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Thread: Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

  1. #1
    Turkafinwë's Avatar The Sick Baby Jester
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    Default Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

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    After the Battle


    - Marquess of Granby relieving a sick soldier, Edward Penny, 1765, source

    Keywords
    Victorious
    Dead
    Mountain
    Flee
    Loot

    Rules - PLEASE READ

    • The title and picture are there simply for inspiration, you do not have to use them if you don't want to - besides the keywords everything else is up to you!
    • Each theme will have a number of keywords that have to be used in your submission. They can be used in any way, but please place these words in bold so they can easily be seen by the competition organiser(s).
    • When using the keywords you may change singular nouns into plurals and vice versa; and you may change the tenses of verbs. No other changes are permitted.
    • The submission must have a minimum of 200 words. The title counts towards this minimum, but footnotes, explanatory notes, and other supplementary texts do not. The submission must also have a maximum of 500 words INCLUDING all titles, footnotes etc.
    • The submission must be placed in a spoiler.
    • The submission period will last at least two weeks. If we have three entries after two weeks, voting will begin. The submission period may be extended at the discretion of the competition organiser(s).
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    • This thread is for submissions only. If you have any comments or questions then please post them in the commentary thread.
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    AwardsEach winning story will receive 1 Writers' Study Competition point. This point will be added to the total number of points you have won from TotW and other Writers' Study competitions, and recorded in the Writers' Study Hall of Fame. When you have accumulated enough points, you will be awarded the appropriate Writers' Study Competition Medal.

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    Last edited by Turkafinwë; January 17, 2019 at 12:02 PM.

  2. #2
    NorseThing's Avatar Primicerius
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    Default Re: Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

    500 words on the dot!

    After the Battle
    After theBattle




    General de Bois had not been this far north into the Scottish highlands before. His army of mixed infantry and light cavalry was more suited for low English hills near York than this mountain in Scotland. The general had not pushed his men to get into position quickly. It was after midday. Perhaps this was simply a demonstration of force by the highlanders and nobles. The Scottish light cavalry were simply out of place on this mountain. General de Blois could not believe there was any intention to attack. Perhaps this was a stalling tactic. Perhaps this was designed to pin his force on the mountain slope. Perhaps, perhaps. Uncertainty was beginning to crowd out the instincts of his training. And then the charge began. His own infantry were not in position to fix their spears to take the charge.


    The general called out, “All spears forward! Break this attack before it begins!”


    The general was improvising to make up for not pushing his men to be in position. All spear companies rushed the charging highlanders. It was not a tight formation charging down the mountain slope. Today, the English were lucky. There was still a chance to grab a victory.


    The peasant archers were more prepared. Companies were ready and in tight formations. They were peasants with perhaps faltering faith relying on disorganized spear companies to hold the charge.


    Each archer captain ordered,“Hold your places! Hold your formation! For King and Kingdom, hold your formation!”


    Men were fighting for their lives. There was no loot today. Just honor. That was enough. Both English and Scots fought best for honor and king.


    Archer captains gave orders to fire volleys in succession. Before the charging companies reached the first disorganized spears, the men began to fall from the rain of arrows. This did not break the charge, but it did blunt it.


    After the Scots failed to break the disorganized spears, the highlanders with their swords and axes broke into a general melee with the spear companies. The remainder of the Scottish army raised axes and charged down the slope. The English arrow volleys continued. Arrows rained on the Scots. They rushed wielding their fearsome axes to engage the English spears. Then the point feared by any commander happened. The Scots were spent and broken. They ran in panic up the mountain slope.


    This was total defeat. The Scots had not a single noble or common soldier leave the field of battle that day. There is nothing more devastating for a soldier than to be the last of an army left standing. Except perhaps, being the last ... and broken … and flee enemy cavalry from the field in defeat. The last man was cut down by a cavalry sword. Dead and not remembered. The victorious are remembered. Victories often happen with the lucky stroke by the winning general and perhaps a misjudged order or a miscalculation. If circumstances could be replayed, the results could have dramatic differences.

