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Thread: [AAR] M2TW: The Defense of Lisbon

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    Default [AAR] M2TW: The Defense of Lisbon



    Author: Felixion
    Original Thread: M2TW: The Defense of Lisbon

    M2TW: The Defense of Lisbon - Chapter. I
    Part 1

    Grim News

    The city of Lisbon stood like a shimmering jewel on the edge of Europe. The long standing alliance between Portugal and Spain now seems threatened by the recent murder of the Spanish king. His son - whom many believed responsible for the killing - Prince Adolfo is known throughout the land for his malice, and his genius. With his father dead Adolfo now controls one of the largest armies in Western Europe and every citizen in Lisbon quakes with fear of an attack.



    As the light of the falling sun spread across the fields beyond Lisbon the returning scouts came into view. An arqubusier stepped back to the edge of the rampart and shouted down to the man at the gate.

    "Open the gate!" He yelled, his guttural voice causing all around him to wince. Captain Alba had been their captain for years, and while his unit of gunners trusted him, they also feared him for tales of his ferocity had spread. Captain Alba turned to the man at his right, a young man with fair blonde hair and a large build who aside from his strong physique was clearly fearful of what everyone knew was coming.

    "Damn Spainards likely chased them off. Looks to me they're one man short." No one responded to the Captain's observation but they had all taken note that the party of scouts had clearly lost a man.



    As they thundered toward the gate Amparo was awed by the scope of the Lisbon fortress. The walls - bleached by years of bright sunshine glimmered from miles out, and now returning with the gravest of news Amparo felt an unexpected sense of sadness at the likely future of his city.



    As Amparo's small company weaved through the crowded streets of Lisbon there was an almost palpable air of excitement, and fear. Everyone was attempting to fill their stockpiles of food for they sensed what was to come. Amparo and his men turned into a crowded market street and the size of their horses cleared a path. Amparo felt himself becoming anxious to deliver the news, and the hindrence of the market was making him extremely uncomfortable. An ox-cart trotted infront of him and forced Amparo to rear back on his horse and let it pass, a dog ran under the legs of his massive steed and children ran up beside him and his men - they held small wooden swords and began to sword fight one another. When they finally broke free of the crowd they approached the gate that led them to the inner fortress. There - General Augusto was eagerly awaiting the news. Since the King of Portugal - King Aurelio had fallen ill, his dearest companion, General Augusto had assumed the head administrative position in the city. As Amparo's men approached they gate they were blocked by a column of spearmen. Their eyes were shrouded by the shadow of the looming gate but their spearpoints jutted out and glinted in the sunlight. As Amparo came closer the spearmen recognized him and parted to let t hem through. The heavy iron gate came open, and they trotted in.



    Far away a dandelion stood alone in the meadow. The first of the spring embraced the heavy rainfall. Thunder rumbled above and the occasional shot of lightning illuminated the valley. Suddenly a massive iron boot crushed the dandelion, buckling its stem and grinding it into the wet earth. Another boot, and another, an entire host trampled across the field. Adolfo's army was ferocious, like a wave of cold steel, leather, and fire it seemed to churn the earth as it moved. Thirty-three thousand in all, the army was well equipped, and well trained. They had swordsmen, heavy pike, expert heavy cavalry, enough cannon to bring down the rock of Gibraltar and they had Prince Adolfo. A seasoned soldier he had denied his pleasurable upbringing and enlisted in the army at a young age. Desperate to sever himself from the pampered image he had been attributed he fought like an animal. Serving in Moorish Africa he had made a name for himself at the battle of the Twin Peaks, his force had been ambushed by Moors and the legend spread of Prince Adolfo who had chased down the Moorish cavalry for two days and nights, until he caught up with them and butchered them all. Wearily trotting back to camp their heads were strung on a rope that hung from his pike. Since he has been both feared and respected. As Adolfo's host continued their march, the meadow had turned to a pool of mud - and far off at Lisbon - Prince Adolfo knew - he would seal his immortality.



    As Amparo's company approached General Augusto he raised the visor of his heavy helm. The rumble of hooves - the jingle of chains and scabbards - the clang of metal. Amparo lifted his helm off his head, letting his long hair fall around his shoulders.

    "General, I regret that what we feared is indeed true. We spotted a Spanish Host marching through the Valley of Adela under Prince Adolfo's standards."

    Amparo took quick, sharp breaths between his words, tired from a long days march.

    "Shortly after we spotted them their light cavalry began to ride down upon us."

    General Augusto was unphased by the grim news. He was older, likely in his mid fifties but no one truly knew. He was a massive man, taller than all others and muscle to his core. He did show signs of age, his hair was a rich grey and his eyes had began to wrinkle. He wore a large breastplate over a light blue tunic, a longsword hanging from his waist. He peered into Amparo's eyes.



