Page 1 of 4 1234 LastLast
Results 1 to 20 of 69

Thread: TotW Story Archive

  1. #1
    Praepositus
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Aug 2009
    Location
    Australia
    Posts
    5,155
    Last edited by Caillagh de Bodemloze; March 21, 2021 at 11:20 AM. Reason: updating for 296

  2. #2
    Praepositus
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Aug 2009
    Location
    Australia
    Posts
    5,155

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 1 - Start of the March
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - PowerWizard
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    He watched the knights canter past the outer battlements in all their panoply and knew he would never forget that sight - the jangle of the harness, the pennants flapping in the slight breeze, fire glinting from the bassinets and cuirasses. It was a Flemish tapestry come alive like a woven snake uncoiling across the landscape. No, that sight would never leave him for what young man will ever forget the sight of his father riding out to war? He could not remember ever having felt so proud in all his life. Even the cold of the morning which made the horses’ breath steam like dragon’s fire did not quench his pride. This was what all sons were born to see and he being the son of the King was no different.

    He would remember the beaten bronze of the sunrise, the golden warmth of the stones he stood next to, the towers and battlements rising up in hues of honey and copper, and through all that wound the silver and ice of the knights, upright and martial, like caryatids from a lonely Winter land. Even the mask which was his father’s helmet seemed carved from some cold metal, distant and otherworldly. Only once did it swivel in his direction and for an instant tip as if in recognition.

    He knew they rode out to war with a rebel Baron far to the south amidst the marshes and arid plains which fringed the sea. This Baron had raised up high his banner in revolt and now his father as a matter of honour rode forth at the head of his household guard to settle this upstart once and for all. Rarely did a king leave his throne and yet he knew his father could never take such an insult without seeing it as a personal affront to his honour. So the king his father sallied forth with his best to ride into a distant land and seek vengeance.

    He watched them all snake past him in the rosy dawn and he knew he would never forget that sight in all its wondrous and fairytale glory. Bards would sing of that ride and of the lonely boy left behind to rule a kingdom bereft of its king and how that boy avenged his father’s death with the head of the rebel - that Baron who had cut his father down in a treacherous ambush along with all his gaily caparisoned knights. He watched and knew he was watching history and fable being born; and he knew that even though he felt such pride he felt satisfaction also.

    For to make a King ride to war and doom was no easy feat especially when it was your father. So, yes, a sight he would never forget and one he would soon write a sonnet about, but first, before those light words composed in the rose garden, other words, to a far-off Baron and a trap he himself had been laying for quite some time . . .

    Entrant 1 - SeniorBatavianHorse
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    He watched the knights canter past the outer battlements in all their panoply and knew he would never forget that sight - the jangle of the harness, the pennants flapping in the slight breeze, fire glinting from the bassinets and cuirasses. It was a Flemish tapestry come alive like a woven snake uncoiling across the landscape. No, that sight would never leave him for what young man will ever forget the sight of his father riding out to war? He could not remember ever having felt so proud in all his life. Even the cold of the morning which made the horses’ breath steam like dragon’s fire did not quench his pride. This was what all sons were born to see and he being the son of the King was no different.

    He would remember the beaten bronze of the sunrise, the golden warmth of the stones he stood next to, the towers and battlements rising up in hues of honey and copper, and through all that wound the silver and ice of the knights, upright and martial, like caryatids from a lonely Winter land. Even the mask which was his father’s helmet seemed carved from some cold metal, distant and otherworldly. Only once did it swivel in his direction and for an instant tip as if in recognition.

    He knew they rode out to war with a rebel Baron far to the south amidst the marshes and arid plains which fringed the sea. This Baron had raised up high his banner in revolt and now his father as a matter of honour rode forth at the head of his household guard to settle this upstart once and for all. Rarely did a king leave his throne and yet he knew his father could never take such an insult without seeing it as a personal affront to his honour. So the king his father sallied forth with his best to ride into a distant land and seek vengeance.

    He watched them all snake past him in the rosy dawn and he knew he would never forget that sight in all its wondrous and fairytale glory. Bards would sing of that ride and of the lonely boy left behind to rule a kingdom bereft of its king and how that boy avenged his father’s death with the head of the rebel - that Baron who had cut his father down in a treacherous ambush along with all his gaily caparisoned knights. He watched and knew he was watching history and fable being born; and he knew that even though he felt such pride he felt satisfaction also.

    For to make a King ride to war and doom was no easy feat especially when it was your father. So, yes, a sight he would never forget and one he would soon write a sonnet about, but first, before those light words composed in the rose garden, other words, to a far-off Baron and a trap he himself had been laying for quite some time . . .

    Entrant 2 - molls
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Lord Ned I. glanced out of his bedroom window to watch the morning crawl over his mansion. The view bored him.
    A grey sky, barely sunlight and lousy clouds – not worthy of a Lord’s attention.
    He could hear the crazy witch Grypela nagging down at the marketplace already, cursing the peasants:
    “Clouds of dust, dirt and blood shall cover theeee!”
    His mood was turning bad considering the dull sky and the shouting grandma, but then he hatched an idea:
    His magical powers of manipulation were quite good but to change the sky that was yawning above him, he needed more...

    Later on Grypela was dragged before him, crying and struggling. In the end she did what Lord Ned I. demanded.
    On 10 a.m. the sky bursted with bright light, and huge black clouds racing after each other.
    The Lord smiled contentedly.

    --

    On midday, Baron Anelious P. the second watched the sky with his hands covering his eyes from the burning sun and his face turned into an enraged grimace.
    His daughter, Batavia, who had been extraordinary pretty since she was born, had turned into a maneater when she reached adolescence.
    After a certain day she developed long canine teeth, red eyes, a pale skin, a really nasty behaviour and soon the word ‘maneater’ had a literal meaning to her.

    When the servants discovered her earlier this day lying in the cone of light that was formed by her bedroom window she was not so pretty.
    In fact she had turned into a heap of grey dust with four long teeth lying alongside.

    To Baron Anelious P. it was clear that Lord Ned was responsible for all this, especially the incriminating weather.
    He shouted at his servants to assemble the army.
    They obeyed but trembled, saying: “But Master, his magical power is too mighty for you!”
    Anelious pushed them into the courtyard of his keep where his knights were gathering.

    “Oh I will show you how magical my devine powers are! See this great flagpole with my banner waving in the wind?
    I want my soldiers to carry it when fighting the enemy.”
    “But sire ‘tis too heavy!?”
    With the coolness of a civilized diplomat chatting with mongolian leaders he approached a mounted knight in the first row, tightened his grip on the flagpole he was carrying.
    Jumped high in the air –
    and rammed the sharp end of the pole vertical on the back of the knight’s horse!

    They cried out loud in surpise and horror but the horse just whinnied and grimaced the face to a broad grin.
    And all were amazed!

    --

    Down in the town, a mother was talking to her boy:
    “Where’s your father?”
    “He’s outside removing the rust of the stone wall!”
    The woman stomped outside ranting. “What the crap are you talking about? Stones can not be rusty! If you...-”
    “Ah my lovely hoe would you like to step here and take a glance?” The father had heard her and stood up.
    As the woman was inspecting the large brown spots in the wall with an unbelieving face,
    they heard the noise of the Baron’s army moving out of the keep, down the hill, towards their house.
    When the first horses passed the house, the three stood with open mouths.
    One horse in the first row was prancing nutty to the left and the right, having a huge flagpole with a waving banner standing out of it’s back straight in the air, and all the knights around were cheering.

    And the father, overwhelmed by the scenery, said: “...-Gah-...”

    Entrant 3 - Benz282
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Maria watched as Jacob and Mathiew drew shapes in the dirt floor. The shack was dark, and how the boys could even see their “masterpieces” was beyond her, but Maria was happy to see that even in times as bleak as these, her sons were still able to enjoy the life they still had.

    Maria stared at them; each a living skeleton. Every bone in their body was visible through their skin, as there was little or no tissue between the two. Maria knew she must look the same as her children did, as what little food they had ran out weeks ago, but what seemed like eternity.

    Two days after the last of the bread was eaten, Maria’s newborn-child had died. She awoke one night and could not wake the baby. Looking at her boys in their slumber, Maria realized that if they were to survive, she and the boys would have to eat what little meat there was on the carcass. It was a silent meal, and even though she had told the boys that she had found a rabbit lurking outside their shack, Maria felt that they knew.

    It had been sixteen months since the great kingdom to the east approached the city. There was a great battle, but the forces defending the city rode back through the gates stained with blood, with arrows protruding from their bodies. Some men were missing entire limbs, and many were slumped over their horses as they made the long climb up to the castle. There were no cheers of victory that day; only the wailing of widows broke the eerie silence over the city.

    In her mind, Maria pictured a time long ago, when all she knew was the rolling green hills of the countryside. Her and her late husband frolicked through the fields as children. Maria believed she was in a constant state of bliss back in those days, which was probably true, but living in such memories were all that kept her from losing her mind, the way things were. She had been completely devastated when her husband did not return from the great battle and she considered ending her and the children’s lives, to prevent them from having to know what it is to suffer. But as she looked into her boys’ eyes as she gave them their bread, she could see that they still had so much more to live, and could not bring herself to take that from them.

    Maria awoke from her dream to find herself alone in her family’s “home”; the light from the sun streaming into their haven. Panicking to find her children and fearing the worst, Maria rushed out the door but was immediately blinded by the light of the outside world, which she had grown to live without. As her eyes once again became used to the brightness, her senses were greeted by the staleness of the air and the sound of hooves clicking against stone.

    Approaching the sound, Maria spotted the boys as they stood at a street-corner in awe as the garrison marched out of the castle. The horses seemed barely able to support their riders, who in turn seemed barely able to support their arms. Maria and the boys shivered in the cool autumn chill, wearing little more than rags, but continued to watch as the men streamed by them, one step at a time.

    Jacob and Mathiew both admired the arms, but Maria could see the fear in each of the men’s faces, and she knew in her heart that none of them would return alive…

    End

    Entrant 4 - D.B. Cooper
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    It was a march towards a new future, he hoped.

    Harold led the sombre procession of knights from the citadel, arguably the finest soldiers in all of England. It was not an easy decision, true. But with his brother James now dead, what was there left in England to remain for? The nobility was corrupt and beyond saving. They only cared for money in their pockets. How it got there, either by treachery or deception, was irrelevant to them. The golden age of England was gone, dealt the final blow with the death of James, the last truly noble nobleman.

    Harold reflected on James’s final moments. In England’s gruelling war with the Scots, James led his knights and true Englishmen deep into Scottish territory, with the intent of ending this war once and for all. There were many Scots, but James’s valour and overwhelmed personality led his army to victory. But not without cost. He died as he lived, with a sword in his hand and a final battle roar in his throat. James’s knights returned to England, with an odd mixture of jubilation and mourning. The Scots were repelled, crushed, but England’s greatest leader lay dead. At England’s greatest triumph, she wallowed in her darkest hour.

    James now resided with God, above the petty worldly affairs, and England was at peace from external invaders. But internal corruption did not cease. England, once one of the finest cities in Europe, had become a cesspool of crime and corruption. A hive of villainy. Harold looked at what had happened to his beloved city, and decided that it was beyond help. He announced his company’s departure this morning, and was now leaving at sunset. Harold left behind two factions. The weak and poor, who lamented his decision and called him a coward for leaving England at her darkest period. But what could Harold do? He was but one man, and a small company of knights.

    Harold knew that he could never be as great as his brother. His brother, who vanquished thousands of Scots on the bloody battlefield. Harold was but a lowly captain, who had command of the knights thrust upon him with James’s death.

    And then there were the noblemen, who wore a mask of sadness, in vain, to hide their glee. With Harold gone, they could run free. The reins of England were now in the hands of the corrupt. Harold looked over his shoulder at the glorious sunset. It was a beautiful thing, a rare and lovely arrangement by the heavens. It was strange that such a sunset would present itself on such a grave day. Was God mocking him? Harold turned and continued down the path, lost in his thoughts.


    TotW 2 - R:TW Untitled Picture
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - zznɟ ǝɥʇ
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Numidia. What foul mood filled Saturnus, to make him whither these lands so? The crisp and clear Mediterranean breezes of Africa and Carthage proper were long behind them--the army had progressed too far to the south and west. Instead, craggy rocks and rolling hills and mountains obstructed the bath. The air lost its clarity, and became choked with sand and dust and grime. It was mid-Quintillis, or at least it was likely to be such--most had forgotten what day it was in which month. Did it matter, even?

    Battle was scarce here. The Numidians came as quickly as they went. And it was always on a rise. Always. The Romans made little use of scouts or spies, and every change in elevation was as good a place for an ambush as the next. After weeks of marching against a ghost army, the Republican army had finally found its prey. In all honesty, the discovery was just that--a discovery. A dust storm kicked up, and by the time it cleared, the Romans found themselves looking down upon the Numidian camp. The Numidians were just as surprised, it seems.

    The battle began in a few hours. The Romans lost most of their advantage, but not enough of it to allow a Numidian victory. The Numidians were, of course, lightly armored and fast. They did not count upon the Romans being of the same speedy calibre.

    A long march in extreme climes does strange things to a man. He either dies, or finds reserves of strength he did not know he posessed. Most die. And indeed, the Roman army that fought on that day was small. Yet the men who survived were strong and eager for battle.

    It began with the usual exchange of missiles. Then the impatient centurions, eager for glory, urged troops forward. The useless legate bleated for his men to hold, to wait. But the men were through. They charged. The two armies met. War was strange that day. It seemed further away, as if the men were watching the battle from above. They were observers watching their brothers participate.

    Soon the desert rose in protest. Sand and dust were flung about by the screaming wind, scraping flesh and shield alike. The sun's rays were distorted by the debris and it transformed into a dull, red ball. Apollo called for blood. They gave it to him, and to Mars, and to the desert.

    Soon the Numidians were finished. They turned to flee back into the endless wastes of this land. How they could survive is anyone's guess, and another man's care. The Romans chased the Numidians for a short while, more for sport than for actually trying to catch them, and then gave up. Let the desert keep them. The Romans laughed to themselves. They were lost, low on supplies, and not likely to see home. But they had won a victory, pointless as it was. They would likely die out here, but they were happy--why?

    A long march in extreme climes does strange things to a man, clearly....

    Or perhaps just long marches?

    Or perhaps just marches...




    Or perhaps just war.

    Entrant 1 - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Conscript, what an awful word. They came for me on my farmstead, and took my life from me. I could see my wife in the distance as I marched off, tears flooded her face. The legions brought me to a training camp, donned me armour, gave me a spear, and hastily told me what to do. It was clear we were losing this war, and my end was nigh.

    For months we marched, and for months we suffered. Only the commander was a true soldier, the rest were just peasants and farmers. Rome must be desperate to send these men. We had only heard stories and rumours of the horror outside our borders. Cannibals and barbarians of an endless horde, men strong enough to rip us limb from limb, and cast us into the endless scores of forgotten soldiers, who died, in vein.

    A day ago, we got word from our legions. The barbarians were amassing ready to attack a small Roman outpost. We were to go “assist them”. Rumours in my camp were that this was a fight we could not win. The hordes swamped the landscape of the North, so much that the grass had simply died from the marching and charging of the barbarians. We marched onto the wastelands, corpses periodically drawn across the countryside. Some were soldiers, but most were simply farmers, caught up in the conflict. My heart sunk with every one I saw, for I knew that these men were hardly a world apart from me.

    It was almost dusk and we saw a hill in the distance. Our commander stopped us and paced five yards from the front. He stood towards us and attempted to make a speech to ignite our souls, but the men were too paralysed with fear, the fear that awaited them over the hill. The outpost would be there, but by this time it has probably been overrun. The hordes would most likely have sacked the place and be restocking on supplies. Our men were tired, and if they chose to attack us, we would surely lose. Our fate hung on the survival of our legions, the ones who weren’t simply conscripts, numbers added to a sheet of men and losses, losses of lives, lives lost hundreds of miles from home in a conflict they did not wish.

    As we marched over the hill I could only think of my farmstead and my wife, and how it had been taken from me.

    Taken forever.

    Entrant 2 - SeniorBatvianHrse
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Report has it that in the endless reaches of the Thebaid, where the Nile dwindles and merges into a hazy world of marsh and tangled palm trees, there fell a man into the embrace of death, the manner of which startled not only the distant and uncertain inhabitants of Rome’s last town on the Nile but also, as word spread, all those who lived along the fertile banks of that great river, even to its delta and the city of Alexandria.

    For it must be told that a certain commander of the Second Valentinian Legion, long since the garrison of Hermonthis, felt the moment of his appointed death come upon him. To his companions in the army of Rome, then, amid the dawn light and its play upon the waters of the Nile, this Tribune unburdened himself of all his past in words of such beauty and rarity that no man, hearing them, was able again to pluck a word from his mouth for the ear of another.

    It was then that the Tribune concluded his past, and rose with dignity to descend into the Nile, its virgin waters, and the insubstantial light which wreathed it. All those who gathered into the very limits of the bank saw now only a multitude of elegiac reflections rise up and float away from him, twisting and yawing, like scattered petals. Of the Tribune, his soldier’s body, there was neither a sign nor a clue as to its whereabouts. And it could be truly said that in the minds and eyes of the officers of a Roman legion this sight was not one which invoked fear or madness but rather only a cosmic vision in which the stars alone claimed dignity and mystery.

    And as the last iridescent form of the Tribune glided in its own gossamer wake down the Nile, it could be seen that, among the reeds and distant hillocks of the far bank, little buds of flame had sprung up to announce the imminent arrival of the barbarian Blemye, as they burnt and ravaged this last, faint, echo of Roman civilisation. Without a word, these unblinking officers fastened on their breastplates, tied the cheek plates of their crested helmets together, slung the ornate scabbards over their right shoulders and, thus garbed, descended as one into the Nile with eyes as cold and implacable as the stars to rise reborn upon the other side and march like golems towards the oncoming barbarians.

    It was in this process that a dull sentry divined the passage of his superiors and the distant advances of the Blemye, and raised the dusty bucina to summon the legion and its standards to follow in the wake of its commanders. And so it was that as the horsemen and foot-archers, drunk from pillage and the exhilaration of a battle never in doubt, advanced up to the Nile and the garrison town of Hermonthis, they were confounded by the sight of a Roman legion rising up from the river in rank upon serried rank; sloughing off its mortality as though it were no more than outworn reptile-skin. To the confused and superstitious eyes of these sons of Kush and Aethiopia, whose tawny skins bore testament to a harsher sun than that which shines over Rome, it seemed as though this legion’s officers, its dragon-standard bearers, its infantry and scouts, its camel men and, finally, its medics, all assembled before them shrouded in the deep silence of the reflection, oblivious to the shades and layers which they had left behind in the Nile like the detritus of the past.

    Thus brought to a ragged halt, the chieftains of this barbarian horde rolled their eyes and mouthed yellow froth upon their lips to work up a rage to dispel this fear, and then, with a lion’s roar, charged the Second Valentinian behind a shower of arrows and barbed javelins . . . to be met only with the empty shadow of a reflection and the hollow laughter of mocking gods. In disarray, these Blemye fled back into the interior and so the last city of Rome upon the Nile was saved . . .

    Entrant 3 - Worm
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The attack on Rome:
    It's 117 AD and the roman empire is at it's greatest extent, and the sarmatian king is worried.
    - Romans romans romans, the only thing in the news today is about the damn romans. Only a couple of years ago they wrote about naked celts, large elephants and that lousy tourist Hannibal and and.......
    - Your pizza has arrived.
    - Great i want it in my helmet imidiatly
    - I don't really understand
    - I am the king, so that dosn't matter! Now beat it or i will throw you to the lions!
    - There isn't a single lion in sarmatia.
    - Then i will throw you to the horses! The are hungry and the kick hard!
    - I am not scared or your horses!
    - Allright then.... What about cats?
    - Not scared.
    - Dogs?
    - Nope.
    - Your mother in law?
    - Jesus save me!!!!!!
    He said and ran away with remarkable speed.
    Then the prince arrives the king looks him straight in his eyes and says:
    - I got a task for you tomorrow, gather a army and go and sack Rome !
    - Now why would we do that, there is no way we will win. And besides after your latest project when we where supposed to get to sicily without ships the mens morale aren't exactly on top.
    The king looked at him with a glance that only a pizza in the helmet can provide.
    - Well find some new men then.
    - Where can i find so many men so fast?
    The answer proved to be a easy one, the pub. The prince walks towards on of the drunks:
    - Do you want to join an expedition to Rome?
    - Sure anything for the king.
    - And the boose!
    - Good point!
    After some very odd chatts with the drunks, they all agreed to join
    and later that day they were on the their way to sack Rome.
    - I can see my house from here!
    - Ofcourse you can, we haven't left the town yet!
    - Right fancy boy, Rome is behind that hill right?
    - It's a little longer than that.
    - How long?
    - About 1000 miles!
    - Thats what i said, behind the hill!

    Entrant 4 - Xavier Dragnesi
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 




    TotW 3 - Contest 3
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Key words: n/a

    Submission 1 - Desperado †:
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The field was icy. Frost lay upon the grass were it showed through the snow so that it shone in the dim morning light like a thousand diamonds scattered from the heavens. Dewi's warm breath was like dragons smoke in the cold winter atmosphere.

    No one spoke. There was an occaisional cough now and again, breaking through the silence like a sword through water. No one wished to think of the battle ahead. Of what was to come. Dewi stared to his left, where he knew more of Owain Glyndwr's Welsh warriors lay, hidden in the taller frost and snow covered grass. He could not see them. That was good, for if he could not, then the chances be neither would the enemy. But Dewi knew his eyes were not as sharp as his sword, and it gave him no comfort that he only had his own consience to rely upon that the men were there.

    The heavy mud brown robes which each man wore were still in adequate against the chill that morning. Dewi wondered if he would even be able to pull his bow, let alone run. It was there he was happy that he was not lying in the grass. For there they would be soaked and cold to the bone. But at least they were hidden. Not like them. No. Dewi and his comrades were in quite the opposite situation. They were the bait.

    And then he saw it. Further down the way, marching through the fields in their proud blazing red and yellow colours. The Saeson. The English. Slow and lumbering through the fields, yet to see Dewi and his friends. Each man took their bow up, and with their frosty hands took a bow from their quivers.

    But before they loosened their first shot, the Lions had seen them. A horn was blown in the distance. Dewi shot his arrow, and the arrow flew, the enemy still too far to hit. But that was not the intention. They were to fall short. The English were to think these were not Owains men. They would charge, feeling safe that no tricks were hidden by these unprepared ill-placed Welshmen.

    And Dewi saw it. He heard it. He could feel it. The lion had taken the bait. The charge of hooves, like thunder, each horse throwing up snow and the mud beneath up into the air as it's metal hooves hit the fields. Welsh fields. Dewi drew his second arrow. This time he aimed. This time he had truth in his heart. He shot. He knew not if the arrow flew straight, but he saw many a valiant English knight topple of his horse and fall, crippled on the Welsh field.

    A Welsh field. Aye, for Welsh fields they were. For this was Wales. These were Welsh lands!

    Dewi drew his third arrow. He could see the knights clearly now. Their horses were charging a immense speeds, each like a loosened demon charging from hell. But before Dewi shot his third arrow, another horn was heard. A closer, louder horn. A horn that would bring courage to Dewi's heart. And then, out from the grass to the Knights left, charged eighty or so spearmen, each with freedom in his heart, and anger in his arm.

    The Lions were down! Falling off their screaming stallions. Falling to the ground. Their blood dripping from their bodies onto the frost, melting it as the warmer scarlet blood touched it. Staining the field with death. A frost covered field. A Welsh field.

    Submission 2 - TheTrueGreek:
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    "My, your looking good today" Roy said

    "aye, this fabric my wife made is supposedly special, ye know" Conner replied

    "Oh, yes, the shiny tightness really exposes your great legs" Duncan said, mocking the disablility of Conners wife to get sizes right.

    "you got that right" Roy added, increasing Conners wrath.

    "Fine, but at least i dont have wifes the size of hay stacks, and mine dont stink of horse piss to." Conner said, knowing full well his wife was the most buetiful maiden in Scotland

    "Hey, me wife could out cook yours everyday, and at least we have the strength to support our massive wives, yours is as skinny as a twig." Duncan replied, fired as it was by Conners insult.

    "And me wife could wit your wife into bathing in the milk of a goat." Conner hastily replied

    "aye, but a stupid wife means an obediant one." Roy stated, defending both his wife and Duncans.

    "Well, no matter, i have a wife buetiful enough so as that i dont ravage the women i conquer, you two would take a women for your own the second you win this battle." canner said, knowing he put the two in checkmate

    "That we admit, but really, a 400 pound wife doesnt support abstaining from adultery" Duncan said, blushing slightly at his shame.

    "You win this one Conner, but we win our fair ladies after this battle." Roy said, trying to lighten the mood after the argument.

    Submission 3 - Czone:
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The men were waiting. Yes they were waiting to be slaugthered by the Turks. Or whatever those heathens are called. Johnny thought about his brother Duncan, who had killed an assassin and now was a knight. He thought about home, home sweet home, Holland. He thought of the girls. And he thought about his mother, who got killed by a French knight because she called him a tyrant. He thought about daddy, who got killed in the last battle, and he thought about the priest in the village, who said that we would burn in hell if didn't go with the crusade, but three days later he raped his sister. The Lord burned him en trowed him in the river. Then he saw the Turks, they charged right at them while they where stringing their bows. And then they screamed and turned around. Everybody was astonished. Something scared them but what? Then Johnny looked to his left:
    What the #^*@! What is that?!

    The thing answered: Oops I did it again, I got screwed, wrong era again! I wanted to go to Rome!!! $#@%@# Why can't I ever do this right?!! I hate it when I come to the wrong era and seemingly the wrong place to.

    Submission 4 - Severus Snape:
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Dear Mary,

    The king's experiment is entering it's fourth week as he attempts to discover the elixir of life. I am honored to be his test subject. Yes, that is why I am in the front line. Everyone else should die, but if this elixir is the right recipe, I should be oblivious to both sling and arrow. It's strange, but it seems that drinking this potion composed of 100% unadulterated mercury has morphed the tone and physical state of my skin. I am no longer a solid, but a liquid. The other pilgrims make fun of me, and say that I am the devil's son. I'm not sure how much more of their bullying I can handle. Even brother James has been making completely idiotic statements such as "Look at John, the big Drip!" It's not even remotely funny, it's just ridiculous. I attempted to hang myself, and I'll just say that being made of liquid is very limiting. The other pilgrims get to perform self flagellation to show their devotion to Jesus and the cause, but I can't. I don't bleed. I just cry molten Gallium.

    If somehow the Mongols do capture me and separate my particles, tell the children that their father died defending them, but tell them not what happened to me. They have enough to worry about, like not dying of plague.

    Truly,

    Martin

    P.S. Enclosed is a lock of my hair. Well, actually it's more like a lock of hair infested with bubonic carrying lice and ticks. The best of luck to you. If somehow I don't die in battle, I will probably die on the return journey.



    TotW 4 - Contest 4
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Eisengewitter (Iron Storm) by crypel

    Key words: n/a

    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    TEUTOBURGER WALD: THE TRUE STORY

    Jovinus Flatulus Pulcher was the epitome of that peculiar type, the man's-man. His voice loud, humour coarse and intellect finely honed to methods for beating men senseless and recollection of rude jokes.

    Although his presence would be caustic among the fine company surrounding Governor Varus, there was always some place in the column that appreciated his talents.

    When the turncoat Arminius brought screaming hordes of barbaric Cherusci upon the unsuspecting column, Jovinus was constantly in the midst of battle, laying about him with no regard for personal safety, felling enemies by the dozen.

    That night in the derelict fort, Jovinus alone retained his composure, making his way through two month's wine ration and his entire repertoire of bawdy songs.

    Cunning Varus had a plan to snatch victory. He would sneak a force into the forest, sally to tempt the enemy into an all-out charge, then the ambushers would fall upon the German rear. The vital signal was entrusted to Jovinus - clearly the bravest and most unflappable man in the army.

    Varus emerged with the first blood-red rays of the sun into a maelstrom of screaming barbarians. Pushing forward into the mass, swords flashed, blood ran, men fell lifeless to the ground. Amidst the chaos, Varus coolly contemplated the state of battle. Judging the moment right he ordered the signal be made.

    Jovinus, still drunk from the previous evening, decided to raise the brand with his spatha for greater visibility. But the effort of bracing his legs around his horse and trying to raise sword and brand together brought forth a mighty belch.

    Brand and belch exploded together in a yellow ball of flame and Jovinus fell stunned.

    Sadly the ambushers failed to see this unrepeatable feat, so both groups went down to an heroic but inevitable defeat.

    Entrant 2 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    This entry has been deleted from the submission thread by request.

    Entrant 3 - Zhangir
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    THE DAY THAT CHANGED THE WORLD

    Rome has had many battles fought for it. Sometimes it was saved by accidents, animals and this time it was saved by God. Maxentius has chosen to make his final stand on the bridge of Milvian. Constantine was not yet known as the Great but was already a formidable military commander. He saw the right flank of his army falling to the barbarian mercenaries Maxentius used. The proud veterans of Rome, the conquerors of the numerous people, the legionaries were pushed back. Constantine threw another cohort to fight off the ruthless barbarians, just for it to be slaughtered in vain...
    The skies were dark, and the oracle has told Maxentius to stay in Rome, while the oracle has told Constantine not to fight, yet he did. He didn't believe Pagan oracles. He felt they were not sincere and Godly. It was not just the battle to win the Throne. It was a battle of Gods to win over Constantine. He rode on and on and on into battle, not noticing how his comrades fell or the Sarmatian cavalry approaching. In the last moment before the charge of the Barbarians he saw a flash of light in the sky and a symbol. Christian symbol. He held up his sword and knew, Victory was his. The god of Christians knew Victory, in his fight against the Pagan Gods was his...

    Entrant 4 - Caradog
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Like Hares to the Golden Eagle

    The olive men. They came to our lands with great red shields. Beneath our trees. Over our fields. Through our streams.

    They came to our villages. They burnt. They hacked. They killed men like trees in a forest, falling to the ground with blood like sap oozing from their wounds to dirty the grass.

    We had attacked their homes to the south. Beautiful homes. The olive men built from stone and marble, too live a thousand years. We built from mud, too live less then their owners. But so full of Gold where those houses. Gold spilling out from chests, shining like the sun in our eye's. Their men where away. Fighting some other foe. Cowards we called them, though fools they where to leave their gold and women at our disposal. We took what we wanted. We burned what we didn't. And we returned home, to our humble homes, as Gods.

    But the olive men were not happy. They sent a man in long white robes. He spoke many languages, and spoke ours also, though terribly. He told us to give back the gold we had taken, and the heads of the men that had taken it.

    The olive men got a head. His head. We cut it off. But not before slicing his arms off first, so that he squealed like a pig before he died. And we sent it to the Olive men.

    They were not pleased.

    No more did they send men in long white robes for us to laugh at and slaughter like livestock. They sent men. Not true men. But rocks. They marched like rocks. They thought like rocks. None with true courage. They stood side by side. They followed their master. They were hard to kill. Our arrows bounced from their shields. Our warriors were cut by their swords. Our men taunted them, calling on them to fight like true warriors. But they didn't. They marched like the coming of the tide, slow but true and constant. And we were drowned. Others ran like hares to their golden eagles. And so we hid in the tree’s. But we knew, that one day the Olive men would fall. We knew the day would come for Bards to sing once more, and we would take their Gold and their Women. We would have to wait. Wait for the tide to turn.

    Entrant 5 - TheTrueGreek
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Cernnunnos watched the battle around him, his men surrounded on three fronts fought off the Romans, but were being cut down one by one.

    Servius Atilius Dives smiled as he saw his ambush that they had been preparing for months now finally act. Ordering his men to lay on their stomachs in the tall grass, he struck the last Gallic king a surprise that was sure to be his end. He saw the gathering clouds and thought to himself that the gods were surely making it so that Cernnunnos shall never escape.

    Epona watched all of this ensue from her throne in the heavens, worry showing in her face. Cernnonnus was her patron and she could not let him die, but Artauis had denied her from intervening in the battle, saying that it was his destiny to either fall or die after slaying Dives.

    Cernnonnus had seen enough of his men die, he knew they would rout if he did not act soon, saying a small prayer to Edona, he and his 15 dearest freinds and gaurdians charged into the roman line, shattering the infantry and charged into the 20 men protecting the Dives.

    How have they gotten to me? Dives thought, raising his sword to deflect a blow. In disbelief he watched his sword snap in half, and saw Cernonnus's spear and thought, how have they gotten to me?

    Entrant 6 - Legio Caesar
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Disaster at Allia
    The Gauls came on in hordes, and the Roman legions did their best to halt them. But scything Gallic blades and the shrieks of barbarian warriors infused the air with an aura of terror and hell.
    Quintus Caecilius Ahenobarbus knew that it was his fault. He had foolishly ordered the forced march through enemy territory, and the shrieking Gallic hordes now told him that it was time to pay the price.
    As the barbarian chieftains entered the fray, the legions gave way.
    Ahenobarbus knew that if his forces were defeated, the Gauls would have a clear march into Rome herself.
    The legions were breaking. He knew he had to rally them somehow, to fight to the bitter end, and to kill as many of the barbaric invaders as they could.
    Quintus Caecilius Ahenobarbus reared his horse so that his flaming red cloak and crested helm would easily be seen over the heat of combat.
    "Men! Fight o-!..."
    And then the world spiralled as Ahenobarbus toppled form his faithful steed, his side pierced by a Gallic lance.
    After the Battle
    There was panic in the city. The mighty troops of Rome had been defeated. The city garrison was too weak to defend the walls. All the citizens were advised to retreat the the fortress on the Capitoline, but some stayed. Marcus Domitius was one of them. As the Gauls pillaged his house, he sat still and motionless, like a statue. A Gaulish warrior pulled his beard.
    In fury, Marcus Domitius smashed the Gallic head with his walking-stick. In turn, the old man was slain by the other warriors in the house.
    History
    The army of Rome was crushed by the Gauls at Allia in the 390's BC, and Rome was pillaged. The anecdote of Marcus Domitius is true except for his name!

    Entrant 7 - mollsomg
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Blinded by the light.

    I could barely keep balance on my mount.
    The light seemed to burn into my head, twisting everything.

    Roman shouts beside me, the grunting hairy animals in front.
    Why was I so close to the enemy line?

    Take a look around.
    Blurred legionaries scattered and confused.
    Roman battle line discipline did not seem to exist around here,
    -around their commander, around ME.

    Remembering the last evening at my house with Olivia.
    With pleading eyes she had said:
    “Don’t go north, sweetums! There the gods have an ill-tempered and lunatic artistic mind!”

    I had laughed:
    “If anything like this existed, every man in greece must be a walking god, Ha!
    But the greeks – are deadish now. Ha!” ,- throwing the empty wine flagon at my meowing cat.

    The battle roar came to my ears again.
    I looked at the sky and its clouds.

    They exploded with fire again and again, a never ending process of destruction and unification,
    painted with red, ochre, orange, yellow, meow, I felt sorry for the cat...

    A work of mad artists, but it was fascinating, beautiful.
    And it matched the colour of the torch’s fire I carried with the left hand.
    Why was I carrying a torch?

    Arggh!
    The light again, brighter than before!

    Lucius come here. Join us.
    Bring us your light!

    What was that?! The sound of the heavens??

    Lucius bring us your light!
    Join us!


    -
    Behind this field of barbarians lay the sky, where the gods pleaded me to come to!
    I gazed at the aflame torch and put spurs to my horse.

    I remembered the rumors about greek runners once crossing all lands with a torch in hand.
    Who cared?
    My horse flew over the hordes of germans towards the horizon…

    Entrant 8 - Nakharar
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    This entry has been deleted from the submissions thread because the entrant was disqualified from the contest.



    TotW 5 - Contest 5
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The image for this contest was entitled Gaza Tea Party and was by Aldgarkalaughskel. Unfortunately, the link to the image no longer works

    Key words: n/a

    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Gaza Coffee-House Parting

    Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah sat outside his establishment, head hung low with an air of despondency. At intervals he addressed passers-by in desultory fashion on the quality of his services, with no success. Gaza was a small town and his girls, no beauties, were now known and loathed by his whole clientčle.

    After a particularly rude brush-off, Hakim stood up in disgust and walked right out of town into the wilderness. After hours of circular thoughts about his problems he happened to look down and saw something glint.

    Carefully clearing the rubble away, Hakim found that he had discovered an old battered oil lamp. Suddenly excited at this exemplar of childhood stories he gave it a good hard polish with a corner of his robe.

    With a blaze of sparks and a cloud of acrid smoke the Djinn appeared (coughing). Hakim, fearful of being tricked, blurted out “I wish my girls were irresistible to men!”

    The Djinn, nonplussed, abandoned his prepared speech and disappeared back into the lamp, the words “You got it bub” echoing in the rapidly dispersing cloud as he departed.

    Hakim ran back to Gaza. A large queue of foreigners had already formed outside his premises. He noticed that they looked angry and carried much weaponry, so he ran down the line shouting loudly that this was Happy Hour and all prices were halved.

    All proceeded well through the rest of the afternoon as Hakim’s purse grew ever heavier, but the queue was growing faster than customers could be satisfied and soon circled the whole town.

    In the distance, Hakim saw a large contingent of Poles start a fracas with the Germans ahead of them. But then they seemed to come to an agreement and both groups turned as one and made straight for town.

    Seeing the writing on the wall, Hakim made a run for it. The last thing he saw as he raised the sail of his skiff was the pillar of smoke as Gaza was sacked.

    Entrant 2 - Legio Caesar
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Kingdom of Heaven
    The crusading lords had gathered in the East. The barbaric infidel had ran in the face of superior force and strength. From every European nation came a force accompanied by a prince, lord, or king. Each clamored to be the first on the walls, the first to flood through the breach of the shattered walls, to overwhelm the heavily outnumbered garrison.
    The quarrel was initiated by Ludwig of Bavaria. He wanted to be through teh breaches in the walls first. He argued that his country had deserved it.
    The Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of Sicily had sent the most troops. Surely it was they that deserved to purge the Holy Land?
    But the Polish Crown Prince had come the farthest way. They had shown the most crusading zeal en route.
    The Venetians had paid for most of the journey, and also provided the other armies with provisions.
    Among with dozens of other squabbling lords.
    The prevailing question was :Who should lead?
    With the fighting that broke out between all the other crusaders, the attack faltered. The siege machines were left in utter disrepair. The frequent sallies by the garrison wreaked havoc on supplies and morale.
    Eventually the crusade fragmented, each army going its own way. The Poles went back north, and their Crown Prince was spotted with a siege train near Hansa.
    The Venetians sailed back to Venice, and then to Constantinople, sacking it.
    The greatest infamy in Christendom was committed. And all because of an arrogant German prince.

    Entrant 3 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    This entry was deleted from the submissions thread by request.

    Entrant 4 - zznɟ ǝɥʇ
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Letter to the Pope, April 1243
    Your Eminence,

    How are you? It's been a while since we played ball together. We should call the guys and try to get a game started sometime.

    I'm writing to you from inside a mosque in the city of Gaza...yes, that Gaza. You know, the one you ordered all of Christendom to raze to the ground. What gives? It it cause I hooked up with Amanda? You know that wasn't me, it was the booze. And it was like twenty years ago. You've got to move on, bud.

    As should be apparent, I'm a bit worried about your well-being. You've changed, man. Where's the carefree guy I knew back in college? Where's the guy that used to shotgun a beer in under a second? When did you hang up the toga for a big, silly hat? And where'd all these cultist followers come from, anyway? Those guys are bat**** insane. Completely bonkers.

    So I'm looking out over the walls of the city, you know, looking at your cultists, and I gotta say, it's not a fair fight. I've got a few units of 'mercenary levy spearmen.' Do you know what they do? Neither do I. But with a name as generic as that, I'm willing to bet they suck. Not to mention the numbers involved--you'd think Gaza was hosting the World Cup! Public service announcement to religious nuts: you're at the wrong end of Africa, and a year or two early.

    Look--we can work this out. Give me a call, tell your weird followers to go home, and let's chat. There's the big 25 year reunion in a few weeks. I'll be there, I trust I will see you there as well? First round is on me!

    With sincerity,

    Imam Kareem Abdul Jabbar

    Last edited by Caillagh de Bodemloze; April 20, 2017 at 11:01 AM. Reason: Added TotW 4 and TotW 5

  3. #3
    wowbanger's Avatar Decanus
    Join Date
    Mar 2010
    Location
    Wreocensćte
    Posts
    593

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 6 - Bowling for Palpatine
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Revenge of the Sith

    The Dark Modder sat brooding over his monitor, his face in the gloom
    showing an enigmatic expression as he glanced at the clock.

    Once he had been happy, the burning light of his genius illuminating the
    inner workings of the flawed gem that the Chitinous Amalgam had created.
    He had tested, and tweaked and slowly found ways to improve it until it
    became a respectable opponent for the baying fans.

    And then at the height of his fame, the acclamation of his followers ringing
    in his ears, he had offered his towering skills to the pathetic Cretinous
    Autarchy ... and the craven fools had rejected him!

    Stunned at their folly, he considered moving on. But then he realised that
    simple Justice demanded there be a reckoning. So he threw himself anew
    into modding. He found bugs in the program that enabled him to inject new
    code, and his subtle algorithms grew so powerful that even on-line players
    were drawn into his thrall.

    And so now the hour was upon them. He watched the machine intently,
    fingers wrapped tightly around the emergency cut-out as the final minute
    rolled over – 11:11pm November 11th. At first nothing seemed to happen, but
    then there was a low rumble, it became louder, and the ground on the
    screen began to shake, soon the little A.I. figures were literally thrown into
    the air as the sound became a scream and a light brightened in the sky. An
    ironic mushroom cloud could be seen growing on the horizon until the light
    drowned it out.

    The PC itself now began making an alarming grating noise and a curl of acrid
    smoke emerged from the case. The Dark Modder threw his switch and the
    machine fell silent.

    Striding to the window, he threw back the curtains in triumph and looked
    out over the city as one by one the lights started going out.


    Entrant 1 - Desperado †
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Death

    The troops had gathered, upon the Archbishop’s command. Word had it that Death itself strode the land, with a long black cloak. Though be it legend or true, at least thirty people had been killed and a village razed to the ground.

    Jacob, or Sir Jacob to precise, was sceptical on the situation. He had no time of the paranormal, and was a busy enough man as it was. A grizzled veteran as he was he knew that there was nothing to be feared but King and Church. But petty bandits these men must be.

    And so, the party of Knights rode into the valley where Death was rumoured to be. It was surprising that the men truly where all Knights, though Jacob knew most had been but Knighted this month and he was the only true man in the group. The rest had fine armour and good sword hands, but none he knew would stand for long in a true battle.

    Not that he expected one of course. Just a quick chop up of bandits, ride after them and cut as many as they could down and be back at the castle before nightfall.

    But things did not go to plan.

    First, the horses halted. They neighed and stopped, all in a line. None would go further into the valley. They shook their heads and neighed and whined. One man whipped his horse till it bled and it’s fine white coat trickled with blood. But nay, the men would have to go on upon foot.

    After about half an hour walking in silence with but the clinking of their armour in the empty valley, they saw him. Like a lightning bolt Death flew towards them. They raised their swords, which were suddenly weightless. And then there was darkness.


    Entrant 2 - Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Confusion
    The TIE Fighter spiralled away from the Death Star. As it whirled farther and farther away, it became apparent to him that he was going to a new region of the galaxy. Even his radar map was whizzing uncomfortably and there was a serious fluctuation in the Force. It was not a disturbance. The Force just...disappeared. It slowed its appearance slowly at first, and then it disappeared. All was black....
    ****
    "Ey! Pantagruel! Lookit what I found!"
    "Oi, stow it, Epistemon! You cuckold you, I will not look for four-leafed clovers with you again!"
    ****
    Light slowly came back through the mask. He could see the sun, but not the stars. Funny. He had pressed the button on Alderaan. What nonsense ws this?
    Sudden panic seized in. He was on Endor! He had been captured by the rebels!
    A slight pain in his side. His head lolled to his left. A weird creature, with red and yellow markings on his CR2-BOX space suit. His light saber looked rather odd as well, the glow was more dull than any he had seen before.

    In the bat of an eyelid, Darth Vader was on his feet.

    ****
    "Pantagruel! Help!"
    "Oh be quiet, we are not scared of a beaver like you were last time. Man up!"
    "Pantagruel! Really! It's moving!"
    Pantagruel grumbled something about beavers and muskrats, and turned around fro a split second. Then blackness enveloped him.
    Epistemon tried to run, screaming about witches and sluring his Pater Nosters in vain hope. But the figure cloaked in black was much too powerful.
    ****
    Darth Vader flicked his lightsaber off with a casual gesture. It was time to get back home.


    Entrant 3 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Strike!


    "...and finally, men, God is on our side!" Wailed the duke at his troops. The morning was blinding as it gleamed off the polished armor and sharpened spears. The battles lines were forming. This would be a blood bath....

    Faintly, ever so faintly in the distance, coming from the enemy's lines, a deep, guttural noise could be heard...

    "...What...what is that..?" An enlisted man asked of his sergeant.

    "I know not," replied William.

    The noise was growing in strength, and it's baritone resonance echoed through the trees.

    Peter, by now shaking in his armor, inquired more assertively of his superior,"What the bloody 'ell was that?"

    Again, the roar then pause...the roar then pause...the hideous, sickening noise, like that of an Independent wind moving through the cold throat of a corpse, producing a cold, deathly rumble.

    As the sound became more distinct, it was clear that the sound was that of..breathing..

    The Duke's gaze wandered across the field. A dim haze, almost a weak shadow, was barely visible over the horizon, but seemed to be manifesting itself more clearly with the slow passing of every second.

    Peter held his breath, he too had seen the dark apparition appearing over the horizon, silhouetted against the crimson hills at the figure's back.

    "Mother of Jesus" were the only words that could escape his grief-stricken face.

    All the while the rumble was becoming louder and finer, it was definitely the sound of breath, but amplified and diabolic in nature. Slowly, the creature removed a globe from it's belt, a globe of pure evil, thought Peter.

    The duke's final words to his troops "God is on our side" echoed in Peter's head. he thought to himself, 'IF God is on our side, than Lucifer must be on theirs...and I see him now.'

    The dark figure had drawn the globe behind his head and proceeded to launch the missile. Rolling on the ground, the globe crashed over tree and grass, leaving a swathe in it's wake. The globe was heading right for Peter.

    The men had barely any time to react, and the group joined voices in one, terrified chorus before the ball made contact, smashing into them and sending the group flying through the air, dead by the impact.

    The rest of the army fled in horror...


    Entrant 4 - TheTrueGreek
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Knights of Dissent

    Henry tried not to think of the past, he tried, but failed. The years of peace and tranquility, farming and pleasure. now, he has to be enslaved. this suit, so hot, why can't this suit come off. why did George have to rebel? Was he just unhappy with is life, well, he doesn't have a life anymore. Vador made sure of that, but im sure a few of his particles are left.

    Henry landed with a thunk.
    "Why are you not dead?" Vador asked.
    Henry laid there.
    "I sense the life in you. Speak or Die."
    Henry laid there.
    He felt the grip, the death coming to find him, he closed his eyes and thought of his wife, then felt nothing.

    "It is done" Vader said, the Emporers hologram appearing in front if him.
    "Good, now this rebel scum has been wiped out, i have work for you to do.

    Henry awoke, bruised and battered. He left me alive, then he looked to the ground around him, all his friends lying there, dead. Henry began the trek back home, to find his wife. he didn't see the laser, he didn't feel it either. Henry became nothing, fading into oblivion, to live eternally with his wife.



    TotW 7 - Ye entrants beware!
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Theseus1234
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Foreign



    I...I do not know how to describe the feelings that I am experiencing right now. It's like nothing I have ever felt, the sensation of inevitable death. I had only felt like this once before, yesterday, or at least what I thought was yesterday. I was standing above these very gates with fireballs of death in hand, facing the thousands upon thousands of Europeans, only this time the men from Europe were preparing to kill me just as I prepared to kill them. The sun had shied behind the mountains when the enemy approached with ladders and rams. The notion of death came when men wielding halberds scaled the walls. I lit one of my black balls and threw it with all my strength at the base of the ladders. What happened after, I cannot tell, but my ears are ringing with the sound of a large explosion of fury, and the wailing of men who had tried to breach, a job well done. However, my feeling of satisfaction was cut short when a ladder clanged against the parapet in front of me. A white man appeared and he shouted some European words. Like I did then in the night, I try to sound out the words he bellowed as the rough rope scrapes against my neck. Na...Naff…Nafata?…Naffatun! Those words sound so… foreign. The mere taste of them makes me sick, but I can do nothing about it now, just as I did nothing then. The last thing I remembered was the flat of the pole arm smashing against my face, just like the last thing I’ll remember now is falling down, with the rope arresting my descent in front of the gates I tried to valiantly defend.


