. Once finished, he looked down to lace up his trousers but suddenly raised his head
at the sound of loud hoof beats and the unsheathing of a war-axe. In that split second he recognized the Black helms of the Demons
and got to experience the full force of a battle axe. With the sickening sound that a bashed in melon makes, the
weapon brought the truth Shemeal had been warned about.

As his body crashed to the ground and his head immediately after it, the menace was confirmed. “War-Demons” thru
the dead eyes of a child….

Submission 5

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Roulette

A small plane, an insignificant speck, cut it's way through the lonely pitch black of the desert nights. Antoine De Saint-Exupéry strained to see anything below on the featureless expanses of endless sand. Where the devil is Cairo? We should be there by now... he thought as Prévot, his co-pilot turned to look out over the small bulb of the winking port wing light. However, he focused on something near the front of the plane. "Saint-Ex" he said, nudging his companion and pointing to the glass in front of their faces. A small light was flashing near the corner. The men both smiled and clenched their fists in triumph - a lighthouse! They were saved, and not a moment too soon thought Prévot - their fuel was almost gone and a night-time landing in the desert would be suicide.

Antoine lowered the nose of the plane, but the plane shuddered as it impaled itself on the soft, flowing sand of the Sahara. The small world in front of them, projected on the glass of the windscreen shattered as they came to a shuddering halt. Antoine raised his head and spat blood. Prévot turned to him. "What the bloody...?" Antoine coughed then interrupted his navigator. "Never mind that - let's get out of here before this thing blows up." The two men crawled away from the burning wreck of their plane into the dark.



It had been 3 days since the crash. In that time, the two Frenchmen had eaten all they had - 2 oranges, a cake and some wine - , tried trapping animals and drinking dew condensed from parachutes stretched out on the plane's wings. The men had looked for people every day, but to no avail. They were starting to have hallucinations, and coupled with the taunting mirages, Antoine and Prévot were beginning to feel desperate and maddened. On that fourth day they left the plane and all their sensible premises behind. The two men slowly crawled forwards through the shifting sands of Hell.

Prévot raised his bloodshot, sand encrusted, dry eyelids to expose the vulnerable jelly beneath. He saw little, but simply kept his feet moving like a ghost of himself. If he stopped, he would die. But it was no use... he fell forward and he felt his heart slowing. Saint-Exupéry turned to see his companion lying, and stopped, struggling to think through the echoes of laughing death in his head. It was no use.

Wait... he felt something. A sixth sense reached out to him and told him that there was someone there. He had thought of it countless times before, but knew now that he was not imagining it. He raised his weary skull... A knight, a saviour, a hero came riding over the sand... his armour gleaming like water in the Saharan sun. But the figure resolved itself as it approached... the man was no knight... his steed not a horse, but a camel...

Water never felt so good.

Submission 6

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Apotheosis

The ragged band, all that remained of the Order of St. Lazarus, had been walking
now for what seemed like an eternity across the Lithuanian scrub forest, hoping to
reach the safety of Christian holdings. Their infrequent meals were at the expense
of the locals, who ran off when they saw the horned helms, but there was little fodder
in this grassless wasteland, and the horses were dying.

Every Knight of the Order had fallen in the lost battle. These few survivors were squires
and retainers, clad in the spare armour of their masters, their righteous certainty given
way to despair. Perhaps they were not the chosen of God after all, for the Lithuanian
devils in human form had not been struck down by Divine Anger, and the Holy Knights
had been slaughtered like cattle. God had allowed the brave to die, preserving only the
cowards, who now huddled in their stolen armour, fearful of the future.

“We are unworthy, God has forsaken us!” wailed Heinrich, chief among the doubters.

Ignaz: monk, warrior and unofficial leader, saw things differently. “Wash out thy
foul mouth, God has chosen to test us. Only the pure will return to rebuild our
wayward Order.”

But Heinrich was unbowed. “The Empire is rotten, the Black Death creeps from
house to house, taking virtuous and sinner alike. Not even the Church can offer
sanctuary from its scourge!”

Ignaz struck him with the flat of his sword. “Silence! Do not presume to question the
judgement of God!”

Their conversation was interrupted by a cry from Giuseppe, youngest and weakest
of the squires. No explanation was needed, Lithuanian riders were clearly visible
bearing down upon them. Ignaz bawled at them all to mount up, but they knew
there was no escape.

Ignaz's eyes blazed: “This is a happy day, we are to be martyrs my brothers! Let us
sell our lives dearly!” and with that he spurred his horse into a charge, followed to
the best of their ability by the rest of the band.

But the charge was quickly spent and a confused fight with the Lithuanians ensued.
Heinrich saw Giuseppe, who had fallen behind, engulfed by a mass of pursuing
enemy horsemen.

In a burst of fury, Heinrich dispatched an overconfident opponent and turned to
help Giuseppe, but he was already dead. A burly Lithuanian was stripping his
corpse of its armour, revealing a pale thin boy streaked with filth, his emaciated
body covered with unhealed sores. As he pulled the hauberk over the boy's head,
Heinrich saw the unmistakable swellings in his armpit, and everything suddenly
became clear to him.

Ignaz had been right all along! They were indeed instruments of God. But it was
neither their swords nor their virtue which God required, merely their death. For by
that death, the Almighty would bring unimaginable suffering and destruction upon
the pagans.

Heinrich ceased fighting, removed his helm and sat, finally content, smiling at the
Lithuanian who would kill him.

[Sunbird Alkibijad]

Why only one vote per person?

The poem gets my vote. Second vote would be war-demons, poetry in it's own terms.

[Juvenal]

Such a shame.

Single vote takes most of the fun out of it for me.

[Viking Prince]

One vote. Now I will need to reread. I know that bias means the one we write is considered good, but is it the best one? Good thing there is a bit of time to decide.

[Juvenal]

One vote. Now I will need to reread. I know that bias means the one we write is considered good, but is it the best one? Good thing there is a bit of time to decide.

Timing is important.

I find that my submission is always clearly the best... in that moment of euphoria just after I finish writing it.

However as time goes by, my story seems to deteriorate with each reading, like a rotting banana, until by the end of the week I wonder why anyone would vote for it at all.

Actually, sometimes no one does.

[SonOfAlexander]

I agree - 1 vote takes the fun out of it for me

[Sunbird Alkibijad]

Preventing authors from voting for themselves was a motion once upon a time, but this is a step in wrong direction...

I mean, at least, I have voted for my direct opponents in ToTW, few times(never happened vice-versa, tho). So basically, you should just ask authors not to vote at all...

[Mega Tortas de Bodemloze]

Preventing authors from voting for themselves was a motion once upon a time, but this is a step in wrong direction...

I mean, at least, I have voted for my direct opponents in ToTW, few times(never happened vice-versa, tho). So basically, you should just ask authors not to vote at all...

One must be guided by one's own conscience in matters like this....

On Topic: All smashing entries this week... Abstain in regards to voting...etc.

[webMaster412160]

sub 7 takes it for me.

[Theodotos I]

Voted for The Charge. Good luck to all.

[Don't Tread on Me]

However as time goes by, my story seems to deteriorate with each reading, like a rotting banana, until by the end of the week I wonder why anyone would vote for it at all.

Actually, sometimes no one does.

I voted for you this week, Juvenal! I thought "Apotheosis" was very good, with an interesting twist that plays on both the visual and verbal content of the picture.

[Yojimbo]

sub 7 takes it for me.

You know there is only six right?

Thanks to those who voted for me I'm glad you like it. I've never won totw before but it looks like I wont again...

[tuore]

Voted for "The Charge".