  3. #3
    Swaeft's Avatar Drama King
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    Default Re: Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

    Almost on par with you, NorseThing! 499 words.

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Britannia, 85 AD

    The air in the command tent was so stifling, I was glad when a messenger finally opened the flap.

    “Legatus, Praefectus, Tribuni, the enemy are fleeing in disarray, back into the hills. We are victorious.” The legionnaire reported, without a hint of joy on his tired, mud stained face.

    “Thank you, soldier. We all did well today.” A tribune remarked.

    The legionnaire simply grunted and exited the tent. I pounded my fist on the table in frustration. “Victory?” I spat. “We have suffered over a thousand dead since we set foot on this accursed island. Fleeing in disarray? It’s more likely that they’re regrouping for another assault. Legatus, I must protest again the purpose of our mission. We shouldn’t be here.”

    Complete silence enveloped the tent for a few seconds. Then, the Legatus spoke. “Tribunes, please leave us for now.”

    I knew a serious earful was headed my way even before the last of the tribunes exited the tent. Once the flap was closed, Legate Quintus wheeled to face me and unleashed his torrent of verbal abuse. And all I could do was take it.

    His tirade lasted for a good ten minutes, but I wasn’t paying attention. This wasn’t the first time he had called me out for my insubordination. If I had a gold coin for every “direct order”, “do not question” and “Rome has seen fit to” I’ve heard in the past three months, I would have retired by now.

    “Sir, believe me, I understand your concerns, and I understand the chain of command.” I was repeating the same things, listing the same points, over and over again. “But we are more than a thousand kilometres away from Rome. The mountains here impede our movement, while the infernal fog masks that of our enemies. The terrain is mostly made up of forested valleys or marshy swamps, unsuitable for our fighting tactics. The men are desperate and homesick, sir. There seems to be no end to the barbarian raids, no promise of loot, no clear victory within sight. If we keep this up –”

    A long, drawn out blast from a war horn echoed throughout the valley.

    Then another. And another.

    “Legatus!” A soldier rushed in, panic written all over his face. “The barbarians, they –”

    Legate Quintus and I could see for ourselves. The barbarians were swarming all over the hills into the valley, overwhelming the Roman patrols and slaughtering them. Soon, they would be pouring into the war camp itself.

    “By the gods, you were right.” Legate Quintus muttered, the terror in his voice clearly audible. “Centurions, to me!”

    I didn’t hear whatever he said next. It could have been orders to me, or some form of defensive battle plan to be carried out by everyone. It didn’t matter. Our enemies had surprise on their side, as well as the numbers, the morale, and the terrain. The terrible truth had made itself abundantly clear to me.

    Today, the Ninth Legion would fall.


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  4. #4
    NCR's Avatar Libertus
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    Default Re: Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

    275 words!
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The dead do not say anything in the aftermath.

    The mountains were silent, as they had been before the battle and the cacophony of horns and bugles let out their cry of death and glory. The victorious linger, hoping that they will be able to loot the dead, for the dead do not complain when their belongings are stripped from them.

    I stood there, sword in hand, waiting for the looting to end. This was no honorable way for any man to go. Dead and forgotten on a battlefield hundreds of miles away from their home, fighting a war they neither started nor cared about. Pressed into the service of a king that did not care about by them by a lord who forced them to toil in the fields.

    When they fell, their bodies would be swarmed by other poor fools, eager to add to their meager wages. The dead did not have much on them, for they were young men from the farmlands, not rich knights from the cities. Those men had been captured, waiting for the ransom that would be paid by their rich fathers and sent back to their families.

    The poor dead cannot say the same.

    "You are silent, my son," the voice of my father awakened me from my thoughts. "Why? We are victorious. Revel in that victory."

    I could not. Watching the enemy flee should have given me joy, for it meant they did not have to die, but in the end, it filled me with dread. Another battle would be fought. And more poor fools would die.