    Entrant 1 - Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A Failed Revolution- Worms 1521

    It was September the Twenty-Ninth, in the year of our lord 1521. The wind rustled in the trees listlessly, as if it too was tired of living. Cardinal Cajetan gazed upon the courtyard with a strange feeling of calm. Even though the people of Worms were close to rebelling, the Papal-sanctioned assembly solemnly filed through the courtyard without batting an eyelid. Some glanced at the corpses hanging just out of reach of the peasants and their sticks, others chatted amiably about the journey back to their respective homes.
    Meanwhile the shouting grew louder.
    "We want Luther! We want Luther! Luther was a holy man!"
    Glancing at the faces of the peasants, Cajetan felt a rising disgust for this unruly rabble. What had made Pope Leo* allow this meeting to happen right in the territory of the German Emperor?
    "Aleander**!" Cajetan barked, turning his head slightly to catch his diplomat and friend come through the door.
    "At your service." Aleander humbly cast his gaze down, holding his right hand over his heart.
    "What are we supposed to do with this?" When he said the word 'this', he waved a hand heavy with signet rings at the courtyard below. "The German Emperor has no real control over the people! What to do with them?!"
    "The same thing we did before, Cardinal." Aleander purred. "Call forth the guards the Pope so graciously sent us. They kept back the people when we had to burn the heretical literature."
    Cajetan's mind travelled back to that day. Piles of books were everywhere, and for every page of erroneous thinking there had seemed to be ten illiterate peasants. The Papal guards fired their crossbow bolts into the crowd, not aiming but wishing to frighten the mob.
    "Yes." Cajetan's mind was set. "Call forth the crossbowmen and the Swiss mercenaries. Close every gate and lower the portcullisses."
    For the sound of hooves was approaching. Leading a body of knights was Duke Frederick of Lotharingia.
    Cajetan cursed. The rebellion had officially begun.
    And all because of that one man - Martin Luther.


    Entrant 2 - Desperado †
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Stink of Death




    John had been standing there in the sun for hours. He was sweating beneath his cuirass, and the shaft of his hallberd which had been newly replaced was still riggid and put splinters into his hands.

    But neither the unberarable heat and the huge desire to leave down the road for a quick cool drink down in the Lion's head or the unbearable rougness of his hallberd or the weight of his armour was what made Jack so uncomfortable.

    What made him so unneasy, almost sick, was the terrible stink. The smell of rotting flesh being slowly cooked in the boilling sun. It made his stomach's turn inward.

    Before Jack, upon a hemp rope, hung a barbar pirate. Opposite that was another one, upon the far side of which was the deaf guard Richard. He had been there at the hanging, as had many of the city people. He had watched the stools being kicked away, and the poor men drop, the rope tightening around their necks as the breath was stolen from their body's. He had watched the eye's begin to bulge, and the men squirm and struggle for at least ten minutes, though it had seemed like an hour. The crowd had cheered. Eventually, the squirming stopped, and the crowds slowly trickled away until it was but a few chilldren tthrowing stones at the corpse. He had shouted them away, then stood riggid at attention trying to divert his thoughts away from the body.

    It had kep twitching for at least an hour, the foot jerking now and again. Sometimes a trickle of urine would pass out down the side of the man's leggings and fall into a tinking puddle on the cobbled floor*. It was unbearable. The stink of death.


    Entrant 3 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    God Wills It

    It was God's will. Such a fate awaits all the followers of the false one that deny Jesus. They must be purged, this land must be made holy.

    I stood guard over the men. Their tongues hanging out like sick dogs, their eyes twisted into an unhuman glare. Bloodshot and swollen. Men with wives, men with children, with livelihoods. Reduced to morbid wall ornaments.

    But why? Why should these men be killed? Because their God is different from our own? What kind of hypocrites are we?

    Does Christ not command us to love our enemies? The only difference between these men and us are religious beliefs. This does not justify killing them. So as I stand here I offer prayers to God to guide their souls into his keeping.

    As Christians, how can we be so blinded by our leaders that we close a central gate in the city to make a statement of hate. This cannot be God's will. This is but one example of the injustices done by our people to theirs. They should be welcomed into the congregation and aided. After all, we are not the majority here, and we cannot be expected to rule these people unless we adhere to Christ's true teachings. Too long have our leaders corrupted doctrine, bending it to their own will. Money, Land and Wealth has become their trinity.

    At times like these discipline is needed. We must come to recognize these selfish forces at work and oppose them. Christ be our light to illuminate the path of righteousness.


    Entrant 4 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Final Doom

    B. J. Blaskowicz was tired. He had been fighting for his life in these
    subterranean corridors for what seemed like years now.

    Except for his trusty shotgun, gleaming a dangerous gunmetal grey, and
    the other weapons slung from his tall rangy frame, Blaskowicz resembled
    an ancient Egyptian Mummy. He had sustained so many wounds fighting
    the Hellspawn that his entire body was covered with bandages from the
    many med-packs discovered in his travels. His skin was a pincushion from
    the hundreds of self-administered injections and his body fluids seeping
    from these welded his bandages into a single soggy mass.

    Evading a particularly enthusiastic Revenant, Blaskowicz ran into yet another
    tiny courtyard, the sky beckoning, but just out of reach as usual. Two of his
    UAC comrades hung from a battlement, but he was inured to such sights now.

    Ignoring the two decorative figures either side of the gateway, he
    searched desperately for the switch that he knew would open the gate.
    But sadly the decorative figures had been mis-identified, and Blaskowicz
    barely had time to wonder whether the chain-gun or the plasma-rifle was
    most suitable for the task when the sweep of a halberd hacked off his head



    TotW 8 - Untitled Picture
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - mollsomg
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The mist

    "Friiii"

    The whistle sounded again.
    The hand holding my armour in the back urged me forward.
    I pushed my comrade in front of me to let the row advance.
    The shields were pressed to our left sides, for we knew that they would come soon.
    Accompanied by a terrifying, thundering squeal that sounded as if Hades spoke to us mortals,
    they returned from the mist in the front,
    stumbling through the gaps of our rows, crashing with the shields and shoulders to the left and the right,

    with fear in their eyes, falling behind, safe.

    Metal crushed with bones and flesh in between, I could hear latin screams supressed by the loud squeal again.
    My comrade in front of me moved backwards, my right hand struggled to keep him at distance.

    The mist was clearing slowly –
    I saw the red flashing feathers of the Centurio few meters away, holding his head high.
    A huge black shadow moved out of the mist, and with the ground shaking by it’s trampling I realised that this was the incarnation of fear.

    A grey head with long, white, curved spears became visible, and I could hear it’s coughing, a deep rumbling sound. Slowly the massive thing rolled towards my row.

    The wrath of gods! I had to escape!

    I glanced at a legionarie’s silhoutte trying to turn from the front, stumbling and falling.
    A giant member from the fear became visible and stepped on the man’s back with cruel slowliness, bending his body and gently squelching his bones.

    The aweful sound was soaked up by the returning mist, covering the fear and the front.
    Those behind me did not see, did not know!

    I was held tight at my back, rows to the left and the right.
    Roman discipline, no way out…

    “Friiii”


    Entrant 1 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Elephant Bait

    We marched in perfect formation, we proud, we few, we hastati. As my booted foot slid deep into the steaming pile of elephant excrement, I realized we were to be the bait to draw them out. As the distant trumpeting of elephants grew increasingly loud, I felt my bladder release sending an itching, warm sensation down my legs, and bringing a red hue to my cheeks.

    The world went silent as the elephants smashed into the first ranks, and in a flash, lives were immediately ended in a flurry of crimson. Some men were able to dodge the tusks and plunge their gladii into the beasts, often lost in the folds of fat flash. Others were not so lucky and were thrown into the air like toys.

    Panic ran rampant through the ranks and the line would have broken had we not heard the rumble of another unit coming from the flank, spearmen, coming in to take the beasts down from the unprotected flank. The day had been saved, and always at the expense of the plebs.


    Entrant 2 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Price of Honour

    Barnabus was not a patient man, and after just a few minutes in the line he
    was unable to contain himself any longer.

    “What in the name of the Gods are we doing here?”

    Luckily his buddy Sextus had been paying attention during the briefing and
    was able to give a synopsis.

    “Well, it's like this. You know the Great Scipio insists we should have
    elephants, so the barbarian scum can't boast about them any more. Trouble
    is, the damned things are so delicate they keep getting sick. Anyway, this
    time the stupid beast was given the wrong type of flowers in its feed or
    something and had a fit of sneezing.”

    “So? It aint sneezing now.”

    “No, it stopped when it sat on our Legionary Eagle.”

    “Ah... ", there was an embarrassed pause, "so we're here to get it out?"

    “Yup.”

    Time passed, and soon Barnabus reached the head of the queue. His
    comrades had all been unable to retrieve the Eagle, either through
    shortness of arm or delicacy of stomach (some were still heaving weakly
    beside the queue).

    Barnabus, true to his nature, decided to take the direct approach and, with
    a single fluid motion, thrust his gladius deep into the rectum of the elephant.

    “Got it!” he exclaimed feeling the solid contact of sword point against wood.

    Clearly the elephant must have felt something too, because it gave an
    ear-splitting howl and promptly sat down.

    Sadly Barnabus, intent on winkling out the Eagle, wasn't paying attention
    again and failed to get out of the way in time.


    Entrant 3 - Yojimbo
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Deed is Done



    Asard cursed as his victim gurgled quietly, the hungry blade biting into his flesh. He’d let his eagerness get the better of himself again and as his victims friends drew their swords he knew he could not win. Parrying a wild thrust. he violently kicked the man in the groin not wanting to waste any time with fancy fencing. As the man screeched and collapsed into a writhing heap, Asard ran for the elephant that was marching towards the unit, before the archers behind the elephant blotted out the sun with their shafts Asard realised he was a target, franticly he ripped off his armour and waved his hands screaming to the commander who he was. The white robed man looked down and his gaze alighted on Asard’s face and nodded to him slightly. The man then raised his arm and the singing of bow strings stopped, even if the screams and groans of Asard’s former colleagues did not, as they cried like children their guts impaled with arrows of the finest iron. Asard scrambled up the elephants armour and joined the white robed man as the top. “The….deed is done” he said breathless, for the first time realising an arrow had glanced him in the shoulder and he was bleeding. The man said a few words to the mahout and the mighty beast charged forward in a surprising burst of speed. Asard looked down eagerly as the elephant began to crush the men, some fell under its feet and Asard could hear the wet crack of their spines breaking. Asard grinned at the noise and knew his part had been played and it was only a matter of time till they triumphed. As the elephant gored men, tossing them like rag dolls, Asard laughed.


    Entrant 4 - Theseus1234
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Leviathan


    Despite the weakness of my weapons and courage, I held fast. My comrades-in-arms who had not seen the beast before started slowly, but surely, shuffling backwards. I reassured those who would listen that the first ranks of infantry would absorb the blow, and it was up to us to bring down the brute. Some of the soldiers moved back into line, whether from the thought of glory or the thought of responsibility, I do not know. As the behemoths moved closer, I realized that these were not the small, forest beasts I fought in Africa, but full-grown leviathans, clad in plate armor and mounted by archers. My own will started to erode, but I knew that the downfall of this beast would be our job. The moment came, and the beasts collided with our first ranks. Spears, swords, and arrows all bounced off the iron hides and appeared as though the animal was unstoppable. I immediately rolled out of the way as the thundering hooves charged past me. One thing I grasped was that while the monster was strong, it was as slow as a siege tower. Realizing this, I jumped onto the scales of the armor, and began to climb. The other Romans must have seen me, for they too started to scale the sides. My gripped tightened as the animal started to buck, but I still climbed. As we began to reach the top, the archers spotted us, and rained arrows down the sides. Arrows flew overhead as they attempted to strike us without harming their mount. Taking out my sword, I leaped to the top platform, where several Carthaginians were fighting off my men. One turned and looked straight at me, but was unable to stop my sword from plunging into the base of the elephant’s skull.


    Entrant 5 - Ozy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Dragons.

    I feel the land shaking…
    The beast attacked from my side, emerging from the morning mist. Its horns are ten times longer than those of bulls; its legs wider than fifty cypress trees. Metal scales cover its shivering skin, and a red crest raises above its head, red like the blood of the men it smashed, craking bones, turning us apart like ants. And then the snake appears, revealing herself from underneath, crying horrific shrill and loud sounds, a thousand trumpets brought from the end of the World! Its eyes are small, darker than a cloudy moonless night, eyes only comparable to those of their riders. Demons they were! The dragon's lords, their masters of destruction, soulless damned creatures condemned to ride those beasts for eternity. Their armor is silver white, and their crests of feathers rise high on the sky. Their missiles fly and kill everyone they touch, deadly thunders they are!
    Which evil deity would have created such things?! Such abominations! Not our gods for sure!
    And I wonder what we have done to deserve this curse. I wonder in what horrible way we have offended the gods, so that they abandoned us like this, to these creatures of oblivion, and their lord, this “Hanniba’al”.
    I feel despair now, I am confused. I want to run, but my legs won’t obey. My chest hurts, there’s steel trough me. The monster approaches, I can feel it. I can smell it and the wastes on it! Then I see its snake’s and hear it cry. “Not again!” I yell and cry, “Stop that cursed sound!” but it continues. I see the dragon now, rising its legs, and then moving them down on me….
    My eyes are wide open now, with tears, for now I know the true meaning of fear…


    Entrant 6 - Desperado †
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Screaming


    The screams. The screams as men fell to the floor, trampled beneath the massive feat of the beasts, their lungs crushed as their ribcages break beneath the weight, their guts forced out of their skin to cover the earth in a sickly, slimy, gory red.

    Some fly upwards from a flick of the trunk, to land on their winded and broken backs, only to be trampled beneath the feet of their own troops as they shuffle forwards.

    Sometimes, the beast, driven mad by the driver constantly whipping its thick leathery grey skin bleeding red, to roar, and rear its head downwards and charge, trampling all beneath, spearing screaming men on its tusks, piercing their armour as they are skewered like animals upon the spit, their blood and guts streaming down the white ivory.

    Yet still, the beast was tired. The constant stabbings of the men, their screams and their jabs as they tried to pierce through the leathery skin. It enraged him, made him charge and roar and swing its trunk, yet there where always more of them. Always more. Every time it charged, it was slower, its legs streaming with blood as it crunched the dead bones. Where was its lands? The sweet free lands? Far away, over the sea. In that lush green forest. With mother, beneath the shady trees, drinking from the waterpool. Those days where gone. Taken from him that day his mother had fallen, her tusks taken, the day he had been chained around the ankles so that they burned in pain.

    Now those ankles burnt more. The men jabbed at the sore skin, sore from years of imprisonment. And all he could do was roar, and swing, and kill. The screaming. How it haunted mens souls, but also that of their killer. The screaming.


    Entrant 7 - Philos Sophos
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Story of Epic Fail

    The Beast was closing in...the men were terrified to see such thing coming close to them.It just kept coming closer...and closer...and closer...

    Marcus thought what to do...if he would run away,he would be thrown out from the legions and his honour would be destroyed...but if he would stay to attack the beast with the weaponry they had,it would be a massacre.He thought a while until he had made his decision-but it was too late.The beast was already there and slaughtering began.The screams of the men as they were crushed were horryfying and panic started to spread.The men were running on all sides,but they were far from being safe.The enemy was waiting for them.The legionaries didn't know what to do,and they too were dead from the huge legs that the beast had.

    After a few hours,all that was left was blood and the bodies of the men that were killed by that huge beast...This day shall never be forgotten as an example of bad leadership...


    Entrant 8 - Astaroth
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Fighting One's Destiny

    You could smell their fear, cold as steal, dark like a shadow, an ancient beast. A smell of rust and exhaustion, of blood and tears, rising up to the heavens. To the rotten temples up in the skies, where the Gods, as old as the very fundaments of the world, are sitting. Sitting and laughing maniacally at the fools. The fools dying, dying on the fields, day and night.
    When the first row broke, the world collapsed. As blood was spraying over the fields like a beautiful fountain, the cruel lords of heaven were screaming with laughter.
    You could hear the young skulls being crushed, the painful screams of the dying.
    Young men, barely arrived in the world, screaming for fathers and mothers, wives and children.
    Without mercy, the old beast was mowing through the rows, like a scythe through the ripe grain.
    Like a knife through butter, crushing man-made armor, destroying god-made bone. As man perished on the fields, the beautiful sunlight colored the scenery in shades of orange and red. Nature knows no mercy, the sun never covers her face, she doesn't cry for the dead.
    And when the sun reached its highest point, you could see the souls, like little clouds, nothing more than pieces of mist, rising up, high and higher, vanishing in the nowhere. While the bodies were passing away, reduced to a mass of blood and bones, the spirits escaped, flying, floating towards a new, a fresh future.
    At the end of the day, a battle had been won. But no matter how much man fights, kills or tortures, his destiny cannot be changed, death cannot be fooled. That's why the Gods, the ancient Lords up in the skies, keep on laughing, laughing until the end of days.



    TotW 9 - The Crusaders Have Arrived
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Like a Thief in the Night

    The three Hashshashin ran across the dunes with fluid grace, black robes
    concealing everything except their very existence, with even that easily
    doubted by any but the most pious and fanatical of observers.

    The Templar Lord had barely ceased to gurgle away the last of his life's
    blood yet the three were already almost out of sight of castle and pursuers.

    One, who had paused to sweep the horizon with a small spyglass, put on an
    amazing burst of speed to catch up with the others.

    Pushing back her cowl, Azzah (the Gazelle) gave her report.

    “They have no horses and there is a small dust storm coming this way, so
    we will be able to lose them easily”

    Ra'idah the leader shook her head.

    “They will have sent messengers, no doubt cavalry will soon be found to
    ride us down. We shall keep to the plan”.

    Reaching their hidden cache, they donned the clothing there and waited for
    the storm. Fedheela (the most widely read) checked each outfit to ensure
    it was correctly arranged according to custom.

    ***

    The dust cleared suddenly, revealing the calm shore through shafts of
    brilliant sunlight. The Templar guards came to a ragged halt and looked
    around in dull bewilderment.

    Gunther the Lame called his men to attention.

    “They must have had a boat waiting, there's no point looking around here,
    we're going back!”

    As the grumbling men-at-arms turned to go, Gunther couldn't help noticing
    that three nearby soldiers in red and ochre surcoats seemed strangely
    attractive. Shaking his head to banish the sacrilegious thoughts, he
    resolved to scourge himself for twice the usual time in his cell that evening.

    Retracing their steps, the Templar Guards trudged clumsily off into the
    distance... except for three in red and ochre who moved with fluid grace.


    Entrant 1 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Changing Sands of Time

    Leather connected with sand, and flesh was caressed by metal as the crusaders disembarked from the leaking wooden galleys.

    The midday sun shone benevolently upon the soldiers of God as they leapt proudly into the surf. The banners played in the breeze. Young faces smiled under their steel visors. Clouds rolled lazily across the sky and gulls called in the distance.

    This was to be the last day any of them smiled. For what lay ahead would be worse than any hell these men could imagine God had in store for them in the afterlife.

    Within weeks the water had run out. Lips cracked and skin dried. Many young crusaders were left dead and uncared for on the cruel, churning desert face. Their bodies were stripped of any valuables by wandering desert inhabitants, and the bodies picked clean by birds of prey and jackals. Those unlucky enough to survive were haunted with the memories of watching the vultures pick the eyes off their comrades in their eternal quest for sustenance.

    Battle came and the soldiers of the Lord were blooded by the indigenous peoples in a long range display of superiority. For the most part, the arrows glinted harmlessly to the ground, clinking off the heavy armor that had so harried them in the desert. Those unlucky enough to be wearing ill fitted of cheaply constructed armor were struck down and left bleeding on the sand. Plumage of the arrow perched at the highest point as the arrowheads gorged themselves in the European necks.

    At the end of the day, an oasis might be spotted. en would rush the island of green in a search for water, and most would be satisfied. Perhaps even a hare or two would be captured. For some of them it would be their last meal. A source of water is not appealing to men alone. Serpents and all sorts of unfriendly desert creatures called the oasis home and many were sent sobbing to the gates of their God with two neat fang marks located on the flashy part of the calf.

    Such is the lamentable life of a crusader.


    Entrant 2 - Theseus1234
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Purpose
    Jacques walked patiently in the first rank of the column. It had been a trying night, and not much sleep was to be had in the entire the camp. During the evening supper, the Englishmen had jested about the French, trying to provoke their former enemy into a friendly fight, but the gravity of the upcoming confrontation was just too much to bear. Now he was marching, swearing silently to himself every time his armored shoes became trapped in the billowing sand or when the whip of the wind snapped through his visor and scarred his eyes. However, his determination and willpower kept him from stealing away in the night. Jacques noticed that their numbers had dwindled as soon as they stepped foot in the Godforsaken desert and that even the night watchmen were starting to disappear as soon as the dark curtain blanketed the sky. As the days tolled on, they were raided by their own deserters, lacking supplies to survive outside in the unforgiving sands. But Jacques would never desert, no, for Jacques was a religious soldier to the core, and would give his own heart to save just the name of God if necessary, which is why he willingly entered the crusading campaign. Even now, he could sense that the two most formidable religions would crash together for their God. Heathen Saracens holed up in the sacred city, while Frenchmen, Englishmen, and Germans marched determinedly into position across the barren, cracked landscape that their Redeemer had lived and died in. Swords were unsheathed and shields readied as mighty flaming stones were hailed upon the City of Christ.


    Entrant 3 - Sun Zaraki
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Price of Faith
    There were ten thousand of us here today, just a fraction of what Richard intended to bring, but today we were here with Guy. The swine, he caused our slaughter at Hattin, but still, he was King of Jerusalem, appointed by God. We had joined under "The name of God, Jesus and the Holy Sepulchre," but a few of us had learnt the truth; that the lords of Europe flocked to this place for its richness, not for "faith" or "enlightenment."
    The seemingly endless desert stretched for a mile or so before reaching Acre's walls. The hot, golden sun shimmering off the specs of sand, and then glinting off our armour. The pure, blue sea extended miles into the distance, the salty smell lingering in my nostrils. The city of Acre still held fast, we had been here for only three months, but the citizens showed no sign of weakening yet. We saw them from time to time, creaking open their gates slightly to empty their waste out. They couldnt dump it in the sea as they had been blockaded, but they also couldnt dump it in the shore for it would stay in the city, we reckoned. But, recently, they've been using their catapults to launch it at us. The stink was unbearable, is unbearable! The gates havent opened since, not once, not a little dog had come out searching for scraps.
    The flags, once waving, have begun to drop now, as the horns bellowed out. The Accursed Tower lay ahead of us, and we had been charged to lay an attack on it, by demand of "King" Guy himself.
    "Soldiers! Forward!"
    The horns blew and we began to move slowly at first, increasing to a jog, then sprinting, bounding our way to this massive tower. We cried to our God. I, in front, prayed quietly inside my helmet, noticing the movement on the walls surrounding The Tower. I looked back and saw only about 500 of us had charged.
    "Ferenghi! Allah!"
    The captain of the Saracens cried, and his troops cried also. The beating in my chest grew uncontrollable, the sweat unbearable. Our horns sounded again and we ran faster. Faster and faster. The arrows shot into the sky. Punding into the metal neext to me, i was one of few he kept running. Of the original attackers, more than 200 lay dead behiind us. The captain cried agai, his troops answering, and as the arrows flew into the sky, whistling at our doom, i ould only think of four words that summed up my feelings...
    The price of faith


    Entrant 4 - Philos Sophos
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The price of redemption



    Outlands of Jerusalem,5th of July 1099...


    It was a hot day...the sand was burning our feet and the sun was melting us.Everyone was exhausted from marching,we all wanted to rest,but our commanders told us to march a little longer because Jerusalem was just a few days march away.Everyone got a boost after that,they formed a line again and started walking in a normal pace.

    But then,something happened.The men stopped and started searching for something...but they didn't have to search for long,it was already there for them.It was the Saracens who had been waiting for us.They outnumbered us greatly,and the men were scared.And they had a good reason for it too,because they were facing warriors who had been born here and knew how to fight in the desert.The commanders started forming a battle line and everyone quickly took their position.

    A moment later,they charged...they killed many our men and we killed many of theirs as well.Seeing the swords clashing and men falling,I thought about my family back in France...I was here because of them,to seek redemption from god and the church.I was fighting for my family...that gave me my power.I took my sword and run towards a Saracen.I saw his face,he was afraid as was I...and a few seconds later,he was dead.I killed him with the edge of my sword.All the memories that he had,had been vanquished and he got his resting place here in the Sands of the Holy Land.But soon,the Saracens were getting more and more tired and our commanders gave the order to advance.

    "Deus Vult!"yelled everyone.

    The Saracens were frightened because of our spirit that hadn't been killed.They began to retreat and our cavalry charged their rear.After a few moments,every Saracen who had attacked us on that day was dead...the beach was filled with bodies and the sand was red.But noone cared-the commanders gave the orders to march forward towards Jerusalem.Tired,but still alive,the men began to march towards the Holy city once more and after a few days,we were finally there,sieging the the Holy city of Jerusalem...


    Entrant 5 - pericles_plato
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The long hot day.


    It was a hot and very humid day. The sea looks like it was boiling. The Crusaders were burning up in their armor. "It's way to hot to be here." said a warrior. "Quite in the ranks you dogs." yelled another warrior who was a leader of the unit. "Why, they can't even here us." said the warrior. "Steve if you talk one more time i'll push you into the water." yelled the leader. "Yes sir." replied Steve. They stood there waiting for the enemy to come. "They aren't coming Larry." said a warrior to the leader. "They will come, Bob." Said the leader, Larry. They just waited for the enemy to come. Clouds started going over there heads. "It sure is pretty out here" said Steve. "Hot, but pretty." “Pretty?” yelled Bob. “It’s way too hot to be pretty.”The men continued to wait. The enemy did not even come closer. The heat was killing the soldiers. It felt like burning alive. Steve got dizzy and collapsed. The last thing Steve saw were the men standing there beside him. The men he was friends with. The men who have been with him for years in the service to God. The men who called them selves..... Crusaders.


    Entrant 6 - Commander Flasheart
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    In their Gods own name


    We watched as the infidel army marched through the sands,so many we could not count their numbers.They looked so proud as they marched towards our lines their armour dazzling in the hot desert sun.My commander was silent he had fought these dogs before he knew their worth,they would stop at nothing give no quarter so sure were they of their right.I asked myself why do they come? how dare they spill the blood of the glorious prophets followers, this is not their land it is ours our homeland these foreign heathen blasphemers come to steal and to enslave us.

    A trumpet sounded and the infidels attacked, our archers fired into their lines many fell but still they kept coming driven on by hate and a misguided faith.I was now in the thick of battle my sword cut into the belly of my nearest foes and cried in triumph as i felt his life blood spill warm onto my hands, as he fell to his knees i took off his head with a swift downward swing.All around me men were fighting and dying i knew the prophet was smiling on me this day for although i fought and killed none were able to harm me.A huge man wearing the insignia of their holy soldiers screamed his war cry at me babbling in his strange tongue that i understood not, he was far too eager to kill me and he over reached with his sword stroke, his weapon hit the sand i cut his his throat watched as he clawed at it the only sound he made was a bloody gurgle.

    And then it was over we pursed the infidels as they turned and fled, our commander sounded his horn calling us back he wished to waste no lives in the pursuit of cowards.Men stood cheering and dancing proclaiming we had beaten the infidel, our commander shook his head as he said we had beaten them for now we had won the battle they would be back and keep coming back, this he said was a war that would last down through as yet unborn generations he ordered us to march back home, on his noble face i could see only sadness.


    Entrant 7 - Sensi Karate
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    North of Jerusalem, 22nd of August 1102

    The last couple of days took there wear on the Catholic soldiers of god. We had been marching to Jerusalem for months now, with the desert leading us on our way. The days were horrible and the nights were atroshish. We had been taking heavy fire from archers to the East and West and we left many men behind from the raids. We had fought to survive, and no men would leave after what we'd been through to get to the Holy Kingdom of God. Still, life felt desolated near Jerusalem, we had not crossed a single peasant or wanderer for the last week and we started to wonder if our commander was directing us in the right direction. As the sun faded away, and the darkness crept upon the lifeless dunes of time, we made camp for the night. My knees were shaking as I huddled close to one of the few fires that were illuminating the camp from the darkness around us. After a small dinner from our near-empty rations, men beside me started to bangle on about there children and wives who they'd left at home. In the start of our campaign to Jerusalem, many of the men would banter about wars between other catholic factions. Now, however it seemed as if we had become a nation ourselves, instead of bickering anymore we would just talk about the more peaceful lives we had before this, even if it wasn't that different at all. I left the camp fire to enter my small, cold tent. Before I slept in my small damp bed, I prayed we would be successful in our crusade to Holy City of Jerusalem, I prayed for my children and wife to be safe tonight, and most of all, I prayed for peace.

    As I awoke the next morning, a horn was sounded across the camp. As I stubbled out of bed and looked outside, I saw the most beautiful and elegant thing in my life, Jerusalem. The large towers were seen in the distant and many of the men packed there belongings as fast as they could. As we lined up to march to the Holy City, I thanked God for listening to my prayers, it was as if he had Taken Me Under his right wing, and I was forever grateful to him. Let us hope he heeds my prayers once more, and takes the Holy City away from the heretic Islamic people. "We march to Gods City!" shouted our commander as the boots of thousands marched off to reclaim Jerusalem.


    Entrant 8 - Tweety
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Only for their God

    The hard, cruel sun of the Palestine beat mercilessly down on the backs of the knights, enrobed in thick fur and swathed in the dead-weight of armour, they boiled gently alive like a French chef's lobster in the wait for a Saracen on the horizon. Each was enclosed in an own captule of pontification, wrapped in the thoughts of the loved ones they had left behind, whom they may never set eyes on again. All were in this for God, be it by pretence or true faith. Catholic Europe had sent forth the men of the land in a vain hope to 'rescue' the land they believe Holy from those they term barbaric and infidels, the worshippers of Islam. These men had come forth at the words of men such as Fulk of Charters, of the great speakers and preachers of their lands. And they were from many lands, the many states and warring kingdoms of feudal Europe. Bavarians, Bohemians and Burgundians side by side. English and French united under one banner. Aragonese, Castillians, Basques and Leones, together for their faith. Milanese and Genoese shoulder to shoulder, under the benevolent protection of their Lord.

    They hated each other by principle, these peoples, from birth they were espoused their racial enmities, which smouldered deep in the mind of each one even as they waited motionless, sweating in the wait for battle and perhaps death. Thousand of enemies, united, by the power of God, only for their God.


    Entrant 9 - Medicus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    I hate sand. Hate it with a passion.

    Why the hell did we come here? How on Earth was I convinced by the lies they told? I was an idiot, that’s all. An idealistic young fool who thought he was doing the Lord’s work. Don’t the Muslims think the same? We go about it the same way - killing as many of the other as possible. No “God of Love” could ever enjoy such an act.

    It’s starting. Over the rise of a hill they come, thousands of them. A man next to me falls to the ground, an arrow in his neck, blood trickling into the sand. Again with the sand, you say? It’s everywhere here, gets into everything: your eyes, your mouth, your food, places you don’t want to know about.

    Our own leader gives the order for the cavalry to charge. They’re massacred; the enemy is just too good at his art. He has lived here for thousands of years; I’ve been here for two. What hope do I have?

    He gives the order to charge. Instinct takes over. My feet start moving on their own. I can’t help it. I know I’ll be killed, yet I still do it. Why? Why do all of us, Christian and Muslim, fight over a few thousand square miles of land, when our every impulse tells us to turn and go home?

    I don't think I’ll ever know.

    I hate sand.



    TotW 10 - Do Not Fear Death
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Grave of Liquid


    The swelling waters of the river, tainted with the blood of fighting men, laps along the banks of the stream. Not far away, the earth had shook as battle was waged. Eventually, the loyalist forces broke, and were pursued in all directions as they fled. Some men launched themselves headlong into the waters, only to be swallowed up as their heavy mail sent them screaming to the bottom, only a trail of bubbles left to give evidence of their entry.



    The river became a crypt, so vile and filled with rotten flesh that for some months after the battle, if one were to gather the water in one's hand and drink of the cool liquid, the twisted taste of sour flesh would permeate itself in the mouth.



    If stagnant pools were to form by drought, the bodies would serve as a breeding ground for many sorts of foul insects and reptiles, making full use of the sustenance decomposing flesh contains. It is by death that live is born, and even as the maggots gorged themselves on the flesh of soldiers, peace was established throughout the land, and from this peace, hope and prosperity sprang anew.eventually the stream flushed the rot out, and the waters were once again live giving. Flowers appeared on the banks, reeds blew in the wind. A generation had crumbled, but given birth to a new one in it's wake. The earth rebuilds itself from the ground up, and the clicking of the grasshoppers in the field cast a peaceful pall over the landscape.



    Had this once been a field of combat?





    Entrant 1 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Original Just So Story

    Uther Pendragon was weary, last night with Ygraine had been very
    demanding, and now the fight against the Saxons was going badly.
    That devious charlatan Merlin had promised a magic weapon to smite the enemy,
    but then led him to this bog in the middle of nowhere.

    “I have it!” Merlin shouted in triumph,
    taking Excalibur from the Lady of the Lake and raising it high.

    “Give me that” Uther responded, rather shortly.

    He snatched the sword, which shone gently with an unearthly
    inner glow, and took a few practice swipes at his old sword (which fell
    into several pieces). Excalibur was as light as mist and
    perfectly balanced. Yes, this was the one!

    Merlin looked up, expecting gratitude and approval, but no –
    Uther was frowning.

    “Are you not satisfied my Lord?”

    “For God's sake man, look at the length of it! It won't fit my scabbard!
    Doesn't it come with one of its own?”

    “Er, I'll just check...”

    Merlin returned to the lake and attempted to contact the Lady,
    but there was no reply and all he got for his pains
    was sodden breeches and a mouth full of weed.

    At that moment the Saxons reappeared.
    Uther, ever the man of action, led his few remaining followers into the fray.

    Excalibur almost tipped the balance, every swing dispatching another foe,
    but when fresh enemy warriors appeared, Uther was forced to flee.
    Putting the sword through his belt, he rode awkwardly away.

    Coming upon a huge rock barring his way, Uther skirted it to the right,
    but as he bent to pass under a low bough,
    the naked sword cut his horse neatly in two and he fell.

    Uther was still hanging suspended by his belt from the sword,
    which was in turn firmly embedded in the boulder,
    when his enemies arrived to help him out -
    generously freeing his head from its bondage


    Entrant 2 - Sun Zaraki
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Triumphant
    Triumphant... I am triumphant... again
    The fool... he never stood a chance... this common swine claiming to be of noble and heroic birth. The Idiot.
    His blood pours from his dark and hideous wound, the wound i had planted on him with the swing of my mighty sword. He had challenged me, calling my men child lovers and ball sniffers. I fought for my men, and history shall remember it that way!
    The mighty stand, fight and win, and history remembers them! The weak stand, fight and fall into the sodden dust, or today in bloody river, black death enveloping their eyes.
    I have killed many like him before, some stronger, and i shall kill more men like him, some stronger. My sword will never tire, my shield will never break.
    The blood still pours from him, the smell begins to attack me. My sword drops the last bits of blood and i wash it in the river. I feel the earth shaking.
    My men roll past me, in chase of the heathens who ran after their masters death. My armour... it feels slightly heavy.
    A dove circles above me, blotting out the sunlight for a bit before flying off into the trees behind me. I stand again, looking upon my dead and rotting foe

    Triumphant... I am triumphant... again...


    Entrant 3 - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    When Soldiers get really.. really bored.


    Knight: God, i'm so bored. Where the hecks the rest of our regiment?
    Soldier: I dont know. I just remember coming here to have a drink and next thing I know, everyone buggered off.
    Knight: But I haven't had a drink, how the heck did I get here?
    Soldier: Plot device maybe?
    Knight: Fine, let's just settle for that.
    Soldier: Anyways, shall we go look for the rest of the army?
    Knight: That would involve effort.
    Soldier: That's hardly what a chivalrous knight would say.
    Knight: I know, but that's besides the point.
    Soldier: Hey, i've got an idea.
    Knight: What?
    Soldier: You have to guess who i'm doing an impression of.
    Knight: How the hell will that help us? We're stuck out by a river with no-one else in site! Forget it.
    Soldier: So what, we're just going to sit here untill someone turns up?
    Knight: Works for me.

    *1 minute later*

    Knight: Ok... this is boring. Go ahead with your impression.



    Soldier: *proceeds to fall flat into the water*
    Knight: What the hell, is that it?
    Soldier: *hand is raised out of the water, before plunging back in*
    Knight: I take that as a yes, eerrr, Jaws?
    Soldier: *silent*
    Knight: If you're trying to be Michael Phelps he actually swims you know.
    Soldier *silent*
    Knight: AH!!! I've got it!!!!!!
    Soldier: *silent*
    Knight: FREDERICK BARBAROSSA!
    Soldier: *silent*
    Knight: Err, you even alive still?
    Soldier: *silent*
    Knight: Well.. at least he did a pretty good impression. Now, why the **** is everything red?


    Entrant 4 - Antiochos VII Sidetes
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Blood.

    It rushed out of the corpse like a great flood. Blood, as red as a...normal man.

    The warrior had almost expected it to be something more becoming of a heartless monster, a shell that God, in his Wisdom, did not see fit to give a soul. But, no, it was red, just like...

    The flowing torrent of the blood of the women and children...the felled bodies of their husbands and fathers...

    Red as...

    The flickering flames that danced like gleeful spirits over the meager hovels and houses, almost -ALMOST- masking the shadows of the hapless villagers locked inside...

    The warrior, known by many names in the Godforsaken land of Britannia, had hunted the transgressing demons-in-flesh for many days. Their pillaging and looting had slowed and dulled their senses, allowing the warrior to take them, one by one...

    Every night, one would be taken. No matter how stout his shield or long his battle-axe, the hidden death would claim him...

    Their foul captain soon realized the extent of his folly, and turned around the steadily shrinking band of raiders back to the shore, back to the heathen lands of Hibernia.

    He caught them at the edge.

    Gasping, he ran towards the shore. He could see the longboat in the distance...If he could just reach it---

    A blinding pain was felt, and then no more.

    His blood was red.


    Entrant 5 - R-teen
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Augustus: Damn, where the hell am I? Where have my soldiers gone?
    Unknown origin: They are gone. you're alone now.
    - :Sreaaaaaaaaaaaaaam:! Who the hell are you?
    - Me? what do you think ?
    - I don't have time to discuss with you. the battle is in a dangerous condition. I have to go.
    - Ah! such a stupid person you are! I wonder how did you become a general?! Where you wanna go you fool?! ahhh haven't you realized what happened to you?
    - Silence! show yourself if you ...
    - oh! such a brave BUT idiot general!!! so, let's see how brave are you... look down!
    - For what? perhaps you are below that water!? I see nothing down there !
    - Ahhh! why me? God, couldn't you send someone else instead of me to lead this idiot? YOU BLIND FOOL! LOOK DOWN! SOMETHING IS ON THE WATER!!!!!!!!!
    - :screaaaaaaaaaaaaaam:!... Who the hell is him? Is that you?????
    - You know something, I've NEVER EVER sawn a person as fool as you! THAT'S YOUUUUUUUUU, YOU GENIUS!!!!
    - :screaaaaaaaaaaaaaam: ME??? Ahaaaaaa I got it!!!!
    - Finally you got something in you your entire life! so tell me what did you figure out of seeing this body?
    - I had a twin brother that I didn't know about it!!!!!
    - ! God ! I right here, right now, am asking you to take my life forever and set me free of this pendejo !!!!! THAT'S YOU! YOU HAVE D I E D!!!!!!!!! IN BATTLE!!!!!!
    - O O! Let me guess!!! Am I a April fool?
    - Let me tell! You are not a April fool, YOU ARE COMPLETELY A FOOL!!!!!! YOU ARE DEAD!!!!!
    - nooooooooo!!!!!!!!! you mean I'm d...d...d...d...
    - D E A D
    -
    -
    -
    - argh! don't be upset my sweet general.
    - ... so ... so ... tell me... WHO ARE YOU...??...?
    - Good question of course. I am the ANGLE OF DEATH! The famous Grim Reaper! I've come to take you with myself... to a better place than this rubbish world!
    - to where? Ah at last! I can see the heavens, right?
    - hmmm :hmmm:... a... yeah... but it's not completely heaven tough!:hmmm:
    - so what is it?
    - IT'S HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELL!!!!!!!!!
    - :screaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam:
    - MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
    - :screaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam:
    ..................................
    General!? General!? My Augustus wake up! Enemy army is so close! we have no time! we must ready the army... wake up!


    Entrant 6 - Yojimbo
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Red Mist

    Romulus gazed into the red fog his head spinning. That last blow must have hit him pretty hard, if the red tinge he could see was any indication. He felt he was floating and as he parried another vicious swing it seems like the blurry visage was happening to somebody else.

    He heard himself gasp as he felt a sharp pain in his guts even as the blurry shape in front of him grunted as his own foot found its mark on the man's instep. As he saw the shape stagger he thought about the rest of his unit, the battle has been a disaster, he had decided to stay and fight trying to avenge those who had fallen and not wishing to sully his honour by running.

    He felt himself fall as a blinding pain kissed his knees. He felt his back hit the ground hard. Then suddenly even before he realised he was doing it he was crawling dragging himself away from the laughing he heard behind him. Romulus felt the coolness of the water washing over him as he blindly crawled into a shallow pool of water left on the battle field from the torrential rain. Romulus felt himself slump to the ground.

    In his mind he was racing, straining to crawl more, to get away but his body just wouldn’t move anymore. Romulus felt sleepy, he had come a long way and it seemed it was time for rest and as he felt himself let go, he found he could see himself sprawled in the water blood flowing freely and staining the still water. In a flash he realised where he was and what had happened.

    As the man planted his sword in the cold earth and the red mist billowed around him Romulus screamed.

    Last edited by wowbanger; April 27, 2011 at 10:25 AM. Reason: ADDED TOTW 10

  4. #4
    wowbanger's Avatar Decanus
    Join Date
    Mar 2010
    Location
    Wreocensćte
    Posts
    593

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 11 - CS_Castle: Need Backup...
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    SELF-DESTRUCT
    Dieter Schnabel sweated in the 1903 Bosnian summer heat. His ludicrous
    ceremonial guard uniform baked him - just like the fish his mother used to
    prepare every Friday (despite such Catholic practices being viewed with
    suspicion in the enlightened Democratic Communist Republic of Franco-Deutschland).

    Sweat smeared his experimental HUD (made to look like a monocle),
    so he took it off – it was impossible to miss at 5 metres.

    Dieter wondered if this was really the best use of State resources. Surely
    it would be better to bend all efforts to winning the conventional war
    back in 1945. How on Earth had Einstein’s time-travel project
    acquired the influence to launch such a crazy expedition?

    Admittedly the premise sounded good. Would the Austro-Russian Alliance
    still be fighting now without Austrian Premier Vojislav Princip's irrational
    hatred for Communism? But for Vojislav, Austria might have
    embraced Marx during the revolutions.

    There was a scrape of boot against stone in the darkened stairwell.
    Vojislav was arriving exactly as predicted by the time-project historians.

    Dieter and his comrades readied their weapons, and as soon as the figure
    stepped out into the sunshine they fired simultaneously.

    The man collapsed instantly, falling like a sack of flour, and Dieter
    stepped forward to confirm that he was dead.

    Relieved at the ease of the mission, he hardly noticed the child,
    Vojislav's brother Gavrilo, staring open-mouthed with shock.

    He turned back towards the faint disturbance of the air
    that betrayed the presence of the time-warp,
    confident that history would only record that Austrian soldiers
    had shot a man of no importance for an unknown reason.

    How much better would the world be on the other side?
    Maybe the war had never happened, his Dresden home saved from the
    ruin of the firestorm and his family still alive. Trying to banish
    this hope from his mind, he stepped back through the warp...


    Entrant 1 - Philos Sophos
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Operation "Tropic Thunder"





    7th of october,1513

    On 6th of October,our reconnaisance spotted a large Aztec castle North-East of us,and our commanders decided to take it.Our elite group of arquebusiers,called the Delta Force,was called in.Our team leader Chuck Norris said the go-code which was "Roundhouse kick all the way".After that,everyone loaded on the catapults and they fired us away.a short moment after,we were in the city walls and we began pushing in to the command centre,where the enemy leader Gaddam Bussein() was making his last stand.We cleared the castle pretty soon,and were at the command center's entry...

    We were ordered to check our weapons and ammunition,which we did,and after we are all locked and loaded,Chuck stormed in.He killed everyone who stepped in his way and was soon at the boss.He quickly neutralized him,planted the bomb and ran out.We all ran down from the walls and quickly went out of the castle,and a moment afterwards,the whole place blew up...





    Moral of the story,do not mess with Arquebusiers...and with Chuck Norris...




    Entrant 2 - molls
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The call of duty

    After chasing the suspicious and probably dangerous person, which was recogniced by the 3 guards upon sneaking around at the central city-lord’s manor, from their post through the whole town, they nearly caught up while pursuing him on the outer city ring’s walls.

    The 3 royal gunmen did just see their target disappear in the gate house and assembled before the entrance.

    “Oh my, I’m not used to this kind of physical exercise anymore! Phew...” the sweating Christopher Constable moaned, closing in on the other two waiting by the door already.

    “Gentlemen, we have him trapped in there now!” said Arthur Authoria, who was kneeling by the pinacles, readying his gun.

    The third one with the name Harold Hunta, slowly peeking into the dark gatehouse from the door’s side, whispered:
    “ ‘Tis a trap, I tell you, it is! Look at how dark it is in there, ‘tis most unsettling. He could be waiting in his tent... hrhm I mean the tent of darkness all around... camping – trying to slay us with a most outragous manner...”

    After waiting for a while, Christopher started rambling:
    “I urge you, we have to storm the frontal area of the target’s assumed residence, carrying the element of surprise to him!”

    Arthur nodded.

    “If you insist...” Harold Hunta took forth a torch, ignited it, and threw it into the dark hallway most courageously:

    “Flare in the Hole!”
    “Move, Move, Move – but watch your precious backs!”

    The 3 guys rushed in – only to find that the gatehouse was empty.

    “Holy Lord, what are we doing?!” Christopher got angry.

    “Doing our Job: guarding the Lord’s manor!” Harold answered.

    The three looked at each other, with growing understanding..

    “Then why are we at the outer city wall stumbling through the gatehouse?”


    Entrant 3 - Sun Zaraki
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    When COD4 met M2TW!
    Narrator: All righty then!! Welcome to the first ever showing of "When i met your mother, THEN PLAYED VIDEO GAMES WITH HER!!" In this show, we contemplate on what would happen when two games are put together. The first ever combination today is COD4 and M2TW!! Mainly because none of the production team have ever played Counter-Strike (myself included), it would be pretty difficult to combine these two into a mildly humorous series of events!!


    (crickets)



    Anyway!! On with the show!! Closest to the door here you can see Jim Mcdougall, or "Beefy Jim!!" as his friends know him. The closest to us is Hugh Hughmenson...
    Yes, and the protagonist is called (drum roll)







    HOBO JOE!!! Commence the game!!


    Hobo- Dudes.... what the hell does all this stuff at the bottom of the screen mean?
    Beefy- What stuff?
    Hobo- Well, this! Theres a clock saying its quarter to four, ive got a hundred health, and no armour! WHY DO I HAVE NO ARMOUR!!
    Beefy- Shut up, Hobo, im trying to keep an eye on this door
    Hobo- Its not even a door!! Its just a wall if you look closely!!
    Beefy-Shut up!! Hugh, tell him
    Hugh-.......duuuuuuhhhh........
    Beefy- Precisely! So! let me kick this door down...
    Hobo- its not a door!!
    Beefy- **** off, it is! Im gonna kick this door down, and then we gotta take the gateway and release the hostages. Hugh, you take the left flank when i throw the smokes in, and Hobo you shoot the guy with the bow and arrow. Got it?
    Hobo-...... How does ANY of that make sense!?!?!
    Hugh-..... duuuuuuhhhhhh..... I wish.... I wish i was a fish......
    Beefy- Poetic as always Hugh, and Hobo, SHUT THE **** UP!! The presidents on the other side of this door, and if we dont release him, the nukes will be launched after 30 mins, so.... SHOOT THE GUY WITH BOW AND ARROW!!!
    Hobo-.... You realise your being anchronitic?
    Beefy- WHAT THE **** DOES THAT MEAN????





