Tale of the Week 270: Three Kingdoms - VOTING THREAD
Three Kingdoms
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Submission 1 Out of the Darkness
Out of the darkness they came, fell swarms of twisted creatures of the most evil intent; corrupted souls that had clawed their way out of the deepest recesses of hell to emerge upon the earth to bring pain and torment to the living. Their march had ravaged the land, cutting a swath of death wherever they went. Towns burned leaving only ashes behind, men fought in defense of their homeland, only to die upon the sword.
On this day it seemed fated that more men would die, their lives spent in the fight for survival, in the hopes that one day this great evil would be defeated and peace and harmony would return to their lives. They fought not just for themselves, but for the future of humanity. There would be no surrender; it would be either total victory or total defeat.
These men had lost many things, but hope was not one of them; as the enemy prepared to assault their defenses they stood ready. With weapons drawn they braced themselves for the fight that was soon to come. Staring out across the battlefield they watched as dark lines of armored figures approached, the sound of clanking metal audible, while an acrid stench filled the air. On the men’s side near silence, no words were spoken; every man here knew what was coming.
Ever nearer they drew, the pounding sound of their footsteps rising up in the air like a mad chorus of drums. The fetid stench they carried was almost nauseating now as they drew close. As if on cue they let off with an ear piercing cry, a banshee like wail that sent a chill up the spine of each man. In response the defenders begin banging their spears in a rhythmic beat before letting off with their own battle cry.
With a final cry the enemy charged, moving forth to strike against the men’s defenses; a raving mass of flesh and metal intent on destruction. Standing against them the resolve of men; each side fighting for their own goal, each dying to achieve it.
Submission 2 The Beginning
Smoke filled the sky and only ashes were left of many of the villages. The tribes of the North had already descended upon the peaceful villages of Kamloct by the time the Order sent their men. Corrupt rulers with their own vision of the Kingdoms future spun that yarn. The reality of the Kamlors dire situation was that the tribes were bribed by those exact corrupt rulers. Three of the knightly Order were sent to restore harmony to the villages. The lead Knights breast plate had four roses engraved on it. One of the others had a hammer under an axe adorning his breast plate and the third a large tree. Atop of their steeds, seeing the devastation before them, dismay fell upon them like soot from the burning homes. The lead Knight tightened his grasp on the reins and spurred his steed to the first set of retreating villagers he could find. The other two shared a worried glance and set off behind him.The sight before the first Knight caused him to dismount while his steed was still at a gallop. That sight was of a boy of maybe ten and three years being chase down by a tribal warrior. The first Knight, using his momentum and weight of his plated armor, collided into the tribal warrior. The Knight plunged his broad sword into the warriors chest. The boy stood in terrified awe until the Knight picked him up by the collar and set the boy onto his steed. With a nod to the boy and the whisper to the horse it sped off south and away from the danger. The other knights came upon him and dismounted. They ushered villagers away until a stream of tribesman set upon them. With few words of salute to each other they paid Death her due.
“That’s what happened,” concluded one of the surviving villages.
“And you know this because,” asked a Magistrate in long clean silks.
“I was among the last in my village to leave. It was my boy that knight saved,” replied the villager in a hushed tone. The entire Grand Magister’s courtyard was full of survivors from the Kamloct raid. It seemed a lifetime ago at times and hours ago at others.
“So because you were ill equipped to save your son, we should pardon these three deserters for disappearing and officially being deemed AWOL,” shouted another Magistrate at the villager. Ill received was his tone amongst the other villagers as the began to shout and hurl profanities at the Magister’s. The line of Knights that stood between the villagers and Magisters tightened their ranks.
“We did not disappear,” came from amongst the crowd as they began to settle.
“Nor are we AWOL,” came from somewhere else.
“We are judgement for your corruption,” voiced the Lead Knight as he emerged from the crowd, four rose adorned chest plate gleaming. “I am Judge Thalimgard. And I sentence you to death.”
Submission 3 Ashes. He could smell ashes. Not the refuge from a crematorium, where the bones were stripped and polished until the marrow gleamed virgin white. No, those remains did not have a taste, a flavour that filled his mouth with life. These ashes were corrupt, diseased. It was charred meat ground beneath the tread of a thousand boots, left to rot on the field for the ravenous lust of carrion. Like a gardener admiring his accomplishment, Eylmar drank in deeply the ashes, feeling the thrill of victory coursing through his body. For once he felt peace grip him like a long lost lover, embracing him even as the world itself seemed to consume itself in flame.
But like all things fleeting, the harmony between him and victory shattered into a thousand glass shards. A man garbed in the rich burgundy of an joined Eylmar upon the battlefield, emerging from the fog of the present to drag the celebrating general away from his thoughts.
"Shall I give the command to cease?"
The officer gestured towards the closest assembly of their men, busying themselves by setting another set of prisoners alight atop modest pyres. His eyes seemed to refuse to rest on the sight, as if disgusted by the actions of his men. Of his general. A good man, the weak would call him. A man of principle. If he had been in command, the battle's outcome would have been far from assured.
"No," Eylmar declared, at last noticing that he stood in the open stomach of a corpse. Ha, he almost exclaimed. Its limbs were black from the tender embrace of flame, juices running like rivers between the hills of cooked meat. "Let them have this."
His lieutenant nodded after a moment of hesitation, tepidly stepping around another body as the black smoke of the pyre began to waft in their direction. He winced against the screams carried on the wind, which caused a frown to burrow into Eylmar's forehead.
"In future, I expect you to take more prisoners."
Submission 4 From the Ashes of a Corrupt Civilisation, beauty can Emerge.
A Future resting on a sword’s point, where a single tip can destroy the Harmony that all seek.
Looking forward, I can see only two ways, that of destruction, and that of emergence. A new Civilisation, a new beauty to spark hope in this cruel world.
From the rubble of a wretched dynasty, from the tyranny of the few, the many will rise, to bare fruit anew.
This is our struggle, our divine destiny. We are blessed, and we are cursed, to shine a light ahead. To light the lantern that shines for something greater than who we are.
While our hands are weak, and our minds will grow feeble with age, we will forever hope for this future, where our harmony and our peace are undisturbed. Where our reign is one of peace and equality. Where from the ashes we have emerged as something greater.
Our wish is the fire that blazes with the might of a thousand stars; and only threatens to darken when our hearts have long fled and our legacies long dead, and we have been nothing but feed for the dirt for a hundred generations.
In this struggle to bring forth a greater blessing to the world, we light the way, the few for the many.
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