    "It is nothing, Father," I replied. "I mourn the dead."

    "They died for me. They died for you," he sternly said. "Mourn them later. For now, the living call."

  5. #5
    The Wandering Storyteller's Avatar Protector Domesticus
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    Default Re: Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

    500 words.

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    1636

    Joseon

    The cold mountains of the north.

    Chan-Bom Sang groaned, his body aching. A terrible battle had been fought in the mountain hills. The Qing had been thoroughly defeated. But at what cost? What did he have to come back for? Joseon had lost to the Qing. They were victorious in a battle history would never acknowledge. Bodies lay strewn among the ground. All of his friends and uncles that he had known in the village, the bonds that had been made had been broken in one battle. He had fought for Joseon for all his life. But when the King ran away from his people, there was no point. Too long had he sacrificed his life in vain. Walking across the mountain hill, only heavy buckets of rain poured down upon him and the bodies.

    And soon, Chan-Bom Sang knew that the earth would consume the dead flesh. The days of living in Hanyang were long gone. They had won a battle that would not be recorded in history. A battle that would be wiped off the pages of future generations. And it took him, the Qing’s most feared enemy to vanquish them. They had arrived late into the night to sneak into the fortress. With over-whelming numbers, they had attacked, slaughtering so many men of Joseon that the fortress struggled to remain solid. Cannon fire had damaged its walls, and it lay like a corpse. The wolves, like the Qing Soldiers encircled it, ready to loot and salvage. Chan-Bom Sang had awoken when the attack happened. Mounting his horse, he attacked with the strength of the Gods inside him. The garrison of the fortress were long gone.

    And a wonderous night it had been. The confident Qing soldiers that had smirked on him lay down, lifeless and shocked. The grins and smirks had been replaced with cries of horror. Chan-Bom Sang had slashed back and forth, slashing into the guts of a soldier before cutting his heart out. Like a tiger, he attacked relentlessly, smashing his sword into a soldier’s bone. The Qing had attacked like rats, and he resisted. In the centre, a mountain of bodies began to pile up. Chan-Bom Sang reached the top of it and fought them back. They were fleeing when he slashed the neck of the Qing General, and had slammed his head into a pike.

    History would record this as myth and fiction. No one would believe the tale of a warrior that had vanquished an entire army. Chan-Bom Sang breathed heavily, slumping to the ground. He had once loved a woman, and was betrayed. And he had joined the army to forget the wounds of that miserable past. Yet he doubted whether he had truly forgiven her. The pain was alive, fuelling him throughout the entire battle. His body was wet, yet he felt nothing. And soon the rain stopped. The Sun dawned upon him. He arose, and looked towards the horizon. A new life then. He arose, wandering.
    Last edited by The Wandering Storyteller; January 23, 2019 at 03:30 PM. Reason: DONE!





















































  6. #6
    King Athelstan's Avatar The Wheel Weaves
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    Default Re: Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

    I'm finally getting another submission in, it's been a while since last time!
    390 words
    Thirsty. So thirsty. So very thirsty. His lips were cracked, his face full of dirt. His ears were ringing, and he laid there upon the mountain. At last he opened his eyes, and he was met by blinding light. Lowering his gaze, one hundred meters down below he saw the weak defenses and freshly dug trenches, where his countrymen had fled to. They would not hold for long. Soon, the trumpets would blast, the whistles blow and the bullets come raining again. Soon the air would carry the screams in a language he did not know towards him, filled with dread, hate, fury and fright. This was no mans war. He tried to stand up, but couldn't. His mind willed it, but his body wouldn't, couldn't budge. He tried to move his toes. And felt nothing.

    He looked down, and saw nothing. His legs were gone, bloody stumps remaining. He shouted, but no sound came. Just a slight whimper. He was as good as dead. Looking up, he saw the sun about to set. Sighing, he closed his eyes. Then, his head stopped ringing and sound came to him as hell had come to earth. The ships off the shore were firing their massive cannons, the mortars on the shore were firing in high arcs above the trenches, and the machine gun nests bore fire down from the hills. No side would be victorious. He felt a large blast beside him, and closed his eyes.