    Narrator- .... Yes, i suppose that was... ok... this show may never be broadcasted again....
    Still!! Im getting paid Ł5,000 just to turn up for this, so who gives a ****?


    Entrant 4 - Sensi Karate

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Why am I here? I should be at home drinking my ale and putting my youngin' to sleep. Instead I've been brought to this so called 'new world' by idealistic generals who can’t even read a compass. We fight uncivilised men who run around with there bare bums showing. Thousands of these barbaric people lay dead in front of me; none survive the onslaught we bring with our artillery. Are faces blooded and our clothes stained, we go to sleep on low rasions, barely feeding ourselves. The beds are just a few old rags which just keep us from getting a fever.



    The next day we awake to rain and cold conditions, my hands shaking, I put my gloves and boots on. We march once more, with nearly no food to sustain most of us. Many just collapse into the damp soil which is beneath our feet. After what seemed a month of marching in this hideous place, we finally reach what seemed a city. Our general told us to breach the walls immediately, giving no time for the people inside to arm themselves. The cannons eradicate the walls with ease, leaving women and children inside scurrying around, trying to get there belongings before trying to escape the onslaught. We enter the city with no troubles, killing anyone who stands in our path. We take the women, enslave the children and kill the men.



    After a long hike up the hill, I finally reach the centre of the city. I could hear whispers and cries within the house. I crept over with two other men to the houses door. The soldier closest to the door quickly opened it. I rushed in to find three women bending over there children shouting strange words at me. That second a large scream came from the left, a man with a knife came charging at me. I had no time to counter-attack and was stabbed twice in the leg and once in the chest. I collapsed to the ground, my head spinning and my eyes slowly shutting. I could hear gun shots and voices screaming around me, blood dripping from my pale body I went into a deep sleep. I awoke the next day, with bandaging around my stab wounds. "You'll be fine" said one of the nurses as she ticked my medical report. My body still tired and worn out, I shut my eyes once more.






    Entrant 5 - TheTrueGreek

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    I am a Space Marine, hardened in the tests of war, and toughened by the rigors of my day to day life. We ridding this town of terrorists, who have hidden themselves in this world. This planet is extremely underdeveloped and he have had to disguise ourselves as Arqubusiers to not assaulted by the townsfolk. My captain, Price, and Bean, are covering the door to the house they are susspected to be in. Price kicks the door open and he finds a family of 1 women, 5 men, and 10 children. As per his orders, he is to kill any men that are suspect of trying to undermine the Greek overlord. Price orders Bean to fire on the men, they stand there, waving there arms into the air, screaming something in old french. looking at my watch, i saw that we had 3 minutes to get out of here before the town realizes what is going on and starts rioting. I tell Price to leave the children, we don't have the time and there is no way they were terrorists, even if there mother and father were. Price says that they must die as they are in this building at the pre-ordaned time, and by law they must die. At this time the men and women are dead, a plasma shot thru the head ended their lives prematurely. Bean puts his rifle next to the first kids head and I try to stop him, but i was just to slow. I tackle Bean and Price tries to seperate me, and at this time the townsmen have heard the gunshots and have grabbed their torches and pitchforks, Price gets on in the face and dies, but me and bean manage to find our teleporter and we make it back to our base in Mars. I was denounced to a security role for the company that made the teleporters, and I am the only one left, Bean and the others have all been eaten by those demons from Hell. If anyone finds this, tell them I tried.end transmission. Last message from the brave warrior who fought to the end against the demons of Hell in Mars.






    TotW 12 - Now - to Battle!
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Winner - Desperado †
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Dew on the Morning Grass

    The sound of two hundred men, each clad in steel, thundering down the hillside, their steel boots crushing all the grass and life beneath. It was not as mighty as a cavalry charge, though the effect was greater as the enemy, with their long spears, had been facing the opposite direction, expecting heavy cavalry from the south, their stakes prepared and facing. But the English horn blew, loud and powerful, echoing off the mountains and sending the still sleeping birds fluttering in fear into the sky, the Scots turned and saw their doom, clad in shinning steel armour with swords and poleaxes raised above heads, shouting their voices hoarse in a battle cry lusting for blood.

    The morning was cold. The Scots fumbled, their hands numb, as they tried to turn their formations and ready their spears. Men dropped the wooden poles. Others slipped on the wet morning grass. But up ahead, charging down the small hill to meet them, the English lions ran magnificently. Their minds were clear, clear as the morning air. No fear tainted their hearts, only fury, and confidence.

    The first feeble arrows were shot. But they were too late. In vain. They fell short of their mark as they struggled uphill, or clattered against the knight’s armour to fall and be smashed beneath their heavy feet. No arrow would pierce these English men’s victory. Other archers gave up on stringing their bows with their cold stiff hands, and grabbed a sword and awaited their death. Others ran. Those who stood were cut down like corn by a reapers scythe, their blood staining the lush green grass.

    The Scots fell, drowned by the tide of armour clad warriors. Blood was now the dew upon the morning grass.



    Entrant 1 - Commander Flasheart
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Now that is much better


    Sir Monty stood atop a steep hill, on either side of him he had his trusted retinue of Knights.He was so proud of them how they each kept their Armour and their weapons in such pristine and shining condition, they were a credit to him and to themselves.

    Monty cleared his throat and began his well rehearsed speech, a speech he had indeed been rehearsing in his mind ever since the idea of his great plan first came into his mind.On that day when he realized he would have to do something about his enemy, would always be his most cherished memory, indeed even now Monty had a warm feeling inside that made his heart flutter when ever he thought on that day.

    "Men and i call you men for that is indeed what you are, we are gathered here this day to lay low the enemy that has for far too long stood and mocked me in this land". "Look how they stand so very proud their very presence mocking myself and you my noble Knights". "For too long now they have stood here each day daring us to attack them, well now with all of you gathered here with me we dare to attack".

    Monty waved his hand in the air and waited for the cheering of his men to subside, oh he was so happy so proud so glad to be alive.

    "By the time night falls again over this land not one of those cheeky buggers must remain standing, all will fall this day to your axes and your swords, for God wills it to be so". "We are a happy breed and after this day is over we will be happier still, for the enemy will be no more".

    "And now at the last i tell you to put your faith in God and a strong arm to give no quarter, to leave none standing and to show nay mercy to these miserable devils".

    Monty and his men with weapons drawn, slowly marched down the hill their Armour glinting in the bright sunshine.Suddenly as one mind they all charged screaming threats of death violence and destruction. They hit the trees like a mighty wave each knight hacking and chopping as the forest fell down around them, by night fall not a single tree was left standing, only stumps and huge fires where they lay burning. Monty looked back up the hill to his castle, and thought "Now then i have a perfect view of the river without all those bloody trees spoiling it for me".



    Entrant 2 - Aldgarkalaughskel

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    CELLOPHANE KNIGHTS

    - Stop. - La Zebra, the fat French director said, halting the action with one hand, and laying low his baseball cap with another.

    - Zzzhis is bullcrap. You are fighting in the battle of Crécy, not playing tag like little girls, mon Dieu! Be more desperate, go crazy, like you were fighting the Nazis. I won't say it again: as Spanish battlefield assassins, you are hired to get close to the Black Prince and disembowel him.

    The nervous seconds of silence were soon resolved by a hiccup from the background and everyone returned to the fray.

    He was called La Zebra, because he changed colours and genres with almost each film. As a young, unemployed actor he ventured into porn to make a name for himself; later he started to compose erotic thrillers, but they were only as lascivious as an agonizing reptile. He still kept his habit to hire hasbeen waitresses to serve coffee in cheerleader dresses, with a cleavage almost unbearable to look at without spilling out much of the drink you have just received; meanwhile he found it funny to flatter them with minor roles if they would fire up a hot atmosphere during the shootings.



    La Zebra was also amused to play tricks on the actors. Once he had the lawn anointed with a slippery gel to make them sledge on their arses right down to the valley. The photo immortalizes this moment. Later it won the World Press Photo Award in the "Sport Action" category.



    The movie was intended to be a shameless replica of the 300, spiced up with French flavour and more doses of mainstream horror. The expectations were flying high, but as it was a low-budget project, the properties had to be substituted with pieces of junk. Instead of credible-looking shiny, dreadful armours, the actors were dressed in cellophane, with beaten buckets pressed upon their heads. "If Tin Woodman could become a superstar in The Wizard of Oz, you can do it, too." - he said. "Appearance does not matter, only shocking appearance matters." Nonetheless all of his clichés were trumped by the uproarious title on his worn-out T-shirt:



    "Speak softly but carry a big shtick."





    Entrant 3 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Old Forest


    The boughs creaked and the leaves sang in the breeze. It was a low, crackling noise. Constant and strong. As the ranks formed and bows were bent, a lower, hoarser rumble was heard over the leaves. This was no sound of nature, but that of Scottish rebels. The highland rabble charged across the plain headlong towards the English line, partially hidden in the forest. The archers, wielding the deadly longbow, released their airborne darts. Time stopped, and all at once the peaceful sound of crinkling leaves was blotted out by the hellish scream of the arrows as they crashed into the Scots at high speed. Metal met flesh as the cruel steel twisted holes into necks, legs, torsos, and arms. The charge was stopped and before the Scots had time to reform, a shout resounded above the treetops. As one, the English line of heavily armored knights moved forward, looking unhuman in the twisted masks and helmets.

    Panic spread as the sound of metal became deafening, and the first wave of English troops moved forward. Birds flew from the trees as the knights entered a charge, silent at first, but then ear bursting as the lines were closed. Sword met ribs, axe met skull, and spear met throat. Many villagers were sent into the next life screaming, much like the birds above fleeing from the noise.

    Before long the battle was ended, a single, green leaf was knocked delicately knocked off it's branch high in the boughs by a squirrel. It danced lightly to the ground, landing in a cool pool of blood, the green silhouetted against the red.



    Entrant 4 - Lupus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A CHARGE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS
    The enemy forces are drawn up and ready. Their armour shiny, even in the early dawn. And their beautiful colours, blue and white, matches the sky and clouds. Their position unique, at the foot of this hillock, purposefully so, for our own momentum shall carry us onto their militia held spears, surely intended to break our charge. Then there, the true slaughter shall commence.

    Rather than assemble a true and proper force to repay this insult of landing an army on our lands in kind, our King, drunk on vanity and pride as much as wine, has hastily gathered a force only from the closest lands. Bound by the knight's code of honour and loyalty to our King, we complied.

    Surely, if it is God's will, the cavalry on our far right may add enough power and impetus to carry the day.

    Dear God, strenghten my resolve and my swordarm. Allow me to slay my enemy today. But if You decree that I should fall, may I do so with honour. And may that bastard King fall with me. Amen.

    Now, as we charge at the enemy, with only our swords sharper than our anger, excitement quickly overtaking misgivings and common sense, we shall not sell ourselves cheap!

    This, my first battle, may yet be my last.



    Entrant 5 - Iron Juggernaut
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    TO ADMIRE

    Atop a hill, a few hundred Englishmen, protected by gleaming steel, await battle. Their blades are sharp and at the ready, for it was not but a matter of hours ago that they were preparing... preparing to fight the rebel Irish and barbaric Scottish in harsh terrain.

    The trees blow in the wind, and the birds sing, but the atmosphere among the men is not at all like a state of bliss or happiness. For many, they shan't return from this fight, but for those who do, they shall be proven as worthy and strong men. Distinguished, shall the survivors be, in knight's armor.

    Hearken; the barbarian horde comes! Half-naked, sweating patriots of the northern lands; they fight for what they feel is just. Different causes, yes, but all men are equaled by the color scarlet.

    The English captain stands with his men. He is ready, and they are silent. They are going to war, and it is likely that they go to their doom... they know this...

    But such bravery!

    In the face of great odds, how they stand, proud and defiant. They are not intimidated by the fear of death. To die for a cause is the greatest glory any soldier could hope to achieve!

    But soft, good listener, the Scots and Irish are quickening their pace.

    With a final act of bravery, the English captain unsheathes his longsword.

    He points it to the sky... and with a quiet grace, he lowers it to equal the height of the enemy...

    And he runs, followed by his men... true soldiers, true men, true to the end. Admiration I hold for these fellows who died and went to Jesus without fear; strong, powerful, all gone now.



    Entrant 6 - Juvenal


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    How the Hundred Years War was Lost
    Sir John Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, fidgeted in the humid summer heat of a French meadow.
    The war was going badly, the Longbow corps depleted and French Knights popping up everywhere like mushrooms in a field. But maybe today would change all that.

    A dark-robed philosopher was introduced to him as Geoffrey of Monmouth. John brightened, half remembered childhood studies swirling in his mind.

    I know you! Those wonderful tales of Arthur and...”

    No, no, that was an ancestor – 300 years ago for pity's sake! I am a Philosopher, not some vulgar scribe”

    Somewhat chastened, John attended to the demonstration.

    My assistant Joan Dark has brought the secret of the Hand-Cannon from the French”

    Geoffrey lit the touch hole on the bulky tube held by a servant. The weapon discharged with a loud crack and a target disintegrated across the meadow.

    I will now demonstrate the method for loading and firing this wonderful weapon”

    Joan gestured for the English to gather closer.

    ... and after using the fuse, I place it in this flame-proof box for safety”.

    Opening the box Geoffrey had only an instant to note its unexpected contents before the explosion threw him in several directions among the onlookers. Sir John, perhaps quicker on the uptake than most, saw that Joan was gone and that a trail of fizzing gunpowder led to the main stocks piled up behind him.

    Flee the sorcerer's trap! Run! Now!” he shouted over his shoulder as he sprinted for the cover of the trees. Luckily most of his men got away with no more than first degree burns and blackened cuirasses.

    His ears still ringing, Sir John swore an oath to himself that as long as he lived, the English would stick to good old fashioned longbows, let the gullible French destroy themselves with this infernal device.



    TotW 13 - Away With Glory
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Blood andSand

    -for sensi XD


    The bolt struck his neck, just above the breastplate. The brilliant spray of red that splattered along the steed's back was closely followed by the warrior's last dying breath as he slid from the saddle. The warrior landed in a crumpled pile of his own gear, once polished and shining, but now blighted with smears or bloody mud.

    About 100 yards away, standing on the hilltop, a young man wielding a crossbow recovered from the slight recoil of his weapon and looked towards the field. It was almost impossible to plot the flight of his bolt through the chaos of the enemy charge, but he was fairly certain the bolt hit a target, as several mounts fell at about the same time his bolt would have reached the enemy. With a smirk, the young European again went about reloading his weapon. The desert sand scorched his feet as he struggled to pull the string back on his weapon. Reaching for an arrow, the young marksman heard a whirring buzz, and in an instant his comrade nearby was struck down with nothing but plumage visible and protruding from the hole in his chest.

    Looking quickly to his left, cold fear gripped him as the crossbowman realized their position was flanked by mounted archers. The buzz of panic and horror was quickly stifled by a silent dart, loosed from an unknown rider, which found it's mark in the man's belly. As the man fell, his bowels opened and a mixture of filth and blood mixed with the gray sand. The cold eyes of the dead stare straight ahead, uncaring as the bodies were claimed by the desert. Standing on a distant holltop, the ghastly visage of a mounted rider, banner furling in the wind, could be seen silhouetted against the setting sun. The rider reared his mount and trotted off in the opposite direction, never again to return to the field.


    Entrant 1 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Horsemen of the Apocalypse

    The three riders plodded slowly across the burning plain, two seeming to wink in and out of existence, as if not fully committed to this world.

    I really can't be bothered any more”, said gaunt black Death. All I get here are the regurgitated left-overs from that greedy bastard”.

    Don't you get the nobles when they pop their clogs over doing it in the harem or in the feasting hall?” suggested Famine, portly and sweating in his tightly fitting full plate armour.

    Yes, but most of them die in suicidal charges, which means War gets them first. By the time I see them they're all dried out and they taste disgusting”.

    Count yourself lucky”, said Famine, I get nothing at all, armies can sit in the middle of the desert for a hundred years and no one starves!”

    As for Pestilence,” he continued, gesturing to the pathetic figure bringing up the rear, the next scripted plague is fifty years away, so he has to carry it himself until then, poor bugger ...You all right back there?” The figure attempted a response, but all that came out was a wet gurgling cough.

    The two of them agreed that War was definitely having all the fun.

    Famine continued in a low voice Actually I've been rather naughty, I took all the siege casualties, after all it doesn't actually say they die of disease – it could easily have been starvation, they don't even have refrigeration yet!”

    Looking back they saw the Pestilence had stopped, his back arched in a spasm. He gave a great racking choking cough that sent blood and bile arcing through the air only to be swallowed instantly by the parched earth. Then he toppled slowly from his horse. While he was still falling, both rider and horse abruptly disappeared.

    Well, that's torn it.” said Pestilence. I'm off too, maybe we'll have better luck in ETW”.

    The burning plain was empty, natural disasters no longer worked and soldiers still lived forever, but at least War was happy.


    Entrant 2 - Sensi Karate
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Rangers Longbow
    The sword swiped his neck making blood spray out in a great heap. He fell off his horse and onto a green patch of grass where he laid, his face pale and mouth dry. "You killed General Llanima!" shouted my apprentice as he leaped off his horse and poked the Moorish General in the face. "Do not be so inconsiderate to him my young apprentice. He may of been the enemy leader, but he was also of royal blood and is worthy of respect no matter what he did in this life", I insisted to my learned student. He nodded, not arguing with my judgement as he knew my ruling was final. "Help me pick him up. You need to bring him back to our camp and wait for my arrival. I will head north and assasinate General Morgarath", I told him as we lifted his dead corpse onto his horse. He then got on the horse, looking to the North to see the reinforcements coming this way, then looked back at me, my face not showing even a squint of emotion at the events that were about to come. "You can call me Ponti you know?” he said. "But that would take the fun out of you being my apprentice, now would it?" I exclaimed back at him, smirking as he turned his head and rode off into the distance.

    I headed North to where General Morgarath and his army of Moorish reinforcements were marching towards the already intense battle. After running for over ten minutes, I finally reached the Moorish soldiers. After waiting in the bushes, watching the incredible masses of enemies marching to the battle zone, I finally saw the General Morgarath the Killer, who brought terror across the Iberian Peninsula and even sieged Rome at one point. His face full of scars and one eye lost after the Battle of Lucas, which resulted in a win for the Spanish, one of only a few victories for the Spanish Alliance against the Moorish. I quietly pulled my longbow from my body and unsheathed an arrow from my quiver. I attached it onto the longbow and pulled the bowstring back. General Morgarath was in perfect sight and I quickly got into position. Hatred ran through my body as I heard him joke about the ‘pitiful Catholics.’ I let go of the arrow, it flew through the air like a lightning bolt. General Morgarath had finished his joke about the Catholics when the arrow went straight through his heart, his face went white and he fell off his horse. A silence went through the ranks of his army, men looking around trying to find me. Then a loud cry was heard by one of his bodyguards, “FIND THE ASSASSIN!” The men shouted with him and scurried around the bushes. Arrows went flying everywhere, hitting trees and the ground around me. With the enemy so close I quickly rushed to the forest, where my camp was set up. I used the shadows to protect myself from the dangers that were trying to find me. After a long tedious trip, I eventually arrived at the camp where Ponti was waiting with the dead corpses of the Prince. “You survived, eh? That’s one two generals killed today alone? You going to take out the Pope next?” greeted Ponti as I lye down on a mat, my legs tired from the long run. “Maybe tomorrow young one. For now I need to rest myself. We had a long march back to Lucas Mount tomorrow. General Morgaraths army will be disorganized and many will abandoning the march. This five day battle will finally end tomorrow”, I smirked at Ponti as I continued, “You take first nightshift, they'll be scouts trying to find our location, take them out 'quitely.' Wake me up in a few hours,” I winked to Ponti and soon fell to sleep, my dreams running wild.



    Entrant 3 - bomberboy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A Generals Sending

    The General looked at the battlefield. The Portuguese had brought some of the finest knights in the whole of Iberia, dressed in brightly coloured coat of arms that showed defiantly who that knight was. The armour shone like the rays of a thousand suns in the glistening sunshine. As thousands of armour plated warriors, thirsty for blood, Moorish blood marched confidently, in the arid lands of southern Portugal. The general, his tanned face scarred, showed years of being in the trade of war, and made him look much older than he actually was. The Christian footmen trailed shortly behind the knights but at the front of each lowly peasant, who was lucky enough to have a sword, or even low quality leather armour, that looked ready to break was a knight on foot or men-at-arms. These men carried swords, mighty ones that survivors said they were as big as the tallest and mightiest of men. Others carried polearms that tore men a sunder like sliced bread.

    The general looked at his own men. The majority had no armour, wearing robes and clothing that was better suited walking through the harsh conditions of the desert back home, than in a battle. Others had simple leather armour that glistened brighter that day than they did when they were put on fresh from the black smith. The heavy cavalrymen he had were the best of the best. Covered head to toe in Lamellar armour and a steel helmet, these men were fearsome yet were out numbered by the Christian knights. He had also placed his best foot soldiers in the front and the others behind. His only hope was his horse archers to win the day.

    The Portuguese charged, “release arrows!” he bellowed, the twang of a thousand bows filled the air along with the cries of men. The Portuguese were hit hard but kept coming. The horse archers raced along the sides and fired at the slow moving infantry, yet crossbow fire tore into them, and out of nowhere light cavalry charged them from the rear, and routed them. Now the battle had joined, the Moorish infantry losing ground but not giving up. The general charged with his cavalry but intercepted by the knights, he was forced to fight. The General killed many a Christian that day, but alas, he was cut down and dead before he hit the ground.



    Entrant 4 - Sun Zaraki
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Fall of Captain Ibn-Salil
    Come now you Muses of old, those who see and know all, and tell me the story of the Great Captain who did fall for his country and die for his religion. Sing to me of his epic journey through lands of sand and rock, into cities greater than can be imagined, lined woth gold and silver. Come now you muses, and aid my mind and my hand to write this great story of sacrifice...
    Ibn-Salil was just seventeen when he first saw battle, saw the crimson, viscous liquid staining the ground, heard the cries of heroes an normal soldier alike. He was just seventeen... when he and his fellow soldiers retook the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem. He trudged through blood soaked sand, through the fallen walls of the city and came to the hill, occupied by the Knights Temple. They had all gone, leaving behind only mere sergeants. Ibn stood firm, and began to bounce up the hill with his fellow soldiers. The arrows whistled through the air, clunking down onto paved ground, or thudding into flesh protected insufficiently, but not Ibn. He sustained three hits to the chest, each arrow never piercing the iron platemail and the four layers of boiled leather beneath that. He slaughtered many that day, and stood triumphant-as a lion stands over a stag it has killed to feed its starving cubs- so Ibn stood and proclaimed himself "Betterr than the infidel scum"
    After this battle, he was entrusted with his chosen men, who had made the attack on the Dome, to patrol the northern border of Palestine. He fended off many an attacker on a fateful Dawn, and her fingers were esspcially rosy that day. The ferenghi Lord Guillemot was slain by his hand, as was the Polish Prince Wladslaw Yzzbek. His greatness was known, and his spear was infamous.
    But, it was on that fateful September morning that he fell from his magnificent steed. Having been warned of thousnads of Crusader scum approaching the eastern border oo Palestine, Ibn mustered an army and moved to meet this attack. The charge... and the retreat were sudden. AAs soon as the Saracens saw the Crusader army they felt a roar ofcourage in their hearts, and with Ibn at their lead they charged. The clash... and the retreat. All routed. Exceot Ibn, for he was too proud. Calling to his god, he cried "Allah! Your faithful servant shall die today, but not without a fight! I shall die for you today, and only you!" So he spoke and made his lone charge at the ferenghi line. A siingle rider also charged against him. Risng high in his stirrups, Ibn screamed that shriill cry and waved his sword in the air, confident he would win. The ferenghi, clad in armour, made no attempt to raise his weapon. They were three feet apart when the killing blow was struck. Ibn had swung for the knights, under the arm where the armour is weakest. The knight simply moved left and cut for his throat. The sword sliced through, making no sign of slowing down, cutting through the chinstrap also. The armoured horse reared, the golden and steel armour chinkling about it, and Ibn fell to the earth with his grand armour crashing to the floor. He reached his hand to the sky, the blood pouriing from his throt, and he cried. And so, dark death took him there and then, shrouding his eyes in darkness to take him to his heaven... or his hell...





    TotW 14 - Untitled Picture
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Winner - Desperado †
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Poverty, Obediance, and Chastity

    Father David would be the first to admit that a monks life was a good one. The stylish clothes, the free wine, the easy life, the newest Gregorian chants for free straigh to his Ipod, the escape of obligation of keeping your hair up to date with the latest styles. But, alas, when David finnished the page of the Medieval II England faction Video Introduction, and reached for his Pepsi can, he couldn't help but feel needing something. He once again reached for glossy pages of 'Countesses un-Clothed' and gave a sigh as he opened the book and stared hungrilly at Lady Eleanor d'Anjou's mighty baggage.


    The monks life offered much. And despite the three rules, poverty, obbediance and chastity, only one was absoulute. Poverty mattered little, as all Ipods, Mobiles, Designer Outfits, Glitter Balls, Nike trainers and other acceseries belonged to the Church. So long as the local residence weren't woken by the weekly party's, obbedience was in the bag.


    But Chastity, alas, was a diffrent matter. There had been days when any monk could easilly slip down the brothel, perhaps nod at his Abbot in the waiting room, and then enjoy some fresh young flesh and the pleasurous shouts and painfull gasps. But ever since Father Russel had boasted of bedding one German Man's gran daughter, and almost become in a litteral Father, everything had changed. The only pleasure for the Monks now days was the rough hard flesh of young Monks in learning, and though desiarable for some, David was not that sort.


    And so it was that whenever Father David did open the fatefull book, and give the repetitive voiceover to one or other faction, his head would not be filled with grand ideas of new emerging Kings, but rather the lustfull, starving fantasy of Eleanor d'Anjou's baggage....


    Entrant 1 - bomberboy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Cheeky Monk

    Thomas was sitting at his desk admiring the sexy lady who lay down on a prop with a sexy smile and a sexy pose. “Ooh,” he muttered. He could almost feel her soft skin touching him and licking his face with her tongue. He flipped the page. And out of nowhere David popped his head round. “Christ!” shouted Thomas he quickly hid the porno under his research books. “Sorry about that Thomas, how’s your research going?” asked David.

    “Oh, its fine, fine yeah I’ve almost discovered the way…the way…the…way to turn lead into gold! Yes, yes that, that’s what I’m researching!” David nodded; well I didn’t hear you, doing that. I heard you go phoar! And ooh! And ah! Also you were giggling and at one point I heard you say. “I’d that !” Thomas quickly came up with an answer, that’s because I’m…also learning how to talk to teenagers. Yeah you know, juveniles, idiots, apes.” “Well can I grab a book and see your research.” Thomas responded by taking the book away. “No, no not that book! Here, this one this one has all the…” He checked inside and there was this week’s hardcore porno issue 33. “No this one…” There was a softcore in that one. “Well I’m grabbing one,” said David.

    “Nooooo!” screamed Thomas he threw the desk onto the floor and then his secret was unleashed to the world. “A pox on thee!” cursed David. “Why?” cried Thomas. “Porno’s are disgrace to the lord and you are also a disgrace to the lord. May he turn your wine to piss, and your food to dog and your life as bad as hell! I hereby banish you and your pornography from this monastery. Be gone!” Thomas grabbed a bag and packed all his belongings into it and began to walk off.

    “Oh Thomas!” called out David.
    “Yes,” moaned Thomas.
    “I’d that !” David Replied.

    THE END


    Entrant 2 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Ye Olde Playboy

    It was a stormy, lonesome night in the Abbey. The abbot had just read the nightly prayer, and all of Christendom was preparing for the cloak of night to cover the sleepy countryside. In a lone cell, deep within the vaulted halls of the Abbey, brother John was preparing for bed. Removing his bible from the shaky, aged table in the corner, he dusted it and placed it gingerly on his bed.

    Chuckling to himself, he opened the pages to reveal the latest editions of Ye Olde Playboy, a pornography publication.

    "Well, best get started!" The man said to himself with an excited grin. You see, when a man spends too much time working in gardens and praying, he has little else to look forward to throughout the day. The friar was about to break the seal on his illicit images when suddenly there came a tapping, as if someone gently rapping, rapping at his chamber door. Only this and nothing more. ()

    Embarrassed, and slightly taken back, the monk quickly stuffed the papers under his bed, straightened his robes, and headed towards the door. Beams of light were visible under the door, as if someone was holding a bright candle. Opening the door, a bright flash of brilliant crimson and white light shone forth, blinding the monk.

    Stumbling backwards, the monk landed uncomfortably upon his bottom and he was quite taken back. In fear, he jumped to his feet, and called out in a shaky voice "Sssir, w-w-what do-do you w-w-ant?"

    The white orb, for that is what it appeared to be, moved closer and into the bedchamber. The shape began to materialize and it was clear that the shape was that of a woman -and indeed- a very beautiful woman. The monk's fear slowly melted away and gave way to excitement as his heart pumped in his chest, ever faster as the light faded.

    There was a bit of saliva gathering at the corners of his mouth as the light finally dissipated and the woman was visible for the first time. The monk's wry smile faded and his mouth dropped.

    It was The Blessed Virgin Mary, the Mother of Jesus*. Mary strode across the floor, and she did not look the least bit happy. Standing directly in front of the monk, and several inches shorter, she reared back and slapped the monk across the cheek. She then immediately turned about and strode out of the cell, her chin held high.


    Entrant 3 - Sensi Karate
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A monks life for me, and a whisk of thy playboy for me!

    Father Lucas unraveled the Playboy from its golden silk cover. His eyes shun like stars in the night sky as the first page showed Princesses Adriana of France baring it all for Playboy. Saliva started mounting on the right side of his lip as he turned the page with excitement.

    His eyes widened as he saw the first exposing picture of Princess Adriana in a very seductive pose. After a long stare he read the title for this chapter, "Princess gone wild." He started to lick his lips as he turned the pages, each showing Princess Adriana in a very dirty pose, even some so zoomed in, so you felt like you were there with her, naked with babyoil smoothered on the floor. His heart pounded as he continued through the book, other models exposing themselves with the seductive Princess Adriana doing various things which no man could not get even a bit worked up on.

    As he flipped to the last page, his heart stopped to a hault, he put his glasses on and saw an advertisement. The words slipped out of his mouth as he read it, "Do you want to spend a romantice night with the Princess Adriana? Send us a small 500 word 'tale' about your naughty dreams about Princess Adriana and the winner will recieve a night with her at the Royale Gallar Hotel. Maybe your dreams will come true!" He gasped for air, he knew he had to win this, and had no time to spare.

    That second, Priest Gregory opened the doors of the church and immediately shouted at Father Lucas, "Father Lucas! We need you to do the final prayers for the 50 men who died defending the castle walls!" he insisted. "Oh shut it Gregory! The dead aren't going to be walking away, now are they? I got more important things to do! I'll be in my room, call me if theres something important, such as the new issue of Play... nevermind, leave now child!" Father Lucas shouted as he marched off into his room, his Playboy magazine tightely squeezed around his hands.



    Entrant 4 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Temporal Disturbance

    To the Committee for the Mission to the diocese of Britannia:
    Dear Colleagues, materials have recently come into the hands of my Brothers of the Monastery of Benediktbeuern that demonstrate the existence of a process for increasing the durability of religious tracts. We would respectfully request allocation of funds to pursue our scientific analysis of these materials.

    The materials exhibit a glossy resinous layer that fixes and preserves the text and illuminations. This would be the perfect means by which we might preserve the results of the work of the selfless and hardworking monks of this order. Sample sheets of the materials are included.
    Your humble servant in Christ: Brother Umberto


    To Brother Umberto of Benediktbeuern:
    We are most impressed with the quality of the materials, but we have some questions about the text. It shows amazing precision, surely the product of skilled monks, but there are many strange words and phrases that we hope you can help us with.

    The text appears to be mostly in some unknown dialect of Anglo-Saxon interspersed with Latin. Reassuringly the word Missionary occurs often, but many of the Latin words appear military in nature, such as vagina (a sheath for swords) and ejaculare (throwing of javelins). Are you able to help us understand the relevance of fellatio (sucking) and cunnilingus (licking) to missionary work – perhaps a treatise on food preparation has been inadvertently included? Also, what is the significance of the French phrase “House of three” which appears several times?
    Regards, Father Sextus Nones, Committee for the Mission


    To the Committee for the Mission to the diocese of Britannia:
    Please don’t be concerned with the content of the samples, it is merely the sealing process which we wish to reproduce. We are in urgent need of funds so that we can apply this process to a series of pamphlets we intend to produce to encourage enrolment into the Benedictine Order. I have enclosed some more samples featuring paintings of female subjects for your perusal.
    Your humble servant, Umberto


    To Brother Umberto of Benediktbeuern:
    We feel that this material is unsuitable for missionary work. A serious and thorough investigation of these items needs to be undertaken by senior clerics of this committee. Please forward all remaining items immediately, at which time your funding will be released as requested.
    Father Sextus Nones



    Totw 15 - A frozen lake, the night and the berzerkers
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Naturalist
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Tancred wasn't like the other Germans. He didn't like fighting. He liked dancing and signing!

    The warriors didn't know this, but they suspected it. Tancred was always humming to himself on the march, moving in tune to the sound of their feet. But he hadn't run from battle yet, so they left him alone.

    Until tonight.

    The Germans had come upon a frozen lake, made camp, and turned in for the night. Tancred pretended to sleep, but after the last drunken German passed out, he opened his eyes and sprung up. He rummaged through his sack and grabbed a pair of skates made from swords attached to bits of wood and leather. He rushed towards the lake dressed in a skintight leather suit that was decorated with feathers and colourful leaves.

    On the ice, he did a quick triple axel and skated around, beaming joyously. He started humming to himself. Then he did a spin, a jump, and landed it perfectly. He began to sing softly. “Oh, I don't know why you're not there…I give you my love, but you don't care …so what is right and WHAT IS WRONG!” He ended the verse loudly and heard grunting emanate from the camp. He looked towards the lakeshore, and many men were at the lakeshore, carrying axes and looking angry. But such was his joy at skating, Tancred didn’t care. He sang even louder. He shouted, “What is love? Oh baby, don't hurt me! Don't hurt me, no more!”


    Tancred kept on, louder. “WHAT IS LOVE? OH BABY DON’T HURT ME—“

    He was cut off--the warriors had stepped onto the lake. One of them opened his mouth--

    “WHOA WHOA WHOA, OOOOH OOOOH! WHOA WHOA WHOA, OOOOH OOOOH!” he bellowed.

    Thus Tancred, with his newfound friends, danced the night away.


    Entrant 1 - Sun Zaraki
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Hum


    The druid moans sound the chage, let us know they are here. Like wolves prowling around a lone goat or doe, licking their lips for the feast soon to come. That is they, the Hum as we know them. The druid pagans of Germania, wrapped in bear fur with axes or pickaxes, their faces painted blue. Not any demon of the underworld would face them, not any devil. They swarmed upon the land like the Sea Peoplees of old, destroying, marauding, raping, burning, maiming... killing. The blood would run in rivers before they even got tired, and they would EAT the flesh of those who fell to them.
    The Moon casts an eerie glow on them tonight though, and it seems to give them power, give them bravery. We wait across a stream, summoning the courage that we havv left, sharing it together... but wolves eat goats and sheep and that is what our braver extends to. Our spears may be the sharpest in the world, but even that is not defense enough against these wolves, these dogs.
    The moan... we hear it now as their reflections mirror their images into greater beasts tha already are. The moonlight glints off their weapons, and we know we die today, shield to shield, man to man, we are joined in death this way, and fall as one.
    The Hum charge....


    Entrant 2 - bomberboy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The March of the Brave
    The brave mighty warriors of the ancient land of the German Tribes marched fearlessly across the frozen wastes of the plain. The small puddle reflected them in the winter suns weak and pale rays. But the cold didn’t bother these men. These men were thirsty, thirsty for Roman blood and to sink their weapons, may it be axes, spears or even the sharp canines of their teeth into the flesh of the enemy. The Romans stood in front like a wall of glistening steel the looked more like animated statues than men. The berserkers dressed in the sacred bear pelts shouted they’re war cry’s with a vengeance. No more will the Romans stalk this land no more will women be raped, no more will their children and grand-children be turned into puny Roman scum. They’re lives were shortened. The shouts of Latin war cry’s were automated over the air of battle but undaunted the Berserkers began to jog.

    The centurion saw the berserkers moving towards them at a deadly pace. Without emotion in his eyes he shouted, “Release Arrows!” The men acknowledged and with it shot a forest of deadly arrows into the poor berserkers. A hundred fell but a hundred more ran on then as the arrows stopped the javelins begun.

    Without remorse and emotions bordering along madness the berserkers charged the waiting line.


    Entrant 3 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Fear Not Death

    Wind bit the warriors as they emerged from the forest. Their long, puffed breaths hurried from their lungs and were immediately crystallized in the wintry chill...

    The night was well lit, the gods had blessed their venture. A full moon cast eerie shadows on the ice of a nearby pond, illuminating the massive warriors as they passed. Standing at a height of least six feet, these men were fearsome and huge, but it was to be their last march. It was the final attempt of a people to expunge from their ancestral these smallish, clean shaven men that called themselves Romans. They had an insatiable greed for land and the only way to stop their advance was by merciless butchery.

    Armed with hammers with spikes, the men of the Germanic tribes moved forward like a tide, ready to descend on the sleepy camp down below. The Romans seemed to think that just because of some snow, war ceased. Poor misled fools.

    Scouts were sent ahead to make ready for the assault and they slipped quietly ever closer to the camp. Roman sentries patrolled outside the wall, but in the shade of the trees, the stealthy tribes people could not be seen. Shivering in their armor, the Roman sentry had no idea that a burly German was less than six feet away from him hoisting a war hammer into position.

    In one fell swoop, the hammer headed straight for the helmet of the guard. The spike easily found a weak spot in the helmet as the cruel steel battered it's way first through metal, then through bone, then into the soft center of the head, where upon entrance the guard's life was utterly ended and the warm liquid that followed out of the wound stained the ground in crimson.

    With the outer guards dead, the Germans, in a deafening roar, descended upon the camp. The gate was forced open, as it was carelessly manned, and carnage ensued. The fury of an entire race was unleashed upon the sons of a far away empire.

    In the woods nearby faint clanking of metal could be heard amidst the gentle falling of the snow in the trees.


    Entrant 4 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The power of the Berserker

    The many ranks of the German berserkers were quiet. They walked in perfect discipline, not talking and focusing on making themselves have a concealed anger to release upon their enemies. The army was quiet, apart from two men in the last rank.
    “Um…Ario?
    Ariovistus sighed. Walking through these bloody forests in a blizzard was bad enough, having this idiot walking with him was…madness. Absolute madness. He was going into a rage, and when he went into a rage…man, there would be hell to pay.
    “What! What do you want, Suevi. And make it quick, my bare chest feels colder when I speak.”
    “Well…I think I saw a ghost. I’m scared.”
    Ario slowly turned to look at him. His face turned red with rage.
    Suevi stopped. His lip wobbled, and he looked like he might cry. Ario stopped him, by smashing him upside the head with his battle axe.
    “YOU ARE SCARED!! For the gods sakes, you are a berserker! You were bred in the cloning chamber to not feel fear, to fight entire armies without a thought of danger, and you are SCARED!!!” Crows flew from his voice, and Suevi looked up from the dirt frightfully. fortunately for him, Ariovistus missed the look. Fortunate because the alternative would have involved his head, and mashing. Enough said.
    He left Suevi on the ground, and rejoined the perfect ranks. Discipline is, after all, what Germans were known for. He focused on them again, on the lines of German wolves, ready to tear the throat of their prey out at a moments notice. Concentration was the key.
    Without warning, Suevi knocked him down, yelling, “Look out! There’s a ghost in front of you!”
    Ario looked down, and glared at his own reflection in the water. His eyes narrowed.
    “That’s…IT!!” He swung his axe, and caught Suevi in the head with the gruesomely sharp tip. Ouch. He felt anger bubbling in his stomach, and released it.
    With a primal roar of rage, he leaped and knocked out the men surrounding with a single blow. He roared “Who will take me on!”
    No one came to face him. He then ran across the ENTIRE width of the Rhine, and leaped onto the Roman legion on the other side. Several minutes passed, and Ario ran back over the Rhine, having destroyed the ENTIRE Roman Legion. The power of the Berserker. *


    Entrant 5 - molls
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Exercise and Demise



    “Now do you want to win this or not?“



    The men started ranting:



    “It’s so cold!”

    “...in the middle of the night...”

    “..and the land is so dark”

    “Those axes are so heavy-“

    “...and the moon is the only light we see...”

    Belsarus felt an angry chill crawling up his spine.
    ”Cut the whining this instant! How do you want to compete against the disciplined Romans, or the furious Gauls when you start whining about the ‘oh so bitter night’ ?

    You will be defending the pride and reputation of our nation in the ‘Patavium Contest’ soon and it was you to apply for the job, wasn’t it?”

    The group shut down and remained waiting on the border of the frozen lake.

    Belsarus faced the few painted old men sitting on the ground with strange instruments to his right.

    “Druids!”

    A faint whimper was the answer: “ – yesss ? “

    In all his might, Belsarus shouted:


    “ MUSIC!”


    The druids began to hum and drum, playing their various percussion sets. And the air was filled with a slow, moving music.

    “I am waiting...”


    The group of “berzerkers” were getting in position, shivering but daring.


    --


    A first quartet began their gracious performance and soon the others followed.

    Pirouettes, complexe figures and the most risky turnings in mid air were seen, as the whole bunch of wild men was ice-skating in a most nobel manner on the frozen lake.



    Belsarus smiled: The training went well.

    He had brought those axes as accelerating tools for the pirouettes and it was only good fortune that his crew was used to bloodsheds (being berzerkers...) so that the first ... accidents with the axes while colliding fullspeed against other team mates during the fastpaced scating performance did not cause too much trouble.


    Belsarus was confident that his group would win this years "figure scating contest".
    The quality of this performance was speaking volumes.

    The quality of the ice was speaking muted creaks, with increasing volume.



    Entrant 6 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Last Stand at Lake Trasimene

    Gaiobomarius, unlike any other Germans. fought to the last of his life and was able to touch his fellow companion berserkers that become his personal bodyguards. In his campaign, He led the Germans into so many victories that only the best Roman armies dared to cross swords with him. Especially considering the fierceness of his berserkers! He took part in the annihilation of Varus's legions and made him and the Roman army so ashamed that Augustus said: " Varus, give me back my legions! "

    Some years after the Roman attack, The Germans, including Gaiobomarius, are no more longer patient enough to counterattack the Romans. Years after Years of victories followed the Germans and it seemed like it is futile for the Romans to resist or even stem this seemingly invincible tides of defeat.

    After various campaigns, The Germans had succeeded taking Gaul and the lands of Getae and almost forced the Romans to an indignified defeat.

    Finally, Gaiobomarius and his companions reached Lake Trasimene with 7800 men, a lake where a history was born, he saw the Romans pitched up camp at the other side of the river with 30000 men. Surely the Romans wouldn't want to repeat something that has already happened here? The Germans are known for their fierceness while the Romans are famed for having powerful armor troops, but easily intimidated by the mere sight of routing troops and death. He had somehow already foreseen a possibility of victory. He hid his troops at a forest where Roman corpses are still lumped and not buried. He has a plan, to throw the corpses to mock the Romans. The tactic was a success. The Romans are rushing to the Germans....

    Before battle, Gaiobomarius and his companions looked down on their faces on their 'mirrors' and prayed to their respective gods. May the gods bless them once more......


    Entrant 7 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Target Acquisition
    “I knew you'd come in useful someday you ugly bastard” Lentulus remarked as he adjusted the frozen corpse of his ex-Ducenarius to fit more snugly into the makeshift barricade.

    The cohort had been trapped on this island for three days now. Most of them had died reaching this place after the castra had been overrun. A dozen bodies still lay on the shore where the bridge to the island had started, before Lentulus had set fire to it. The enemy had tried swimming across, but the Romans had killed them easily, so now there was a stand-off.

    Every morning Alamanni archers crept up through the trees to take pot shots. Then in the evenings, young warriors came to taunt them. At first the Romans had tried throwing pila and plumbatae, but they dodged easily and it just wasted ammunition. Now the dozen surviving legionaries stayed behind their improvised works as much as possible.

    But just as hope began to swell in Roman breasts, the weather turned and the lake froze. That evening, instead of taunters, the Alamanni warlord brought up his berserkers. The Romans watched fascinated as they took their potions, scourged each other and danced themselves into a frenzy around their camp fires.

    Handlers lined the berserkers up along the shore to fix their attention on the target. Lentulus mouthing a silent prayer to Mars, got up to stand with his comrades.

    The frozen lake, covered with a thin film of water due to the fires, cast an ethereal reflection of the warriors. The enemy, twitching and jerking to the compulsion of their geas, stepped out onto the lake and lowered their heads, like bulls ready to charge.

    But then the strangest thing happened. Almost as one they stopped and, still looking down, began to scream and froth, their spiked clubs rising and falling as they tried to kill the beasts they saw in the water.

    It was only a matter of moments before the newly frozen ice cracked and the whole band were thrashing in the water, their struggles rapidly weakening as the cold claimed them. A wail went up from the watching Alamanni and they rushed forward to try to save their champions.

    Later they remembered their original purpose, but by then Lentulus and his men were already gone into the gloom.

    Last edited by wowbanger; April 25, 2011 at 01:20 PM.



    "Some writers never know what's to be written until they see it on the page...." Some words of wisdom from my good friend, Mega Tortas de Bodemloze

  5. #5
    wowbanger's Avatar Decanus
    Join Date
    Mar 2010
    Location
    Wreocensćte
    Posts
    593

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 16 - Will you Have Pity with this one?
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Sword


    Vashili had never been a great warrior. He was of the impoverished minor nobility and so served as a captain of the levy, unable to afford the panoply, and more importantly the string of horses, required of the Boyars.


    But then his luck had changed. His company had cornered a small group of Polish nobles in a mill house. Following the storming party in, he found only one enemy still able to fight, but his sword traced a whirling arc of death about him and none were able to get near. But then by chance, the sword struck a hanging cauldron which fell knocking the man senseless. Vashili lost no time darting forward and running the man through with his hanger, with such force that it broke.


    From that day, the captured sword seemed to bring Vashili fortune. He became feared and respected by his men having killed scores in single combat. Although none dared speak of it, they noticed that it was the sword that seemed to do most of the fighting, Vashili trailing behind it like a mere appendage attached to the pommel.


    The nature of the fighting changed. Now the Teutonic Order was ravaging the lands that Vashili's lords had so recently conquered. They were grim foes who killed, not with the passion and hatred of normal men, but mechanically out of some inexplicable duty.


    The Army of the Grand Duke saw fit to draw on even Vashili's men for the climactic battle. It went disastrously. A small body of Teutonic Knights had ridden into the mass of the Boyars, and incredibly had beaten them! Now Knights on foot marched with mechanical precision towards Vashili's line protecting the baggage.


    With his men dying all around him, Vashili was still confident the sword would save him. Then a Knight strode up to him, face hidden within a hideous horned helm. Vashili raised the sword, and it did... nothing!


    Straining at the pommel with both hands, Vashili never even noticed the swing of the mace that crushed his chest. He fell, numb with the shock, sword still held out straight before him.


    His field of vision narrowing with approaching death, Vashili saw the Teuton calmly take the sword from his outstretched hand and step over him on his way to future glory.


    Entrant 1 - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    More than Meets the Eye


    The brethren of the Teutonic order had fought for days on end, mercilessly slaughtering the natives in God's name. Each battle was bloodier than the last, their white colours stained with blood, sweat and dirt. And it was with that, that the conquest was nearing it's end. But inside a battle, there are many stories.

    Ludwig von Wolfenstein was a long serving Knight of the Order. Captain of his unit, he was a gallant Crusader, chivalrous to his brethren, but mercilless to his enemies. On this, the final battle, he had fell at least eight of the heretic scum. Then, he felt a touch to his leg. Always alert and with lightning reflexes, he turned with his sword ready to parry his foe's attack. He looked down the ground.

    "Maxmillion! What are you doing down there!", cried Ludwig.

    "I am dying my old friend", responded the Knight's squire, clutching at his leg, his hand moving ever upwards.

    "What.. what are you doing..."

    "If these are to be my last hours, then I wish to at least die knowing I could say one thing.". The man reached upwards, closer and closer to where no Crusader would want to be touched by his fellow man.

    "Er... Maxmillion... why are you doing this..."