    "We must gather the council. We meet in the chamber tonight."

    "Sir." Amparo said, nodding, and with that he turned and his companions rumbled after him back into the winding roads of the city. General Augusto looked out toward the east and for the first time in years felt a shudder of fear ripple through his body. Far off across the hills and plains Prince Adolfo looked to the west.



    As night fell a light rain began to fall on the city. From the council chambers high above the fortess the city below looked like a sea of jewels, every home radiating light from the inside. The council - consisting of all the army's generals, wisemen, the king's advisors, and others who were considered respectable and intellegent men all conversed around a large stone table.

    "We simply do not have the forces to ride out and meet them." An older man in a velvet tunic spoke with anger. A clamor of voices rose to protest him but the raising of General Augusto's hand silenced them.

    "He is right, regrettably. We do not have forces enough to contend with Adolfo in the open field. We do however have a chance to hold them here."

    A smaller man, the same age of Augusto spoke up.

    "We haven't the food to hold out for a siege! The people will starve!"

    "Either they'll be hungry or we'll be decimated on the field and they'll be left defenseless. The women will be raped, and murdered. The men will be slaughtered or enslaved, and the children left to hunger and poverty!" The smaller man sunk into his chair. Augusto stood, his size startling others around the table.

    "We have one choice. We must face them here. Tomorrow morning we shall begin preparing the defenses." The other generals and advisors at the table stood, and let out a shout. It was a custom of the army of Portugal, and the call reverberated down the facade of the tower where the council room was perched - down to the royal stables where sitting under the shelter was Amparo. He drank from a bottle of ale and watched as the lighting over across the hills sparked the billowing storm clouds.



    That night General Augusto slept well, and rose with the sun. He stepped out onto one of the many causeways perched high above the ground that linked the various towers of the upper fortress. Standing atop the ramparts was Amparo. Due to his close family relation he was allowed the bed in the upper fortress and he came out and watched the sun rise in the morning. Augusto came and stood beside him. They did not speak but simply watched as the sun began to rise above the horizon casting gold against the bright bleached walls of the city. They could hear the men rising from their sleep. Feeding the horses and piling hay. They could hear the beat of the blacksmith's hammer. They could hear the shouts and orders of company captains assigning the days watches. War was coming to Lisbon, and the city was preparing.



    M2TW: The Defense of Lisbon - Chapter. II
    Part 2


    A Fool's Errand

    "Form up men! Single line, move along!" The harsh calls were faintly heard as they carried high above and beyond the walls of Lisbon. In the land outside of the city were farms, trading centers, and small village communities that lived night and day under the shadow of the massive limewashed walls. A lone farmer rose early that morning, or was worken rather by the calls of the soldiers. For days the city had buzzed with activity. Farmers from lands beyond the mountains wishing to seek protection from the coming enemy filed through the large city gates all hours of the day. Some came alone, some with families. They hauled carts of their belongings into the dizzying alleys and streets. Many of them being simple folk were taken advantage of by the hardened city dwellers. Every morning the day's watch reformed on the ramparts and it was at this time that the farmer rose to the sounds of shouts and orders. He looked to the east. The outline of a caravan of refugees was already beginning its decent toward the city from the high hills beyond. The farmer arched his back and looked up at the city. It was then that he heard the familiar noise of the massive gateway doors creaking to life.



    "A damn fool's errand I dare say sir." Captain Alba peered upward, squinting at the harsh sunlight that was beginning to bake the city streets.

    "I thought the council decided against marching against the damn Spaniards."

    Amparo, looking strangely gruff this day stared down at the Captain. Secretly - he had always been intimidated by Captain Alba and his harsh, straight-forward nature but he never dared show it.

    "I'm not entirely sure it's a Captain's place to question the decisions of the council."

    Captain Alba continued to shuffle down the street, which was becoming increasingly crowded as the mass of soldier's became bottlenecked near the city gate.

    "You're quite right sir. Di'not mean any disrespect sir. I'll be off." The Captain looked ahead and quickened his pace.



    "Form up you rogues! Let's go!" His voice was eventually drowned out as he disappeared into the crowd ahead. Amparo was relieved that he had left but in truth he too had been wondering why - after the negative decision of the council - he had been ordered to lead a small detachment to the field. As his horse's hooved clapped against the street he remembered General Augusto's words.

    "But General, we'll be sheep for the slaughter!" Amparo protested, doing his best not to seem openly insubordinate.