    He opened them, and the sun had set. Thirsty. So thirsty. So very thirsty. His tongue had swelled in his mouth, yet he felt oddly at peace. He looked down towards the shore. The lanterns were lit, but it was quiet. He was sure his hearing was back, yet it was quiet. He searched through the lines of his foes, but saw nothing. No people, no movement. Wait! The ships had come closer to shore, and a steady line of small boats flowed between. So this was it. They were finally leaving this hole. Without him. The mortars and supplies were left for the enemy to loot. He tried to call out for help, but no sound came.

    He watched the last ship depart into the distance. A tear ran through the dirt on cheeks. His body was lying still. He closed his eyes.
    Last edited by King Athelstan; January 28, 2019 at 03:48 AM. Reason: Misspelt word
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  7. #7

    Default Re: Tale of the Week 288: After the Battle - SUBMISSION THREAD

    Wait for me! I have an idea, and I will write it up now. I promise to edit this within the next few hours, and there will then be a submission from me as well.

    EDIT: I got the ideas sorted (I think), and here they are. I wanted to use some fancy fonts for immersion purposes, but will stick to what's on the menu here, as it seems like fancy fonts might not work for everyone. At any rate, I hope the switches between different fonts and whatnot help clarify some stuff. Enjoy!

    Report #229841660

    Sector: 01725
    Celestial Body: Ante-Helix 1410 (local designator: Earth)
    Standard Date: 22.17.1609


    Ante-Helix 1410 has been successfully seized, subject to limited friendly casualties and the loss of one SL-AX Lander and three Arclight support craft. The local populations seem unsure of our purpose or how best to respond to us, in fact appearing to be little united on any individual thing.


    It was a lie, and she knew it was a lie. They were as different as the stones that circled the Mother’s Cloud, but they had been united in that moment. Kuril had been victorious over nine planets across four systems, but she had never seen such blood before. Those terrestrials were nothing more than up-jumped apes, little pathetic things with barely a future for them, they were such a pestilence to themselves, but they had dug in their heels without a second thought.

    The destruction of the Arclights was expected and allowed for, but we did not anticipate that a Lander would be lost in the first strike. It will need to be replaced before further exploration or looting of this potentially-hostile sector is pursued.

    Above their own planet, their only home, they had seen us coming, and they responded like madmen. The humans have barely mastered basic chemistry -- their wars seem to always revolve around throwing metal at one another as quickly as they can -- but there is one weapon of note in their grasp. How could we ever imagine they would use it above their own home. As Commander Len broke orbit he had slowed the Lander to drop speeds, to allow his marines to cast off, and up through the scattered layer of cirrus rose a battery of warheads. His dead fell as leaves, the radioactive cloud their only warmth as their bodies descended over the mountains and seas.

    How could they do that, above their own home? Madmen.

    After the initial battle the central authorities of the planet formally surrendered, but there fled into hiding a significant number of military and civilian personnel, their whereabouts as yet unknown. Without a prolonged occupation I estimate that we will have recurrent insurgencies, which though easily dealt with will undoubtedly affect our capacities for extraction of resources. I recommend the redeployment of one standard division for security purposes and eventual assimilation efforts.

    ***

    A rumble outside turns her attention to the door. Her adjutant enters and calmly explains that there was a small blast in the building across the street. A few dozen have been wounded, mostly humans, but with two members of her staff among those numbered as well. Kuril turns back to her desk and casually amends her report.

    ***

    … I recommend the redeployment of one two standard divisions for security and eventual assimilation or decimation purposes, as deemed appropriate by the governor assigned to this world.



    Admiral Astara Kuril, Molliti Strike Group


    Last edited by Kilo11; January 29, 2019 at 01:27 PM.
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