    "I love you Ludwig!!! Please, make my last few minutes on earth the happinest of my life!"

    "HERETIC SCUM! PREPARE TO BE SENT TO HELL!!!"

    "Err... what are you doing... err... NO NO I WAS JUST JOKING!"

    "Only God knows if you were joking or not, and he shall pass judgement on you soon enough!"

    As Maxmillion threw his bloodied and beaten arm infront of his face, Ludwig rose his sword and began the swing to end his friend's life. As the scream from his friend rose above the sounds of the battle, his sword was well and truly buried in his corpse. Ludwig had absolutely no defence against the Pagan berserker behind him, screaming the battle cry... "I LIKE CAKE!".

    These stories happen on every single battle, and all are forgotten in the annals of history. So next time you read up on the Teutonic Knights, remember the soldier of melancholy known only as Maxmillion. Remember him as the man, who only ever wanted to be loved.


    Entrant 2 - bomberboy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    One Last Breath



    The Knight sliced the pole with his blade watching the blood put on a ballet of crimson that sparkled in the sun. Then scouting out for another victim he spotted a lowly peasant looting a fallen comrade of his. That was his target charging over he slashed the peasant legs the blood shooting out covering his tunic in a red paint.




    “Have Mercy ‘o great one please!”



    The Knight looked, his eyes hidden by the deep shadows of the great helm he wore like a second skin. He grabbed the sword and plunged it into the peasants stomach a cry that sounded like a confused and fearful puppy entered the air. The knight twisted the blade and then released it.



    The Knight prowled the battlefield.

    Looking for his next prey.



    Entrant 3 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Zombie Hand

    The battlefield was littered with the corpse of the dead. Victims after victims have fallen to the sword and the spear. The Knights slew any living body of the resistance army and slaughtered all of the wounded layed on the battlefield. Would they be insane enough to be called battlefiends?

    Reznov, one of the resistance troop that joined the last line of the army, as a last hope to stem any knight attack. The battle had seemed impossible. But what can a desperate human do in such situation?

    Before the battle starts, all soldiers said their last words before the expected death, "DO NOT FORGET THAT I WORSHIP THE GOD!!!"

    When the battle started, Reznov had already known that the meaning of the battle is futility. When there is no hideout, then what remains must be defended. When both armies exchange arrows. The outcome began to look more and more obvious. As men and men started to look at the sky. Women and women joined the battle. But it is too late for them to be any help. The Knights had put everyone, including children to the sword!

    Reznov tried to make a run for another city, but the Knights had surrounded the village. And so was killed. At least he thought and fallen to the ground. But how many stabs and slashes put to him, he didn't die. The knights tried putting him in stakes, but the flames doused away at his sight. The Knights put him to the ground once more, at this time, the hand moved by itself!
    " Help me!, I'm going to hell!"
    The funny screams can be heard everywhere, and all put to the ground and the corpses seem gone for a while. The Zombie after this dies and puts himself to rest.


    Entrant 4 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Lights Out

    As the peasant was sent hurtling to the ground in one massive kick from Sir Michael's boot, no sound could be heard except the knight's own labored breathing. Michael thrust his sword into the bare chest of the peasant, red leapt from the new gash in the torso and painted the sword with a fresh coat. Drops from the spray had even splattered the Knight's gleaming armor.

    All at once a bugle call could be heard. It sounded like that of a hunter's horn. "Strange," thought he, "why would the baron send reinforcements when we surely would be enough?"

    Just as Michael sent another poorly prepared serf sprawling into the next world with a clean slash across the neck, a deafening roar was heard from behind. Pausing for a moment to gather himself, the Knight cast his glance across the field to see who the baron had sent. Scottish mercenaries?

    To his horror, Michael did not see militia, not even reinforcements, but the sigh of hundreds of screaming serfs chargin his position. Alerting his comrades, now pitifully few in number in comparison to the ranks before the battle, made ready to face the assault.

    under normal circumstances, there would be no reason the baron's men wouldn't win the day. But in the face of hundreds, possibly thousands of enraged villagers armed to the teeth with whatever they could wield, the knights began to give ground.

    Dispatching a boy no older than 15, Michael realized that his strenght was failing. His armor had saved him from many a pitch fork and occasional scythe, but it was unbearably heavy. falling to one knee, sweat poured into his eyes. That's when he felt the knife go into his back. Rearing around in a flush of adrenaline, Michael realized that many of his fellows lay around him in puddles of blood.

    A sharp object entered his side. What weapon it was cannot be said, but it twisted into his ribs and when released drew with it blood as red as flame. Falling on his side, the knight made a feeble attempt to defend himself which left a peasant armless, but within seconds they were upon him. Rippin off his helmet a massive hammer was brought down on his skull.

    One more extinguished flame of a soul.


    Entrant 5 - _TheChevalier_
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I'm a Monster

    My name is Friedich Speer, my german name, I was born in Lithuania under a name that I forgot, so many years that I left my home, I was unhappy with anything related to the pagan gods and the boring life I had, so I escaped to the west with my horse and some clothes.

    Finally I reached a Teutonic monastery and learned the catholic believes, which I liked, after that I decided to join the Teutonic Order.

    That day we were marching to a pagan village, then I see a pagan army and our commander decided to wait a couple of hours for reinforcements, after two hours the reinforcements arrived and both forces prepared for battle.

    Soon the fight started and our forces quickly took the advantage, the pagans could make anything to stop our charge, I was happy until I killed one particular spearmen, he tried to stab me, I blocked him and then he fell he claimed for mercy but I just stabbed him in the chest and then cutted his head.

    I realised he had a pendant which looked familiar, I compared it with my pendant, I thinked about 5 minutes and I discovered that I have just commited the worst act in my life.

    He was my brother, I'm a monsteeeer!!, I just killed my little pagan brother, I'm a monsteeeeer!!!!, I spit the cross, I hate you god, I hate this damn Teutonic Order, I hate you all!!!!!!!, I'm a cursed monster, a monster, a monster ...

    Whoever find this text, you can find me in the in the road near Marienburg, please burn my corpse.


    Entrant 6 - Acco
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Welcome to the new Baltics


    The date is 1230 in the year of our lord, Prussian militant attacks persist and grow as cathedrals and churchs are plundered. Land captured by the Prussians results in the inhabitants being forced to convert back to the old days of Pagan lore. The Grand Duke, our lord, forced out these heathens with the gift of tribute...but this only encouraged the Prussians to continue their disgraceful attacks. The poor Poles were helpless as the Prussians had shown no mercy. The Pope issued the papal bull and approved that a crusade was sourly needed in this cesspool of war. The Poles invited the Knights. The Teutonic Knights. The day was gloomy, and damp, the sun had set quicker than usual. Birds were out in the skies, weary, watching...waiting. A rustle in the woods. Men dressed heavily, with the Cross on their uniform, with their heaumes (helmets) appearing as bull horns, advanced, making their marching heard. Their hands reached to their side and drew an iron sword, crystal clear. The Prussians, with their spears and light clothing, started a bone-chilling howl and charged at the enemies with ferocity. The Prussian most noticable, most brave, most young, screamed "THIS IS THE BALTICS!!!" as he jumped and smashed his sword against the Teutonic shield. The Prussian, of young age, his soul forever-strong, was smacked back as he hit the ground, complaining of a pain on his back. He attempted to stand and rejuvenate his strength, but alas, he could not. The Teutonics marched right over him, he held out his hand, begging for help, the poor soul. A man looked at the young Prussian, his eyes turned heaven to hell, he denied the Prussian's hand, stared at the Prussian, getting his utmost attention, and stated in a soft, convincing voice, his accent thick, but understandable..."This is the new Baltics".



    TotW 17 - Untitled Picture
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Loved By God

    "Give it the old heave-ho boys! If we're to finish this church by next week we have to hurry!"

    The foreman had been working on the job for too long- it had become an obsession. The church was seven years in the making since the old abbey burned down. Every citizen of the town had helped pay for the expense, whether it was monetarily or by physical labor. The town was awaiting the visit of the bishop to bless their church, which would be done within the week. All that was needed were the final stones for the top of the roof support. The two stones were being hauled up by a big pulley.

    At that moment the bishop, surrounded by deacons and priests, was spotted coming up the road. Already there was a great bustle in the town, families lined the street to greet the bishop and a large crowd gathered outside the church. Suddenly, as the bishop was preparing to go under a bridge directly above the church, a cry was heard from the pulley high above. A snap of timber was heard followed by a "look out" called from high above. Eyes looked up just in time to see a massive block careening towards the ground. The stone crashed to the ground, right next to the bishop. There was stunned silence. Everybody was in complete shock.

    After a time the bishop laughed to himself and began to address the crowd, "Well, God protects those whom..." WHAM! The second stone came crashing down on the bishop, who was this time crushed.


    Entrant 1 - Authentique
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    One man and his Cat

    “Jess... Jess! Get this rock off me! Oh where on earth is that brainless feline? Ahh dear, first the pathetic postal van issued by the stupid post office breaks down, then, to make matters worse, I get left with this horse to do my stupid round on, as if it didn't take long enough already! Then, Christoforo Rossi decides he wants the day off, the lazy swine, so head office decide that I have to do his stupid round as well, on this stupid horse as well, and some joke thinks it is funny to throw a stupid rock at me!... Jess! Jess! Where are ya Jess??”
    “Pat! Pat! Are you alright, you seem to have been on the wrong end of an accident...”
    “I’ll give you ‘wrong end of an accident’ when I get hold of you... now get this rock off me before I make you finish my stupid rounds.”
    "Pat, Pat its too big, I can't move it!"
    "get help then, be quick it hurts!!... Its dark.. I can only see darkness Jess... Jess i'm fading..."
    "Get your face out of the mud then you stupid oaf."
    "Oh..."

    You must have all heard of Postman Pat yeah?


    Entrant 2 - Naturalist
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Terror from the East


    Cristoforo was annoyed. Since his return from the Levant, he had seen cats everywhere. He could barely compete as a merchant anymore, with the cats stealing his new spices. Those dumb animals must think it's catnip.

    Unless--no, it couldn't be. He pushed the thought from his mind. It was just catnip.

    A cat crossed the street in front of him, stopping to stare. Cristoforo lunged towards it, and it ran off. He thought no more of it. It was late, and he was tired. Bloody junkie cats.

    ***

    Sleep was rough. He had dreamt of a cat in his ceiling, and it had demanded spices. Could it be a messenger? No…impossible. It had lost his trail.

    Right?

    ***

    The walk to his shop was no less worrying. Cats poked theirs heads out from everywhere. One was wearing a lime for a hat. Another was twice the length a normal cat should be.

    Things were not well.

    Perhaps he had been followed. Perhaps He had realized His spices were gone... Cristoforo rounded the corner, only to see his shop's windows broken. Inside, spices were scattered everywhere. Shelves were upended and containers were in pieces on the floor. Robbers! or worse..? But what's that - a note! Cristoforo walked towards the small slip of paper. He bent down, and picked it up, hands trembling. He glanced at it, and suddenly, his worst fears were confirmed.

    He had been followed by the One from the East. Shaking uncontrollably, Christoforo ran outside, still clutching the paper in his hand.

    He had to flee.

    A black cat darted in his path. Kicking at it, he ran to a horse, and jumped on. He urged it on, but as he did, the black cat struck at its hind legs. The horse rose, and whinnied in confusion and pain.

    *CRACK*

    Cristoforo looked up to the sound. A stone block was fall--

    ***

    The black cat sauntered slowly away. On the roof, a tan, thin cat turned and slid away, with what looked like a smile. If a passerby had stopped to open the dead merchant's hand, they would have been puzzled at the message.

    But we know the meaning behind the note. We know why the tan cat with the blue eyes killed Cristoforo.

    For as the note said: I controls the spice, I controls the universe.

    Dunecat is not one to be trifled with.


    Entrant 3 - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Ninja Kittens


    Leonardo looked into the distance, the three kittens were ontop of a wall, blending in seamlessly with the... bricks. After all, they were s.

    "So, why the heck are we camped up here?" questioned Raphael, his blades sheathed at his sides. It was a miracle he could ever wield them, because of the obvious lack of opposable thumbs, but lets ignore that fatal flaw and proceed with the tale.

    "Well, someone called "Cristoforo" will come along, and we've got to kill him", replied Donatello.

    "Why?"

    "Because he's a traitorous Milanese bastard, therefore he deserves to die regardless. Unless you're playing SS ofcourse, in which case he's Genoese, the bastard mutant spawn of the Milanese."

    "By the way, where's Michelangelo?"

    "Painting the sixteenth chapel. Kittens have souls aswell as being great s."

    Then, Leonardo took a step back with shock. "That must be him!!!" he cried. When the others turned round and simply said why, he only had to say "HE'S A MOTHER****ING CENTAUR! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"

    And so, the brick fell and Cristoforo was quashed in an instant, his humanoid half bent back on itself. Immediatly, another black cat came out of the shadows, phasing into reality.




    "Oh dear" said Donatello. "It's...my father!"






    "YOUR FATHER?!?!" cried the others.





    "Yes, I never told you the truth. He's a weird demented alien pyscho cyborg cat who raped a milk carton, which gave birth to me."





    "Wtf man..."





    "Look! Don't blame me! Blame the frigging milk carton for being pro-life!"





    Donatello's father, aka "Plot Device Cat", stared deep into the centaur's soul, and drew on his power. Soon, his evil goal of becoming an even weirder plot device would reach it's fruition, and then, he could... take over the world. Ofcourse, unknown to our heroes, he was secretly just looking for another milk carton. Why he needed to suck the soul of a centaur out to find one, we shall never know.





    And so, will our heroes defeat this weird... plot device? Will Michelangelo finish the sixteenth chapel in time? Why doesn't someone order a pizza already? Find out in the next exciting installment of, kittens!







    Entrant 4 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Creativity


    Once upon a time there was a professional assassin name Christoforo Rossi. Now, Christoforo was a creative man. None of that boring old stabbing, strangulation, drowning, or beheading when he killed people. No, he was a creative man. He even graduated with an arts degree from the University of Bologna! Only natural, then, that he joined the local assassin’s guild.
    He started out as a telephone operator, but his creativity and intelligence made him rise through the ranks quickly, to doorman, then greeter (Welcome to the Assassin’s Guild! How can I help you?), and even became their representative at the city council. He helped make new laws that benefited his guild, such as bylaw 3583, which stated that all guilds were able to actively and publicly recruit new members.
    The day he became an assassin was a joyous day. He was so happy that he went out and practiced, with the screams of dying strangers like music to his ears.
    His skill at devising deaths that looked like accidents was legendary. All the lords on the street greeted him, and smiled at him as if they had met the Pope himself. Nobody connected him to the Pope dying when his horse fell on him after bucking from a stampede of Arabian camels running through the city of Rome, or Scotland just happening to sink at the border with England the exact day William Wallace turned 16. After all, they were just accidents, right? Of course, those weren’t his only dastardly deeds. Countless people had fallen to his-ahem, someone else’s hand.

    Sometimes he brought a black cat with him and left it at the scene of the crime. This was a useful tool for three reasons. One, people exclaimed : ``The cat did it!`` Two, people yelled :``The cat crossed his path, he had bad luck by the will of God!``, or twoB,``OMG! It’s a black cat! Run away!`` and the resulting stampede trampled the man. This last reason was actually the murder itself, as the stampeding crowd was more often than not the only injury inflicted.
    Then he was ordered to kill Lord Puccio Rossi. ``Certainly,`` he replied
    As Puccio rode under a church-in-progress, there was a large grating sound above him, and a rather large rock fell on top of him, killing him permanently. This was followed by a black cat.
    And the people cried, ``THE CAT DID IT!!``


    Entrant 5 - _TheChevalier_
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Rossi is dead, luckly



    My career as assassin has been very bad, my friend Damiano Basso is an unluckly spy, he tells me where and when my targets are, but when I arrive to the given place, they aren't there, maybe Damiano is located by my target's bodyguards and then they escape.


    I'm not angry with Damiano, maybe we are in a bad straight, though my lord, Giovanni di Firenze thinks that I'm bad at my work, he has given a new target, if I don't kill him, I'll be killed by my lord, I ordered Damiano to spy and get a lot of information about Cristoforo Rossi, we have three weeks to kill Rossi.



    At the middle of the second week, Damiano came with information about Rossi, he said that Rossi would visit his farm, at the south bank of the Po river, near the city of Cremona, if so, I need to take the road from Venezia to Cremona, Damiano told me that Rossi was in Venezia, so I'm going to scout places in order to KILL Rossi.



    Now is the third day of the last week, it's dark and I'm waiting over a bridge, below the bridge is where Rossi should pass, as Damiano told me. I've a rock, it's so big that would kill Rossi and his horse, I'm seeing someone, it's seems to be Rossi and his bodyguards...



    ...All this waiting has been worth, I've killed Rossi, near him a black cat was watching me, maybe it was send by God, after all I discovered that Rossi was so bad that he deserved to die, now my lord is going to be pleased, I'm taking Rossi's ring to my lord, Damiano is waiting me at Cremona, after that we're going to my lord's castle in Firenze.







    Entrant 6 - Celsius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Sign From God


    And there he lay. He and his companion crushed by the force of God. Perhaps he did not believe in God. No matter. As he tried to sneak upon the Archbishop, he pulled out his knife. Sharp, but not reliable. He began to get closer to the clergyman, but when all was done, the clergyman's Lord got to him with loose stone on the bridge above.

    As he lay there on the ground, knowing that he was surely dead, he saw something in the dark. A cat. A pure black one no less. He began to panic, knowing that it was bad luck. But how much more badluck could he possibly have. He's already going to die.

    As he awaits his death, the cat slowly walks over, staring right at him. He puts his hand out to show the cat he means no harm. But the cat hisses and very loud hiss. One that people in the village could hear. He screams for his live. Then as he reopens his eyes, the cat is gone. No trace of him. But people in the village run over and lift the rock off the top of him. He tries to stand, and the villagers take him to the physician. He says he has broken his legs. He begins to think to himself that it was a warning from God. A warning to never try to kill a man of god again. Or for that matter, any man.


    Entrant 7 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    “The Black Cat”


    Oh my God.. Oh my God.. I was just resting here a moment when the bridge wall gave way…Please Sirs have mercy. I haven’t eaten in two days. Clothed in rags, slender as death, the beggar gasps his version of the tragedy to the men at arms in frenetic disposition to solve the apparent assassination of The Lord Mayor of Florence. As the crowd gathers round to see the spectacle, the constables prosecute their quarry. Let’s take his head now and be done with this charade. We’ll hang it on the city wall and go claim our bounty.

    But please Sirs, I have done nothing but stop here to rest a moment when the tragedy happened. I looked down and saw a black cat and knew it was “The Devil.” It hissed at me and I turned to flee it’s gaze when the wall gave way. Haggard and decrepit the beggar collapsed after giving the testimony that might have saved his retched life.Let him go”, Let him Go” the crowed menacingly chanted at the two men at arms. Fearing for their safety the investigators relentedYour not worth the effort old man, pick up your bundles and be on your way. Once the prosecutors had left, the crowd slowly dispersed leaving the beggar to regain his composure.

    As he rose to his feet and started on his way, ever so softly he muttered to himself…..So Lord Mayor, you see the price to be paid for betrayal against the House of Machiavelli. A visit from the reaper known to all as “The Black Cat“.……


    Entrant 8 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Hostile Takeover

















    It must have begun on the night of the meteor shower. The sky was lit with hundreds of flashing trails and most of the town turned out to enjoy the spectacle. Much wine was drunk and as a consequence the business of the following day started rather later than usual. The Cat also first appeared that night. Astonished by its huge size, Mayor Gilberto adopted it as unofficial town mascot.

    I reckoned myself a close friend of Mayor Gilberto, indeed we regularly frequented the local brothel together. But the following week when we met to discuss new commissions, he seemed vague and distant, treating me with politeness but no recognition of our shared life. As I was leaving, I noticed my portrait of him missing from the display outside the chapel.

    Time passed and more and more of my friends on the council became cold and distant until one day Mayor Gilberto summoned me to his chambers to say that there would be no further commissions. Leaving, I noticed that all of my portraits were now gone.

    Tonight, while making my way carefully home after too much drink, I came across the Cat, sitting outside the Council Chambers. As I stopped to regard it, a massive block of stone fell with a thud right by my feet. It was the keystone of the arch over the entrance, bearing the relief of my friend Cristoforo Rossi.

    Staggering back in shock, I was seized by rough hands and raised up. I felt the hideous pain of the butcher's hook as I was suspended in the shadows under the archway, and now I hang, twisting slowly to the flex of the rope. Next to me is Rossi himself, I think he is already dead.

    The stone block with my relief is doing very strange things. It seems to be melting... My God! There are limbs growing out of it!

    Now the transformation is completed and a horse and rider rise from the remains of the block. It is Rossi, exactly as I had portrayed him in my carving!

    The Cat stares at me. I hear a cart approach, a shrouded object is taken from it and unwrapped within the archway where I hang. As I turn past it I see that it is a picture taken from my studio...

    My self portrait.




    TotW 18 - Untitled Picture
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A Friend Indeed


    "Ay, Let 'im have it Greg!"

    As the circle of onlookers grew, so did the volume of their chants. the cause of the fight had been unknown, but three weeks on the march and no sign of the enemy had caused the men to become restless and rowdy. Petty squabbles seemed to be breaking out everywhere and this one had been allowed to escalate.

    "OI'm gunna skewer you loike a pig!" exclaimed George, the yellowshield.

    "Aye, that's wot you think you bloody little worm, have at you!"

    As combat ensued, the crowd before mentioned had become a throng, and the sound of their cheers and jibes was just loud enough to block out the sound of enemy cavalry charging from the hills in the distance.

    Just as George scored a hit on his opponent, a soldier standing on the opposite side of the circle, who would have been able to view the charge, gave a little whelp. He attempted, in vain, to warn his comrades of the charge. It seems they were just too focused on the fight.

    Just then the same soldier heard a sound like hooves behind him, but that was surely just a magnification of the hooves coming from across the field. The enemy knights were very close now, it was only a matter of second, though he.

    Before said knight could say "useless" he was skewered from behind by a lance. Simultaneously, the charge from the hill smashed into the circle. What followed could only be described as carnage as the mangled bodies of bleeding knights were trampled by the rampaging horses. In the eye of the storm, George and Greg watched in astonishment as their friends were butchered.



    Entrant 1 - Acco
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    On these hallowed fields

    The battle had been fought and lost. Acamas, despite fighting like a true warrior, undaunted by fear, was captured and lay at his enemy's control. His army had been routed; his nation had disappeared, like a breeze that swept away his life and everything important to him in a moment's time. A group of soldiers convened; Acamas was pushed violently to the the middle of the circle as the warriors encircled his position. The soldiers were silent as the meeting progressed. Standing a few feet away from Acamas, yet still encircled by the enemy, was Perios, a man he had befriended since the age of seven. Perios had a troubled look on his face, and avoided eye contact with Acamas. An enemy threw a sword near Acamas, Acamas scurried over and equiped himself...Perios already had his sword and shield by his side. Acamas sighed and knew of his fate. The enemy soldiers, raising their swords, a good majority drunk after the decisive battle, shouted in a boarish manner "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Acamas paused, and the world paused with him. He looked in the sky, such a clear day, a dazzling sky blue, the clouds were little wisps, and it appeared as if the Gods of old were watching him. The soft steppe grass was damp and moist; it had poured recently. Acamas took a deep breathe...as Perios plunged towards him, thrusting his sword. Acamas dived to ground and avoided Perios altogether, boos from the barbaric enemy were heard. Acamus' mind went into a wreck, he sourly wanted to live, but he cared for his friend, even though he attempted at his life. Perios attacked again to which Acamus parried. Acamus, however, was too slow and Perios dislodged Acamus' shield from his hands as the shield plunged to the ground. Acamus delved into his mind, Perios was preparing for another strike. Acamus hurriedly placed his sword on the ground, and fell on his sword, ending his life. Perios gasped and took his helmet off, realizing his atrocity. Perios broke a tear, and fell on his sword in honor for his friend, and of shame that he killed him. The enemy had a sorrowful look on their faces, and solemnly walked away one-by-one...as the breeze wisped away


    Entrant 2 - Celsius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Encircled


    As the man stood fast, he was no match for the lackies he faced. He stood with a look on his face. A look that can only be the look of death. He saw the entire army surround him. As the General of the Enemy army face him, he breathed heavily. Waiting for his moment. But even if he did kill this General, he would die by the hands of this men.

    He stepped close to the General, pacing himself. They touched swords a few times. But no hits were taken. The Lone Man stood wondering what he could do. Until he thought of Julius Caesar's famous saying, "It's better to die on your feet than to live on your knee's".

    He runs toward the General. The General not knowing he had let his guard down falls to the ground. The Lone Man had cut off his head. As he kneels their, all alone on the field, all the men look at him.....None attack. He stands up, and sheaths his sword. The Men around him make an opening so he can exit. The Lone man make his way off the field, with the greatest story to tell for generations.


    Entrant 3 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Brutish George

    The skies were bright as is the mood of the Great George, known to have survived countless battles, wielder of the legendary sword Excalibur, he has been regarded as one of the best knights the world has to offer. Sadly, he led darkness to rule over him. He became arrogant, brutish, and hated by the people. who now called him 'The Brute'. As he had exterminated and slaved various villagers, the Knight Association decided to throw away himself from his position and his army.

    Angry at what had happened to him, George decided to challenge the knights one-by-one, to show his worth. He forgot, that the legendary sword would only help the Chosen One. He was, before, when he had fought for the sake of God. Now as the light from the sword lost, the blade rusted. The feared knight was no longer worthy of this sword.

    As one of the knights accepted his challenge, he prepared himself for the duel to come. Forgotten the word of God when he received the sword Excalibur. In his dreams, God chatted to him once more : " George..... you are no longer worthy of your title and sword....... "

    Soon he wake up, shocked after hearing these words, he tried to not believe it, but it has been proven for the sword cannot even cut a piece of cloth! Panicked, he hired mercenaries from nearby lands to help him.

    But it was too late, the knight who challenged him had also brought an army, he sweated hard at the death of the mercenaries and it seemed as though the armor was all filled with his sweat!

    The Challenge was sounded, and he died in his duel as a result of his own deeds. For God's words is always correct, his sword left him forever, his title is passed to the victor. He is buried in this place.

    Seemed too long.......


    Entrant 4 - Sensi Karate
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    A story behind a struggle


    Blood stained the last Danish Knight who had survived the onslaught of his comrades. The Norwegians were once allies of the Denmark Kingdom. They traded goods, offered gifts and prospered together in harmony.

    This was all an understatement when the Norwegian King, Henry III died by an assassin at a banquet with emissaries of the Holy Roman Empire. The Holy Roman Empire had always despised the Denmark’s flourishing in land which should truly belong to them. They gave rumours to believe that Denmark had hired the assassin to take out the King for trying to establishing trade route with the Holy Roman Empire. Rioting started to occur all across the Norway, insisting the new King, Leonard I to take revenge. Pressured by the people of Norway, he declared war on Denmark.

    However Denmark's military might and navy was the best in Catholic world. Though soon after, the Holy Roman Empire declared war on Denmark as-well, backing up the weak Norwegian King in an attempt to seize lost land. Fighting on two borders was a hard struggle, with death almost certain if you were garrisoned on border posts.

    This was what had just happened here. The Norwegians came out of no-where with an army tripling the Denmark’s own at this garrison border post. Though the Danish Knights fought well, killing incredible numbers and holding there ground, it was no use and every man fell that day. Everyone except one brave knight who fought protecting the post until he was pierced in the shoulder, slashed on the thy and sliced on his back. He was taken prisoner and used as a duelling buddy for the intoxicated Norwegian Knights.

    "Let’s fight you bloody tosser!" shouted a Norwegian Knight as he unsheathed his sword and pointed the tip at the surviving Denmark Knight. The Drunken Knight impetuously charged. The Danish Knight parred his attacks and blew many at the opponent. However the Drunk persisted, becoming fiercer with his hits, and eventually penetrated the Denmark’s armour and hit just above the heart. He staggered backwards, his face turning white as he held tightly the wound. He new he had only a few minutes left before perishing to the birds as they hovered above, ready for a meal.

    The fight continued, with the Danish Knight barely parring off the Norwegian Knights blow. However tidings finally favoured the Danish Knight as the Norwegian Knight tripped over a rock from his stupidity and drunkenness. The Danish Knight saw his opening and plunged his sword through the heart of Norwegian, ceasing his life to an end. The crowd of knights went quiet, and the only noise heard was the banging of steel side guard shoulders sliding on each other. A small smile grew on the Danishes face as he collapsed to the ground, his eyes slowly slipping into eternal sleep. Just another casualty of war.



    Entrant 5 - Authentique
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Marius

    And so I, Marius the Pious stood with a heavy heart. My people vanquished, my rule saw the end of my people, the shame of it. I sigh and look to the heavens,was there no God up there? Or is the God on a different side to me? Yes I thought, that was it, what hope did I have anyway if God has opposed me from the beggining? But, if true, I have honoured him all my life for nothing, I Marius the Pious, have earned my title through pointless tasks, all those long hours in the chapel thanking deaf ears for petty victories... And so I raise my eyes to see my foe, my eyes stained with disbelief, my self esteem crushed and falling though my fingers like water through cupped hands. And even I my enemy raises his sword aloft I can only think how betrayed I feel, my loyal friend, adviser, father figure. No, this cannot be happening to me, God, if you are up there save me, save me... save me. The sword fell, sunlight gleamed off its hilt as it glided through the air... save me... I see nothing but dark, dark which turns to light, waters are lapping my naked body, bright sunlight now reflects off its surface.. where am I? Is this death?
    "Marius, you were wrong to doubt me. All good things have to come to an end, you know that. You had a place in my house, my loyal servant, but you have thrown this away, I cannot grant people eternal joy who question their faith.. I am sorry Marius."
    "Father.. save me.." the water retreated. Long grass grew around Marius as he lay there in a puddle of his own blood. Marius never rose again.


    Entrant 6 - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Clone Wars



    It had been going on for three years now. The cloning process, under development by Roman scholars in Constantinople, had been stolen by the Magyars in 1098 AD. Using it, they replicated their feared General, Istvan, numerous times, and before long, had conquered the pitiful remnants of the Roman Empire, were advancing deep into the Holy Land, and were overthrowing the Catholic Church itself.

    This was Europe's final chance to stop the advance. The main schematics for the mechanism were housed in Satu Mare, the previous domain of Istvan himself. A collection of knights, soldiers & peasants had fought their way through waves of Magyar clones and had reached a plain just outside the fortress, which had been made almost impenatrable. Istvan, being a Knight of chivalry and valour, would have felt it honour bound to fight the enemy on an open field. And so, the largest battle in the history of humanity was about to unfold.

    Eric the Bloody, a Danish Viking warrior and commander of the Allied Catholic forces, realised that although this battle was winnable, with the casualties they would take, they would not be able to penetrate the fortress afterwards, which was guarded by the elite forces of Hungary's non-clone forces. He decided the only way that the Allied Forces could win the day, would be to duel the commander in chief... the original Istvan himself. With it, they would rout, and the way to Satu Mare would be open.

    And so, he rode forth and made his declaration the night before. It was all arranged. At daybreak the next day, Eric and his mounted Knights rode up, and then Eric solely approached the enemy forces, who had formed an arena for him.

    "Mr Anderson..." remarked Istvan.
    "Err, wrong film..." replied Eric.
    "Crap. Regardless, I accept your challenge. A viking warrior like yourself is a true match for even myself."

    As they stood in battle stance, shield outstretched, staring each other down beforehand, the crowd of clones was getting eager.

    "Today, you shall be struck down Istvan, and your army will dissipate to the fields. For Pope Urban!!!!!!!!!!!!"
    "Err Eric, you didnt think this through did you?"
    "What do you mean?"
    "This is a clone army... one of them would just replace me as commander in chief and it'd be no different."
    "Oh... crap..."



    Entrant 7 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Victory at Mohács













    The battle had been raging for most of the day and the Hungarian reserves were getting bored. While others covered themselves in glory (and Ottoman blood), these men were forced to stand, sweating and itching in their heavy armour.


    Rumours began to circulate that the King (who was not of their clan) had deliberately left them out of the battle so that they would be excluded from their share of the Ottoman baggage after the inevitable victory.



    A lone Knight and his servant (pulling a hand-cart) sauntered into their ranks. Addressing the throng he proclaimed...



    I am Ritter Sacha von Scharnhorst-Cohen and I challenge any man here to knock me down. Should thou succeed my servant shall give thou a silver Thaler”



    The Hungarians were more than ready for any fight, especially against a stuck-up Austrian and a queue of candidates soon formed.



    The first man faced up to von Scharnhorst and after a short fight knocked him to the ground.



    You have bested me thou noble fellow, please accept thy Thaler which thou hast fairly won. Next please!”



    von Scharnhorst lost the next six fights in quick succession, and the queue grew steadily until eventually almost the whole reserve were clustered around the makeshift arena.



    Later, when the King was in desperate straits against the resurgent Ottomans, his frantic messenger was unable to gain the attention of the Reserve, who were now entirely focused on their continuing lucrative victories against the Austrian Knight. And so it was that the King of Hungary was defeated and killed at Mohács.



    Suleiman the Magnificent retained the conquered south and the throne of Hungary passed to the former King's brother-in-lawHoly Roman Emperor Ferdinand I. Surely an amazing return for the investment of a few hundred Thaler?



    As for von Scharnhorst-Cohen, well, the best efforts of historians to date have failed to find any account of him apart from the peculiar events of this climactic battle.



    Entrant 8 - TheTrueGreek

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    No Honor among Thieves
    King Robert paced, his mind set on getting revenge. He found out his best man, Sir Galles, had made it with his women. Now he must pay. Many thoughts raced through his mind, poison, assassin, none of them good enough. Then he thought that he could appeal to Galles honor, something he does not have anymore. He wrote a letter to Galles, stating that if he wished to not live in shame and a life of pettyness, he come to the plains of Gatsbury. Riding out there with about 200 of his own knights, he spotted Galles alone. Ordered his men to circle him in case he tried to run away. "So, you wish to kill me? then why do you do so with 200 men?" Galles sneered. "I wish that not, you and I shall fight in an honourable duel. Galles drew his sword and charged, but was caught short as an arrow landed in his chest. "So I die for taking my women back." he collapsed and breathed his last, Robert turned around just before Galles own sniper shot him in the throat and ran away.



    Entrant 9 - Manoflooks


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Shut up and drive




    Sir Gallahey motioned to the surrounding ring of men around them. "This is a circle. It knows how to get around."


    Sir Aquitane looked oddly at him. "what the-



    "PIE R SQUARED sounds like radius to me. when you need a circumference, just use, pi D."



    "Gallahey, we wer just about to duel, now please stop singing that annoying song and stand stil so I can kill you.









    "Shut up and drive, drive, shut up and drive, drive."





    "SHUT UP"



    Sir gallaey winked. "and drive?








    Sir Aquitane hefted his sword, prepared to cut gallaheys head from his shoulders. And fell down on one knee.



    "AHHH!!! This armor is too tight! Stupid hand-me-down. Should have tested it first."







    And Sir Gallahey jumped up again. "He has an itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot suit of armour, that he wore for the first time, today."






    "SHUT THE UP"





    Gallhey sidled up to him, trying to take Aquitanes armour off. He sang "I wanna love you. Oh yes I do. I know you see me looking a you and you already know: I wanna you. "






    Aquitane looked up wildly, and motioned at Gallahey. "KILL THIS ING !"





    As they charged at Gallahey, he swung his hips and pointed away.



    "And the Turks came back, the very next day."







    TotW 18b - The Challenge

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Winner - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    HomeComing

    Every time I had come home to my village it was different. I was different, my people were different. War leaves nothing unchanged.

    But there was something about this time—different than all the rest. The hair prickled up on the back of my neck, warning of danger. What, I knew not.
    I stopped my horse on the edge of town, looking carefully to the priming of my pistol. It and the rapier at my side I carried for protection against the countless vagabonds and highwaymen roaming England these days. Discharged soldiers or mercenaries like myself, unable to return to the plow after smelling the powder of battle. Danger lurked everywhere—but not here. Not my village. Surely not. . .
    Nevertheless, the instincts that had carried me through countless battles against the Ironsides of Oliver Cromwell did not desert me now. I tethered my mount to a post there on the perimeter of the village, drawing my sword from its scabbard.
    A blade in my right hand, a loaded wheellock in my left. I felt a strange sense of unease at striding into my home in this warlike fashion, but something was wrong. No traders bartered in the market. No children chased each other through the streets, laughing and shrieking at each other. This time was nothing like my last return home. What had happened?
    I walked carefully up the hill toward the center of the village, limping a little at each step. A musketball had lodged in my hip at Edgehill, ending my role in the war for the space of about five months. Now I could predict the weather as readily as a seer, and it was equally accurate in predicting danger. It pained me now.
    Nothing was moving, even the birds seemed to have stopped their singing. The only signs of life were the wisps of smoke drifting upward from the chimney of Godfrey the tanner.
    I stopped by the wall, checking the priming of my pistol once again. Nerves. I thought I had conquered them long ago—but there was something uncanny about this. This was not the battlefield, this was my home. Yet Death hovered nearby, I could feel his presence. The Reaper.
    I lurched toward the tanner's door, putting weight on my good leg, aware that my investigation must begin at his house.
    Silence. No sound greeted my ears as I approached. His latch-string was out, and I pulled the hammer of the pistol back to full-cock, placing my sword-hand on the door.
    I pulled it open quickly and stepped inside, stepping into the unknown. . .


    Entrant 1 - Sun Zaraki

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 




    Essence



    I stood, with my bag over my shoulders, at the bottom of the small incline leading to the village where i grew up, Hawarden, with high hopes much like that of the adolescent boy as he meets his first love. The dusty path to my right showed no signs of new and unknown visitors, but that did not mean that old and friendly residents had not left. The Inn on the left, and the small house on the right seemed to... blend into the background. The colours, or rather lack of, seemed to haze in my view, oddly like a painting by a man who calls himself an artist, but really throws strange coloured blobs of oozey gunge onto a blank white canvas. It didnt appear to me to be the colourful, green and red, flowery countryside of my birth. Infact, not even the trees seemed to stand much out from my memory, save the darkness of its shadow, but even then, the trees cast no shaodw today, but were rather complete in darkness from the dim setting sun in the west, behind the clouds native to this land. Smoke was rising from the house to my, and that was the only thing that matched my memory. The grey, wispiness mirrored my childhood precisely, and oddly gave me a comforting warmth inside. Perhaps my view was askew, or my perceptions had altered with my departure. With a heavy heart, i ascended the small inclination.




    Entrant 2 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Liquid Reality


    Everything appeared translucent, as if the world had turned into a teardrop that when conjured by the eye temporarily blurs vision. The entire world had become colorless, dark and shifting.





    Solids took on qualities of liquids, smoke flowed like water, leaves rustled mechanically. The world was made completely of lights and darks. Emotionless, sullen, somber, bricks called to pedestrians, singing mournful songs.





    In that one moment, all warmth was stolen away, and it seemed all cheer had left the world. All that remained was a melancholy shell of a remote village. All of the life that had been invested in it was executed in that moment. A putrid veil of sadness cloaked the entire land. A pall of lifelessness. Nothing was heard. there is only silence, save the breath of the wind.





    That's what death is, peace. In the final moments of this world, everything was quiet, colorless, and still. That one moment, nothing thought, nothing breathed, nothing cared. Rot will follow, and rot is the deplorable side effect of death.


    Entrant 3 - Kallum
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Memories from Exeter


    "Fire!!!!" the garrison commander shouted. James hears the release of bow strings and the sudden pain on his chest. The arrows had hit their target. Breathing becomes harder and the pain on his chest is even more harder to bare with every second that passes. As death takes a hold of his body, James is going back in time. He sees his mother and father. The house he was born in, on the small hill just outside Exeter. He sees the field where and he and his friends played in their youth, the trees who were cut down by the soldiers to create their cursed rams and catapults.



    James hears the bowstrings release once more, but he can't feel the pain. He's numb for everything around him as he's traveling through his memories of his beloved home. He sees smoke coming out of the chimney, his mother is preparing his favourite dish: pork with beans. He runs to the house with a grumbling stomach. He shouts "mom I'm home" as he enters the house. He sees two soldiers feasting on the pork, he looks around but he can't find his parents. He looks down and their they are laying in a pool of blood. In a violent act of rage James grabs a knife from the table and stabs the soldiers in his neck. They die quickly but one shout reveals their fate to their commander and companions. They enter and horrified to see what James had done they decide to execute him on the spot. James hears a third fire command, his trip throug his memories stops and he embraces the cold touch of death as everything around him goes black....


    Entrant 4 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    The face of death


    The pain...It surrounds me. It penetrates me, permeates my very being. Nothing seems real anymore. The colours seem to fade and wilter, then come back with renewed ferocity. But the pain, oh the pain. I have never felt anything like this.No one has ever felt anything like this. It makes everything unreal, like a dream. Some things are clear, some are blurry. But it is all...deception. A hallucination. The once vibrant reds, blues, and greens have all faded away, leaving nothing but black, and grey, and white. And even that is slowly fading. I feel pain now, still, but it has faded, just backround noise in the distance. The real thing, the thing that really is there, is all around me. All earthly things are vanity, they say...but that can't be true. Nothing like this could be anything but everything. It would be madness to believe that, now that this sight has graced my eyes. Madness...



    I don't have much time left, I can tell. But the beauty...oh, it is wonderful. Unreal, yes, but still so beautiful. Who could live without seeing this? It is truly the best sight. I have seen the face of death...It is a wonderful thing.


    Entrant 5 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Lost Idyll


    From the moment of waking I knew that something was different, wrong.

    I am accustomed to assisting the master with his hunting on days such as these. I flush out the prey and he brings it down with his bow. I have always felt particularly happy at this sport, because although I know I could catch the prey myself, I let him have the kill, and I am sure he appreciates this.

    There was a sense of nervousness about the household. The mistress had returned from a long absence and was bustling to and fro ordering the staff around and getting in their way. I could smell the mixture of anticipation and disquiet caused by this break with routine.

    I have never understood the mistress, she gives contradictory signals. Sometimes she will appear to be angry, shouting and throwing things, and yet be calm inside. I assume she does this to show her dominance. It is hardly necessary, she will always be the mistress to me.

    At other times she looks and sounds serene, but the scent of true anger is unmistakable. These are the times I am most frightened of her.

    The warmth of the long summer's day made me drowsy and I rested on the veranda soaking up the Sun.

    The sound of the carriage woke me before anyone else was aware of it and I was first to greet it when it came clattering to a halt outside the main entrance. It was the master! But I was not welcome, so I slunk away and watched him bring his new thing into the house.

    I tried to go in through the kitchen, but the mistress was there and she chased me away, shouting and screaming... and I knew she meant it. But just before I was expelled I caught sight of the new thing... it was a baby!







    I miss the warmth and the smells of the house. I sit here now and watch it from afar. Maybe the master will want to hunt again and I will be allowed back into his company.

    I am no threat, I love them. I am not made to be alone. The dusk descends. My tail is drawn in with my misery and I howl with emptiness.


    Entrant 6 - emperornovaroma
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    A Christmas Night





    The night's sky was dark when I was taken. That did not sadden my though, for it was Christmas. I was only 10, only 10 and I had no idea of what was to come..... Yes, it was a dark Christmas night....when the raiders came. They called them the Vikings, but their name matters little to me. I remember how my mother used to sing while preparing dinner and how my father smiled to me, even though there was nothing much to smile about. I even remember how my grandpa used to tell stories around the fire about ancient heroes and how they fought the monsters of old..... The houses where our friends live and even the small church where we celebrated Christmas But no more, no..... those Vikings took them all away from me.... all killed, and only me survived covered in blood..... They took me...... and made me a slave....... Now after 20 years, I return..... once again covered in blood.....I have taken my revenge, but there is no peace..... All i can do is remember of that dark Christmas night......



    Entrant 7 - Sensi Karate

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Memories of Life


    Life stood still where my childhood memories lived. Where children fought with sticks, longing to become Knights and serve the King. Where food was plentiful and delicious to the mouth. Where tranquillity was only but a step away from your house. This was peace, the harmony that everyone looks for. A place where someone is one with nature and its surroundings.

    In the morning the crowing of rosters, perched on the farmer’s fence were heard. Children were waking up from there magical dreams and parents were getting ready for another beautiful day. By midday, everyone was up, women cooking esquired lunches which filled the air with joy as the children rushed home to get a bite before embarking back on there journeys around town. By night everyone was quiet, with children getting tucked in under there blankets as there parents gave stories of heroic deeds that brave warriors accomplished before indulging into there magical dreams once more. Parents would then sit outside, basking in the moons aura and talk about what unfolded that day. The chooks would be herded back into the pens as the farmer waved them goodnight, with the roster standing guard for his fair-lady chocks as they fell to sleep in there warm hay beds.

    What a wonderful childhood I had.


    Entrant 8 - RVFVS
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    The Raider


    The darkness was closing around him. He was dying. HE looked quietly up at the village at the trees. "Why?" he asked gently as if he didn't already know the answer. He had felt the blade pierce his skin. For seconds agonizing pain enduced his entire body. "Am I dying?" once again he already knew the answer. He had been raiding a village in southern England. Him and his clan jumped out of the longboats and powered up the hill towards the village. While running up he had been ambushed by a English peasent who stuck him in the chest. He laughed at the irony. He had been the most feared warrior all over Daneland and England and his life was ended by a simple peasent. Chieften Gwarer clutched at the wound. he looked at all his "loyal" warriors who ran past him. All the bads he had done in his life...for nothing. So Gwarer fell into a deep and unwaking sleep known as death.



    TotW 19 - Gods Have Decided
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The New Prometheus



    The night is dark, ink-black clouds thundering across the firmament, obscuring the light of the moon. A distant, ever-growing rumble fills the heavens with its voice, harbinger of the coming storm.
    In the shadow of the ancient ruins a group of men and women stand, clustered around one man in their midst. Well-dressed, his very bearing sets him apart from the others. He is in charge. He is in command. He is their leader.
    A string leads from his hand skyward, toward a kite long since vanished in the roiling clouds above.
    “Watch,” he commands, stretching forth his hand to one of his followers. “The key, if you please.”
    The man fumbles in the folds of in his garment, producing the requested item. With a satisfied smile, the leader attaches the heavy iron key to his kite's-string, securing it with a knot.
    To the south, lightning streaks across the sky, rending the darkness from heaven to earth, followed by thunder deafening its very intensity. A murmur ripples through the crowd.
    “It has been thousands of years,” the leader begins, raising his hand for calm, “since a man has stolen fire from the gods. Prometheus dared—no one has since. Behold, my people, for a second Prometheus has risen before you. This is the night.”
    More string unravels from the ball in his hand, the key rising ever higher as the kite pitches unseen in the tumult above. The man's eyes shine forth with almost unearthly intensity, their gaze fixed upon the ascending key. This is it. This is the night. Fire from the gods.
    And once more lightning rends the heavens, as though called forth by him, streaking downward toward the ruins, toward the key, toward the assemblage anxiously watching the sky.
    Striking the iron of the key, the lightning explodes outward with frightening intensity, fingers of electricity reaching out in every direction.
    The man's eyes open wide in a moment of shock and then it is all over as the fire consumes the string, he, his followers, incinerating everything in its path.
    Another moment and quiet returns to the plateau, silence hovering over the scorched corpses.
    Judgement. . .


    Entrant 1 - Sensi Karate
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Do not press the red button.
    Simon slowly walked into the centre of the pillar with David, his younger brother following behind. They looked around quietly, seeing the blood and guts which stained the stone pillars. They then turned there attention back to the centre stone, which had a large red button on it. An engraving was on the large, red button with the words: "Do not press the red button." Simon stared at the button anxiously, seeing its red glory glow into his pale, brown eyes. "Re...d..d..B..b..utton..." David slurped out as Simons hand started to move closer to the red button.

    "S.iim..mon.....It...s..aa..ys....no..t..t..t.o...to..uc...hhh...th...e......r...r..e..d...d...b..b...u...t..t...o..n..." said David as Simons hand moved even closer to the button. "Oh what harm can it do David? It’s just a silly red button. It’s not like its god or anything!" giggled Simon as he slid his hand across the plastic big red button. David stepped back as he brother leaned closer to the button. Drool started to preside in his right mouth as his hand started to rise into the air, ready to smash that button into the stone itself. "Don’t press it Simon!" shouted David as he stepped even further away from his brother and the big red button. Simon did not listen to his brothers words and his hand came crashing down, ready to hit that button. 'BAM!' was the sound that the button made as Simon hit it. He lifted his hand and looked at the button again. It started to shake and the words started to move around and disappear. After a few seconds a new sentence appeared from the buttons plastic area. "I said... do not press the button." Simon laughed and started to hit the button more and more, with more sentences re-appear every time he did.