    "Calm down Amparo. I've deliberated with the council and they will not have it another way. The King's word is the King's word." The General held a candle up the far wall in his quarters. As he scanned the space Amparo tried to contain his frustration.

    "With respect to the king, it is a foolish decision." General Augusto turned and scowled at Amparo.

    "While it may not be the must tactful approach, it is blashpemy to say such things." Amparo hung his head.

    "Here we are!" General Augusto chimed as he reached to the wall and removed a large broadsword from a rack of weapons. He walked across the room, as he got closer Amparo was as usual awed by the massive size of the man. The general placed one of his massive hands on Amparo's shoulder and held the sword out to Amparo. He gripped it and sliced it through the air, astonished by it's fine craftsmanship.

    "Take this. And do me well, boy." Amparo smiled at the General.

    "Six men deep! Hurry up now you rotten bastards!" A company commander's shouts brought Amparo back to life. Outside of the city walls the small army was forming up in marching formation. Amparo marched through the open space between the files of men and removed his helmet. As he approached the head of the columns he tugged on the horse and looked out toward the force. The sea of steel glinted in the sunlight, and the rows of walls in the city caused Amparo to squint hard.





    "Looking a tad rough, he is." A young musketeer spoke.

    "Silence you fool!" Captain Alba snarled back, quieting the man. It was true that Amparo's usual clean cut charm seemed diluted this day. His usually bright eyes seemed harder, and more focused. He had the beginnings of a beard and his skin was dark, and red.

    "Soldiers of Portugal!" His "r" rolled heavily as he roared.

    "We have been charged to intercept a small force that intends to burn the outlying villages west of the city! Our king and the citizens of Lisbon depend upon your bravery. Let's make them proud!"

    The soldier's released a synchronised war call, and with that Amparo turned, and began to march, shorty after - the thunder of the collective filled the field. He looked back toward the city one last time, then donned his helm and fixed his eyes on the horizon.




    Prince Adolfo sat in a small chair reading from a piece of dark parchment. The two sentries outside his tent sweat profusely in the heat, but did not budge.

    "Sire?" An inquisitive face peered through the opening to the darkened tent. Prince Adolfo waved the man in.

    "What is it now?" The prince inquired without diverting his eyes from the parchment.

    "Our spy has returned with urgent news, sire." The prince's eyebrows raised, and he slowly turned his head and saw a peasantly figure standing outside of the tent.





    "Come in you wretched dog!" The prince shouted. He was smiling now, on the brink of joyful laughter. He loved to toy with lower men. He stood at the front of his table and waited for the man to come before him. He smiled kindly at the peasant, showing that his previous insult had been in jest.

    "Can I offer you some water? Some food?" The prince asked, sounding genuinely hospitable.

    "Some water would be fine sir." The prince waved a hand at one of his servants who returned promptly with a clay cup. The peasant nodded thankfully and sipped.

    "What news do you have for me?" The prince asked. The peasant swallowed the rest of the water, and then looked up into the dark eyes of his master.

    "I've been staying in a farm house just outside the city walls for three days now. Refugees are coming in every day. By the hundreds they are - rightly endowed aswell. Whole carts of belongings! The bastards file up on the walls every day, just as normal, but nothings gone amiss." The prince nodded, expecting the news.

    "Until this morning." The spy said, the prince's expression turned grave.

    "They assembled in front of the walls and marched westward. Not nearly enough to contest you M'lord, but perhaps it was sent to intercept your raiding parties."

    The prince turned on him like a dog.

    "Of course it was you stupid bastard!" He turned and sat down at his desk, spreading a map out on the hard surface of his desk.

    "Call for the messenger! Send him to the raiding party! Tell them they've got a slew of sheep to slaughter!" One of his servants obediently ran from the tent. The peasant looked around nervously as the prince reviewed his maps, and payed no attention to the man.

    "Sire? As for the food, I was rather wondering if..." He was cut off. The prince has stood and approached the man.

    "You were rather wondering if...what?" He inquired in a sarcastic way. The peasant stepped back two paces.

    "Well sire, you had offered...." The prince pursued him to the corner of the tent.

    "I had offered what?"

    "Food. I'm actually a bit hungry." The prince adopted an expression of sudden understanding, and turned away from the spy.

    "Ah! The food yes! Let me get it for you!" He shouted the last word as he turned on the man, dagger in hand. He thrust the blade home, landing square under the man's throat, just above his chest. The peasant gurgled and shook for a minute before collapsing onto the ground. The two sentries immediately took to removing the suffering man, the prince wiped the blade against his tunic, and smiled.
    Last edited by La♔De♔Da♔Brigadier Graham; January 15, 2010 at 05:56 PM.
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