    After half an hour of plummeting his now sore hand into the big red button, a large sentence appeared; "You've had your fun kid. The only thing you care about is pressing the god damn button? You must've had a life, hey? Just pressing me over and over seems pretty fun to you? What if I told you the world would explode if you pressed the button again, would you still do it? Actually... If you press the button again, I WILL DESTROY THIS WORLD!"

    David shouted to his brother one final time, "Please Simon, don't press the button! You've had your fun, let’s go home now!" "Fine!" said Simon, "but I'm just going to press one last time." With no hesitation to what the big red button said, Simon pressed the button. Nothing happened for awhile, nothing could be heard except the Chittering of birds. However the earth started to shake and the pillars started to crumble, Simons eyes widened as he looked into the sky. He started to run, but it was too late, a large lightening bolt smashed into the red button, making a white light glisten upon the earth and destroy it into nothingness. No screams were heard, no babies crying, no animals scurrying away, everything just disappeared. Everything except the big red button which was now floating in space. Words started to be scrabbled once more onto the big red button and it said "That wasn't very smart, now was it?" The button floated far away, looking for a new planet to destroy.


    Entrant 2 - Celsius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Old Ways

    We set up camp a few yards away from an old pagan god ground. It was huge with stones, but no-one could move it. So we laid down to go to sleep, hoping to awake the next morning with a warm day.


    In the middle of the night, all of us awoke to a frightening sound. Like lightning. We all looked around, and then we saw what look like a bright crystal with smoke coming from it. We got up to get a closer look. Then, one of us touch it. The bright light shocked him and threw him a few feet.


    We dared not touch it again, but all of us wanted to. Then, in an instant, it was gone. Nothing left, not even the smoke. This is the day we all started to believe in the Gods again. Or could this be from the one god. We shall never know for sure. But one thing is for sure, we will never make camp near one of these things ever again. So we rode away, never to return to this stone ritual area again. Maybe we will no some day. Maybe hundreds of years from now, we still might not know.


    Entrant 3 - TheTrueGreek
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Might of God

    Luther was preaching in the lowlands of England. The men here were arrogant stupid folk who had no clue that the church was scamming them. Instead they clinged to their personal belief that the pope actually knew god, and could determine how they live in the afterlife. Fools, everyone forgot the good days, when numerous gods ruled the world, men were blessed with magical strength and wisdom. Even the biblical heroes exisited in those times. As he sat at a bench in the ancient stonehenge, a cload appeared out of nowhere. Luther was unaware of this so wrapped up in though he was, and as the lightning bolt ripped through his head and down through his rectum. God chuckled as he saw that, disbelievers always pay, and Luther had met his right end. Luther was amazed at what he saw, god, in his form which he cannot reveal. "You have been saying to stop believing in me, and you have seen what that has caused to you. If you forsake what you have been saying and take up the religion of the Church, i may reconsider your sentance to the eigth level of hell, if you spread the faith." "Yes my lord, i will take up the faith my lord, just give me a second chance."

    A second flash of lightning crashed down, seen be a shepard who drew a picture of it, and Luther walked out of the light, with a new view on life.


    Entrant 4 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Holy Portal


    Narrator : Ahem, This day, both Wendell and Edward had seen the forecast of the weather : stormy, but the ****ing hell with them is they are so hell persistent to play and poke around other dudes. No matter who are the big dudes, not even Mike Tyson can stop em from this danger. All other dudes are scared of the thunder. They decided they can't stop them. Let em play around the sweet grassy field, with the props Black Clouds and the Pagan Shrine.
    Ahem, this place has been once the homeland of Gods who descended to Earth. Looking at this, people has been in awe. Unfortunately the people around there has been prone to believe in superstitution. They believe there are ghosts ans spirits around there!

    Other Dude 1 : Just **** them!
    Other Dude 2 : Hey, I'd like to hear them saying HOLY **** during rain time.
    Other Dude 1 : I'd like to draw the epic moment of the Flash!
    Other Dude 2 : What? Flash? Game?
    Other Dude 1 : HOLY ****.
    Narrator : Hey! You are the other dudes! You can't speak more than one sentence! You are just to be cameo around this!
    Other Dudes : @^$!)*@*$)!(#.

    Narrator : Soon after the two guys Wendell and Edward set their play to the scene, after touching the Pagan Shrine, the Pagan God seems to be angry, rained down storms of storms to them.
    Wendell : HOLY ****!!!! I'm in my deathbed you fool Pagan God!!!! You'll pay for this!
    Edward : Uhhhmmm.... If you are dead how come you say that?
    Narrator : But the Pagan God decided to spare Edward's life and bring him into the realm of 280BC. And opened the portal of time.........
    Pagan God : Humble brethren of the past..... Come.... Join us in the world of the ol ways...... Succeed the world of Rome : Total War. Make the Gauls triumphant.......
    Edward : WHAT THE **** ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT??!!
    Pagan God : I hereby unallowed to give reasons...... COME!!!! Or you suffer the same fate as your mortal friend suffers.........
    Edward : HOLY . Now I'm really confused.
    Narrator : Without further talk The Pagan God absorbed Edward into the portal of time...... Who knows what is there?

    THE END.


    Entrant 5 - RVFVS
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    John and George - Glorious Discoverers


    "Hey George!" John screamed over on the west side of the ruins, "I think its working!" George ran to where John had set up his reasearch station. "Why...JOHN! ITS WORKING!!" John and George were best friends and scientists, or they thought they were. The companions had decided to find a way to harness light and make it accesible to the normal citizen. "Just think," George had said when the two had first started the project, "We will be the most famous and rich men on Earth!" They had set up their 'lab' in a deserted Greek ruin somwhere between Constantinople and Thessalonika. "So what will we name it? I think we should name it The George Harper theory." John scoffed, "Ha! it should be named after ME!" George snarled and jumped on John, punching him in the face. John fell on the machine causing the two to jump off of it in horror. "John you idiot you...oh god...you...you..." What George said next was muffled by a huge explosion resulting in the death of both John and George. John and George were the first men to discover electricity.


    Entrant 6 - Authentique
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    On This Day a God is Born

    As the fog rolled over the low hills, just as the sun was setting, a most spectacular scene blossomed, nobody needed a calendar to know when new years day was around these parts. This spectacular scene marked the day that Hercules became famous, the day we Greeks were liberated, the day my great great grandfather was born. Born beneath those hallowed pillars he was a god, as histher held him aloft, his small frame stood out against the backdrop, a small face peaked out, some say he held an arm aloft. Well, he did go on to become a famous warrior, upon his shield an engraving of that spectacular scene was visible, a reminder to all who opposed him. And now, as I look upon this wonder I am happy, gods do exist in human form, and upon this day another small child raises his arm aloft, the gathered crowd are over joyed, another miracle has occurred on this hallowed day, another young child has the help of God.


    Entrant 7 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    When A Life Ended

    The day my life ended I saw a bolt of lightning strike a field. Winds commanded the grass and it rustled in obedience. The only thing that could be seen or heard was the sound of a storm, a storm growing in magnificence and terror by the second. As airwaves clashed, groans of thunder were created and spread over the region. So loud were these quakes that the ground shook in response, and the grass upon it.

    A boy, whose voice was still unbroken, lay asleep in the field. His jet black hair hung loosely over his brow. He awoke with a jolt as the ground bounced. The only thing that could be seen, for miles, was darkness. He stood, and began to run to his house, where else could he go? Already the wind was whipping his hair into his eyes and rain was falling.

    It wasn't long before he came to an abandoned barn. He crouched and took shelter in a corner, holes in the roof allowed water to enter, but at least it was protection from the wind.

    The Night became all the darker, and lightning lit the sky in furious pale bursts. Wind shook the shanty and beams fell from above. Overhead, in what was beginning to sound a tremendous clap, a crude tangle of light reflected in the boy's green eyes.

    As they flash illuminated the night sky, it was but a fraction of a second before the bolt struck the barn, in its center.

    Outside, the grass still bent to the wind, the trees still swayed with the waves. On a hill, in the plain, a burned out old barn stood alone, silhouetted against the rising sun.


    Entrant 8 - Junius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Light of Heaven

    The two armies met on a plane close to Gaugamela, near the place of Alexander's greatest victory. Like it had been all those years ago, it was a dry and barren landscape, with scrub stretching over the whole flat horizon. The two armies made camp, and it was obvious that this was the place this war was to be settled.

    It was morning. The two armies had settled into their orders. It was to be a titanic struggle. I am no military man, but even i was awed by the splendour of both sides. The Pontus forces were armoured in loot from Seleucia, and our own forces had the most exquiste armour. I was admiring the forces in the rising sun when the bugle sang, and the earth shook. The two sides were thundering towards each other.

    The sky blackend. Everyone slowed, and then stopped, and saw the moon eat the sun. A few miles from the battle, a temple to Nike had been dedicated by Alexander. Now it was as if midnight had decended on us. Storm clouds brewed in the heavens, and settled over this temple. A divine thunderbolt struck the temple, which was unharmed, and from it's steps a ghost of calvary came charging. Alexander himself had reawakend.

    This scared both sides. Who was he fighting for? He had at his back Companions, those of old Macedon, following his charge. Antiochus, our king and an able speaker, galloped out in front of his army and rallied them.

    'Men! Look at Alexander. Here where he beat the mighty Medes, he now comes to aid his brethren, his ancestors in arms. Do not fear him, he is our Divine King, and he has come to aid us. Do not shame him now, but forward, forward against these modern Medes!'

    With that his whole host surged forward, in a merciless charge.


    Entrant 9 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    That Fateful Night




    I had everything I ever wanted. Fast cars, big house, ten wives, Empire Total War four months before it came out- I had it all. I strut through my life, and what I wanted, I got. What, I thought, could possibly go wrong? Anything bad could be bought off. Anything good could be bought. They are wrong. Money does bring happiness, and protection too. I was safe.


    Right?

    Sometimes, living in the centre of a crowded and busy centre of commerce can get a little overwhelming. The crowds, the noise, the lights. So, I usually take a little walk, ipod playing in my ears, through a nearby meadow. It is usually secluded, and is a bit of calm. Can't handle the quiet for very long either. So a short walk...and I'm good for a few weeks.
    But one night was different. One night changed everything.
    I was walking through the highlight of the park, a stone structure that was modeled on the ancient Stonehenge. And a blue light shone it. At first I thought it was a low flying plane, but soon I realized this was not so.
    The unnatural light blinded me, and when I could see again, things were...changed. Things seemed to be cast in a different light, and everything had a new perspective. I went to sleep on the floor that night; the bed seemed too luxorious.


    And the next morning I remembered the words.
    "Not everything is as you once saw it."
    Too true.


    Entrant 10 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Last Sacrifice
    As dawn gave way to fitful overcast Grakkus, for the first time in his existence, actually felt tired.

    The battle had been raging since the previous morning, and he had needed to make mighty efforts at the very beginning just to save his precious stock of souls from the ambush in the valley.

    Jadugarr, wizard of the traitorous God Stratos, had assailed him with his full panoply of weather magic. The air was acrid with ozone from constant lightning bolts, one side of the ridge was scoured down to the bedrock from innumerable storms and tornadoes (in stark contrast to the green sward of the undamaged side). Even the bedrock itself was cracked from freezing spells.

    Despite the intensity of the attack, Grakkus was still strong. He drew the power of his God James from the very ground itself, what happened in the air above was of little consequence.

    This ridge-top ruin had proved a boon containing plenty of clay for the bodies of his creatures, and rocks of all sizes for ammunition. He had not even needed to resurrect any for the last hour, their hides were burnt and cracked from lightning and some were missing large pieces, but they were working well, able to destroy any of Jadugarr's creatures that dared come into range.

    Unaccustomed to looking up, Grakkus only noticed the Silverback when it was almost upon him, an unlikely looking gigantic silver bear with huge slow-flapping Lammergeier wings.

    It cast its freezing breath and the world went white. Flexing to throw off the skin of ice, Grakkus found his low-level creatures frozen solid. No matter, he still had his Jabberrocky.

    Grakkus prepared a knock-down spell to bring the Silverback within reach. Looking up to target it, he noticed the small black shape of a Cloudkill spell sliding into position to deliver its payload. He ignored it, knowing his remaining creatures could take it in their stride.

    But then a strange thing happened, the Cloudkill gathered its full energy and let loose a single titanic bolt – straight onto the Silverback!

    The great beast convulsed and writhed with pain, but also began to glow with a strange light. Its mouth opened, and Grakkus just had time to feel resentment at what was clearly some kind of exploit before the entire ruin exploded into icy fragments, and his essence dissolved back into the Earth from whence it came.

    Last edited by wowbanger; April 28, 2011 at 09:34 AM. Reason: Added TotW 19



    "Some writers never know what's to be written until they see it on the page...." Some words of wisdom from my good friend, Mega Tortas de Bodemloze

  6. #6
    wowbanger's Avatar Decanus
    Join Date
    Mar 2010
    Location
    Wreocensćte
    Posts
    593

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 20 - Christmas Stories
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Delusions of the Deranged

    Dec 1


    Santa Claus. That egomaniacal selfish attention grabbing son of a . I hate him. He is the only person in the world I hate, and I hate him with a passion. Seriously, my hatred of him knows no bounds. I go around, trying to spread happiness and joy, but does anyone eery thank me for it? NO!!! I am celebrated 1 day a year. 1 DAY! That's it. No lights, no trees, no store sales. NOTHING. And he gets worldwide reknown and recognition, for putting a bunch of midgets and reindeer into service for him.
    He called me earlier today. Wanted to know how my preperations for Christmas were coming on. The bastard. Always rubbing it in my face. Did I mention I hate him?

    That was the last straw.

    Dec 8

    I called a friend, an assassin for the assassin's guild. A good guy, who goes by the name of Christoforo Rossi. He owes me for giving him an alibi when he was cheating on his wife a couple months back, and if he doesn't help he knows what will happen. I asked for a little "help" with the jolly old elf. And a videotape of how it went.

    Dec 28

    The videotape arrived. And it was the best thing I have ever seen.

    The old man was coming back up a chimney, from yet another of the billions of break and enters he commits every year. And my friend left him a gift. A highly explosive gift.
    It was great. The old man's eyes opened wide in terror, before the explosion shot him up, up, and away. No "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" this time. It was just "HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP"


    -The Diary of the Easter Bunny


    Entrant 1 - TheTrueGreek
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Jolly saint Charles crept on the rooftops, annoyed that he had to walk this far just to get to his own fricken house. He had dressed up as Santa and all, but the costume was ruined by the soot billowing from chimneys.

    Chimneys!!!!!

    Dear god, santa probly has some burnt buns cooking right now, least I only have one chimney to go down, and a candle to light my way.

    These clothes are too dang hot he thought, taking off his supposedly jolly coat, and putting the hood on his hoodie up to keep the soot out of his eyes. As he passed one house he almost slipped by saved himself by jumping to the church roof. As he crept past the chimney he heard a voice.

    "God damn these cursed chimneys, Rudolph, im suck again. Get the harness."
    "Sir, do you need help?" Charles said, but instantly regretted it.
    "Your not Rudolph? that godforsaken deer cannot do a job correctly for his life, well, i have a harness sitting by the chimney, just drop it down for me and raise me up."

    Charles struggled, pulling the man out inch by inch, but when he raised the man up, the man just began screaming.

    "Its a theif, he wants my presents, no one steals from santa." Pulling out his whip that he reserved for Rudolph (Who at times got very roudy with the eggnog)

    He began to whip the man, until he fell off the christmas chimney with care. Not disrupting a single soul with santa there.


    Entrant 2 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Medieval Santa

    Santa knows the technology of the 22th century. Seeing poverty in the Medieval Ages. Santa decided to create a time machine to transfer himself to the aforementioned timeframe. What is his present is only known to Santa's factory. Santa himself only received a very little bit of information : The presents are all Medieval-themed!

    Tonight is December 25th of the 11th Century. And Santa is roaming around the walls, throwing out presents. Santa had examined the place carefully. He had known every corner of this town. Everything had seemed to have gone well. Until finally, he given somebody a bomb, Truthfully, he did not know what was inside, it can be a sword, knife, butter, bread or anything, Secrecy is assured to the Santa Factory.

    The person he gave the bomb was none other than Altair, an old face around the town, A feared slayer. And more renownly called 'The Assassin'. Santa however does not know anything about the folks around 'ere. Stumbling upon him, Without losing mood and confidence. Santa gave him the bomb as requested, strange, the ignition of the bomb has started since it was given! Returning from the balcony, Santa sets out to give more people more presents. Mysterious, No one ever knows he is there, except Altair. He waited to kill him!

    Clad in black jacket, Altair's first priority is to bomb Santa away from his town. For some unknown reason he hated Santa very much as though he had killed his parents! Carefully, he made sure that the bomb's voice is unheard by anybody. Seems like everybody is sleeping quietly. And it seems there are only two souls in this town. That is Santa and Altair.

    Moon was facing the Santa, as is his fear. Once, somebody from his factory talked :
    "When the full moon shines upon you, comes the trouble."

    Santa loses his confidence as he gave out more and more presents to more and more people around the town while Altair is slowly creeping into Santa. Finally, when he had finished giving out presents and just set to return home to the 22th Century. A sound can be heard just while he is climbing out of the balcony. It hits Santa real hard.

    *BOOM!!!*

    Santa has heard the voice, the bomb sets him flying away. Along his last breath his last words came out : LOL!!!!!!

    THE END.


    Entrant 3 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Twas the Fright Before Christmas
    Twas the night before Christmas,

    When upon a rooftop of slate,

    An assassin was lurking,

    And Death he doth wait;

    His cowl was pulled low, fire danced in his eyes,

    And now! Look up! Look up to the skies!

    The townsfolk were lying all snug in their beds,

    While dreams of the morrow swirled in their heads;

    The spy on the rooftop, and the saint in his sleigh,

    No one knew what would come at the breaking of day,

    But on dashed the sleigh and on dashed the saint,

    Toward a danger from which most men would faint;

    From the skies of the north! With a loud rushing noise!

    Come St. Nick, his reindeer, and his pack of toys!

    The moon in the sky did shine oh so bright,

    Lighting the way for St. Nicholas that night.

    On the top of the roof the sleigh it did halt,

    And St. Nick jumped out with the things he had brought.

    A doll for the girl, and a drum for the boy,

    Muffled and soft, so as not to annoy.

    A pipe for the husband, and a dress for the wife,

    The spy he lurked there, in his hand was a knife.

    And the saint he looked out o'er the streets of the town,

    Little knowing that Old Nick himself had come down.

    He walked over to the chimney, and he got such a fright!


    For the spy rose up, straight out of the night!


    “Good evening,” stammers Nick, and, “How do you do?”


    Then down he falls, straight down through the flue!


    The spy he laughed, for he meant no harm,


    Only thinking to give St. Nick an alarm;


    And he was heard to exclaim,


    as he walked off through the night,


    “Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good fright!”

















































    Entrant 4 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    An Unexpected Visitor

    Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even an assassin.

    ...But this is only because the assassin had not yet entered the house...

    As the assassin, John, clambered up the wall, he once again checked his pouch. The grenades were still there. John smirked as he reached the top, finally the town would be rid of this greedy governor. Too long had he embezzled funds meant for public works and made a mockery of his office.

    All he had to do was drop the little explosives through the chimney and get off the roof- fast. Simple enough. But what was that smell? Did something behind him just go "plop"? Turning on his heel, John was shocked to see a sleigh! On the roof! A count of nine reindeer stood tied to it as well. How could this be? Further inspection revealed that no man was in sight on the roof, so John decided to go ahead.

    Lighting the fuse on the first grenade, he dropped it down the chimney. As he stood poised to light the second, a faint noise was heard from below as it echoed up the vault. No matter, he must drop the second one in quickly. As he dropped it over the side, he heard it strike something hard. "Hoh!"

    ...What was that?

    Suddenly, a corpulent man dressed in red popped his head out of the hole. He looked angry at just having been hit in the head by a grenade, and he stood holding it in his hands. The fat red man pulled the fuse out of the explosive and grabbed John. For a fat man, this guy had a grip. john was thrown into the sleigh and off the reindeer went. John was to spend the rest of his life mining coal for all the other bad boys and girls.


    Entrant 5 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Nakles
    Everyone knows about Santa Claus, children write him letters and try to make him welcome by leaving out food and drink. But few dare speak of his shadowy alter-ego, perhaps for fear of attracting his attention, because no one wants a visit from Nakles.


    While Santa pilots his sleigh through the cold crisp night air of Christmas Eve, Nakles drives his black cart, drawn by nine gigantic naked moles, through the ancient tunnels that lie beneath every town and village (even yours).



    Nakles has a supernatural sense of smell, he can even detect the odour of unclean thoughts, and should a child be undeserving, Nakles will come. If they are lucky, he will merely put their presents in his great black sack and leave a lump of coal to remind them of their sin. But if he is angry (which he often is), it is the child that goes into the sack, and those children are never seen again.



    I embarked on the flight this Christmas Eve with a sense of dread. Nowhere in this world seems immune to change, not even the North Pole (did you know that our manufacturing facilities now have to be supported on pontoons?). I think the rot set in when we allowed the Coca Cola corporation to sponsor our clothing (have you any idea how much ermine costs these days). But now, perhaps driven by the Credit Crunch, we were going to be required to leave cards at every house asking the children to leave a Coke and a MacDonalds Happy Meal™ next year instead of the traditional milk and cookies.



    At first things went well, chasing the instant of midnight around the world, we had got as far as Boston. I was wearing my smog mask while holding the reindeer, so I failed to see Nakles until it was too late to intervene.



    As Santa emerged from his latest delivery and card-drop, milk and cookie crumbs still adorning his beard, Nakles stepped up and administered the Vapour of Forgetfulness. Santa slumped, and Nakles swept him into his great black sack and melted back into the night.



    Next Christmas, I would advise you all to be on your best behaviour, Nakles never did like Santa, so after a year of his company he is going to be looking extra-hard for the undeserving and the mean-of-spirit. Fear the great black sack!




    TotW 21 - Untitled Picture
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Total War - Apocolypse

    The beings came out of nowhere. After the End Turn, the Horde just appeared... giant barbarian monsters. Since New York had no walls, no siege weapons were requried, not that it would have stopped them... they would destroy the city regardless.

    The player put his infantry to choke points on the map, a useless plan. These monsters just shoved buildings ontop of them, the soldiers were crushed. It seems they also "inspired fear", and had something far more than simple "armor piercing". Tanks were simply shoved aside, the rockets did nothing to them! Their defence stat must have been over 9000, what kind of stupid programmer did that?

    The player was slowly realising this was futile, though he knew that this invasion couldn't simply be one massive bug... could it? His air support was gone aswell, swatted out of the skies like flies. All he had left was one scout chopper where his General was situated. He coulnd't even take pleasure in the destruction... the developers never botehred programming civilians, but why program this.. why?!?! The player had no choice but to initiate a nuclear strike on one of his prize cities, finally ending this apocolypse.

    After the next end turn, everything got worse. An alien invasion at Washington, a zombie outbreak in San Francisco, and a "Sarah Palin" found the nuclear launch codes and obliterated what remained of the world... game over... on Turn 3. Enough was enough, he lodged a complaint on TWC, but wasn't surprised to see everyone else was enraged, it wasn't long before a statement was made by the Head Developer himself.

    Dear Players,

    After Empire, you stated that the thing you wanted was intelligent AI to accompany Apocalypse, our new modern day strategy game. We spent huge amounts of time perfecting the AI, but it was still too easy. Thus, we decided to increase the stats on everything... massively, to give the player more of a challenge.

    I am pleased to say we created a very challenging experience in Apocalypse, and we are saddened to find this has not met player expectations. We reccomend turning the difficulty down to Easy if you are finding it difficult. In which case, the Zombie Outbreak will not happen, which should allow you to survive.

    CA
    It seems the player had just wasted Ł40... damn. Think how many pints that would've bought?


    Entrant 1 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    My Pet Goat

    "Now children,"George Bush began,"This is the story of a little boy named Sam and his pet goat, Billy.
    "Now, Sam and Billy were great friends. They were perfect for each other. But then a mean boy, named Obama, came to take Billy away! But Sam wouldn't let him, no wa--...what is it, Jackson?"

    Jackson, an SS agent, bent in low to whisper in Bush's ear.
    "Um, sir...we have an emergency in New York City. Giant pe-"
    "What! Why are you disturbing us for a minor problem!?"the end of his sentence escalated into a scream, and he looked over and said "Oh. Sorry kids."
    "Sir, I think you should look at this." He handed the President a small portable TV.
    Bush stared. New York, amid a mass of terror and confusion, was on the screen. Giant warriors, with actual swords, were smashing down the the city, and it was clear that, if they weren't stopped, the whole city would go. But stopping wasn't an option. Huge numbers of people were shooting, tanks blasted, and ariplanes bombed, but nothing had an effect on the monsters. America's freedom was about to be destroyed-but what happened next nobody knew, for the head of the Statue of Liberty was torn off and thrown into the camera.
    Jackson was speaking again."Sir, the only way to stop them is if the president tells them to go away, in person. They told us that themselves, by writing on the buildings. Otherwise, everyone in New York will be killed. So, sir, we have prepared a helicopter. Are you coming?"

    Bush looked at him. He looked at the kids. He looked at the book. He looked at Jackson again. Then at the book.
    "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, Sam wouldnt let Obama take Billy away without a fight! He tried to keep him, although the law was against him. He fought..."


    Entrant 2 - Celsius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Watch them Crumble!

    They came from no where! We were just watching the game on TV and BAM! There they were. It was unbelievable. Giant men with spears and swords starting slashing buildings. They didn’t speak English. They spoke some weird language that no one could understand. Then they starting fighting each other, Right in the streets of New York.

    One feel off a building, making a huge crater in the ground. We saw Military helicopters come in. They started shooting bullets, but the giant men didn’t react. Then the missiles. It must have felt like little stings. They just swatted at the helicopters like flies. We were amazed. We just watched in shock, not leaving the building.

    We heard a huge crash. We looked out of the side of the window and saw the Statue of Liberty crumble. The giant warrior beside it just yelled. It was disturbing in a way. Now we see what they are doing. Why they are doing it. Why have these things come to destroy our most prized
    possessions. Ships in the harbor become bats for the men. They swing them and they go flying through the air. We still watch as the helicopters drop like bugs. This is the most shocking site the United States shall ever see.


    Entrant 3 - Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Sack of Rome, New York
    Narrator:Hariulfus sat enthroned in the barbarian fortress of Uxellodunum, in all his regal glory!
    Hariulfus:Rigal glory. Regal comes from the latin rex, regis. Rigal comes from the Gallic rix
    Narrator:Hariulfus, in all his martial glory-
    Hariulfus: A Roman name!
    Narrator: Hariulfus prepared to march on Rome! However, Uxellodunum was far from the city. With this in mind, he called upon the greatest gods that the barbarians had ever known- the divine twins Asterix and Obelix!
    Hariulfus: Oh Asterix and Obelix, grace your faithful barbarian horde with the power to march on Rome this very night!
    Narrator: However, a twist in the plot! The divine Asterix, ever wily, had just remembered that Hariulfus had forgotten to sacrifice wild boars on his altar the last major barbarian holiday!
    Asterix: Obelix tried to eat me...
    Narrator: Asterix spoke for the two of them, for Obelix was off terrorizing the local Wild Boar Petting Zoo.
    Asterix: Say a dozen Hail Mary's and do twenty push-ups. Then click your heels together and say "There's no place like home!" You will find yourselves in Rome itself!
    Narrator: This the barbarian horde did well, and when they opened their eyes again, they found themselves in a park filled with trees. This really confuzzled them, since they thought the Romans just created wastelands and called them peace:hmmm:
    The keen eyes of one of the Gaesetae (those pills do wonders, btw) spotted a sign...

    WELCOME TO ROME, NEW YORK:
    TREE CITY OF THE USA!
    Hariulfus realized he had been tricked!
    Hariulfus: Rape! Pillage! Burn!
    Narrator: Carried off by all this pillaging, burning, and a handy Red Bull van nearby, the barbarian horde found itself at the shores of Manhattan itself!
    However, the bodies of the barbarians, not being used to the stress accompanied by heavily caffeinated drinks, began to feel strange.
    Barbarian Axeman 1: I'm getting bigger!
    Barbarian Axeman 2: Anyone wanna switch places with me?
    Narrator: Soon the barbarians found themselves towering over the river. they strode over with ease and completely destroyed New York City!
    Gaesetae: YAARGH I see green...KILL ROMAN BRUTII!!!
    Narrator: No more statue of liberty. And all because of the fatal misnaming of the city of Rome, New York.


    Entrant 4 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Last Day The Miniature Earth Stood Still

    Andre had worked sooooo hard to build his miniature world. With the bustling sounds of a metropolitan. The robot humans are working so humanly. The cops have their own minds to chase the burglars and such. The graphic skies are worked so perfectly into perfection. The Statue of Liberty can also be founded there.

    But, all his happiness and hard work may come to an end......................

    Andre had tried to invent a miniature world Roman Age museum. His first experiments are the Gaesatae. It's his first try inventing something with completely with different mind set. What he set the bot mind is : (Note that the bolded ones are the settings he used.)

    Agressiveness : Low/Average/High/VeryHigh/Brutal
    Power : Weak/Average/Strong/Powerful/Deity
    Size : Small/Average/Big/Godlike Size!
    Attitude : Overly Polite/Polite/Average/Rude/Bossie

    All is going well to his wish until a friend banged up the doors. As mentioned above he forgot to set the size of the new Barbarian Robots. Plus his mouse is just over there pointing to the word 'Godlike Size!'. Apparently, Trojan Viruses and Spywares infected his computer. And so decided to make a 'click' on it. Without caution, Andre keeps talking to his friend. Until finally the new scene of his miniature world is......

    Andre : !!!!!! I forgot this!! Now what I'm going to do with this new piece of ***T?!?!?! AS*****!!!!! Man, Yesterday I told you I'm utterly busy! Why you still come here?
    Friend : Sorry dude............
    Andre : Sorry is not always the right answer! Look at my new ****ING miniatures. Now what are you going to do with it???!!!??!!?


    The Liberty Statue is destroyed!!!! NOO!!!!!!!!! With it follows the town, and the giants strangely gets bigger and bigger. And finally as big as a true human size............
    While Andre tries to decrease their size using the computer, which, unfortunatelt hacked by a trojan virus. Including spyware, which in turn manipulates the command line to increase their size even bigger. With it razed all hopes and hard work of Andre at his grand miniature project.....


    Entrant 4 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    End of All Dreams

    2084. The end of all dreams. That it would end like this—apocalypse. Smoke broils upward from the red-hot ruins of a thousand buildings in a city once teeming with life. With dreams.
    In the harbor stands a lady, once the symbol of compassionate imperialism, now beheaded and dismembered, smoldering.
    Giants, awakened from their slumber in Earth's long-ago past, now rampage through the streets, killing weapons in their hands. The city's defenders are dead or dying, as all who resisted their might. Those still alive would be better off dead than in the hands of the conquerors.
    Lo! A dot appears in the western sky, out of the clouds. A helicopter, an old AH-64 Apache from the Gulf War-era, a relic as antiquated as a biplane. And as futile. Multibillion-dollar airbases were destroyed in the path of the giants only days previous. Whoever the man, whatever his mission, his craft is a museum piece—not a fighting machine.
    The chopper swoops low over the city, its pilot fighting the fiery updrafts billowing up out of the steel canyons below, fire-fed winds carrying the stench of death with them.
    Search and destroy. It is the only thing that comes to mind as the helicopter sweeps purposefully over the ruins below, searching, its twin pylons armed to the teeth with rockets. More antiques. Useless in this apocalypse.
    Is anything useless in the hands of a determined man?
    The giants don't even bother looking up at its approach. It is of no more concern to them than the passing fly.
    Inside the tiny cockpit, pinned in by the cumbersome weight of 20th-Century technology, the pilot squeezes the trigger, his face impassive as a giant looms in his reticle sight. Perhaps his loved ones are dead in the carnage below. Perhaps they are imprisoned. Perhaps. . .His story will never be told.
    The first salvo of the rockets catches one of the giants in the throat, tossing him backward, crushing a skyscraper in his fall.
    Shocked, dumfounded by the intrustion, the giants are slow to react, and another falls in the interim. But then—then one of them lifts himself up, thundering a brute cry of challenge, his war axe swinging through the air.
    The edge collides with the Apache, slicing through the thin airframe. The grinding of metal on metal, the ancient helicopter torn in two, fluttering sickeningly to the ground, like a wounded butterly. Consumed in the inferno below.
    A pyre. The city a funeral pyre for its last defender. End of all dreams. Requiem. . .


    Entrant 7 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Blockbuster

    Guy Juliano, the celebrated Auteur, stood in his control centre atop the Statue of Liberty, face eerily lit by the banks of consoles, with bundles of power and control cables underfoot snaking across every flat surface.

    From here, the Manhattan skyline seemed like the wings of a stage, making the city look like a model of itself, the kind that used to be demolished in dire Japanese monster films by actors in rubber dinosaur costumes.

    Guy had already tried every trick he knew to shock film-audiences out of their detachment. Fast-cutting, jarringly juxtaposed bright/dark quiet/loud sequences, even hired-agents to sow panic in theatres with elaborate stunts. Anything to force his viewers to engage with his art, to feel part of it rather than be mere observers.

    This was to be his Masterpiece, a battle so real that people would be completely overawed by it. Special projection smoke began rising between the buildings of the city in time with the scream of power from the banks of holographic and 3D-sound projectors lining Liberty Island.

    Guy gave the signal, and the Battle of Alesia sprang into life all over the city. Gigantic warriors strode between the buildings, dodging, hacking, screaming with triumph or agony.

    With satisfaction, Guy noted people running to escape a huge figure toppling toward them in its death throes. Yes, it was perfect!

    He was so engrossed that he failed to notice that the increasing vibration of the projection equipment until his teeth started to chatter. There seemed to be more smoke than he remembered from the previews, although it was hard now to distinguish between projection and city,

    Then he saw the reason, as the paths of two warriors crossed he saw the corner of the building at their focus crumble away. Aghast, he realised that the extra sound projectors added at the last minute, to cater for the larger than expected crowds, must have tipped the balance, and that his art was literally destroying the city!

    Guy lurched toward the emergency cut-off switch, but the control centre was vibrating so hard that he was thrown to the deck. He was still trying to get up when the whole upper section of the Statue of Liberty dissolved into a cloud of green and russet confetti which fell delicately about her feet as the buildings of the city slowly shook themselves to pieces.



    TotW 22 - A Bad Omen
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Valley of the Shadow

    Darkness. The valley of the shadow of death. I glanced nervously up at the looming cliffs as we rode through the canyon, my hand nervously going to the sword girt at my waist. How different this was from the rolling meadows of my native France.
    The contingent of Turkopoles at my back seemed unconcerned by their surroundings, their bows slung over the saddle of their light horses.
    Just five more miles. We were returning to the main body of Crusaders from a foraging expedition. The camp wasn't far.
    The sky above was dark and threatening, ink-black clouds rolling across the face of the earth. Sunlight streamed from a few faint cracks in the blackness, the last frail efforts before nightfall.
    Without warning, a cry went up from one of my men, a cry of alarm and fear, quickly spreading through the column. I wheeled my horse sharply, the sudden jerk on the reins causing him to rear, his hooves pawing the air for a moment in time.
    “What is it, Subawi?” I demanded, my interpreter riding up beside me at that very moment. His face was pale as the morning mist, a look of fear in his eyes.
    “It is the bird, my lord. The bird of death.”
    I looked, my eyes following his pointing finger. There, silhouetted by the final rays of the sun, circling over the canyon and our strung-out column, was the form of an eagle, a vulture hovering low as if in anticipation of its next meal. Le oiseau de mort. The bird of death. As the interpreter had said. Hair rose on the back of my neck as I remembered the priest's words on the last Sabbath day. “For wheresoever the carcass is, there shall the eagles be gathered together. . .”
    The words of our Lord.
    One of my Turkopoles drew his bow suddenly from off his saddle, fitting an arrow onto the string, firing in one smooth motion. The arrow ascended, twisting, through the air, its course straight and true. I watched breathlessly as it connected with the vulture, piercing the bird through the breast. A shriek of agony rent the valley, seeming almost human in its intensity as the vulture fell from the heavens. I spurred my horse forward, intending to congratulate the man on his marksmanship, but the look on Subawi's face stopped me.
    “It was an omen, my lord,” he stated, answering my unspoken question. His voice trembled. “We are all marked now. We are going to die.”
    I started to reply, but at that moment I caught movement on the cliffs above us. I turned in my saddle, fear rising within me. He was right. . .


    Entrant 1 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    As the crow flies


    It wasn't meant to be like this. Our once mighy army, with it's powerful Janissaries, had been poised to deal Christendom a powerful blow. Our army struck Vienna, our victory assured, but somehow, some way, we were turned back. And so us few survivors fled back to Istanbul, carving a path. Our horses were swift, our blades long, our arrows sharp, but all this came to no avail. We were forced to go through a narrow mountain passage, a dark place where we knew death awaited. Yet still, we hoped against hope that some way, somehow, we would survive this horror.
    But even as the end of the passage came in sight, they came. They came by the thousands, tens of thousands. It made me proud that they sent such numbers for our small band, but not nearly enough to quench the terror in my heart. It terrified me.
    They lined the exit with stakes, the walls with crossbows, and the path with their men. Our band came together, and we prayed to the one God. We prayed that He would join his strength with ours, and give us to strength to retreat to Turkey. Even as we prayed, we strung our bows, and a new strength surged through us, and we knew that He was with us.
    But then it came. Far in the distance a black crow, an agent of terror, came for us.
    It flew slowly, and finally stopped unnaturally, simply hovering in the air above us.
    At last, I could stand it no longer. I bent the bow, and an arrow shot up to meet the bird. The crow fell, dead, but we knew it was no use. We were doomed. But we weren't dead. Not yet.
    Dropping my bow, I raised my sword and, with the cry "Allah akabar!" I charged. My companions followed me, and we became one, stronger together than apart.
    The twang of the crossbows came, and the first one spun me from my seat. Gripping the bolt, I tore it out. And staggered towards the enemies.
    Twang. Another bolt ripped into me, and although I was hurt, I kept going, the power of God in me.
    Twang. A third bolt ripped into me, entering my heart. I was dead. I knew it. But I kept going, coughing blood, until I could take it no longer and fell to the ground.
    Dead.


    Entrant 2 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Rocks, Wind, and Moisture

    The roots of the mountain. The location was not ideal, but this is what happens when you let the enemy pick the field. Only two men may walk abreast on the pass, and more than one man had lost his footing and fallen screaming to the ground, silenced by a muffled crunch of his armor as he met the ground. In the rush of retreat,it shouldn't be surprising that a few or more wouldn't lose their lives in this way. A majority of the dead already lay hewn in the valley below.

    Peculiar, but it seemed to some that the sky had changed color since the end of the battle. What's more, no carrion birds could be seen, but a lone eagle soared overhead silhouetted against the red, raging sky. Its scream was magnified by the mountain itself, and the noise was lonely and terrifying. Lightning licked the sky over the men, when suddenly, in a blinding flash of orange and blue, it struck a tree. At this point, even the victors, who had been dancing in the valley below, stopped and looked upward. Suddenly, in waves immeasurable, the skies opened and water poured from it as if someone had punctured the clouds with a spear.

    Scrambling onto the scraggy cliffs above the valley, the bruised soldiers of the unsuccessful army watched as a torrent of water rushed from higher in the valley towards the victors. How could this be- a flash flood? The bodies of the dead floated at first, but as the water increased dramatically as seconds ticked by, they soon became part of the current and sank in their armor. Panic struck the army still in the valley. Many struggled to stay above water as their armor weighed them down. Others scrambled like rats to get to higher ground, where many a time an arrow sent from above stopped their advance.

    Mother nature had once again shaped the outcome of human venture.


    Entrant 3 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Valley of Death

    On a stormy night, the adventurers set out for a journey where it has been impossible for others to do. The Valley of Death. The Valley which has eaten so many lives, reminds Narses of the scene, where his father dies fallen from a mountain right in front of his eyes. Ah, the traumatic scene is still clear in the deepest part of his mind.

    Once upon a very cloudy day, the adventurers embarked on their journey passing throught the Valley of Death, with the beliefs that there is a valuable treasure somewhere deep within this Valley.

    For a moment, life seems empty in places as barren as this, until finally they heard the sound of the flying crow. Then they realized, there is a source of living somewhere around here! Desperate searching for that source, they traveled deeper inside, not realizing what was on their backs....

    Narses stopped for a while, along with their friends and horses. Sensing something, something which seems to be able to threaten their lives. Spoke : "What was beyond here?". Hearing this, the only replies that come is : "Something... unpredictable?". Narses is confused, and so does his friends. What was beyond this Valley? Treasures? Dangers? Happiness? Eternal Life? Death?

    Nobody knows.......... Finally during the night have they realized something. It was an exploration party! They have been following our adventurers all day long! Seeing a figure high on the Valley, Narses once again remembers the memory. Heavy, what can he do? Running away as fast as possible while scaring the enemies by shooting arrows. As far as he go. The Valley seems to be endless, as though there is no way out and no way inside again. Desperation and sweat now clouds his mind. For once he looked on to the black sky, remembering his family that has passed away before him, maybe he is prepared to join them....

    Dead or Alive? Nobody knows for no information is ever being leaked out. As the rumors are true, nobody escapes this place alive. But what happened to the exploration party? Are they also dead? It may be another story....


    Entrant 4 - Elendil of Númenor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    He will have his way

    The King frowned as two of his soldiers brought in a priest he captured last night, when he burned down one of the enemy's temples. Before he could even open his mouth, the priest cried loudly.
    'You! Do you think robbing us is a great - aaargh!' he was cut short as he was kicked hard by one of the soldiers. The King, however, nodded to them, to let the old man continue.
    'God will punish you for everything!'
    'Oh yes? I have won too many great victories, and survived too many plagues, to think that your... God wants to... punish me.' spat the King.
    'The Lord will find a way. He always does.'
    Eventually the King lost pleasure in the parley, and nodded to his guards to take the old man away, who still shouted over his shoulder.
    'The Lord will have his way! He always does!'
    The King then sat back in his chair, humming to himself, faintly glimpsing a black shadow of a bird outside the window...

    ...A year later...

    Battle was raging at the far side of the canyon and the King was trapped. Ahead of him the enemy army has met with his forces, behind him he could see the glitter of their banners edging ever closer to the mouth of the canyon. His campaign didn't go well at all since he robbed that temple a year ago... And as the King looked up, there it was. Black against the fiery sky, a huge winged creature.
    The King spurred his horse forward madly, his heart filled with murder. He had enough. That bird had been following him for a year now, and he didn't have the smallest bit of luck, since. He grabbed his bow, fitted arrow to string, and fired the shot at the creature. The arrow hit the bird in the chest. The body fell right on the branch of a dead tree. The branch broke, and hit the side of the canyon. Suddenly a huge bolder came hurtling down, right towards the King. White with terror, he pulled the reigns, but the horse would no longer move. Horse and King both stood there, stoned as the boulder whirled at them. CRASH.

    As the darkness closed in around him, the King could still hear a fateful whisper.
    'He will have his way. He always does.


    Entrant 5 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    REGRET

    The tiny Israeli Defense Force had acquired many trophies in this war, but in the end it was their lack of resources that had sealed the ultimate fate of their campaign.

    Christian support had turned out to be mainly verbal. They spoke of great offensives and of the money and manpower they were expecting at any moment from their governments, and yet they stubbornly remained in their fortified areas, leaving the Jews with the bulk of the fighting. The problem was that the Moslems, even disunited as they were, were just too strong.

    David ben Solomon (a name he had chosen to show his patriotic fervour) was returning from the raid on Gaza with his few ragged survivors. It had been intended to distract the Moslems from a combined Jewish/Christian assault on Jerusalem, but the Christians had failed to show up, their fragile alliance probably broken again by the rivalry of their home countries. The assault was abandoned and the sacrifice of David’s force had been in vain.

    Now David’s men were almost home, soon they would be safe in their mountain fastnesses of old Israel. The welcoming cliffs of the Bekar valley and the sight and smell of the cypresses brought a warm glow to David’s heart.

    But then, as he chanced to look back, he saw the vulture. A sudden chill washed through his body. Looking down he now saw the Moslem soldiers lining the valley sides.

    David spurred his horse into a trot and directed his men to lay down suppressing fire which might allow his troop to evade their pursuers. For a short time he believed they might escape, but then enemy Ghulams appeared ahead of him and he knew that this was going to be the end.

    Even as he ordered the final suicidal charge, he still had time to regret that the founding of the New Israel was going to have to wait for a future age.



    TotW 23 - A Crazy General
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    AMBITION


    Quintus Macrinus was a career soldier, Primus Pilus after twenty years service in the legion (the highest possible rank for a plebian). He had fought more battles than he could remember, so many that he could no longer account for all his wounds.


    Now the Empire was going to wrack and ruin with yet another pretender trying his luck against the Emperor. Quintus felt that there was something faintly unclean about having to fight other Romans, wishing fervently that the common soldiers would just throw off these pallid in-bred drooling cretins the Patrician class was serving up as officers these days and elect commanders from the ranks. Men of experience, men of skill, men who had proved their worth... in fact, men like Quintus himself.


    He sighed with despair. His new Tribune was energetic enough, but had a head stuffed with stupid stories of heroism and glory where battles were won by noble gestures rather than the application of intelligence and caution. He was darkly certain the idiot would get them killed in a manner likely to be celebrated by poets down the ages.


    After a series of costly skirmishes, Quintus decided to take matters into his own hands. The Tribune was already widely known to be erratic and given to rash impulses, so Quintus began adding a subtle poison to his wine to amplify this mood and hopefully lead to a fatal misjudgement.


    Then the Rebels attacked in force and Quintus and his men found themselves sorely pressed, crouching behind shields while a fusillade of pila fell amongst them before the enemy charge. From his position behind the Tribune, he saw the man start twitching and quivering with uncontrollable urges. Knowing that a foolhardy, and hopefully suicidal, act was about to take place, he quickly reached forward to unbuckle the Tribune's cuirass – just to make sure.


    Unfortunately the Tribune chose that moment to rush forward screaming some battle quote of the ancients, with Quintus, thumbs trapped in the Tribune's straps, drawn into involuntary pursuit.


    As it happened, the Rebels were defeated that day and Legionaries found the bodies of Quintus and his Tribune surrounded by enemy corpses.


    Ironically, their posthumous fame grew so great that Quintus was immortalised in legend as the Loyal Soldier, his contentment with his subordinate rôle and eagerness to sacrifice himself to protect his betters drummed into generations of recruits for centuries to come.


    Entrant 1 - bomberboy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Crazy General


    The Hun's cavalry galloped forward eying the tasty Roman Legionaries blood to fill their bloodlust.
    The frightened Soldiers formed a spear wall the front ranks p!ss!ing themselves behind their sheilds.

    General Lucius seeing his men, cold, wetting themselves and just being well...human! His brain said hold postion, his body. Charge the bastards!
    He turned to the men. "Men! Today is our final hour these hun's don't know what its like to taste Roman steel well now they'll taste it!"
    The men let out a rather manly cheer.

    "Today we serve them our steel, now we charge!"
    The men cheered and then stopped. "What do you mean charge, sir!" complained Gaius. his right hand man. "We charge!" They thought he was bannana's.
    "No I can't do it!" shouted a lowly recruit.
    "Die coward!" Lucius slashed the mans head off and then began to charge. "Don't do it!" cried Gaius grabbing hold of Lucius' cape. "Get off me scum!" he screamed.

    After all the commotion Lucius was about to give Gaius a stab he won't forget when the cavalry arrived.

    "OH SHI-"

    The end



    Entrant 2 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Why?

    Day was fleeing away, swift as the wings of an eagle, and with it the last hopes of the legionaries. The grass of the Teutonic forest was slippery with their blood, stained with that of their foes. They had killed, killed, and kept on killing till their arms ached, till their hands cleft to the hilt of the gladius. Mounds of bodies surrounded their ever-shrinking line, as the hard-pressed soldiers pulled back and regrouped again and again.
    Yet still the barbarians came, throwing themselves upon the frail line. Their pilum were exhausted, their swords crimson. Cornelius glanced upward, measuring the daylight left as its rays filtered through the thick canopy of trees. Darkness would soon fall, and they with it. Something must be done and quickly. The centurion's eyes swept the line, forcing himself not to look at the dead sprinkled obscenely across the ground in piles and heaps, bodies left in the rigor of death. He would join them soon—unless. . .
    Thirty years' experience serving the empire across the battlefields of Gaul, Dacia, and Judea were not lost to him now. His mind flitted back across the years. Another time, another day. Blood and fire. Death. What had worked once might work once again. Fate issues no guarantees, but something must be done, by Jupiter!
    His hands were sweaty, the gladius feeling as though it were a permanent attachment to the end of his hand. This was it, he thought as he raised his voice, calling to his century to follow him, his sword lifted high toward heaven. A standard to follow.
    The barbarians wavered as he charged down upon them, blood-red gladius in hand. One of them stabbed toward him with a spear, the tip glancing off the scales of his armor. He turned on heel, thrusting quickly, his sword entering the man's body between the ribs. The man screamed, his eyes glassing over, his body crumpling to the ground as the centurion withdrew his blade.
    Pain shot through his left shoulder as an ax fell upon his armor. He half-turned, realizing that his men had not followed. He was alone. Why?
    Had they not seen? Had they not heard? Had they been too frightened to follow? The answer mattered not. He was alone, and alone he would die.
    He swung the blade around, disemboweling his attacker, but the weight on their rush bore him to the ground. He looked up, seeing a sword descending toward him. It was the last sight his eyes would ever see, death closing over him as a blanket. Death. His lips forming the eternal question moments before they were stilled forever. Why?


    Entrant 3 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    This Is The End, Secundus!

    It was a scary day, as clouds have blocked the sunshines and mists have fogged the land. Absolute fear has made her presence deep within the heart of the Roman scouts sent on an expedition to scour the forests to identify the whereabouts of the Germanic Army.

    The unfortunate commander whose (also) unfortunate squad sent to this dreaded expedition is none other than Secundus. One who has a cowardly attitude that failed to rejoice the sore sights of the Roman Army. The Senate is rumored to love ditching him because his life is no more longer useful now. But so far, none of their attempts failed to bring him down.

    So with their George.W Bush-like speech, they forced Secundus to the forest. Waiting for his death.......

    In this creepy forest, which seemed to have no signs of life at all. In utter fear the Romans searched the forests one by one. Looking for some figures taller than the dwarves they are. Thoughts are only filled with blood, axes, and last but not least. Death.


    And suddenly.......

    This is the End!!!

    A German guy thrown a shoe to a legionary, accompanied by arrows shot down four of the scouts. Only now they have time to prepare for the onslaught. Ah, the sights of blood and the loss of the loved one seems to be unbearable. Lost in his thoughts, Secundus only shouted the usual Roman speech. Calling the ambushers Nazis. (Sorry should I insult you)

    Gaius, enraged. Soon left the lines and stabbed Secundus in the back. Saying up with voices that raises right from the throat to the mouth :


    This Is The End, Secundus!

    It was a hard one as it struck his neck. "ARRGHHHHHHH!!!!" Are the last words that come out of Secundus' mouth.

    He don't know the word Nazi, probably since Hitler wasn't born yet and Secundus maybe just hurling out random words. Ahhhh..... Stupid Gaius. Just then, the second shoe is thrown at him, which Gaius in his George Bush style managed to dodge it.


    And the last words he screams are :

    THIS IS ROMA!!!!!!!!!



    Entrant 4 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Breakdown of Command

    "That dog killed Decius! He killed my brother!"
    "Sir, you can't go out there! Stay in formation!" As the Optio tried to hold back his commanding officer, a spear, thrown from an unknown warrior across the field, Punched through the Centurion's neck and through him into the Optio's chest. The centurion died within seconds, but the second officer was left lying on the ground, gasping and spitting up his lifeblood as he slowly suffocated with the tip of the spear lodged between his ribs into the soft meat of his lung. As the blood of the two men amalgamated and congealed, the Optio's eyes slowly glazed over and the blood surrounding the corners of his mouth dribbled onto the ground.

    Meanwhile the rest of the rank was in dissaray, having lost two men of authority within seconds, the command broke down in the Centuria. Their position in the line began to waver, and had Decimus, an optio stationed on the left flank, not taken over, the results could have been disastrous.

    The enemy was closing in about the flank, and Decimus sensed this. Urging his tentmates into the fray he rallied his fellow soldiers to push back.

    Scanning the field,Praefectus Castrorum noticed the faltering flank. "Gaius, see that over there? We better throw in a second cohort to hold that line."

    Gaius surveyed the situation. As Legatus, his decision was final. "Yes Marcus, send the order through."

    With a nod Marcus motioned to the Cornicen to send in Cohort IV. Four short blasts followed by two longer sounds.

    The Princeps Prior of Cohort IV went rigid as he heard the blasts. His subordinates rushed to position and the Cohort thundered into a jog as they closed with the enemy on the left flank. The men of the battered cohort were encouraged by the shouts of their comrades in the back and hope once again made them confident.
    ----------
    The breakdown of command was vital to Roman military success. Flexibility in the ranks aided in both maneuvering and instruction of the troops. Without the organization that characterized the legion, it is doubtful the Roman military machine would have been able to triumph over the unorganized yet fierce tribes that surrounded them.


    Entrant 5 - molls
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Barbarians

    Our cohort was dispatched to assemble at a Roman manor not far away on the outer side of the Hadrian’s Wall, but already in enemy territory.

    The barbarian warbands and fanatical woad warriors had recently shown aggressive behaviour and threatened the safety of Roman civilians and noblemen, who had been granted a piece of land in this area – between the Wall and the Highlands.

    We learned that the inhabitants of the manor were no one else than M. Publius Lutar and his family, a highly decorated Roman General who gained his fame with outstanding performance in Gaul -
    And he was going to command us against the new threat.

    ----------------------------------------------------------------------


    After having patrolled far from the Hadrian's Wall for weeks, we finally ran into their trap, yes, but being barbarians they were far too noisy to stay undetected, alas we were able to form a battle line and shieldwall just in time.

    - I’m holding my Scutum firmly, my comrades to the left and right stood in their position.
    The barbarians had gained a few lucky shots at the beginning but now they are holding back, staring uneasily at our wall of steel that was repelling all wild but futile efforts.

    Glancing over the top edge of my shield, movement in the enemy lines becomes visible.

    A struggling woman with a tattered tunic and a small boy are pushed in front of the huge bearded monster who was commanding the barbarians.


    What do they expect? We Legionaries are disciplined, not easily tempted. Our line stays quiet,
    not a single word. Only a single gasp somewhere rightwards.


    The bearded monster slowly closes up to the woman’s back, his huge hands slipping under her tunica,
    gliding on her voluptuous body.

    The hysterical cries for help are not reflected by our shields.

    The monster pushes her down, rips off her clothes, completely exposing her pure skin – she is close to fainting.


    Not a single word, not a single sound from us Legionaries.

    Suddenly there is movement in our line. A crash of metal –
    Do my eyes deceive me?


    “Antoniaaa!!”


    Our General, M. Publius Lutar is running towards the monster, sword unleashed-
    The second in command, C. Marcus, tries to catch him, looses his grip on Publius Lutar’s shoulder,
    stumbles to the ground.

    Javelins violently crushing through steel, bone and flesh, nailing Lutar down-

    Two blinks later- C. Marcus’ foot is pierced by an arrow, stopping his attempt to reach the safety of our lines, his back being peppered with missiles.. our trusted second.


    Barbarians?
    Who am I to call

    them

    dumb
    ignorant
    barbarians?


    We are facing a most cunning opponent who had successfully tricked, exposed and finally beheaded our cohort.


    Entrant 6 - Elendil of Númenor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Traitor who was betrayed



    Days have past since the Legion routed the rebels. The Roman column was marching down the forest road, Emperor Crassus riding at the front. Next to him walked his legate, Sextus.
    'You have dealt with the rebels beautifully' Sextus was saying.
    'Are you sure they won't regroup?' asked the Emperor.
    'Definitely.'

    Meanwhile the column emerged from the forest, and they could see a small hill. It's top was burning with a red glow as the sun was climbing ever higher behind it. And as the army started marching uphill, the sun's rays burst out. No longer did the hill burn red. It was lined with the black outlines of soldiers. Roman soldiers. Bearing the emblem of the Rebellion. Thousands of them. And in the front stood General Quintus, leader of the Rebellion.

    Before Crassus could react, a hailstorm of arrows and pila rained on the Legion. The Emperor, after his horse was shot out from under him, ordered the army to form a line and a shield wall. Panic spread through the men after the second volley landed, taking hundreds of Romans to Death's welcoming arms. After the third hail, the two armies clashed. Crassus however leaped forward with his men cheering at his back, and ran towards Quintus. But before he could take more than a few steps, Sextus grabbed his cape.
    'What in the gods' name are you doing' Crassus asked wildly.
    'I will not let you kill my...'
    'Your?'
    'My brother.'
    'Quintus is your brother?' but without waiting for the reply, Crassus slashed at his legate with his sword. Sextus ducked, and drove his own blade through the Emperor's heart.

    After a terrible battle, Quintus emerged victorious, his men massacring every last enemy.
    Sextus walked up to Quintus on the blood-soaked field.
    'I ask for my reward.'
    'Your reward?'
    After the elder brother still didn't think that Sextus deserved any reward, Sextus yelled at Quintus. 'I will condemn you! Accuse you before the Senate and People of Rome for the murder of the Emperor!
    Quintus walked up to his brother, so close that their faces were bare inches apart. He whispered quietly.
    'I am the Emperor.'
    At the same moment Sextus could feel the pierce of a gladius stabbed in his back. And another. And another. Hearing his blood splash to the ground, the traitor, who was betrayed closed his eyes and saw no more.


    Entrant 7 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Folly



    "I dare you to cross this line."

    As Lucius watched, the barbarian commander came up and bellowed those words to the Romans, drawing a line in the mud between the two armies. The barbarian watched Lucius, taunting him. As Lucius remained still, he laughed, saying "Or are you a weakling?"

    Lucius, the commander of the 14th Germanica, started quivering in rage. No one had ever insulted his honor and gotten away with it. He would kill this beast, he knew, but if he left the rank, what would his men do? Would they follow him? Would they run? But worse yet, what would happen if he let the insult go unnoticed? The tale of Lucius's courage would become something for the tavern men to laugh about.

    "Men! Form a shield wall!" As he shouted the order, he stepped to the side of his rank, unsheathing his gladius. His subordinate notice his movements, but moved to bring him back a fraction too late. Lucius was away.

    "You! Barbarian! I challenge you to single combat!"
    The barbarian looked, and watched him, a smile curling at his lips.
    "Ha! You expect to win?"He sneered."So be it." He raised his hand, as if to salute his opponent as he walked towards him.
    And dropped it.

    Instantly, arrows shot out from the archers. They struck down the legionaries, and the blood poured.
    The tale of Lucius's folly, a story of how the commander died to a barbarian's trick, was sung in tavern's around the Roman world, and his legacy remained.



    TotW 24 - Through a rain swept street
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Picture Unavailable

    Winner - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    W.M.D.

    A small outpost once guarded a vital route into the heart of the County of Tripoli, last bastion of Crusader power in the Levant. The garrison were grizzled and experienced men, having seen off five attempts to force the pass this last year.

    This place played well to the strengths of the Crusaders, the pass narrow and rocky and the outpost dominating it completely. Moslem mobility was of no avail in such cramped confines, and Christian crossbows on the parapets could penetrate even good armour while remaining immune to counter fire. But despite their many defeats, the Moslems, driven by the imperative of Jihad, kept on returning.

    It was late afternoon with a terrible lightning storm raging when a wet bedraggled sentry spotted movement in the pass below. The garrison hastily turned out to man the walls.

    A large enemy force formed just out of crossbow range. A strange horseman made his way to the front rank, man and horse both covered with banded armour and shod with shiny black boots. A line rose from the man's saddle straight into the roiling clouds overhead, its end lost to view.

    The defenders marvelled briefly at this, but soon turned their attention to trying to unseat the horseman as he cantered up to the gatehouse. The armour must have been very thick because the bolts bounced off. Arriving at the gate, the horseman took out a long whip and struck at it.

    Unaccountably, the gate suddenly exploded into splinters and the gatehouse collapsed around it. While the defenders reeled with shock, the enemy main force ran up the slope and poured in through the gap.

    Undeterred, the Crusader commander gathered his men into line facing the oncoming mass, confident that this rabble would soon be dispatched by his veterans.

    The lone horseman led the Moslem charge against the braced halberds of the Crusaders, but then he stopped short and the whip came down once more. A blinding flash of light passed from man to man, flinging burned and blackened corpses to the ground with an ear-splitting crack of thunder and the stink of ozone.

    Omar ibn Jahman Fran Kahlinn pushed up his visor and surveyed the captured fort. Satisfied, he reeled in the line connecting him to heaven using a small winch, stowed its attached kite, and went to see what provisions these foreign devils might have for a hungry pious musulman.


    Entrant 1 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Touche

    The doom befalling the Islamic Army is no longer in the vicinity of sights. If astronomic research can at least prove that. But all that are just words thrown out by the commander of the Islamic Army in an effort to rejoice the men from the brutal defense against the Crusaders. He is David. After saying this, he bids for forgivement by Allah.

    In the countdown of three days when it is predicted that the Crusaders would set their steps at Babylon. The Muslims all prayed for safety in the Mosques. David has a hunch, he knows prayers alone won't help them from something inevitable. For a moment he thought, even Allah cannot prevent death. The only thing he is able to do is setting up palisades so the Muslims have enough momentum to shoot the Crusaders with their bows and crossbows enough to at least, deter the Crusaders.

    The Crusaders, on the other hand. Are not commanded by somebody as wise as David. He is a coward, Indecisive, weak. He is Joshua. Defenseless as he is, he commands without leadership, and so have encountered massive casualties throughout the Crusade.

    David, for a moment again thought of plans as good as possible to prevent the death of thousands. He sought a way where and when everyone can have a peaceful Earth. As being taught in the ways of Allah. He tried the diplomatic way. But the messenger is now nowhere to be found. At last, he realized that One cannot Earth two masters. Nor Earth people with different beliefs at once. Now he must resort to blood. It is pain that he must do this, no matter what the cost.

    The Siege Day, Thunder has befallen the Earth. As all forecasts never said about rain in the last 6 months. David and his men thought this is a gift from Allah to his worshippers. Soon the morale of the Muslims increase rapidly. As if they had wanted to fight to the death. At long last Allah has granted them his holy powers. Perhaps the truly religious are the ones allowed to live long. As the thunder, accompanied with arrows struck down every Christians on the vicinity of the Muslims.

    For a time he has forgot that some have potentials to be turncoats. The traitors are soon brought down the the ambushing Islamic Spearmen, who are lying in wait just in case this happens.

    After the glorious battle, David whispers something that can be heard by the inhabitants of Babylon :
    "Touche."

    Nobody knows what this had meant to him. But who cares, as long as they are safe with David's protection they are happy to have him in this town.



    Entrant 2 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    That Just Happened


    Abdul almost wept as he surveyed the field from over the wall. The Crusaders had amassed in huge numbers, and their most fanatical warriors were making ready to attack the walls. As the downhearted commander looked to either side, he was forced to face the brutal reality that death was near. The 'troops' he was forced to levy were little more than boys or old men armed with whatever heirlooms they could get their hands on. But there were all he had.

    Abdul positioned himself in a tower, he was a renown shot with the bow and would better serve the beginning of the battle in such a tower. The initial assault came, the Crusaders brought with them a ram of the most immense size any of them had seen. Although out of range, some of the inexperienced archers shot off arrows that fell pathetically short. Abdul waited several seconds in his tower. He then lifted his bow and shot a single arrow. He saw the unarmored pilgrim go down. Soon the rest of his levies followed in loosing arrows and many of the pilgrims met their doom.

    The Christians brought up heavily armored infantry to finish the trek to the walls, and before long the ram was hitting the gate with a thunderous roar. Fewer of the Crusaders were killed from arrows, as the armored soldiers were predominantly up front.

    Bolts from crossbows peppered the defenders and many young men were felled with nothing but black feathers marking the entrance of the bolts. Abdul ran from the tower and mounted his horse, readying his guardsmen to defend the gate, which was seconds away from being breached.

    When the gate fell, the crusaders gave a cheer and rushed the gates. None could withstand their broadswords and Abdul's men were pushed back and many died. The most elite of the Crusaders were coming through the gate, when suddenly a bright flash blinded every combatant, and a monstrous crack, as if from a whip, was heard. The sound was so deafening the screams of the crusaders could barely be heard. Their armor conducted the current from man to man and soon almost every armored Christian lay dead upon the field.

    Abdul could barely believe what had just taken place. He had been saved by some astronomical feat, or could it have been the will of Allah..?


    Entrant 3 - bomberboy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    All Hope

    The Moors were beginning to break. After thirty minutes of continuous fighting exhausted them to the point where they couldn’t stand. But still they fight. Still they hang on for whatever reason. Their general stood back, all his men were out there but he wasn’t. He stood back like a coward not directing but sending in the worthless peasants into the bloodbath. Fear was going through his mind, fear of being tortured being executed or scarred for life. The lightening tore the sky asunder as the pointless battle was drawing nearer to a close. The General wished he were back home safe and sound with his family. As he thought about these things he ordered more peasants into the fray. These looked unwilling to risk their lives for God and country, but with a threat he easily got them “motivated”. They jogged in a futile attempt to win this fight, but then.



    The men had finally given up breaking up they desperately attempted to withdraw. The Generals horse reared upwards, plummeting to the ground and partially trampled by his fleeing horse. He lay there all alone, crippled and looking like a corpse watching “soldiers” running for their pitiful lives. As he muttered a prayer the sword punctured his stomach and twisted, he felt nothing. As he had lost all hope.


    Entrant 4 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Irony

    Lightning rent the clouds in twain, forked shafts piercing down through the darkness like the points of the devil’s pitchfork. Shaiton.
    The dead lay piled in heaps near the gate, weary men fighting on as rain pelted down from the firmament, as though God was striving to wash away the blood as fast as men could spill it. Christian, Mohammedan, their blood was the same, running red in the streets as desperate men clawed their way over corpses, slipping in the mud, falling to be trampled under by the press.
    This was not battle. Tactics had fled with the morning’s sun, leaving in their place the raw savagery of men who were unacquainted with the word retreat—or mercy. Tight formations of spear and sword-wielding men were replaced by a ragged mob of demons who fought with anything and everything, rocks, sticks, their bare hands, even their teeth in a frantic effort to destroy the foe.
    The Mohammedan commander appears, a bloody, disheveled figure mounted upon a once-glorious steed, its magnificent barding spattered with the dirt and muck of the street. His sword raised high, he shouts a cry to rally, his words lost as the artillery of the heavens thunders forth once more.
    Disconcerted by the cacophony of battle and storm, his horse rears, the stallion’s hooves pawing the air for a moment.
    The man’s eyes widen in fear for a moment, then he falls backward, taken off-balance by the weight of his armor. The horse bolts, riderless, into the night
    Beyond him the battle rages on, above him the storm continues unabated. Both beyond his control as he lies there helpless. Helpless in the mud of the street. The power, the glory he had once known, now forever lost to him. The irony of it all. . .



    Entrant 5 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The End of an Empire.Constantine XI
    May 29, 1453, Constantinople.

    And so it ends. Those blasted Moslems have broken into the Queen of Cities, leveled it's walls, killed it's soldiers. It was only a matter of time until the surrounded Byzantines were cut down, and then-who knew? All I knew was I would not be around to see it. Donning my kataphractoi armour, I mounted my best horse, a black mare I called Nemean, in honour of the impregnable hided lion Hercules had to slay. It was dark, and all around lighting lit up the sky like a thousand lanterns. Nemean galloped, away from the palace and it's luxories, towards the Moslems I knew would be the death of me.

    Turkish gunfire split the air, as powerful as the thunder that preluded it. As I slid around the slick street corner, our last contingent of cavalry charged into the flank of the Moslem spearmen. I held my breath, hoping the flank attack would cause a rout and giving it another chance, but God was not kind today. The Turkish cannonball flew low over the walls, striking through the whole contingent and laying them all dead, just inches away from their targets. They were dead, I was dead, and the city was dead, but I would not desert my countrymen. Bucking Nemean, her front legs cycling in the air, I raised my sword to the sky, calling for all to hear "Vengeance of the Lord!"

    And charged, burying myself in the depth of the Turks, killing many. But eventually, I fell, and with me fell the Romans.



    TotW 24b - The Lithuanian
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Elendil of Númenor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Memories in the rain

    The rain had been pouring for days. And on the vast, muddy plains an army marched. But not an army of shield and spear and sword. Not the glorious line of men dressed from head to toe in shining mail. Instead, the line of poor farmers, townsmen, and peasants, driven from their homes. No colourful banner, no honourable decorations glittered in the wind. The convoy blended into the field, the men and women wore the green of the muddy grass and the brown of the wet dirt.


    Only one single man shone in his bright steel armour. He walked at the very end of the line and carried in his hand a sword. A sword that was the symbol of proud generations of Kings, now forever forgotten. On the chain mail, which covered him from head to toe, he wore a leather tunic. The tunic had the figure of a heroic knight woven into it. No one will ever see such a knight anymore. Gone, they are. The shade of a brighter past.
    And on a once proud and noble head, was laid a silver helm, decorated with the crown of a King. It glimmered with a golden light as hundreds of raindrops that fell from the sky reflected it's light.
    But what made this man apart from the others was not a steel blade. Not a set of chain mail. Not a tunic, not a forgotten knight that once rode on these plains, not a golden crown.


    It was the eyes. Sharp, piercing blue, dulled by grief. Young by age, but they have seen much more than what they should have. And as those eyes gazed into the nothingness of the murky field, they could just see a towering line of smoke climbing into the clouds from the distance. What miles away was now nothing more then ashes, was once called 'Home' by every man and woman who marched in this army of refugees.


    Around the King hundreds of small flowers bent their heads to the pouring rain, as if to mourn the things that were forever lost...


    ...


    The line had gone long ago. No one looked back. And there, stoned, watching what remained of his past, stood a king. His tears spent, his life fading as the Sun set. A memory. A forgotten memory. And by the dawn, a memory was just another flower in an endless field.


    Entrant 1 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Nobody is Perfect

    Chris the Lithuanian is a very nationalistic man. He never leaves his country, nor ever allow anybody to talk anything bad about Lithuania. Every Saturday he comes to the Theatre to enjoy whatever melodrama and musical value his countrymen can give. Even more, he bought a set of Lithuanian Equipment as a symbol of respect towards his country! His attitudes, however is not favoured by the townsmen. They hated him, because he is an arrogant figure. He thinks he is one who can match the power of God himself!

    Because he has fun beating people in his town, nobody tried to seek trouble with him, let alone doing anything to help him to stabilize his mind once more. He is crazy, everybody knows this fact about him.

    In this world, nothing and nobody is perfect, but the Lithuanian seeks to challenge everybody his town can provide. Nobody from the village seems to be brave enough to challenge him. But one day..... a Knight stands up to the challenge to dispatch this fool.

    Still thinking he is the perfect human, he sets out to the fight himself, Thinking that simple sword alone can pass through the metal. In his heroic imagination, one who can do magics and all else in the story of myths.

    It has been raining since the past three days, as if God waits for the outcome of this duel. Black sky has closed the Sun and a chaotic weather ensues long enough to be called a disaster. Instead, Chris thought it has been the message of God to him.

    Inviting people to watch the duel. He stands out in the open field. Waiting the opposition to make his move.

    The Knight, however, is not at all intimidated by him. Instead, he waits for his move.

    Unfortunately, Chris is one impetuous figure, and easy to be enraged. Roaring his words to the sky, he rushed forward to the Knight. But, the knight, before Chris managed to reach the attack range of his sword. Has already put his sword in the neck of his foe.

    Chris, whose face is pale as the morning mist, whose legs have seemed to be crippled. Whose hands seems to be cut off. Sees the blood in his hand, and another patch of blood right in front of his eyes. For a moment, he managed to remember the days during his birth. It was such a happy life where everyone can enjoy peace. And remembers the teaching of his father : Nobody is Perfect. But it's too late, he can no longer live. Finally he understands the message of God. How he regrets what he has done.


    Entrant 2 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Anatomy of a Soldier


    From far away, he simply looks like a shiny glinting piece of metal. Indistinguishable, he blends in with the rest. Nobody could see the detail, the precision, the amount of artistic work that went into the battlefield regalia. Each link had been meticulously bonded to create an impenetrable vest of iron. The weight was immense, as was the cost, but worth the protection it offers.

    It was all lost on the eyes of the fearful women as they ran, screaming from their village to seek refuge into the woods. Only several soldiers remained to offer what protection they could, and if they were discovered by even a modest force, the end would be swift. The only option was to tighten their leather belts and keep moving.

    The Lithuanian swords were crafted especially for them. They were traditional, but nonetheless deadly. Sunlight reflected off of them like glass, and they were a sight to behold when stained with the dark fluid of human life.

    The blood was dry and crusty now as the party hurried though the woods, ever fearful of possible pursuers. A wounded man was left behind, he was only slowing the party down. Several minutes later, a scream could barely be heard from behind.

    The plate armor of the hands was particularly hard to craft. Overlapping plates had to be used to ensure optimal wrist mobility. Bound and reinforced by tough leather, the plates wouldn't guarantee a deflected blade, but it was better than nothing.


    Without warning, the armor was suddenly put to the test. An arrow deflected off the side of a soldier, as glancing blow, but the enemy was upon them. No more than a few seconds passed when a bolt from a crossbow whizzed into the chest of the same soldier, and a splash of red erupted from within. It wasn't long before the rest of them lie in their own fluid as the knights surveyed the slaughter.



    Entrant 3 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A Good Day To Die

    I was cold, colder than I ever remembered being in my life. Cold and wet as the early rains of spring pelted down, dripping through the heavy mail I wore.


    Twelve months in the field—it had come to this. At moments like this, the crown of my people weighed heavy upon my head, a well-nigh unbearable burden. Was there any other way? Any other path?

    The Christian host lay just across the muddy field from me, I could hear the sound of their horses as the knights assembled. Death lurked in their midst.


    Had I led my people to their grave? I had seen the Teutons in action before, as a boy. I could still hear the thunder of their horses hooves beating a death knell against the hard-packed earth, hear the cries of the wounded and dying. Lithuania's bravest had been scattered that day, scattered like chaff upon the wind, my own father dead in a pool of his own blood.


    Perhaps I was temping fate, believing that I could avenge his memory. Perhaps. That belief was the only thing I had left, the only thing that had kept me alive.



    My lip curled upward in a bitter smile. Fate plays strange games with the sons of men. Strange, that which had kept me alive was now leading me to my death. And not mine only, but the brave men who followed me, who looked to me as king.


    The die was cast, our destinies sealed. I looked up at the clouds, rain pouring down remorselessly. No matter. I raised my sword high to the heavens, a sign to gods, a sign to men. It was a good day to die. . .



    Entrant 4 - bomberboy

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    What Does He See?
    As the Lithuanian General covered from head to toe in shiny chain mail and a grand helm on his well-established head, the coat of arms was pictured valiantly on his broad chest and a scar lay on his cheek giving him a menacing appearance. What did he see?



    The Teutonic march, left right, right left

    In a never ending tide of men


    The Officers shouting the words of God which every man felt.



    The grey sky overhead cleared like a brawl of drunks split up by the town guard, at a home that is now too far away to see. He felt homesick as he though about home about the forests and fields and the people all gone now as he was far away in an oppressive land filled with fanatical barbarians.



    The clouds reveal a clear almost clean blue sky


    Maybe this is a good sign.


    Only a fortune-teller could tell.



    As he sees the rumbling mass of great Iron Men lumbering forward shouting "God Wills It" and making a loud rhythmic noise with their armoured boots. He returns to the lines and knows:



    Only the Gods themselves can decide his fate


    Yet the world is wants to see the results.


    Guess they’ll have to wait.





    Entrant 5 - Juvenal


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 




    Second Chance

    A man stares across a field, standing unnaturally still. His raiment is clean and new, but only because retainers have replaced the ripped mud-spattered and blood-soaked clothing he had worn during the shameful rout of his army. He is expected to set an example, to be the embodiment of manifest destiny, but for the present he does not know what to do.



    His reserve Banners still fight the implacable Teutons while his main force mills around leaderless like a crowd of onlookers at a tournament. Camp followers and foot soldiers watch him, each silently judging the worth of his nobility from his actions and those of his knights. Should he call these defeated men to him, and lead them back to almost certain death against the unyielding foe?



    He stands alone, honour will not permit him to take counsel to dilute the responsibility for this choice. Perhaps the enemy will come soon to ride him down and take the heavy burden of decision away.



    He had begun this battle of the Green Wood (Grunwald in the harsh tongue of the enemy) so full of hope. The Teutons had stood at bay, surprised, outmanoeuvred and outnumbered. But they blasted him with their artillery and scattered his knights with the sheer weight of their massive all-out charge.



    They are dishonest and greedy men, he reflects, even though Lithuania has adopted their Christ, they still continue their attacks, intent only on feeding their disgusting and insatiable appetite for power. Somehow they must be stopped.



    Emerging from his reverie, he begins to notice that only small numbers of the enemy have arrived to seal their victory here. Squinting against shafts of brilliant sunlight, he sees that his Polish allies are still fighting from their original positions, on the left flank.



    Perhaps this God of the Christians has sent him a miracle. With sudden determination, he turns and calls for his standard and a fresh charger.



    Once more my children, once more into battle, let us match those grim and humourless men with Lithuanian bravery and honour.”



    Slowly he walks his horse toward the enemy, allowing the other Banners to reform behind him as his men gain fresh heart. All the while the cries of standard bearers can be heard above the din of battle,



    To arms!, To arms! Rally to the banner my comrades, for Vytautus leads us once again.”





    Entrant 6 - Manoflooks


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    I stared


    I stared. I stared through the rain that came down in droves. The Teutons, the so called "Christian" knightly order, had pushed us to our last stronghold. Our army was gone, left with some mottley peasants and other rabble, dressed in rags. No match for the Teutons, with their armour gleaming and slippery in the rain. I stared at them, feeling for all I had lost. My crown was dented; my sword nicked. My chain mail was left to a few straggly links, and my helmet had lost it's visor. I stared, wondering why we were here. This war was worth not it. It had no gain and nothing but cost. The lives lost were immense, and I knew dismay could be seen on my face.



    I stared. Wondered why I was still standing here, with the water pounding on my back. I stared, unable to even left my sword to lead my men to one last fight. I stared, my eyes taking in everything. I felt myself weakening, falling, but still, I stared. I could not take it, I could not know that I had lead my people to die.



    I wrenched off my crown, tore off my helmet, and ripped off my mail. I threw away my sword, and removed my gauntlets. I felt light, and ready. I could fight. My lips curled, and my hand somehow raised itself and pointed at the enemy.



    And I stared.


    Last edited by wowbanger; May 12, 2011 at 08:16 AM. Reason: Added TotW 24b



    "Some writers never know what's to be written until they see it on the page...." Some words of wisdom from my good friend, Mega Tortas de Bodemloze

  7. #7
    wowbanger's Avatar Decanus
    Join Date
    Mar 2010
    Location
    Wreocensćte
    Posts
    593

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 25 - "Brokeback Mountain"
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Picture Unavailable

    Winner - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Confusing Gays
    Rianorix, Brennus and Vercingetorix are all well-known gay, homosexual people known for disturbing the people of their hometown. Brokbahomoius. Although the people of aforementioned town are also gays. Just a gaze of thought in the name already give you the imaginations. Brokbahomoius! Behind the Brokeback Mountain which is the idea of this town name. Although just a year ago the mayor, Brohomoius. Changed the name with the homo on it.

    The gay trio, however soon fall into a love triangle. Rianorix loved Brennus, but Brennus loved Vercingetorix, and in turn Vercingetorix loved Rianorix. All things has passed like how apples fall down a tree. Each day, a combat of mouth ensues. They always beat each other. They are always biased toward each other. How we would miss the days of this gay trio hug.

    One day, they step on the chilly, gayish Brokeback Mountain. They are, actually the first peoples to be able to climb this mountain. There is a reason why it is called Brokeback Mountain. Everytime one climbs this mountain. He is always brought back right to the start once more for whatever reason. And also have his/her bones broken.

    But the magic now has her effects at Vercingetorix. Somehow, he flies by himself. Possibly down right to the start. Rianorix and Brennus can only see as Rianorix's hated and Brennus' loved falls down. Most likely to die. Brennus then draws his spear to stab Rianorix down. However, Rianorix managed to dodge that one. And draws his bow.

    Rianorix, loving Brennus does not shoot him, while Rianorix is very persistent on killing him. But who shall triumph from this fight? We shall never know. If we know, we are likely to be killed by the victor!


    Entrant 1 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Rapture of the Heights


    Are you Chatti?” the handsome warrior ventures brightly. There is no reply.


    I was just asking because I was admiring your armbands, we just don't see that quality of workmanship up here in the mountains, that really is a lovely filigree”. The silent warrior fails to respond.


    Don't you get cold with that tunic? It looks great mind you, but up here you really need something with sleeves”. The silent warrior stares fixedly straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the other man.


    I hope you don't mind me talking to you like this, only, I think I'm going crazy. There's nothing but sheep up here... and Dagobert of course, but he's always tinkering with the damned catapult. I keep telling him it's never going to work, they probably don't even need it any more. Lord Drustan never did have much patience, he's probably just knocked the walls down and spitted every Roman in that fort by now.” The silent warrior sighs, but doesn't turn around.


    I really am fed up with sheep, I herd sheep, I butcher sheep, I wear sheep, I eat sheep, I'm even beginning to dream of sheep. I was getting worried I wouldn't know how to talk to people any more. Daggy's no use, he doesn't understand feelings and I don't care for siege equipment.”


    Now the silent warrior does turn, he has a sensitive face, currently bearing a look of rapt wonder. He finally breaks his silence... “Oh!... That was an incredible sunrise, the whole sky was suffused with the most exquisite colours, I've never seen anything remotely like it down in the forest.”


    The handsome warrior's own face lights up with a smile. Somewhere behind them there is a sudden loud crack. They both look back to see what might have caused it and, as a consequence, fail to notice the man flying overhead, his thin scream dopplering away to silence as he drops into the dawn mist below.


    Sounds like Daggy broke something. Still, forget about that, you really haven't seen anything yet! I know a place where there is a whole field of Morning Glories, they follow the rising Sun like chicks begging for food! Come, I'll show you.”


    Arm-in-arm the two warriors slowly make their way further up the mountain, kindred spirits intent on thoughts of artistic beauty, lost in a world of shared appreciation.


    Entrant 2 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A New Type of Love


    "Dumnorix! We need to make sure we have a fresh floral arrangement ready for dinner when we come back from battle! Remember, I only like the freshest Daisies!"

    Dumnorix Began to sharpen his spear, paused, then inspected it. He would need to make sure his outfit was color coordinated this time. It was an unfortunate time to be called to the muster again, he had just washed out the blood from his battle scarf and it seems he would be doing the same routine tomorrow.

    "Vercy dear," began Dumnorix, "Have you seen my axe? The one with flowers crafted into the sides?"

    "I'm afraid I haven't", replied Dumnorix, "Perhaps we forgot it when we were out on our walk?"

    Vercengetorix strapped on his greaves and hoisted up his shield. He was proud of the design he had painted on it. A rainbow sihloutted against a tree from which two men were shown feding eachother fruit. He propped it up against a tree in which the iniials V.H. were inscribed above a heart, followed by the initials D.K.

    "I'll be sure to cover your back against these enemies." Said Dumnorix in Passing.

    "Ooh, scandalous!!" Said vercengetorix as he slapped his butt and picked up his spear.

    The two then skipped off in the direction of their warlord, the sun setting behind them.


    Entrant 3 - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Love is in the air...


    Clouds started to break up, and letting the last rays of Sun warm Asterix's face.
    "Oh, finally, I might be able to take that awful hood that ruins my beautiful curly locks, but also hides my intricately braided mustache..." thought Asterix to himself, while staring into the distance.

    "If only Obelix were here...His shoulders, his broad palms...To see my beauty in the last light of the setting Sun..." he thought, and sighed deeply...

    He nearly screamed when he heard steps to his right...He didn't even dare to look sideways, he was so surprised, and he was supposed to be on the watchman duty..."How embarassing, what should I do, who might it be?" the thoughts started flooding his mind, and his bowels nearly turned to water...

    "Hi there, stranger!" he heard the deep, manly voice from his right, "careless on the watch, again, are we?!?!" Then the voice transformed into a joyous laughter, and he quickly realized who it was..."Obelix!!! You evil bastard, how could you!", and Asterix now started to laugh, at first shyly, but quickly turning into a satisfied, almost devilish smile..."Now he's mine" Asterix thought to himself...

    But just as he thought that, down the slope ran Obelix's young guard, which Asterix always thought of being too good looking for a mere bodyguard to HIS Obelix. He was still some distance off, so Asterix straightened himself, gathered all his courage, and spoke up: "Obelix, today You choose, me or that cheap toy of Yours!"

    "B-But...What do You mean, Asterix?" uttered Obelix, now obviously blushing and giving out a most sheepish look any Gaul has ever assembled, even with his furry moustache making him anything but a sheep...

    "You know very well what I'm talking about, said Asterix turning his head away from Obelix..."Such risk I'm taking now", he thought to himself. "Me, or that doll You call to Your bed each night"

    At that moment, Young Slootylooksix ran upclose to Obelix, about to utter some words, but before he was able to speak, he found himself screaming, hundreds of feet through the air..."Leave us alone, little **tch, Obelix has some work to do tonight, ALL NIGHT!" said Obelix, grinning heavily, casting spear aside, and letting other one slide out of his trousers...
    Force seems strong within this one('s trousers)!


    Entrant 4 - Manoflooks
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Confessions of a lover



    "Oh, Mhorbaine! Your eyes are as beautiful as the sight of a thousand dying Romans."
    "Darling Alaric...is that beautiful to you?"
    "Yes dear. It is."

    Mhorbaine turned to Alaric,tears in his eyes. He gripped his spear, wishing the long hard thing were something else, something of Alaric's.

    "Well, Alaric, your muscular body is like the soft wind to me, gently blowing on the breeze."
    "Oh, Aly!"
    "Oh, Mory!"
    Mhorbaine looked at Alaric, and started weeping.
    "Mory! What's wrong?"

    "Oh, Aly...I'm sorry. Im just so sad, because I know we can never be together. Not while we are Gauls."
    Mhorbaine couldn't bear to see his love so. His heart broke inside, and he made a promise that he knew could have disastrous consequences. Especially if the commander, Cassivelaunus, saw them.
    "Aly, come here. Give me a kiss."

    And the two soldiers kissed, tenderly at first, but evolving into an open mouth passionate mix of the mouths.


    Cassivelaunus watched the pair in disgust from a high cliff. He hated them. "Perhaps,"he mused,"Perhaps they should die."

    "Ponti! Kill those two homosexuals. They disgust me, and you know I dislike that."

    Ponti, the kings servant, looked at the two. He recognized Alaric and Mhorbaine, who were, unfortunanetly, his two best friends.

    "But sir...those are my friends. I dont want to kill them."

    Cassivelaunus was silent for a long moment. For a second, it looked like he might take back the order. Then he got up.

    And kicked Ponti over he edge. He landed with a thump, near the two lovers.

    "Alaric! What was that thump?"

    "It was just my heart beating in wanting for you, Mori. Come, let us dance."


    And they danced into the sunset.




    TotW 26 - "Sons of Mars, to Victory"
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Elendil of Númenor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Gods' Wrath

    'Advance!!!' sounded the cry from the enemy line. The huge mass of barbarians started inching towards the Romans. Suddenly hundreds of horns blasted the silence, drums began banging the rhythm of approaching death.
    'Where's the General?' asked one of the legionaries.
    'Preparing the ambush' a centurion replied from somewhere. 'when our lines clash, he will strike the enemy from the rear. From the forest.' He said, pointing at the woods on the mountain, which was now continuously puffing up black smoke.
    'Vulcan will watch the fray' the legionaries muttered as the two lines were now just a few feet apart.


    A mere mile away from the battle, amongst the trees, an uneasy company of knights were adjusting their arms. The General was watching the fuming mountain anxiously, when from a pair of bushes a centurion burst out. His clothes were ragged and bloodied, his helmet askew.
    'Sir! The enemy have met our main line! The centre is being overwhelmed!'
    The General took a deep breath and signalled to his standard bearer. The man blew a harsh note on his small trumpet and the company organized into formation. Horses calm, riders shining in silver and gold. Their leader raised his sword high into the air and cried encouragingly.
    'ROMANS! TO GLORY!'


    The knights, powered by a godly wrath, emerged from the woods and crashed into the barbarians' flank. The damp air was soon filled with the dust from the horses' hooves and the ground covered with seas of crimson blood. And the General did no stop. He drove his men right into the heart of the enemy army, slashing, stabbing at the barbarians.


    Then the enemy looked towards the mountain and the deadly company of Roman horseman cutting through their army like butter. Shrieking in horror, the barbarians bolted. Ran as fast as their legs could carry them; away from this place, away, far away.


    Rejoicing at the sight of the enemy rout, the General, not even realizing that no longer did anyone stand beside him, charged after them cutting them down with all his might. Suddenly a flare of heavenly light blasted the path before him, followed by a terrible roar that shook the very depths of hell.


    His horse reared, and for the first time, the General looked back. His eyes widened.
    'What the - ?!'



    Entrant 1 - Aldgarkalaughskel
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Facing the Beast

    The sun rose behind the mountains as the legion marched unaware towards their position. Julius felt the old excitement build as he waited for his soldiers to see the unwashed Helvetii tribes looking up at them. He grinned in anticipitation of the first ray of light and when it came, he laughed aloud at the sight. The sun spread a beam across them from the peaks. Ten thousand helmets and sets of armour went from dull grey to gold in a few minutes. The yellow horsehair plumes of the centurions seemed to glow and the column of the Helvetii staggered below on the plain as men pointed and shouted a warning.
    ’There must be half a million of them. I swear by Mars, there must’ Julius whispered.
    He saw the fighting units rush to the front, bristling with spears as they began to accelerate over the ground between the armies. Their front ranks carried wide shields to batter the enemy, but the formations would never survive the broken ridges of the hill.
    Julius was in the saddle when he heard the tribe roar. He jerked his horse round viciously, looking for the scout who had brought him the news.
    ’Where is the man who told me the enemy were on the hill?’ he shouted. ’Arrest that man and hold him for punishment. Those were our legions, you stupid bastard.’
    Julius wheeled his horse, thinking furiously. They had not travelled more than a few miles from the plain. It might not be too late. He untied his helmet from the saddle horn and pulled it roughly over his face, turning the metal features to face the gathered horsemen.
    ’The Tenth and Third Gallica are without support. We will race at our fastest pace to attack the Helvetii. Straight in, gentlemen. Straight in, now.’


    Entrant 2 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    This Day We Fight

    Flavius was never a man brave enough to take his steeds to the fight. Instead, he always sends only his men to the war. Leaving himself behind. Watching as his men and their competitors perish. The Gusts of Wind carry their souls to the heaven. While the chill of night brings them to hell. Much more lives could have been spared should he be a general brave enough to command his men to a much better victory.

    Still, even if he is a coward. He has the sanity of human bourne deep within inside of his mind. It saddens him to see that now people regarded him as the worst general ever Rome has offered to her enemies. The Human Code of a general dictates that he, as a capable man. Must protect those who are incapable. It is just common sense.

    He thought and thought. But it never crosses his mind that what he do is actually a very dark deed. He offered to Mars some children and lambs for sacrifice in exchange of her soldiers. Although well trained, they are never humans to begin with. It is true that they have souls. But a corrupted soul shall never bring a victory. Diplomacy, however and for whatever reason, does.

    Flavius, only realized the wrong of his deeds now. Must now pay for what he has done. He shall have access to an eternal life. At the cost of his strength, friends, family and the people he loved. He looks as the winds blowed and the leaves rustled. Forming some kind of a black hole. And from that hole are unleased Mars' soldiers to aid him. In the glimpse of an eye Flavius suddenly knows. That his curse will be lifted away once his soldiers have been killed. Now he can only hope that they shall perish in war. Loosing out his shout :

    "IN THIS DAY WE SHALL FIGHT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"



    Entrant 3 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A Blow For Freedom

    On they came, pounding across the plain, dirt kicked up from the horses' hooves. Beasts and men, unstoppable display of Rome's might.
    His fingers trembled as he notched the arrow into the string of his bow, hands sweaty against the rough wood. Eliezer ben-Judah bent down on one knee, covering himself behind the rocks. They were riding fast and there wasn't much time. Not much time at all. His mind harked back, recalling the rabbi's words. The horse is prepared against the day of battle, but victory is of the Lord.
    Jehovah must guide his hands now, guide the arrow into the Roman's proud heart. Desecration. It had been two years since the Zealots had taken to the hills of Galilee against their oppressors. Eliezer had shed blood many times during those long months, lives taken in defense of the land his fathers had called holy. The land promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
    They were nearly abreast of the rocks now. It was time. Now. Eliezer rose up from behind the rocks, fingers drawing the bow-string back to his ear, his eyes on the Roman commander. The man was looking back, urging his men onward, a naked sword in his hand
    A whispered prayer. Lord, guide this arrow. The twisted gut shot forward, the release almost physical. Arrow spinning toward its target.
    He heard a shout, in the distance, far away, a shout of fear, of warning. It was too late. The feathered shaft struck the Roman in the throat, just above the breastplate, blood spurting from the wound.
    A scream of anguish rose from the plain, the body sliding backward off the horse, trampled in the dust.
    Eliezer turned and ran, melting into the rocks of the hill, into the shadows cast by the red and lowering skies. One of the oppressor was dead. A blow had been struck. It was enough. . .


    Entrant 4 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Mural


    Julian and Gavin had been friends since childhood. Gavin the practical one, and Julian artistic and dreamy. But after Julian's mother died he began slowly but inexorably to go off the rails.


    Weeks went by and Julian gradually withdrew from all of their shared activities, finally even losing his job.


    Gavin still visited, hoping to find a way to draw his friend back into the world. Although he now spoke little, Julian had begun to paint a huge mural covering the inside of his garage wall. It was a landscape, Julian had skilfully incorporated all the marks and imperfections of the breeze-block wall into his composition.


    Gavin made a point of looking in every other day, despite being mostly ignored. Although Julian spoke little, the mural grew a little more on every visit. The sky, which had started as a bright cloudscape at the horizon, grew red and sulphurous as it climbed toward the rafters.


    Next, vague animal shapes began to emerge out of the browns and blacks of the landscape, gradually resolving themselves into horses galloping as if for their very lives, with desperate foam-flecked flaring nostrils.


    Soon the horses acquired riders, men in shining banded armour carrying large diamond shaped red shields.


    Inspired by the figures, who were clearly Roman Equites, Gavin decided on his next visit to wear his Druid costume from the re-enactment society.


    Julian's sister answered the door and Gavin took the opportunity to check the mural. It was complete, the final touch being a red banner bearing a brilliant golden legionary eagle bearing the legend Legio XX Valeria Victrix.


    A sound made Gavin spin around. Julian stood wearing the panoply of an Imperial Legate. He strode over to the mural and seemed almost to merge with it.


    Julian, you look fantastic!”


    SILENCE!” it was the voice of a stranger, an older and more powerful man, accustomed to command.


    MAKE YOUR PEACE WITH YOUR GODS FOUL DRUID, I HAVE COME TO CLEANSE THIS LAND OF YOUR KIND”.


    Lifted a long wickedly gleaming spatha, he gestured to the figures in the mural, and spoke once more. “RIDE DOWN THIS FOUL DRUID SCUM, LET THEM KNOW THAT GNAEUS JULIUS AGRICOLA HAS BROUGHT THEIR EVIL REIGN TO AN END, KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!”


    Like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, Gavin stood transfixed as the spatha completed its deadly arc.



    Entrant 5 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Unorthodox Tactics


    "Sir, the enemy is on the verge of collapse on the left flank"

    Gaius surveyed the field, and indeed, everything was going according to plan. On the left, the extra cohort had driven back the enemy and the flank was beginning to roll.

    "Excellent work Centurion." responded Gaius. "Sound the retreat."

    "But sir.."

    "Are you second guessing me?" Gaius looked down upon his subordinate, who was obviously trying to guess what kind of test this could be. "and while we are at it, have the trumpeters sound up 'When the Saints Come Marching In'. "

    Mounting his horse Gaius raised his sword in the air and started galloping away from the battle. Within minutes the orders had been transferred and the entire legion began to fall back behind the general, who was leading the way.

    Dumnorix wiped the blood from his face. His friend had just been gutted right in front of his eyes and it was hard for him to keep his footing amidst the gore coating the ground. He heard the trumpets strike up an order he was not familiar with. It filled him with fear.

    With blood dripping from his eyes -not his blood- he gave out a barbaric scream and turned tail and sprinted away. Not soon thereafter, many of his comrades followed suit, and before long both armies stood back to back in mutual rout.

    Glancing over his shoulder, Gaius smiled to himself. "It's working!" he cried.

    "What is working?" Retorted a centurion.

    "I don't know, but it worked!" gaius sheathed his sword and began galloping towards camp.

    "Dear diary..."



    TotW 27 - Ambush
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Picture Unavailable

    Winner - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Captain Feeney


    His horse glistened with sweat, its labored breathing erupted in irregular bursts as it stumbled through the forest. The rider, a young Irish man, rode, his eyes wide. The underbrush hadn't been kind to the rider, and his body was scored with bleeding nicks and cuts. This part of the country wasn't exactly safe, and until he has reached Cork, he was very vulnerable to highwaymen, most notably Captain Feeney, the famous highway bandit.

    Captain Feeney took a final puff from his pipe. After he had blown it out, Feeney picked up his bow and nodded to his comrade. Before long the two were galloping off over the hill and into the woods. Travellers had been criss crossing the paths and foothills all day, travellers ripe for the picking. Feeney's brass buttons shone in the setting sun as he rounded the hill, entering the woods just at the mouth of the river.

    Meanwhile the traveller, spooked and wary of robbers, strayed off the path and followed the river. The horse was badly tired and he considered it a wise measure to allow it some gentle riding in a somewhat level are clear of brush.

    Feeney leapt from his horse, his friend trailing not far behind. There was a rich bounty for the son of a noble to be had, or perhaps a fat purse to be snatched from a spoiled young man...the possibilities were endless. The pair took up position in the underbrush by the creekside. They had spotted a rider diverging to walk the creek from the hill. Feeney thumbed the brass buttons on his overcoat as he inspected his bow.

    Before long the sound of sloshing water could be heard from upstream. Feeney strung his bow and his friend leveled his pike. When the rider was close enough, Feeney leapt from behind the bush, his bow bent. He shot at the rider. The arrow shot right into the shield of the rider. The shield?

    The knigh was surprised to see the small Irish man to his left. He thought that tiny hunting bow could penetrate his armor? As the knight dispatched the obviously surprised man, his accomplice in the woods gave a yelp and ran off in the other direction. The knight shook his head. these highwaymen prey upon the weak and defenseless, the vutures.

    The traveller jumped as he heard somehting crashing in the woods. A man ran by, mad as if he had seen a ghost. The traveller hurried out of the woods and made it to Cork by nightfall.


    Entrant 1 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Renegade

    Steady hoofbeats against the forest path, alerting us to his presence. I crouched, clutching my longbow, one hand on the polished yew, fingers of the other nocking the arrow against the string. My men were stationed on both sides of the path, weapons at the ready. We would have to be careful—in very truth, it would be sad irony if one died this day at the hand of a friend.
    Another moment, and the horseman was in sight, a proud sight, a helmet of iron crowning his head, the visor back, displaying a haughty, weathered countenance. The visage of a rebel.
    His face bore the marks of battle, pride chiseled into those features. Walter de Montmorency. Six months since his rebels had been vanquished, his forces scattered to the wind by my Lord the King. The body of the snake had been crushed—now we were tasked with dealing with the head.
    It was time. Now! I sprang from my covert, into the horseman's path, the bow in my hand, the arrow drawn back to my ear, its tip aimed at his breast.
    His horse reared backward in fright at the apparition, I could hear him cursing as he fought the steed down. My men streamed out of the trees, surrounding the renegade
    “Surrender!” I cried, the horse's hooves pawing the air only inches from my chest. “Surrender in the name of the King!”
    He calmed his mount with difficulty, stroking its mane with a gauntleted hand. “And for what reason, for what cause, am I accosted in such a fashion—by men more likely to be highwaymen than loyal subjects of the King?”
    He leaned forward as he spoke, his bright blue eyes gazing at me, a fierce magnetism in their depths. He seemed unruffled by our appearance, or my demand. His sword buckled to his side, he carried himself in a way that bespoke assurance. Confidence.
    “I am Geoffrey of Oxford,” I replied, my arrow still aimed at his chest, “an agent of the King. I was sent to bring you before him to stand trial for treason.”
    “Treason, is it?” he retorted, fire dancing in his eyes, a smile flitting across his lips. “Then come and take me.” He looked over my head as he spoke and I felt a strange misgiving pierce my heart.
    I turned. We were not alone. . .


    Entrant 2 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Unsuccessful Messenger

    Ralf and Marco are two people trapped deep inside within the forest. They are left behind by their own lord to cover for the escape route. Scared, they only hope nobody found them. Chilly, they are left dead. They are truly afraid of the ghosts and beasts lurking inside.....

    One day later, they hear footsteps. One is the sound of the leg and one is the sound of the horse. They come closer to overhear to conversation......

    "What is it?"
    "Sir Harry, the renaissance army led by our foes are on the run. It seems they are on the verge of annihilation."
    "But we need more soldiers to besiege their fortress!"
    "Aye sir."
    "Go, my scout. Return to our fortress. Go through this route. It shall be the shortcut there."

    The fool, both didn't recognize the shadows of the forest. But only a sense of life can be felt. And also they did not hear the desperate breath....

    And so the horseman goes. But, for whatever reason. The horse today walks slowly. Probably because it did not eat for several days. This gives time for Marco and Ralf to hide back into oblivion. The horseman stops for a while. He is looking for grasses to feed his horse. This should be giving some itme to snipe him. After all, both our heroes are hungry!

    Then, he runs on. The horseman hides himself behind his kite shield. He suspects that there are lives present. And those lives are not a beast's life. But it's too late.....


    Shoot!

    And an arrow is buried beneath his body and a bullet has gone through the sights of his eyes.....


    Entrant 3 - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Art




    Leonardo had at last finished. After months of paint strokes, each one more delicate than the last, it had finally reached perfection. The layered textures, the faces of the ambushers, the shadows, they were all perfect. It was such a promising piece that he'd already had a buyer lined up. It seemed such a shame to let it leave his hands, but that money would last him for years.





    He had no time to lose. He packed the painting up and strapped it to his back. It wasn't that big, focused more on quality than sheer size. He saddled up his horse, and grabbed his sword and shield, should the worst happen.





    After a few minutes he'd reached the place that had given him the inspiration. He'd spent days there building up the background before adding the characters. He knew this place well. It was then he noticed something in the corner of his eyes.





    Two bandits, one with a bow, the other with a spear... it was then he felt the arrow pierce his chest.





    "Nice shot! Let's grab that painting!"





    How... how could it have happened exactly as the painting depicted?





    "Hey, you think he'll survive that?"




    "Yeah, it's just a flesh wound."




    "You know... an artists work is worth more if he's dead."






    Entrant 4 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Home is where the Heart is

    Rolf felt the hideous pain stab through his gut again, a sure sign the canker had spread a little further through his body.


    True, the necromancer was (temporarily) dead, but the poison from his dagger was slowly exacting its revenge. When it finished, Rolf knew his own corpse would become a biddable thing, like those that had killed his men while he fought their master.


    But the necromancer had been overconfident, partly from taking Rolf for just another ignorant knight, but mostly because he knew he could not be killed. He had mastered that procedure which separates life and body, and his beating heart was kept safe in a place not of this world.


    Rolf struggled to remain straight in his saddle as the horse picked its way between cobbles on the stream-bed. He had to follow the trail exactly, a single misstep and the charm would be broken.


    The talisman at the end of his lance glowed fitfully, but nowhere near the full radiance that would signal journey's end.


    The necromancer's shade hovered just out of reach, even though it could not re-manifest completely before the next new moon, it hoped to distract Rolf and throw him off his path.


    Rolf's last two retainers followed him along the bank. When the shade flew too close, one would fire a garlic-dipped arrow making it scream faintly with some ethereal pain. The other protected his comrade with a spear tipped in silver.


    Now the talisman was glowing brightly, the stream widened here into a rocky pool and the path in the water became a spiral into the centre. On the first circuit, the glow of the talisman spread over horse and rider like a blanket. On the second, the shade became frantic, flinging itself against the impervious glow. On the final circuit the talisman shone with a blinding light and Rolf disappeared from this world.


    Rolf was alone on a bleak windswept moor, a ruined tower standing before him, doorless entrance darkly beckoning. He entered, climbing stairs to a room near the top.


    There lay the beating heart of the necromancer. Rolf took it, lifted it high and squeezed. The life essence of the necromancer dripped into Rolf's mouth. In his stomach he felt the cool healing wave as the canker was destroyed, and in his mind he heard the last agonised scream of the shade as it finally experienced true death.




    TotW 28 - An Immortal Hero
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Winner - Elendil of Númenor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Legend of Greyheart



    “Is he crying?” Peter asked. The small boy was leaning on the windowsill. Rain trickled down the glass. In front of him, on a marble pedestal stood the statue of a man. He carried shield and spear, and wore a helm. The rain poured down his face like tears.
    “Of course he isn't crying.” snapped Peter's mother. “Statues don't cry.”
    They've just moved in to their new house. The previous owner was getting ready to leave, when he called Peter to him.
    “Don't listen to your mother, lad. Greyheart mourns the leaving of the last owner of this house.”
    “Greyheart?”
    “My thirty-four-times great-grandfather. Legend has it, the night Greyheart gave his life to defend the city, a statue appeared here by dawn. His descendants have lived in this house ever since, the Statue guarding them. The legend says, when the last owner of the house dies, Greyheart will be free, once again.”


    Five years later, Peter was watching TV. A storm was raging outside.
    “Mum, come and look at this!” Peter shouted. A familiar face was being shown on the news. The reporter spoke,
    “...statue of his grandfather in the city. The last of the Greyhearts died peacefully, yesterday...”
    “He was the man who lived here! According to the legend - ” Peter stammered.
    Suddenly, there was a deafening thunder, and the lights went out. The silence was quickly broken.
    “The electricity's gone! Off to bed with you, Peter!”


    Peter slept uneasily, and woke up in the middle of the night. He crept to the window. The Statue still stood there, five years after the man left... Suddenly, to his amazement, there was a flash of blinding light, and the Statue sprang to life. A shining stairway appeared next to him, leading into the clouds. Greyheart walked to it solemnly. When he passed Peter's window, the boy said aloud,
    “This is a dream, it can't be happening!”
    Unbelievably, Greyheart turned, and said to Peter, smiling,
    “Of course it's a dream! But why would that mean it isn't happening?”


    Peter was woken up by a noisy crowd gathered outside his window. His mother trotted in, to see what was all the fuss about.
    “What's going on, Mum?” Peter asked, getting up.
    “Hooligans...”
    “Hmm?” the boy poured himself a glass of water.
    “The statue is gone. Somebody stole it.”
    The glass fell out of Peter's hand with a loud crash.


    Entrant 1 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    My Last Wish

    Joseph is a miserable soldier who is forced to live his life inside a prison. The Pope has him jailed at the reason of treason. He only wished to be remembered by the people. Instead, it has gone the opposite way. People remember him the bad way. Memories are always blighted by darkness.

    It is 17 March 1317. Lies his day of execution. It is destined to take place at midnight. It is truly unexpected by the people of his age that he does not give a sweat about it. Joseph thinks about his escape, if possibly someone lost his key and he picks it. Escaping from the scales of death.

    5:00 PM. A guard comes to him, bringing a spear, shield and armors for him. As the laws of life suggests : All executed personels must die bravely. That way the Pope's reputation won't be ruined. People believed that, at least, until now.

    However, his handcuffs are not made for the quality. The muscleful Joseph then managed to break it. Therefore killing the guard beside him. Soon, all personnels are alarmed about this situation. Scrambling to find an escape route. He rushes about everywhere, breaking everything in his sight.

    11:00 PM. Finally he managed to find an escape route. But....... some soldiers who wanted to train come through that door. Thereby killing him in the process.

    Before finally breathing his last air. Joseph says to them : "My last wish....... is to be remembered."

    Touched by his bravery. They carried his corpse to the graveyard to properly bury him. And last but not least, making his statue, and so his last wish, to be remembered, has be fulfilled.


    Entrant 2 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    I’ll be there soon….


    The author looks down at the statue in the Courtyard from the High tower and writes…..I’ve made all the arrangements, so don’t worry I’ll be on the way to you soon. The statue turned out magnificently I’m sure your really going to like it. The finish on the masonry turned out perfectly just the way we talked about it.

    The administration of Edinburough will be carried out as per your instructions. Even though you and I fought harshly over the candidate for mayor in the end I see the wisdom of your selection. He is a great mathematician and has a brilliant mind. I’m sure he will come to be a great leader even though if my candidate had been selected that wouldn’t be an issue. Danmmit…Why can’t I ever win one of our arguments…{he smiles at the mere thought of the intensity and passion of their heated exchanges}

    At the sound of the opening door the writer turns to address his trusted advisor and beneficiary. “I’m sorry for the intrusion…all the arrangements have been made as per your instructions. Afterwards the attendants will take you to join with the master.”

    Excellent..Let’s get it fishned then shall we. I want to dine with my husband by sundown…..They leave the chamber together and the writer is heard to say…. “If they axmen makes it on the first pass pay him a six month bonus and retire him in splendor“…


    I’m proud to let you all know that things went well. The happy couple were reunited by nightfall, and the administration of Edinburgh passed on to the next ruling dynasty with out a trace of scandal.
    The letter addressed to Theo was placed on the glowing coals of the fireplace as previously instructed……


    Cut scene…curtain closes…


    Entrant 3 - Musthavename
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Stone Soldier


    The merchant walked past the street he passed through every morning. He was on his way to his market stall to try and sell some goods, just like any other morning. He just turn the corner past a noble's house. It was then he looked with surprise to his left.



    A statue. "That wasn't there before..." he looked on with curiosity. It was still early in the day, but it definetly wasn't there the other night. "Maybe the noble shipped it in overnight?". Still, it seemed unlikely. He approached the statue and touched the cold stone plaque on its base.



    "A Momument to Sir Robin the Brave - 1262-1294"



    He then took a step back in surprise. But... this year was 1294. He read on...



    "For his heroic attack on the market town of Silsbury, October 4th, where he valiantly died to capture the town. May his memory be a light for all to aspire to".



    But... today was the 4th... and this was Silsbury! Something didn't add up. He took another step back to investigate the statue again. It... it wasn't the same! It's spear was raised and pointed, almost straight at him!



    He stood in awe as a loud crumbling noise echoed around him. The stone spear pierced his chest and he cried out in pain. As he made his dying breaths, he saw the statue step down from his podium... The town was at his mercy.




    Entrant 4 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Tears for the Fallen


    A chill breeze whips through the churchyard, leaves ripped free from their moorings and sent flying through the air. The harbinger of an approaching squall.
    Above the sky grows dark, clouds covering the face of the earth. Blocking out the light of the sun.
    Rain, first a few teasing drops, then more, pelting down with angry force as the heavens break forth in a torrent.
    The man stands there, seemingly untroubled by the gale. A spear gripped tightly in his right hand, a shield strapped to his left forearm. Wind swirls around him, rain lashing at his granite cloak.
    And yet there he stands, unflinching. The storm is nothing to him. He has seen thousands of them, hundreds more fierce. What is one more?
    He stands above the grave of a fallen hero, a man who stood as hardily in the defense of his country as the statue stands now in remembrance of his deeds.
    His name?
    It matters not—that has been lost long ago, the inscription to his heroism worn away by the elements. The only tribute left to him is the statue, a stony soldier standing in remembrance of the unknown. A country lives today because of this man and his comrades, their lives forfeit in a forgotten conflict.
    Rain smites his face, running in rivulets down stony cheeks formed by the hands of a long-ago craftsman. Tears.
    Tears for the fallen. . .


    Entrant 5 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Never To Be Forgotten.

    "Move it move it! They ain't gonna kill themselves!" Yelled the captain... "Get our arses out of that ship, NOW!" He screamed over the roar of flaming arrows hitting all around and on the ship, killing a few soldiers.
    "Come on, Tom, we need to hurry up!" I said to my friend who stood by me;
    "I know I know!" He replied, fixing his spear which was stuck in some sort of net; "Alright, let's go" He said, finally, as he removed the spear, all I could think was that my luck was probably the worst.
    Running outside, a volley of flaming arrows hit the soldiers around us, many dying and others just screaming in pain and misery, however drowned when they fell to the muddy beach or into the shallow waters, and couldn't rise up for one reason or another, the heavy rain made the enemy forces invisible, the only thing we knew is the general direction of them, we saw where they were, the men were scared, I could see it on their faces, but suddenly, with a great roar of excitement, the captain, an expert in battle, known to me only as 'The Captain' ran in front of his bodyguards in his special black armor, holding a sword an a shield, he looked back, and pointed with his sword towards the general direction of the enemy; "TO DEATH!" He roared, and with a grand roar of excitement, the entire army charged forth, mud, sand, storm, arrows, lightning and water did not stop an army this motivated, the sheer sight of the captain could make every coward a hero of myths.
    Charging to the - finally visible - enemy's front lines, we saw that they were mostly a force of archers, but they had plenty of foot soldiers, we engaged in combat to the death, us motivated by the captain, and them shocked by our audacity, in the midst of battle and screams, after killing an enemy soldier, I saw the captain facing off with the enemy prince, I ran to his aid, quickly.
    I was too late.
    The captain was already victorious. Smashing the prince's windpipe with his shield, the circle which was formed around the dueling two dissipated into an all out war, and the captain in the middle, I arrived to his side;
    "So, captain, how are things?"
    "Eh, you know, killing princes, helping armies, getting hit by arrows, all in a day's work" He smiled, and so did I, as we bashed and slashed the enemy army, which was faltering.
    I looked to a hilltop which wasn't too far off from us, just in sight in the pouring rain, and I saw a lone rider there, joined by about a hundred others... And I knew this was a bad omen, they charged down on us, and our army was shattered. One of the horsemen knocked me off my feet, and jabbed his lance at me, but the captain saved me, kicking it off with his foot, and the two engaged in a combat worthy of the mightiest of gods and titans, but this time it was the mounted warrior which had the upper hand, the captain was slain after fighting valiantly, and I, with pure rage, jabbed my sword up the rider's stomach... It was too late though, killing this rider won't help... We lost... And I ran.

    "Don't, break, it!" I yelled at the builder; "This needs to be FLAWLESS!" I screamed again, and finally, after a week's hard work, I finished the statue, all was left, was the carvings;

    Beneath This Statue Lies James Heavengate, Also Known As The Captain, One Of Our Greatest Heroes, Remember Him.


    Entrant 6 - molls
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Shoot and Run

    "So why are we hiding here? All the others have barricaded themselves in the houses..-"

    In this moment the frensh cannons introduced themselves to the town's buildings.
    Besides the great monument, where the two riflemen were hiding, the stone wall was struck causing the ceiling of the nearby structure to collaps.

    "Take cover! - Any more questions, Jack?"

    The two men pressed their backs on the monument.

    "Well Bob, after elaborating over the situation, I came to the conclusion that we may as well make our position here.
    Who is that guy worthy of a huge stone statue anyway?"

    "That's major Richard Sherp. 50 Years ago, he was the one who brought the frensh army on the edge of ruin - Look OUT!"

    The next volley crashed into the town, laying waste to everything that stood in the way of the projectiles.

    "It seems to me Bob, that he wasn't that successful after all - we're sitting ducks here for christs sake! Ah just tell man, what did he do?"

    "Richard Sherp used the common tactic "Shoot and Run" and reversed it to "Run and Shoot Later". T'was a major success against the frensh.
    He brought this technique to perfection after some battles, so that whenever he spotted frensh troops, he would not engage them, but retreat in the opposite direction.
    The Frensh bored themselves to death and started to desert one after another! This way their army turned into history, and Major Sherp was declared a british Hero."

    "And now they are back and we are to stop them with filthy partisan techniques, bah!"

    Jack peaked around the monuments edge to view the street.
    The air was full of dust and smoke, the streets covered in rubble. The other british soldiers were surprisingly quiet, in fact Jack couldn't notice any of them at all.
    Well they were stationed in the buildings, of course.

    Then finally, the frensh artillery stopped shooting and soon the sound of the drums and marching feet poured through the dust.

    Jack turned to Bob.

    "Here they come.."

    The drumming and marching grew louder. No shots were heard.
    Jack suddenly began to move. He crouched and sneaked away from the statue and the streets, heading in the direction of the fields that lay outside the town.

    "Jack what are you doing? Stay here and take cover! They must be very close!"

    Jack turned around.

    "Well Bob, I have learned a history lesson today and shall use the tactics of our great idols. And this tactic is called: 'Run and Shoot Later' ,isn't it?"

    Bob was puzzled.

    "But you can't just leave! That is... That's... ehm... You will be considered a deserter!"

    Jack grinned:

    "But I'll stay alive. 'Coming Bob?"



    TotW 29 - Sunset Charge

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    As the Setting of the Sun

    We met them outside town, the Crusader detachment encamped in a grove on the outskirts of the village. It mattered not they had entered our lands at the permission of our most Christian King Lazslo the First. Royal permission counts for naught when one's women have been ravished, when one's children fear to stir outside the cottage door, when one of their number lies dead in the street, beheaded by a drunken soldier.
    Permission? Bah!
    We were girt in our simple armor, a shield gripped tight in my hand, a helm upon my snow-white hair. I am old, and I have seen much of war. In my youth, I fought against the pagans of the north, driving them back into the steppes from which they came. I had fought and I had killed, their blood on the grass.
    That was behind me, or so I thought. I was content to take my rest on the land of my fathers. But now new pagans had come, pagans chanting Christ's name, holding His bloody cross high as though they wished to remember His death—only His death, ever renewed through their sacraments. A cult of death.
    Death they had now brought to our small village. Death they would now experience for themselves. I wondered how they would like it when it stared them in the face.
    We formed a line there by the grove, facing them. The sun was going down, a golden-red canopy over the heavens, casting strange shadows across the plain.
    Two men stepped from the Crusader line, tall, strong men. “Pick two of your men to fight our champions! Two men, against the two of us.”
    No one stirred. All of us had been affected by their deeds of darkness in the village. Either all of us would fight, or none.
    At length, the men began to march toward us. Insane. I watched them as they came steadily closer, the setting sun glinting off their weapons.
    They began to run, one of them screaming a challenge as he came toward me. I braced myself, catching his spear-tip in my shield as he jabbed violently toward my throat. I wrenched the shield, twisting the spear out of his grasp, thrusting into his side with my own.
    He fell, blood pouring from the hole in his side, staining the grass. His helm fell off and I saw his face. A boy, no older than my son, his eyes frightened, glazing with death, his life ending as the setting of the sun. I remembered the screams of the children and felt nothing. No pity. . .


    Entrant 1 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Just Another Ordinary Day

    Throwing his spear, Johanas saw that he hit a Hungarian cavalier in the head, killing him, with a smile he drew his sword and returned to the lines of the Polish soldiers, taking the shield off his back and supporting the main line against the incoming Hungarians.
    A volley of arrows flew above his head with an annoying buzzing sound, and several Hungarians fell to the ground, a few more arrows were shot, and the enemy suffered some more casualties, several troops of the militia battalion charged towards the enemy line, but it wasn't long until they were cut down, Johanas ordered his cavalry to move to the flanks of the enemy and wait, and with a click of a button ordered his archers to stop firing, and the infantry to charge, the battle was messy, Johanas' Captain was fighting furiously and the infantry were winning the fight, sending in the final blow, Johanas clicked on the enemy troops and his cavalry charged to assist, his archers also broke skirmish and attacked! The battle was almost won! Victory was in his--- "Johanas! Wake up! Time for breakfast!"
    His mom yelled, and he fell out of his chair, looking up his saw that he fell asleep on his keyboard, playing Medieval 2: Total War.


    Entrant 2 - Kátz







    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Tom and Jerry










    Tom and Jerry always sit in the same bench, stuck on the same boat since they are 6 years old. They have features distinctly unique to others, they are always together, but are always quarreling. People are confused at them, even their tutor, Roger does not know what are they doing always. Tom is a cat lover, and Jerry is a mouse lover. Perhaps it's the reason Tom is always together with Jerry, he's chasing him like cats and mouses!

    Then...... 17 years old, both of them joined the military. Tom is just following suit to Jerry so he can chase him all day with his lifetime hobby of the anti-mouse guild. All day, Jerry must tire his legs running away from Tom. It's really getting on his nerves. Tom is just obsessed with him.

    Their first battle.... The battle of Strato, is a place where love is on it's heights, at least in the rumours of lovers. Now is the time, is Tom really hating Jerry? Or instead, he loves him? Let's find out guys.

    After the general finished his battle speech, Jerry let's out his charging words, the sound is as startling as a squeaking mouse. Tom, soon follows suit. Blurting out the words openly, with a loose shout, terrors down the enemy : "JERRY, I LOVE YOU!!!!!"

    Heck! He sounds like a gay in front of other people. Meowing up like a cat... Shame on you Tom, SHAME ON YOU. But hey, you are in front of other people! And IN FRONT OF SPEARS!!!!


    Entrant 3 - Aldgarkalaughskel
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A WEIRD DREAM
    - Hon, wake up... Honey, come on, wake up.
    - What... What time is it? - I said rubbing my eyes, feeling awful and splendid at the same time.
    - It's 6:30. And it's snowing. There's going to be heavy traffic. You need to wake up or you'll be late from work.
    - Oh funk. I'm tired. Let me sleep a little more...
    - You were foruming all night AGAIN, weren't you? - she asked frowningly, rolled up the shatters and stared at the curtains over the window. I looked at her gorgeous hair, as if I wasn't sure if I could see her tonight. - Come, I'll make breakfast for you.

    I walked out to the bath to shave myself, and heard the morning news blabber about the US recession. I started to remember what a weird dream I had...

    "My dear friends, we have come here for one reason. To fight those who have put our nose to the grindstone and win back our freedom again.

    Some of you are thinking you won't fight or you can't fight. But keep in mind, that even if we fail, our story will be told by the good men all over the world. We shall resettle our community at a new place and start it from the scratch. In any case, this day will be remembered in the history of total war..."

    - Honey, come! Your coffee almost got cold.
    - I'm coming! - I said, sat down at the table and started to chew my musli almost insensately.
    - You were talking in your sleep again. This is the third night you are doing that.
    - Sorry about that - I laughed - What was I saying?

    "As you all know we are going to war against Creative Assembly. CA decided to purchase the site after the February Ambush in which infuriated TWC members - pissed off by the bugs and poor performance of the demo - attacked the heaquarters of the new owner followed by the March Revolution where several thousand total war fans conspired to boycott the game worldwide. After The Purchase CA started to delete whole ETW mod forums that were distributing files downloadable only from Steam. The Curia became alive again, citizens protesting, moderators, even admins resigning... CA responded by appointing banned members for moderators and giving mass citizenship for everyone with 50 posts, unwittingly mobilizing the forces of the Consilium Plebis. Martial law, then chaos took over the site. Most of us took refuge here, at the Org, but now our presence is becoming uncomfortable due to our massive spamming...

    You got your shields and spears at General Sun's tent. Halie Satanus designed them carefully to give you a massive bonus against AI stupidity...

    Today we fight by all that we held dear of our beloved site.
    Today we fight shouting our fearsome motto: MY SULTAN WISHES YOU DEAD!

    NOW CHAAAARGE!"


    Entrant 4 - Sun Zaraki







    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Aristeia








    The two armies, separated by the smallest gulf of open air, stood as opposing but at the same time attracting forces, both not wishing to fight but also wishing for blood. The Polish on the left cowered in fear, retreating slowly into the forest. The Hungarians to the right, praying for blood but exhausted from chasing the rout. The Poles had nowhere to go, nowhere to run now... thay had hoped to run into the forests but it proved more of a hinderence than a gift. They turned to face their attackers...
    It was then that the man, a Gustav Wladslaw, shook his head in disbelief. He had been sure to see his home in Krakow again, to hold his children in his arms again, to kiss his wife again, but, now the enemy was so close, he was sure of deaths misty embrace. He stepped out of the line, making his comrades shift together to hold the line. Gustav turned, lifted his helmet from his head, and they saw tears in his eyes and cleaning his bloodied face.
    "I have seen... seen too much this day. Seen my friends fold to the spears of the Huns, seen my brother cry for help just as the sword came down... so cleanly... came down into his shoulder and watched the life leave his eyes blank. I have no future now, and if i run, how long until i must fight them again? No... i cannot take this fight home..."
    Gustav slipped his helmet back over his sweaty brow, the chainmail to guard the neck burned from the heat of the day. Turning to face his enemy, he noticed another man, only one other, step out from the line an rotate his shoulders as if to attempt to rid the fear of death from him. Gustav smiled, but looked back upon his enemy.
    His mind cast back to the face of his beautiful, smiling wife, her face etched intoo the cloudline. The world seemed unreal now he was so close to death, as if painted to fit his imagination. The sun seemed so dim, perhaps to hide his fear, the trees were blurred at the tips and the hills on which they had previously fought seemed so far away. "Enough," Gustav snapped quietly to himself, heaved up his shield and looked at one of the Huns straight in the eyes. For the last time his wife appeared in his mind, but now she was sad, tears staining her perfect face, standing behind her children who also were were weeping sorrowfully... but before Gustav knew it, he was already running........


    Entrant 5 - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Father's Tear

    "Haven't they learned nothing so far..."
    "I've been watching them do the same thing over and over again...For thousands of years, and yet they keep at it."

    Sun sets in the west as the two armies approach each other for the imminent clash. It casts an eerie aura over the slaughter field to be...The gray-bluish clouds seem to soak up the bloodied gold of the dying light, as the blood is about to soak the meadow of butchery...

    "Why won't they learn...Has my lost child imbued himself so hard in the spirit of men that they will rather see their enemies blade than the plow in their fields..."
    "I cast the days last glance on You my children, as my eye is about to hide itself behind the eyelid you so innocently call horizon. For tonight, my lost son will feed on your souls, and I shall not have the sight of my creation once I cast my eye upon the world tomorrow."

    "Yet you call my name just now, I can hear you do it. Oh yes, I can.
    But I won't heed your words, I won't hear your cries, I won't watch you damn each other to eternal embrace of my lost son."

    And so He closes his golden eye, letting one last bloodied tear fill the sky with sorrowful gleam, an image of what He wishes not to see...


    Entrant 6 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Nike?


    John strapped on his heavy, leather boots. He delicately scraped the mud off the toe and laced them up. The past few battles and seen them drenched in mud, drowned in a stream, and splattered with the vital fluids of other men. Still, they were a good pair and had served him faithfully.

    Opposite John sat a man of medium build and unremarkable characteristics. Steven was his name. His boots were not so well off. A hole in the left sole left his feet completely exposed on the bottom, and worse, his laces had torn. As he cursed his luck, he looked up and called out to heaven "Why, Oh Lord, do you subject me to these hardships?"

    Just then, a box dropped from the skies. A peculiar brown box. Opening the box revealed two strange looking foot wear with the inscription 'Air Jordan' written in white string on the side. They were shorter and less heavy than boots, but much more elaborate than sandals. The insides were soft and the entire thing was purely white.

    Hesitating, Steven pulled the shoes over his swollen feet, and they fit like a dream. He stood up and bounced on his heels, testing the new shoes. He noted their weightlessness and support for his knees. Just then the assembly drum began to roll. Steven grabbed his spear and shield and headed to formation.


    After several minutes of (blissful) walking, the troop made contact with the enemy. The horn to charge rang out, and the formation moved as one towards the enemy. Steven noticed something strange....he had passed his comrades....the shoes....they were making him accelerate at speeds he had not previously known. He crashed into his opponents at full speed and knocked the first five completely on their faces. Several seconds later his comrades reached the scene and the enemy was driven from the field.



    Entrant 7 - Elendil of Númenor


    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    What Counts



    Jack fell to the ground laughing as John lay on the grass for the tenth time in a row.


    “I give up” John said, panting “you really are the best dueler in the Army, Ben.”


    “Care to have another one?” Ben said teasingly.


    “No way. I'll need some strength for the enemy...”


    “The enemy?” joined Jack. “I don't believe we'll fight them...”


    “Everyone knows our King's a coward” Ben said in a low voice.


    It was well past noon and the forest gave a cool shade against the last hot rays of the sun.


























    Flocks of birds rose into the air, twittering madly, as a thunderous horn blast the silence.


    The enemy is here!” sounded the cry. The enemy line could be seen standing a few feet from the trees, their leader galloping forward. To meet him, stumbled the King. The King wasn't used to this life. He lived in castles, palaces, not forests. Ornaments decorated him and his horse, which he could barely ride.


    “Is there no way to avoid bloodshed?” asked the King.


    “You want a duel perhaps?” snarled the enemy leader.


    “Perhaps.” He turned to his army. “Anyone?” They started chanting Ben's name, so he stepped forward.


    “Fine then.” Spat the enemy. “Marcos, come and gut this weakling!”

    The King scuttled back, even dropping one of his bracelets in the hurried process.



























    Thus the duel began. Sparks flared as the two blades clashed. Ben was easily defeating his opponent and soon knocked the sword out of his hand. Suddenly, intent on what was before him, he tripped on a silver bracelet in the grass. His opponent quickly grabbed for his sword and thrust it right through Ben's back. Scarlet blood spilled, and the enemy army cheered, whilst the King sighed,


    “Well... retreat, then.”


    Suddenly, two figures leaped out of the line, the setting sun reflecting a heavenly light on their helms as they charged into the enemy. The Army cried together and ran forward, after the heroes.













    “Beautiful victory, my Lord!” people said to the King after the battle. He was forever remembered as the saviour of his country.








    “But it was Jack and John who won the battle, wasn't it, Dad?” asked the son of a soldier.




    “Yes, son. But you see, it wasn't fame and glory what the three friends wanted. All they wanted, was to fight for their country. And that's what counts.”







    Entrant 8 - Juvenal

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    Stopping Distance




    The Keel of Sven Sigaardsen was renowned as the rowdiest in the army, so experienced that every man had a hideous looking scar and an interminable battle story full of heroic charges, victory against the odds and the gratitude of the local women at their prodigious stamina and generously proportioned manhoods. The biggest braggarts and hardest drinkers of all were Anders and Henning.





    The current campaign had started well. Landing from their swift silent longships and descending on the poorly defended English town like locusts, destroying and consuming everything in their path.






    But a passing enemy flotilla burned the precious longships before the Danes could return to defend them. The cowardly English refused to come ashore and fight like men, being content to cast insults from the safety of their boats.






    After falling out amongst the chieftains, Sigaardsen's Keel found themselves taking a separate route, heading for a Danish enclave a few days march away. On the second day they came across a monastery, and stopped to pillage.






    But the following day, Sigaardson decided to cut short the celebrations and resume the march, the monks had been wine-makers, and the whole Keel was in serious danger of drinking itself to death.






    The men stumbled on through the late afternoon, hot sun on their backs, Anders and Henning trailing slightly behind the main body, doggedly drinking their way through the three skins of wine apiece they carried.






    Then there was a shout, a small group of English Thegns had been spotted ahead and the Keel came to a ragged halt. Henning took one bleary look at the enemy, let loose a skiirling war cry and charged straight at them with Anders running along in his wake.






    Oblivious to the fact that the rest of the Keel hadn't followed, the two friends converged on the frightened looking English. Then there was a strange rippling in the grass ahead and a hundred more Thegns rose up to face the astonished duo.






    Unable to stop their charge Anders and Henning pitched into the English mass. They were last seen with their spears broken, whirling their axes amidst dozens of enemy warriors, while the men of Sven Sigaardsen looked on amazed and admiring.






    It is little wonder that every boast the two heroes had ever made now went verbatim straight into the Sagas, carried by the unstoppable force of eye-witness testimony from fifty hung-over Vikings.





    TotW 30 - Death and Glory awaits you

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Eulogy


    Twelve weeks. Blood and fire. I stand alone now, amidst a field of the fallen, looking down into the face of my friend. He is gone now. He rose from the ranks to become our leader. He led us, inspired us, drove us onward through every challenge until our fame spread across every hill and dale of Total War Center.

    Through week after week, struggle after struggle, he remained ever the voice of reason, ever the leader of the charge. A new week, a new battle to the death. And now he has left us. . .

    I find myself dazed, the hot glow of a blood-red sun beating down upon my armor. It seems too much to believe. Were it not for him, I would not stride this battlefield today. If not for him, many the glory would have been lost, many the warrior would lie forgotten upon the field of battle. If not for his bravery, heroes we would not be.

    He wielded his pen as a flaming sword and called for others to follow trembling where he tread in might.

    His name? I give it to you, the name of a fallen hero, of a new Achilles,a name for the ages--mollsomg!!!!!!


    Entrant 1 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Seventh Battalion

    "I told them... They weren't ready..." Spat Gargarious at the dead prince's body. "But, what did they do? Send them anyway... Second legion my a..."
    "Garg!" Yelled a man, Gargarious quickly looked back, to see his battle-worn comrade, filled with blood, gashed and open wounds, running to him as he collapsed, Gargarious felt some sort of a sting in his heart, he kneeled down near his wounded friend;
    "You'll be all-right, I promise you. You'll be fine. We've won, the healers are coming to assist the wounded, you'll be just fine" Gragarious mumbled helplessly as his friend stared back at him and suddenly smiled;
    "That was one hell of a first battle... Eh?"
    "Yeah. You did good, thanks for the help."
    "My pleasure, Garg..." He said and his eyes became veiled, his breath disappearing and his heart stopping.
    Gragarious got up with a pinch in his heart which went so deep, he thought it would crack him in half, he approached the enemy prince which he slew only moments again, and cut his head off, lifting it up from the hairs and approaching his dead friend's body...
    "This one's... For you..." He threw the head at the enemy soldiers which were trying to gather themselves after this insane battle, and defeat for them, after being allowed to carry their fellow soldiers' bodies to their lands, the soldiers were awestruck, soon after the head landed near them, Gragarious ran to them, roaring, sword flinging in the air... He's had enough of life...


    Entrant 2 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A New Leonidas

    Today is the day where we, Spartans worth the worship of the other Greeks. Are holding out against the Romans at Thermopylae, our last bastion of defense. Truth be told that we are only 300, against their huge army of 10.000 men! It is the day where we shall die....... WITH HONOR AND GLORY!!

    Pausanias, a cowardly figure can only listen to these words of bravery, yet a presence touches him, both inside his heart and outside his bodies. It is the deceased Leonidas. Who holds the Persian with his 300 soldiers, including himself here in this place where stains of blood has not been cleaned yet. Perhaps it is time he changes for the better.

    There, the Romans are at us. Hold them at bay, I, Pausanias, sees them throwing their javelins, which they called pilum, if in plural is pila. I see 30 of my hardy fellows fall down. With blood coming out of their mouth, their face, their body, and lastly, their legs.

    The Romans have all but one flaw, I know they are powerful, disciplined, an army worh our respect. But there is one and one only. Their leaders are in an internal strife. Soon, after we hold them out long enough they will fight themselves. I guarantee it.

    The remaining 9.000 men of Rome has been demoralized by the Spartan moral. Their leaders, Publius and Cassius fights themselves. Soon enough they all crumble at each other's face to face of Rome's fights.

    With Cassius dead to Publius' sword. Pausanias soon rushes at him, his sword has been blessed by the Sun. Cutting his head off his body.


    Leonidas, know that I dedicate this victory to you.



    Entrant 3 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Novelty Gift
    “Try something new every day!“ Tycho always said.


    What Tycho liked to call his Agčma was now just a mercenary band, Lakedaimonian in name only and leavened with the worst scum of the Peloponnesus.


    But the Oracle at Theudoria, high in the Pindus Mountains, changed their luck.


    Nikephoros led the storming party, killing most of the Molossian guards before they even found their swords. Tycho then got to work on Sophia, leader of the acolytes. She was quite stubborn, and by the time Tycho got what he wanted, was missing several fingernails.


    Rather than return south to their employer, Tycho took the band east to Macedonia. Their fortunes waxed in the succeeding months as they learned how to use their prize. Tycho operating the Box and Nikephoros interpreting the Scroll. The foreign incantations were clear, but undecipherable. Marginal notes, scrawled in a shaky hand, only hinted at their meaning.


    Then Tycho got the band into a situation beyond even the capabilities of the God-Box. Finding the army they were employed to join already destroyed, they were ambushed by thousands of Thracian tribesmen and forced into a tight knot, sheltering behind their shields from incoming javelins.


    None of the commands were any good this time. Blinding Light wouldn't last long enough for them to make their escape, Cloud of Sleep was too local in its effect and the Lightning of Zeus would kill just a few score among the multitude.


    “Find something stronger!” Tycho yelled in Nikephoros's ear as they crouched under the great slab around which they had based their last stand.


    “No! I don't know what it does!”


    “Do what you're told you whore-son, what could be worse than this?”


    Reluctantly, Nikephoros gave the pronunciation for the command that had no notes against it. Tycho stood straight, God-Box in hand, and addressed himself to heaven proclaiming the barbaric syllables...


    “KLUS-TYR-BOM-MY-PO-SY-CHON”


    There followed the loudest noise Niko had ever heard, thunder, earthquake and fire all rolled into one.


    Some unknown time later, he awoke and crawled painfully out from under the slab. The whole plain was pock-marked with craters and the only remaining signs of life were piled body-parts. By some strange irony, he stumbled on the head of Tycho, still bearing an expression of surprise. On a whim he lifted it and addressed his ex-leader.


    “So, what would you like to try next?”


    Entrant 4 - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    HAZE...
    "I've walked this field before. The field littered with bodies of brave heroes and vile enemies. Ages before...And now I walk upon it today."

    The lone Spartan straightens up and looks into the distance. His eyes gazing into distance, almost as if trying to see beyond the limits of time, somewhere where he used to burn with same passion, in some other age.
    It finally hits him...As the warm finally flushes the chill away from his tired body, he starts to feel the cold rim oh his helmet cutting into his skin just below the eyes...He remembers what made him live through the day...
    It wasn't the will to live, it wasn't the training he endured since the earliest days of infancy that he could remember...It was the words his "civilized" enemy spoke, while commanding savage slave tribes...
    "Surrender your weapons, Spartans!"
    He remembered the overbearing attitude of the foul fiend...The tingling feeling of rage burning up the last bits of his sanity...

    He slowly kneels down, cutting a head off from one the dead savage slave, and lifts it up, having thrown his sword away, looking into it's empty eyes, almost as if looking for an answer...
    The lips cracking dry, open and unleash a thunderous shout, turning his face, just a mere moment ago an example of serenity, into beastly distorted face of terrors:
    "MOLON LAVE!!!" *
    Now, with a limp, he looks into distance, the head of savage dangling by it's blond hair and whispers, almost tenderly:
    "Molon lave, tora..." **
    A late-day haze sets in the field of horrors as a Spartan Paean slowly sends a steady stream of welcome chill through his spine.
    Checking the weight of his shield on his left arm, he threads slowly towards his unit readying for the final charge at the bewildered remnants of Roman army now free of barbarian allies...

    *Come and get them. = Free translated quote, you all are more or less familiar with, attributed to Leonidas at Thermopylae as an answer to Persian request to lay down their weapons.

    **Come and get them, now...= Pay attention to the way it's spoken. "Tora" is modern greek, as I didn't manage to find ancient greek version of "now" term.


    Entrant 5 - R3G3N
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A life had and lost
    Slias knew what was coming….

    Only one foe could inflict such carnage upon a legion….

    Only one enemy severed the heads of the fallen….

    Only one evil could turn the sky, the home of the gods, the colour of Hades….

    The horsemen from the East were coming….

    Coming by the thousands….

    They had slaughtered Rome’s finest legion, the guardians of their Eastern border….

    What could one small city do….

    Made weak by Roman protection….

    His men would need to be strong….

    If they faltered then all they knew would be destroyed….

    He had seen them come once before….

    He still heard their hellish battle cry….

    Could still sense the fear that gripped a veteran to his very core….

    He still felt the spittle from their horses upon his neck….

    The barbs of their arrows as they tore at his body….

    The hopelessness as his friends died around him….

    The humiliation of slavery….

    The searing pain of the pack masters whip….

    He could still taste the dust of the chalk mine….

    The metallic taste of his own blood as he rotted….

    He could feel the ecstasy of escape….

    The warmth of sunlight upon his broken frame….

    The embrace of his wife he thought he had left forever….

    All to be lost….

    All to be banished….

    All to be forgotten….

    All to be replaced….

    Replaced by despair that the savage horsemen had returned….

    …..and the knowledge that he would never feel again.



    TotW 30b - Describe the City's Inhabitants Daily Life
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The End of an Era

    Tranquility. It was the first word that struck me as I gazed out over the city. Splendor. A land untouched by the ravages of time.
    The sun broke over the heathen temple dedicated to its worship, its myriad-colored rays dancing down mossy steps watered by the blood of countless sacrifices.
    Mountains loomed over the primeval city, like guardians, their slopes covered emerald green with the jungles.
    I undid the knapsack at my side and withdrew a small spyglass, fixing it to my eye as I gazed at the city. People scurried through the streets, and by the power of my lens, I could see many of them carried weapons of one sort or another. They were congregating on the temple.
    My appreciation for splendor vanished with the morning mist, my glass following their ascent up the rough stone steps of the temple.
    By all the saints, it would be a hard struggle to rout them, once they were safely esconced in their citadel.
    There was but one thing left to do. I turned, motioning to the men at my side. The little cannon rolled forward, already loaded with one of the few iron shot we had brought with us from the motherland.
    I stepped to the rear of the piece, one of the men handing me a flaming brand. One hand across my ear, I stooped, placing the flame to the touchhole.
    The charge exploded, a thunderous boom echoing across the valley. An alien sound in this peaceful land. I looked up just in time to see the top of the temple disintegrate under the impetus of our cannonball, stone flying through the air, men falling from its height.
    The end of an era. I raised my sword, calling to those behind me to follow. “Viva el Rey! Viva el Rey!
    Truly, the end of an era. . .


    Entrant 1 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Yes..... WORSHIP IT.

    It is the holy day that is the first day the city called Tenochtitlan is celebrated. Moctezuma, the Aztec leader seeks many hapless and unfortunately human to the sacrificial pit of doom. Many things have changed since that fateful day. A Great Temple for us Aztecs has been built. With a beautiful layout that is our beautiful creation of houses and buildings with the magnificence of Aztec architecture and The Sun God who may not be named that pays us a visit using the Sun. When it sets, it always looks at our Great Temple. This is only a mark that we worship him and he worships us.

    Today the Aztec streets are bustling with activity, a trade of money, worshipping items, games, dances of Aztec tradition are being celebrated today with great celebration. Such times only come during important days like this.

    Now, to avoid being a subject to the sacrifice. The Aztecs run away from the military guards, mainly the skinny ones. Usually, the skinny humans are subject to death by the cruel tradition of the Aztecs. And then a human called Az comes as a wandering traveler. To his surprise, he is picked by them to be sacrificed!

    "What the heck are you trying to do?!" He nags at the Aztecs.
    "You are here to be sacrificed." The Aztecs reply, with a harsh accent.
    "Let me go! LET ME GO!" More nags from Az.
    "Shut up and worship it!" The Aztecs again say. Finally backed with Moctezuma's voice.

    "There We see the Great Temple, a place where life is balanced, a place where the sun is balanced, a place where we are depending on, and a place where we worship the Sun God. Today is the fateful day Tenochtitlan is built. And This Temple wishes to be commemorated along with the city. And now..... you, are chosen to be sacrificed for us and the Gods up in the heaven. Be honored."

    "I still wanna live....."

    "Men and Women and Children of the Sun God! Today we shall be honored as this day unfolds in the sights of our eyes. Do you look at the Sun? It is staring at us, mainly at those who are inside the Temple. It is only a sign that the Sun God wishes to participate in this fateful day! Now.... Let us all worship it!"

    Yes........ WORSHIP IT.



    Entrant 2 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The City

    "Ahh, it's finally complete" Said John, smiling at his creation.
    "Yeah... You know it's about time, didn't take you too long" I smiled, and I was sure I could hear him mumble something like;
    "Bit--..." Annoying him was my favorite thing to do when I got bored, he worked on this pyramid for days, weeks, it was his little baby, and my god was he proud, looking at it as if he has just created a bloody space-ship that could travel the length of the galaxy in two seconds... However this would make the people at the archeological center proud.
    "So, when do we get out of here? We need to bring them here or bring it to them?" I asked, somewhat patiently, "Well? Come on John, we need to get out of here, well, -YOU- need to get out of here and see some sunlight, I had a date last night" I smiled and bragged, rubbing it in harder and harder "And was he good..." After smiling again, I continued to grunt at him "So! When?"
    "I don't... Know... Maybe we shiuld..." John thought for a second, looking at his little baby and back at me, afterward at the exit and the sign and than at the pyramid again, he picked up the miniature model of the city and signaled me to follow.
    "The arche-geeks would be so proud" I said, annoying him again.


    Entrant 3 - Hesus de bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The scared boy

    It was a beautiful morning in Cuzo the capital of the Tahuantisuyu empire. The sky was filed with dew this morning like every morning. It was spring, you could tell because the wild live was starting to get lively again. Birds where preparing there nests, insects activity was starting to multiply. Yes even those swarms of annoying mosquitos where back again. Live wa wonderfull but a pain in the ... SMACK auch, little Amaru tript over somthing. His knee was hurt but he would survive it. He scratched his head and looked at his knee, that will leave a bruise he thought. I got to be more carefull when i am daydreaming, he started to smile but stoped as sudden as he started it when he noticed something big was situated on the other side of the stone road. Amaru pulled his small little body back on its feet, - a small body it was he was only 6 years of age - and walked to the mysterious object on the other side of the road. It took him a few paces before he got there as the object had been moved by his fall. When I got closer to the object it slowly revelead it self. When he got closer Amaru’ s face started to change colour. The object that made him trip wasn’ t some thing you would find lying around every day. It was the head of a prisoner of war that was sacrificed to Inti our sun god and ruler of all our gods. This bloody sacrifice was made in the red temple, his home for many centuries now. Amaru looked up at the huge red temple, the stairs that would lead to the seat of Inti were still coloured by the blood of all the prisoners that where sacrificed a few days a go. Amaru rilled at the sight of the temple he prayed to the other gods this sacrificing would stop soon, it all started when the harvest failed. This is when the misery started, thinking back at this day of disaster made Amaru sad. It wasn’ t a SUPER day afther all.

    The End


    Last edited by wowbanger; June 23, 2011 at 09:17 AM. Reason: Added TotW 30b



    "Some writers never know what's to be written until they see it on the page...." Some words of wisdom from my good friend, Mega Tortas de Bodemloze

  8. #8
    wowbanger's Avatar Decanus
    Join Date
    Mar 2010
    Location
    Wreocensćte
    Posts
    593

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 31 - Somewhere beyond the sea...Somewhere waiting for me...
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Winner - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Storyteller

    “You see, it was down about Cape Horn that it 'appened, back in '49. We were takin' a boatload of those consarned Yankee minin' fellows to Californy in the early days of the rush. I was first mate of the brig Hampshire in those days, had Geoffrey Sikes as skipper on the voyage—you lads remember 'im, don't you?”
    A few nods around the room and the storyteller continued, sipping his pint contentedly. “Well, like I say, I was first mate at the time, working my way up to become a master's mate. We was on our way round the Horn, running into some 'eavy weather—those Yankees were leaning over the rail, puking their guts out all the way. Maybe that's what aroused the blighter, I'll never know. Anyway, we were there one moment, forging forward through the gale—we had reefed most of the sail so it wouldn't get torn, ended up losing the top-gallant yards in the process—but we were still making progress. And, all of a sudden, this fellow rises up off our stern. Lord 'elp me if he wasn't higher than our mizzen.”
    The seaman paused and took another long sip, deliberately drawing his audience out. Finally one of them asked, “Really?”
    “Gospel truth, boy. Well, I thought it was a big wave at the first, then I saw his eyes. Just like flames of fire, piercing through the storm. Then his jaws opened and a roar like a thousand cannons hit our ship, nearly knocking us over on our beam-ends. Men were screaming like children. The shortest of his teeth were as long as my cane, and each of them razor-sharp. The skipper ordered me and the midshipman, Jim 'Arkins, to train the carronade on the blighter, but before we could react, the monster took a bite out of the stern, oak planks snapping like matchsticks. The ship lurched and began to go down fast by the stern and I knew right then that we were doomed. I rushed to the stern to inspect the damage and it was bad. I looked up and saw the monster right on top of me, his jaws closing for a second time. I tried to move, but it was too late. There was nothin' I could do.”
    Another long draught as the sailor slaked his thirst, replacing the empty pint on the top of the bar. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, seeming in no hurry to finish his story.
    “What happened?” Someone asked.
    A grin crossed his wizened, leathery face. “Well, then the monster ate me. . .”


    Entrant 1 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Ride of My Life.

    "WHOA!" I yelled, as we went downwards very steeply, waters sprinkling all over us, we were scattered all across, and it was hillariously scary, we kept going on and on and it was getting very dark, water kept sprinkling at us as the sounds of the monstrous waves clashing into the 'ship' were heard.
    Many people screamed but it was engulfed by the enormous noise of yells from the sailors and the captain, the sound of the rattling sail, the cracking and crackling wood...
    This time I was almost thrown off, luckily the restraints kept me in place, we rattled back and forth and to the sides, as the sounds of the enormous waves were heard again and even more water sprinkled over us, eventually as some 'moonlight' was shown, we were facing a monstrous beast, gigantic sea monster stood in front of us and it ripped the 'ship' in half with its bare hands, grabbed a few 'sailors' and ate them, it rampaged completely! It was insane and I was bloody terrified!
    "JOHN! THIS IS INSANE!" Shirly yelled to me
    "I know! Isn't it fun!?" I yelled back
    "Hell yeah!" She said, I could see her faint smile in the dark as more water sprinkled at us, finally, the lights were operational again, and some were quite happy about that, the restrains were released and we climbed out, looking at each other, we both smiled, I knew this was a good idea bringing her here.
    "That was some ride." She concluded as we stepped out of the theme-park.


    Entrant 2 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I knew it.....

    Hello, I am Jack Sparrow. I joined this expedition for a treasure called "Davy Jones' Heart". We sing in the Caribbean. We sail in the seas. We live in the ship. Loud and clear, Bang at head. Ready at lock. We march to the place called the Atlantis. Or perhaps, the Bermuda? To think rain would hinder our sail ahoys is absurd. Wherever it is, I want to be in the Sea forever. Forever at peace. Love at peace.

    My ship, The Black Pearl, is known by the people as cursed. We know it as blessed. Law and Order. Civil and disciplined. We march all day, we do not land to port. We hunt for fishes during our free time. We burn them for our food. We can't die forever. We can't be caught by whispersnappers of the Sea.

    My assistant ship, Unnamed. Is travelling along with us. We enjoy our time together. With love.
    My love, Elizabeth. Wishes to stay in the sea forever. If that is her wish I shall fulfill it. Even if I must die, even if I must go to the corners of the world.

    So today we got to the Bermuda, it amazes me. The water is so calm. The air is so breezeful and does not show signs of rain. We are happy, we sing our national anthem : The Pirates Anthem. Lyrics are :

    We shall go to the sea forever
    go to the sea forever
    go to the sea forever
    For we are the men of the sea
    we cannot be defeated inside our ships
    for we are the undefeatable pirates
    O The Black Pearl
    You are our love, our hope, our life
    It's time you shall be known
    known by the world
    known by the world
    And never be defeated

    Ahoy landlubbers of the sea
    you are not belong to the sea
    you belong in the hell
    wait until we draw our cutlasses
    then you are carried by hades to hell
    to the hell
    to the hell

    And then.... Storm! The sails of our ships have been broken. The hull has been damaged. And on top of that. We shall see one worth our rivalry : The Flying Dutchman! But it's too late, when we known it's appearance, a Huge Shark comes, my friend's ship has been eaten alive along with the savvy crews. And mine is next. I knew it for the first day we touch the Bermuda, a curse inflicts us. God help us!


    Entrant 3 - TheTrueGreek
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    THE FIRST BURMUDA DISSAPEARANCE.
    That monster? what is that? asked George, a stocky man who was in dismay.

    That, That is what some would call, Godzilla in Japan, Kracken in Greece, and your mum in Ireland. replied Captain James.

    Its headed right for us though, shouldn't we change course?

    No, for i intend to kill this monster, bring it to her majesty, and become a better version of Sir Drake, who knows, they might even make a film after my deeds.

    Grabbing his trusty harpoon, James thrusted it at the beast, only for it to bounce off.

    He grabbed another one, and it bounced off.

    The monster had not moved one inch.

    Another, and another bounces off.

    By this time, they have come almost next to it, and only then do they realize what it really is. Only the sound of the movement of stones foretold their doom, John would never be knighted and George would never become a captain of his own ship. Their screams would not be heard, their blood never seen. All that remained was the monster, Godzilla to some, Kracken to others, death to all.

    Patrol ship Yorkshire was never heard from again, although they say that the land was once belonging to a race that had dissapeared long ago, into the sea.


    Entrant 4 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Bitter Pill


    He was sleepy and sluggish from his quiet time drifting in the still darkness. Feeling pangs of hunger, he decided to visit the Bright, maybe something tasty might have come along while he was gone. But the Bright wasn't living up to its name today, the light was weak and its familiar thin acidic taste was much stronger than usual.

    Coming closer to the Barrier, he noticed it scintillating with thousands of tiny flickering bursts. Slowly (for he still wasn't fully awake) he began to realise that this might be an interesting day after all. The flickering meant that the Barrier could be passed today, that the horrible searing touch of the Other Side would be reduced to a mere discomfort. Yes, today could be fun!

    For a while he rested near the Barrier, tasting, feeling and listening. Getting used to the bitterness, he began to detect something else, lovely echoes of sweet heavy scents that made his stomach rumble with anticipation.

    Sweeping his head from side to side, he was able to start following the trail of the wonderful taste. After a while, he also heard a low rumbling sound ahead and he redoubled his efforts, thrusting forward with long powerful strokes.

    The sound was loud and the taste so strong he had trouble thinking clearly. Now was the time! He gathered himself and burst through the Barrier. It was agonising, the void pulled at his skin, sucking the life out of it, but the rain caressed him, taking away the worst of the pain.

    Opening his eyes against the pain of the void, he looked down onto his Prize. It was beautiful! Big, crunchy and fresh, its tiny lice still crawling over it, pricking his skin deliciously with their darts.

    Almost overcome with ecstasy, he opened his maw and bit down on the Prize. It was incredible, the mix of flavours improving with every bite.

    But then he came to a hard part. It was hot! Suddenly angry, he bit harder, one bad bit wasn't going to be allowed to spoil his whole meal!

    With strength fuelled by anger, he felt the hardness give way. Exulting in his victory, he never had time to fully notice the explosion that ripped his head from his body.

    Awareness fading, he still welcomed the comfort of the enfolding Deep as he fell back into it with the ship he had destroyed.


    Entrant 6 - Pontifex Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    What the ?

    Charles had roughly four seconds left on this planet. He decided to make the best of it and he released an utterly bone shilling screech. The screech was allowed to last all four seconds before Charles' body was destroyed by the teeth of the creature. Charles was probably the luckiest of all the mariners that night. The other looked up just in time to see the beast choke him down. They were able to witness the way in which they would die as well. Those that could grabbed pikes and began to prod the thing's thick hide. It barely noticed!

    All at once a call to arms went up. Small arms fire mingled with some muskets rang out. It seemed hardly affected by the lead balls hitting it at all. That was, until, the cannon was propped up. The beast had just happily popped another sailor into his mouth when then blast was heard. The ball ripped through the air and hit the thing right on the chin. Green blood trickled from the wound.

    The beast was surprised. He was quite enjoying the easy meal he had found, when suddenly these delicious things he had been eating became rude and threw something at him. This simply won't do, he thought to himself. He snatched up the ones that were responsible for the wound and crushed them in his bare hands. Not very much meat on these, but they were sweet. The beast licked what was left of the mariner off his hand.

    At this point the sailors were livid with fear. Many jumped from the ship.

    After the beast had eaten his fill (for he had discovered 'the brig' and about 50 prisoners), he tore the mast from the ship and used it as a toothpick.



    TotW 32 - Ship Ahoy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Winner - molls
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Driftin'


    The chase was on.

    Only two ships remained on the watery battlefield:
    The Frensh admiral chasing the English admiral.

    The British flagship was badly damaged on it's left hull, after having to swallow too many broadsides.

    On deck, the officers were pondering on how to escape their enemy:

    First Officer: "Captain, we won't outrun the Frensh, they're a tad faster than us... This bugger always stays on our left side, if he catches us there once more, he will tear the whole ship apart!"
    Admiral J.R. Ackbar: "Hm.. a cursed situation. Tell me Officer, how far away are those shallow waters with all those shipwrecks on the ground?"

    The Officer looked puzzled.
    First Officer: "Uh, let me see, eh... We're heading towards them."
    Admiral Ackbar: "Well, so be it. This might be our last chance..."
    First Officer: "Your Orders, Admiral?"
    Admiral Ackbar: "Set full sail towards the shallow waters, leave men up the masts, we may have to loose sail instantly. Get every single cannon we have to our RIGHT broadside."
    First Officer: "Our RIGHT? But the frensh are coming from the LEFT!"

    Admiral Ackbar: "Mate, we gonna be driftin'."
    First Officer (shocked): "Are you serious?"
    Admiral Ackbar: "Very serious, my friend. Give the orders, prepare our second special anchor, which I installed last month with our engineer, Mr. Hazard."

    So the English ship was shooting across the waters full speed, the Fresh closing in on the left behind.
    Minutes later...

    Admiral Ackbar: "Now is the time! Bring down the top sails! Is the special anchor ready?"

    The First Officer tourned white.

    First Officer: "Ah.. At this speed? If we let loose the anchor at this speed, it will tear our whole botttom section apart!"
    Admirial Ackbar: "Don't worry. We reinforced this anchor and it's fixation as good as possible. Make the anchor cannon ready, we're in the shallow waters now!"

    The top sails were brought down - some moments later...

    Admiral Ackbar: "MEN! This is our last hope! Hold on to something, it's going to get tough! FIRE THE ANCHOR ON THE RIGHT BROADSIDE!"

    Crew: "WHAT THE HELL?"

    A modest "boom" was heard, then the special anchor was shot straight down the right broadside, entering the water ~ 15 foot from the right hull of the ship.
    As the shallow waters contained many shipwrecks, Ackbar hoped for the anchor to catch on to something - now!

    A loud "KRRK" was heard, then the ship was shaken brutally as if strangled by surprise ,
    and one could hear the planks screaming in pain!
    The anchor chain was tense - then it happened:

    The English ship, in it's full speed, was literally thrown to the side where the anchor caught on.
    The whole ship bent down to the right, almost scratching the water surface -

    and performed a 180 degree turnaround circle to the right, using the anchor as it's axis,
    the chain and the speed providing the turning moment!

    First Officer: "Holy Crapppp *pukes*...--_"
    Admiral Ackbar: "It WORKS! Loosen the anchor NOW! Yarrrr, you didn't expect that Frenshy? MAKE READY all cannons on the right broadside - For King and Country!"

    And with that 180 degree turnaround, the English flagship was racing towards the Frensh on the right broadside, who were still not believing their eyes and too slow to react.
    The firm right side of the ship made this manouver possible, and now every available cannon was waiting to give the devastating blow to the enemies of England.


    Entrant 1 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Redoubtable

    Redoubtable. The name brought an ironic smile curling to my lips as the deck shifted beneath my feet. That which should be feared. That which should be dreaded. And for years, it had been true.
    I could remember the first day I had seen her, her forest of rigging rising above the harbor of Plymouth. The shrill call of the bo'sun's whistle rang in my memories, as it had on the first day that I had been piped aboard, as the new captain of His Majesty's Ship Redoubtable.
    The French fleet was moving off into the distance now, one of their own sloops going down not more than a biscuit's-toss off our port side.
    Two of our own boats now bobbed in the Atlantic, the rest smashed to flinders by chain shot. The gun decks ran red with blood. The deck shifted even more as I walked forward, forcing me to stagger along at an angle.
    I was alone now. It was my responsibility. To go down with my ship and with the men my mistakes had consigned to their watery grave. I felt a strange calm fill my body as though this was only right. Only fair. Justice, to share their fate.
    A sound, from beneath my feet. Alone?
    Hardly. A furry form shot past me from a hole smashed in the deck, the denizens of the hold streaming to the surface as the Redoubtable's lower decks filled with water.
    Rats. Hundreds of them.
    The rodents flooded to the deck, their panicked squeaks filling the air with an obscene clamor. I reached for the brace of pistols at my sash, remembering the stories.
    “Nothing left of 'im, poor blighter. . .”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The rats—they stripped 'im to the bone in their panic. Right to the bone. . .”
    I backed unsteadily up the gangway to the fo'castle, balancing myself against the rail, my eyes fixed upon the rodents below. Sweat broke forth upon my brow.
    Nothing in all my years at sea had prepared me for this. A carronade broke free from its fastenings, ripping across the deck, leaving rat carcasses in its wake as it lurched toward the other side of the ship.
    It barely dented their numbers, a living tide moving upward as the ship sank further beneath the merciless waves.
    A click as the hammer of my pistol cocked, the other one ready at my hand. The first rodent appeared, his beady eyes flickering left and right, incisors clearly showing beneath a furry lip. Harbinger of things to come.
    The pistol exploded in my hand, fire and smoke billowing from the muzzle.
    Redoubtable no more. . .


    Entrant 2 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Le Capitan

    Marching proudly on his newly acquired vessel, the English captain was very pleased, fifty cannons on each side, two at the front and seven at the back, enough room for one thousand men made this ship a monster of the seas, and it would be soon put to the test, he stood near his steering wheel as his Spanish ally approached;
    "Capitan, we have just received word, pirates are near" He said, struggling with the English, the Captain smiled at him and nodded;
    "Thank you. Get the men to battle stations, and make haste!" The young Spaniard ran below to the decks, preparing the men for combat. The Spaniard and the captain had a special relationship, as the captain stayed at the young Spaniard's house for a short duration of time when he was just a little boy, seeing his parents get killed, did not do well with the Spaniard. The Enligshman adopted him soon enough, and brought him to England, had him attend to the best schools and learn to speak English very quickly, having been in the nobleman's court since he can remember, the Spaniard feels like a son to the captain, and the captain felt like a father, he always laughed when the Spaniard called him "Le Capitan" when he was a little boy... Just seven years ago... But he enlisted yesterday, and the captain, using his royal ties, brought him aboard his ship, proudly.
    After daydreaming about his past for about ten minutes, the Spaniard returned; "Le Capitan! Le Capitan!"
    "Yes?"
    The Spaniard pointed to the horizon, and the man's eyes widened;
    "Signal the alarm! Raise the black flag!" He screamed, and soon enough a black flag was up and flying around near the sails and the British flag, alerting the rest of the ships to a battle; "Emergency procedures!" He screamed again, as the men dropped the anchor, and he using the wheel to swurve right, to meet the pirates, broadside to broadside; "FIRE!" The captain yelled, a few men repeated, and soon enough, 28 cannons, 1 from the front, 2 from the back and 25 from the broadside, pierced the puny pirate ship, destroying it, the rest of the British fleet came close, and sailed right past them, defending the flagship from the rest of the pirates... This battle was already lost, seven pirate ships against three English? They stood no chance.
    "LE CAPITAN!"
    "WHAT!?"
    "A second ship!" The Spaniard yelled, as a second ship broadsided their front, the Captain screamed;
    "BRACE FOR IMPACT!" The booming sounds of relatively distant cannons were heard, and the ship was pierced, the Captain could feel a cannonball flying right above him, as he ducked for cover. "Go! Go! Get the men ready again!" He yelled at the young Spaniard, as another ship broadisded their back. He swurved again, this time... Too slowly, both ships opened fire and the little Spaniard, who was running down the stairs, was no more, the entire deck exploded in a firey blaze, and the Captain fell to the sea...
    Hearing the distant sounds of firing above him, he looked up, he saw his ship still fighting... However it was toppling over, and it took a pirate ship with it, broadside to broadside, it won, but it had no chance against what was now three ships... The other two British ships were long gone, and seeing the flagship topple down, was a blow too hard to bare... He looked up again, and a cannon from the pirate ship shot... Darkness enrouded the captain...


    Entrant 3 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    This is my homeland... and I will do anything to keep you from it

    Mouret spat blood on the rough, salt-coated oak deck. The air was choking, a mix of suphurous smoke from the cannons, pistols and muskets being fired. It filtered down from the decks above to mingle with the foul, cloying, sour air of the gun decks below. Slanting rays of definite light shone through the grilles from the world outside.

    Mouret wiped a dirt-stained, powder blackened forearm across his mouth, and a tooth fell loose and fell inaudibly to the floor amidst the chaos that reigned supreme around. It was the king and this was it's realm. Mouret pushed with all his strength against the four-pounder cannon that had smashed against his face when it fired, the chains not quite retaining the vicious recoil as the gun screamed in protest, hurling it's unwelcome load towards the British ship only 40 yards away in the blinding fog.

    He almost fell over a powder monkey as a roundshot ripped through a partition 10 feet to his right. He dived out of the way as a musket ball caught the throat of the corporal on his gun. He looked up and peered into the violent wreckage, eventually finding the stricken leader inside. He was stone dead, with half his torso ripped out by the .50 lead ball.
    "DELACOR! THOSE NELSON-LEAD B ******* HAVE TAKEN OUT MOREAU!" He ran over, and swerving to avoid a cannon that had broken free and was now rolling along the deck, a behemoth destroying everything in it's way.

    A blue-jacketed marine tumbled down the gaping scar torn in the sky that was the deck above ."BOARDERS! THE ENEMY ARE PREPARING TO BOARD...Arrr..." He tripped and then lay trembling and twitching as a bullet tore through the wooden hull and buried itself deep within his chest, seeking out the centre of his life and killing it.

    Mouret leapt with inhuman flight as the French frigate started to list heavily. Mouret stumbled, drawing his marine's sword as English voices could be heard shouting orders. He pulled free his pistols and fired one, then the other into the fog in front of them. The ship was now sinking fast, and the English musket volleys saw to any survivors.


    The English triumphed... Mouret cursed the demons and cursed himself... the water filled his dying self...

    Last edited by wowbanger; July 11, 2011 at 12:21 PM. Reason: Added TotW 32



    "Some writers never know what's to be written until they see it on the page...." Some words of wisdom from my good friend, Mega Tortas de Bodemloze

  9. #9
    Boustrophedon's Avatar Grote Smurf
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Oct 2010
    Location
    Rome, Italy
    Posts
    3,158

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 33 - Bards share your story
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "The Call"

    The soldier opens the sealed letter as requested On the eve of battle….

    Niko…..

    So many years ago you took me from my family and made me your own. Slave that I am, I have bore your seven children and raised them to Manhood and Nobility. I have hated & despised you but ironically now poses everything that you own. Your lands & titles, mine thru soldier’s last will and decree and long since had you given the rule of your Kingdom over to me…..

    On the eve of your greatest battle and triumph I have one simple request…Return now to me and share with me the few remaining weeks of my life. You destroyed my world when I was in the full bloom of youth and vigor. Twice your age and then some but still the fairest of the land. Now Viking is the time that I claim your life and ruin you the way you destroyed me…Return to me these last few weeks I have left so that I may have peace & contentment in my life…There will be other battles though not like this one. The Conquest of Britain shall pass to someone else….

    Enraged by the gall and audacity of such a request the warrior howls with rage and fury….Alarmed by the call his bodyguard scrambles to his aid. Seeing their frenetic approach he raises a hand to stem the tide. Lowering his arm the Viking inclines his head toward the ground and admits his most humiliating defeat…

    He has been summoned by his true Master and cannot but answer "The Call".

    ENTRANT 1 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Dragons


    "From the cold lands up north they came,
    Hardened men with no fear.
    Worshippers of the old gods, feared by men and demons,
    Watch out, they have landed on our shores."

    Egil pulled hard on the oar. It ploughed through the water, tossing it with contempt as the longship surged forwards. The water boiled in it's eddies as the Norsemen sailed around the crest of the peninsula - the dragon's back.

    As the shore grew larger and larger on the horizon, the anticipation of the raiding party swelled, swelled till it was far greater than any of them. Egil looked outwards between the row of shields lining the gunwale, and through the pure beams of brightest sunlight, he saw the white sand that made the Briton beaches glisten under the sea.

    The men raised the oars as the ship cruised in, riding the wind on the magnificent square sail, embroidered with a dragon's head. Egil leapt to the front of the boat and turned to Sauro standing beside him. He held up a small leather bag, with an encouraging ringing noise emitting from the precious pieces inside. "This bag of hack silver says i'll lay the first hand on Briton." Sauro grinned and shook his hand. "A deal - but you might as well hand over that bag now." Egil laughed and focused on the shore.

    Egil discretely took a lump of rag stuffed with straw from his sack. He threw it with all his might and it landed on the shore. Sauro stared then laughed. "I MEANT a real hand - but well thought out." He shook hands and Egil kept his silver.

    Sauro busied himself with the rest of the men, scuttling to and fro hauling crates of supplies and tents out of the boats. It was a beautiful day, and even though the summer sun was watery as usual in Briton, these Scandinavians were treating it as a good omen - that Frey had blessed their voyage.

    Egil ran to a small grove that he saw on the hill. The wild flowers grew all around, determinedly pushing through the sandy soil. Egil, the Aryan Noble of this raiding party from the Norse lands surveyed the beautiful land that they would pillage as the clouds drew over the fleeting sun. He turned and looked back at the fantastic mass of moving men. He watched as the first rock flew, soundless and unforeseen, and landed on the Viking ships. Seconds later the whole beach was swallowed by the rocks and the arrows...





    ENTRANT 2 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Beach-head

    "It's been a week now, Gorlach, a week!"
    "I know, I know... We'll set out soon enough" I replied to my annoyed friend, yelling at me because our 'trip' was delayed, again. "Suit up, Landor, this might not be a drill" I said, calming him down and smiling. It was a vigorous week, a week of training and fighting dummies, shooting at the target with our javelins and bows, deflecting attacks by our fellows in the same old move... The routine drove us mad. The preparation was taking too long, something had to be wrong, however, as a lowly sergeant, expressing my concerns in public was out of the question, lest a Danish nobleman finds out and beheads me...

    Soon enough, after all the men in my platoon suited up, my friend Landor ran up to me, smiling, sprinting and his armor clacking; "It's not a drill! It's not a drill!" He screamed as he ran through the lines of our platoon, soon after he went out of my eyesight, I could see a sea of smiles, and I joined it, and people started laughing, this was the real deal, the Saxon enemy at the shores of England will never see this coming.

    The seas were stormy and the rain was unrelenting, this night was a poor night for us, horrible weather for our first day of sailing, but the men sang as they kept the Dragonboat at top form, they sang as they kept the sail in place, and not a single frown was seen, everyone were smiling, after this kind of week, everyone would be smiling. I found myself smiling and singing as well, while steering the ship behind our allies, and I could hear singing coming from the ships near us too, soon enough, all the men in my ship rounded up together and yelled at the ship parallel to us, in the 4 column formation, we were in the leftmost column;
    "Nana-na-na-na-nana!", I could hear the ship replying, same rythm and tone;
    "The Saxon kiiiing's gonna da!" Yelled the men, half laughing as they twisted the word "Die" into "Da", and the ship replied... This continued throughout the night...

    Sailing... And sailing... Two days have passed and finally the beach was in sight, my platoon was the beach head, honorable duty indeed, I jumped out of the ship the minute it touched shore and ran to the hill... Only to stop halfway... The Saxon king and his army, waiting for us, at the top of the hill... I gasped...

    ENTRANT 3 - Baron Vlad Felix
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Arrival

    "My eyes can see her at last,
    The mother of mighty men,
    The field of famous fights.
    In the sky above I see
    Fair Asgard's shining roofs,
    The flying hair of Thor,
    The wings of Odin's birds,
    The road that heroes tread.
    I am now here in the land of the gods,
    The land of mighty men."

    After a turbulent night,this morning waves caress the shore. The king has arrived!
    Boats are gentle swinging on the water with tired but excited crew. They arrived in a new world, and perhaps for the first time step foot in this sand.
    With unrest in their hearts,their tend views explored the environment. Landscape takes the breath away ... The beauty of Earth surrounds these courageous people. In the contrast of fondling wind and strength of their views and hearts you can almoust fell the smell of new discoveries.
    The mist lurks strange silence ... and then how vagueness disappears the first signs of life are arise in..
    One gull was flying over the prominent flag, inegrating his graciously skein whit a cry of freedom ... And then the king spoke!Kneeling he took the sand in his exploited fist,turned to his warriors and said:

    -My children and heroes of the northern sea .. this is for us the beginning of conquering the unknown.Our gods will lead on and give us strength to tame this land and its spirit.We will break the wings of the dragon, for he who sleeps in our hearts is much stronger!,We will shed without fear our blood and we will satisfy the thirst of our ancestors!....My heroes, let the sound of the horn hear now!

    Seagulls get silent, their clamor was outloud by the sound of those who march on their shores ... Their cry of freedom may have been muted forever!
    In the distance now you can hear the echo of drums, horns and hissing steps of brave sons!

    Mirela

    ENTRANT 4 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I sense Art inside me.....

    I see a bird in the background
    I see a shield on the ground
    A mountain a landscape I take
    A clear sky with the color of blue
    I see the portrait of a Viking
    I see the ships ready to plunder
    I rest on a garden looking for a picture to paint
    I sense many a sprint
    Imagination starts coming to my mind

    There comes one man
    Unknown to bend in darkness
    The rustles of the tree
    The whispers of the wind
    The fly of the dust
    Imagination comes again to my mind

    The drums of war have sounded
    Chaotic storms strikes the ground
    The Flash of Lightning blinds the eye
    I sense the anger of Thor inside me
    More imagination comes to my mind

    It is finally time for myself to draw
    Imagination is finally clear to me
    The gardens are a fine landscape for me
    I see one man that seems to stand
    In front of me he stands still
    Like a hero he bravely holds his ground

    And all of a sudden...... I got lost inside my own poem. I am now more concentrating in what I call Art. It appears Art is a more suitable occupation for me. Perhaps I would stop being a poet and hail myself as a painter. It is all I can draw. But wait, I am incredibly proud of my work.... Maybe I am really talented in drawing? Or perhaps this was just a blind luck?

    ENTRANT 5 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Going for a Song

    The blond warrior pushed his way past two men from another longship, saying nothing,
    his attention focussed entirely on the slope above the shore.

    “Don't…” one of the men warned his comrade. “That's Knut the Merciless, he'll kill
    anyone who gets in his way. See that bird on his shield? That's the Raven of Rheged, he
    took that shield in the Great Raid last year when he killed Riwallawn, son of King Urien
    and four of his retainers with the very same axe he carries now”. Averting their eyes, the
    two men sought employment elsewhere.

    The arrival of the Danes had not been as much of a surprise as they had hoped. Saxon
    archers had already begun firing on them from a stand of trees further up the slope. The
    twang of bowstrings was accompanied by an odd bird call, unfamiliar to the Danes below.
    Knut tensed at the sound, and without any warning began trotting up the slope.

    The other Danes watched what promised to be Knut's latest berserker exploit with
    admiration. A small group from Dubh Linn even started laying bets on how far he would
    get before he was brought down. But Knut broke into a strange loping run, ducking and
    weaving while warding off the arrows with surprisingly deft movements of his huge
    shield, and the Saxons were unable to hit him.

    As he plunged into the copse, Knut's great axe could be seen to swing: Once; Twice;
    Thrice, and three Saxons lay dead, cleaved into bloody portions. Several others ran for
    their lives and cheers rose up from the beach (except for a few disappointed punters from
    Dubh Linn).

    Stepping over the bodies, Knut looked intently up at a nearby tree. Appearing to come to a
    decision, he swung his great axe once more and a bough came crashing down, a startled
    bird in mid-cry still perched upon it. A quick cast of Knut's net and the bird was caught.

    When Knut came sauntering back down to the beach, his comrades could see that the bird
    with the strange call was now confined within a small wooden cage affixed to his belt.
    Knut's face cracked into a broad grin and he addressed the men of his Keel.

    “My work here is done, do you fancy a trip to Vinland? I hear there is a gigantic Puffin
    there that walks like a Saxon!”

    ENTRANT 6 - Bongfu
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Sons of Odin
    Oskar's leather hide boots splashed against the salty wake on the sandy shore of his home. He was home again, he could smell it in the salt scented air mixed with the pines of the dense forest that covered the land. He brought his warriors with him from Vinland, to heed the call against Kristjan usurpers in his land. Armies from the South now marched freely in his father's kingdom, unchecked by the battered thanes that can no longer stem the tide of the invasion.

    Oskar stood watching the horizon as the other warriors unloaded supplies from their ships. Dark clouds of Thor's beard lumbered from the east in their direction. A winter storm was coming, Oskar could feel it in his bones. It is as if the door to Frostheim had opened to Midgard. The wind howled through the trees as dusk fell. The wolves did not howl this night, for they knew their homage to the gods would be drowned out by the thunder of the coming blizzard.

    By nightfall the storm was in full force. The tents were being savagly ravaged by the wind, some threatened to blow away, taking their occupants with them. The warriors in Oskar's tent huddled around a small fire, telling stories with mead in hand, it was all they could do to put the storm out of mind. Oskar, however, stood at the entrance, staring into the white abyss with an unwavering intensity. Eirikr, Oskar's closest friend, brought him his white wolf cloak.

    "I know you do not fear death, Oskar, but the gods frown upon warriors who come to them frozen." Eirikr laughed as Oskar slipped the cloak around him.

    "Many years ago, when I was just a lad, I saw a storm like this. During my trial into manhood." Oskar turned towards the fire, the light seem to set his eyes ablaze.

    "The same winter you acquired your cloak, I remember it well" his friend put a hand on his shoulder, "Tomorrow, the storm will be over, and we will set out to free this land from the Kristjans. They will know the fury of the Asamen!"

    Oskar's thoughts cut out Eirikr's words, he just stared off into oblivion, thinking back to his passage into manhood.

    That year his home saw a particularly brutal seasonal storm. All night Oskar waded in an endless sea of snow and ice, across the vast wilderness, with spear, and an axe.

    Seeking shelter from the storm he found none, save a small hill that greeted him as a wind break. Racing towards it almost gleefully he praised the gods for granting him this gift. Resting against the hill he heard a deep breath, startled he jumped up, spear ready.

    In a flurry of white powder, a massive form arose from the hill where the wolf had been sleeping. Its ice blue eyes made Oskar freeze as if he was made of water. The pure white wolf snarled showing even whiter, hungry teeth. Oskar threw his spear just as the wolf pounced. The spear missed low and caught only snow, the wolf landed with a direct hit on Oskar, almost burying him in the snow making a most appropriate grave.
    The wolf bit at Oskar’s neck, but he used his now returned strength to grasp the wolf’s gaping jaws. Using everything he had, he held the wolf at bay. It seemed the push a war went on for hours, as the wolf drew closer, Oskar pushed back. Finally the wolf pulled up, yanking Oskar to his feet. The wolf lunged forward, Oskar dodged to the right narrowly avoiding his stomach becoming dinner. He raised his axe high above his head, ready for the next move by the hunter.

    It came with blinding speed, pushing into Oskar with unimaginable force. As more reaction to the blow than intention by Oskar, his axe flung forward and sank into the left shoulder of the beast. A piercing howl brought Oskar back to his sense, he raised one hand to the wolf’s throat, and with the other fiercely punched the left cheek bone. Hearing bone cracking, Oskar grinned as best he could with his frost covered face.

    The wolf dropped to the ground, stunned by Oskar’s crippling blow. Oskar retrieved the spear, creeping carefully back towards the lame wolf. Again the wolf tried to arise, to honorably face death. That is when Oskar caught its stare, the stare of a life accepting death. It knew its time was over, and it still struggled to fight on. It reminded Oskar of what his father had told him, right before he went off to join the King in the battle where he was killed.

    He had put both hands over my tiny shoulders and crouched down to look me straight in the eye, “Do not cry my child, we all must do our duty to our kin. It is what makes our kin the strongest of all. Only in death does this duty end.”

    The wolf laid panting, not struggling any longer. He raised his spear as high as his young arms could muster, high above the wolf’s battle scared head. Words almost lost to him now returned, “Your duty ends, warrior.” Oskar plunged the spear into the ear of the beaten foe. No more did the wolf howl.

    ENTRANT 7 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Conqueror

    A new land. Scouts had come back to the longships that morning bearing bunches of grapes big as a man's head. A fertile land, in contrast to the snowy colonies on Grenland.
    Warm breeze flowed across the hills to the shore, rustling the tall grass as the man walked inland. His axe in one hand, a shield in the other, its boss covered with the black symbol of the raven. He paused on the top of the hill, gazing into the interior of the country. Island or continent, he knew not. The land stretched on forever into the misty-white of the horizon, as far as his eyes could see. Land covered with trees, mighty and noble.
    Clouds moved over his head, low and threatening, as though warning of a change, a break in the tranquility that seemed to envelop this land. He took off his helmet, shaking out his long blond hair into the wind. He stood there a moment, a majestic lion-like figure. He was a big man, his form enveloped with a cuirass of mail. A backward glance to the ships, still unloading on the beach. His was the form of a conqueror.
    The wind shifted abruptly, tousling the golden mane back around his face. Movement in the bushes to his right and he shifts, a fleeting glimpse of a dusky countenance before an arrow glances off the mail. Time slows down, his hand flying to the sword at his waist. The sun glances off the polished blade, magic runes inscribed along the gleaming metal.
    Another arrow flies from the covert—and this time finds its mark, a plume of blood spurting from the throat of the Norseman. Eyes glazing over, his knees give way, crumpling to the earth. His head pillowed against the tall grass, his sword falling unused at his side. The conqueror destroyed. . .

    TotW 34
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Ratbag
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    “Betrayal”

    “What have I done?” As I stood there with the moonlight shining upon my face, it was all I could think about…
    “What had I done, my old friend?!”. But he left me no chose, such an act of betrayal could not be allowed…
    He became an enemy of the Empire, and all enemy’s of the Empire must die.

    Just an hour earlier I had come home and my wife said to me. “Allesandro came by about an hour ago, he seemed nervous.”
    “What did he want?” I replied
    It seemed weird to me that he would come by now, in 2 hours we would have to stand guard together before the palace.
    “He asked if you could go by his house as soon as you got home, it sounded urgent” she said with a worried look in her eyes.
    I left without saying anything else, there must be something wrong I though.

    When I arrived at Allesandro’s house, I saw him standing in front of his house talking to one of the other guards that would have to work at the palace tonight.
    “So tonight we’ll do it?” I heard the other man say.
    “Yes, tonight is the night of our freedom Allesandro replied.
    When they saw me arriving they said goodbye.

    “What is going on my friend?” I asked wondering what that was all about.
    “Jan I’m glad that you are here, there are things we must discuss” He said mysteriously.
    “Tonight we will be liberated from our Tiran ruler”.
    I looked upon the face of my friend, how could he say this. Our glorious leader Caesar had led us to many victories and made the Empire greater than ever before, how could he say this?
    Before I could say something he continued his tirade.
    “His campaigning against those savages, the Belgians has claimed to many of our mans life’s. His rule over this land must end! Tonight all the guards will kill him during his sleep.
    There is nothing that can stop us now my friend, join us please? For the future of our beloved Emp…”.
    Before he could finish his wretched preach, I silenced him with the tip of my sword.

    And so I stood here bathing in the moonlight, looking upon the dead body of my old friend. Why did he have to do this, betraying the Empire…
    I will miss him but there was no other solution. Now I must hurry to the palace and stop this conspiracy. I’m just hoping that it won’t be too late.


    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 




    "Cunning..."

    I entered the city, walking swiftly amongst the crowds of traders, nomads and travelers of mid-day, squeezing through and passing a few guards, making sure they don't look at my face, I paced fast and my greaves made such an annoying clacking noise against the pebble... However, as soon as people heard that they quickly made room, thinking I was a soldier.
    I turned to an alleyway from the main street, happy to get away from all those noise and yelling of mid-day, however I made it into an even noisier place, the market. People yelling prices, laughing, guards in the dozens walking around, I quickly made for a new alleyway, and entered the designated house.
    The door squeaked as I entered the house, up, up the stairs, the stone stairs stood firm against my weight, and as I finally reached his room, he greeted me; "I see you had a hard time getting here" He said with a slimy smile.
    "It was fine. Too many guards"
    "Yes, I figured. Now... Straight to business?"
    "No. First get me something to eat and drink, it was a long day" I said, I know it was rude, but I enjoyed doing that to the fat senator.
    "Oh yes, yes of course!" He said, with his annoying smile.
    The servants quickly brought me some food and water, I ate swiftly, smelling the food before eating it, for any traces of toxins.
    "So, you called me here for a reason, fa--... Senator... Speak." I said again, rudely, and loved it.
    "Yes yes. The target is Julius Gregarius, a member of the senate. He'll be protected by two guards, at least, and tonight he'll be returning from his usual brothel back home to his wife. Make sure his wife will never see him again" He said, seriously this time.
    "Money" I quickly said, the slimey senator might just try and cheat me out of paying.
    "Oh yes yes" He threw a pouch filled with coins in front of me onto the table. "You'll get the rest when you're done." He said.
    "Make sure it's ready"
    "Make sure no one traces you back to me" He said, this time in more of a threat, I looked around to make sure there are no guards;
    "Talk to me like that again, and you'll be the target", The fat man squirmed and looked at me with utter fear;
    "Yes yes, of course! Sorry"
    "Shut up you pathetic fat man..." I whispered to myself as I left the room, the fat man still had my money.


    Just as expected, the senator left his brothel with two guards, one of the guards made a turn to his home, apparently, as I was trailing them, and I figured this was my time to act, I sprinted and drew out my knife, jabbing it into the soldier's back and cut all the way down, he dropped to the floor and I jabbed the knife again onto his chest, he tried to get it out with his shield-hand, he failed and died. I grabbed his sword and turned on the senator... He was doomed, and he said; "Cunning..." The last word he said made a real impact on me, first time I've actually killed a man of this importance... And he knew who sent me...



    ENTRANT 2 - Baron Vlad Felix
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    MOONLIGHT

    What hatred can do from to a person!I stood over his dead body in a dark street and I realized that he is not guilty!
    My hands are enlightened whit moonlight ... my hands are bloody.
    My conscience awakes in a dark street, and in me gloom is spreading.
    I remained alone with the dead traitor.
    In the quiet blindly street, I hear the blood slowly confluence from my fingers.The moment would be almost perfect If it ain`t for this damned moolight.It made the body and the blood to seem so real.
    This spiritual knowledge and brutal sense of his innocence is kill me...but I am too coward to take my life.Is easier to kill other!
    I will light down my life in her hands .... on her breasts...and let her to decide!
    I turned my head to the other side and went to her.
    I stalled in front of her door and start knocking.She opened almost in the same moment.

    Did she suspect something?

    She seemed almost unreal on the damned moonlight .She looked me and then I realized that she knows!Any word would be to much,we just watched ourselves and than I spear the pain....

    On the moonlight the last thing I seen were her bloody hands!!!

    I only managed to say:"YOU LOVE US BOTH,FORGIVE ME MOTHER!"

    Mirela

    ENTRANT 3 - Ozy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Titles are lame .

    “Flavius!”
    The man ignores the call, passing the stores at his left with a steady pace.
    “Flavius!” the other yells again, but the man does not stop, and continues to walk over the pebbles on the street.
    “You cannot do this!” yells the follower, “to leave is not an option!”
    “Is it not?!”, replies the other, “Rome is ruled by a mad man, and you want me to stay and participate?! I will not fight anymore, not for Him!”
    His steps are long and fast, as fast as he could go without running, moving closer to the temple of Ceres. The other runs ahead of him, stands in his way, and raises his hand.
    “As a centurion of Rome, I demand that you stop this!”
    “Or what, centurion? What will you do?!”, the walker responds, mocking him.
    “Think of your family, of your life. If anyone finds out you will be killed!”
    “So be it! I will not fight more battles against Roman soldiers, or siege Roman cities! That Monster can do that by himself!”
    “He will bring peace to Rome!”
    “No he won’t! He is a murderer, and I shall no longer do his dirty work!” he points his finger towards the man, “Now move away from my path, Caius!”
    “I will not let you do this!” says the chaser, and draws his sword. Its cold blade pointed to the deserter, aiming to his face. The man’s arm shakes with the sword, the sun makes it glare. He hesitates. The walker begins to laugh hysterically, breaking the silence.
    “You will kill me? You will kill me for deserting your Emperor's army?”
    “I will not let you leave, Flavius.”
    The man stops laughing and looks at the other’s eyes.
    “Then you will have to kill me, friend, because I won’t stop. What’s another dead Roman for His cause, right?”
    The walker moves closer to the chaser, and the sword’s moved away by it’s master. The first man pushes the other, the other stops the first, the sword in the middle. A slashing, sharp, sound makes them stop; blood can be heard dripping on the street. One of them falls to the ground, defeated. The survivor hold’s the sword, looking down at his friend.
    Looking up, he sees the Curia, lying ahead. The sun glows behind it, giving the building a crimson aura that paints the city in red.
    The blood on the floor begins to run through the pebbles.
    “What’s another dead Roman…”


    ENTRANT 4 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Vengeance

    Marcus Aurelius.... you disgust me by your sights alone. I should be the one who has my position raised, not you! So now I am a lone man and an outcast to Rome and you can lavishly enjoy the life of a Roman Legionnary! I can't believe what you have done to me after all I have done to you. But when? When is not a question. As I will kill sooner or later...

    I have found my plan, I will dress myself as a town watch, you will see the day you die soon, it is INEVITABLE! By nightfall I will kill you and have your soul eaten alive! That is a promise I SWEAR to you! Vengeance is near...

    Nightfall, I crept into the town slowly, avoiding every security while addressing myself as a member of the security. Rome is quiet tonight... perhaps it is the sign that one soul would flee this town.... either myself or you, Marcus. Too quiet, as if there is no life at all in this supposed to be bustling town. I cannot believe it, even in nighttime, there should be some people around other than the security!

    Near the market I see him, walking cowardly as slow as a snail! There I have found him, he will die soon!

    "Marcus, do you remember me?"
    "Who are you?"

    I grabbed his coat, hidden deep within his armor. And is about to crush him.

    "I am sure you know who you have betrayed, Marcus."
    "You??? Lucius Julius?? No, it's not the way I want it to happen!"
    "Silence! Marcus, now..... you will die!"

    I drawn my sword out, somehow. My hand cannot stop me from smashing him. Soon after, he dies. I cannot believe that I did this by my own hand, I took an arrow from his pocket and put it beneath his neck. His blood was splattering everywhere. That gone everywhere enough to stain my hand and sword, enough for my shadow to be seen. And enough for my face to be the last he sees.......

    ENTRANT 5 - Terantor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Let's give it a try. Sorry for my bad english.

    Everywhere in this once big city, blood covered the ground.
    Most of the soldiers of my cohort were fallen in the battle against the barbarian scum that raped our wives and enslaved our child children. But I...I fled during the battle and hid in the sewers of the town. And now...now my family is dead...my House is burnt down to the ground...and I; I am still alive because i was such a coward.

    I walked through the streets, aware of the barbarians, but it seemed, as if they had already left the town. Sometimes, the blood stood as high as my knuckles, and it was almost impossible not to step on dead bodies. They covered the streets, the buildings and even the entrances of the imperial palaces. It seems, the Praetorians fought bravely to the bitter end.

    I continued to wander through the corpuses of the Barbarians and Romans until I came to a street, where only a few dead bodies laid. Next to him I kneed down and saw, that his arm was cut off. I looked into his face and realized that it was my former best friend Spurius Antonius. Some Warm Tears rolled down my cheek, so I stood up and turned my face away, but a sea of blood reflected my face. I couldn’t bore it any longer! My life didn’t make any sense anymore. I turned around and picked up my friend’s sword. Holding it with one hand, the last thing I saw was, how the clouds hid the sun.

    ENTRANT 6 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Son of Mars

    It had taken me hours to find him, picking my way back through the carnage littering the city streets to the place where I had seen him fall.
    The cobblestones run red with blood, reflecting the setting rays of the sun, horrible reminder of the slaughter of the day.
    I look down into the face of my friend, the distended form splayed across the street, his scutum across his chest, his sword lying not far from his lifeless fingers. He lies there, his head tilted to one side, his cheek pressed against the cobblestones, a look of peace in his eyes.
    The spirit has long since departed from this son of Mars.
    His lips are slightly parted, as though he went to his death smiling upon his enemies. A game. That is all it ever was to him. I could read our battles in the scars upon his handsome face. Battles in a full a score of taverns from here to the Via Appia. Battles upon a dozen battlefields from Hispania to Judaea. That it had ended here.
    Our friendship had been forged in those battles, in our laughter at the odds, in the brotherhood of death. Death which had now claimed one of our number—the choicest warrior of them all.
    I knelt reverently by his side, laying my naked sword to the pavement. His body was cold, already stiffening with death. I reached beneath his tunic—his money pouch was already gone.
    The same barbarians that had killed him had robbed him of his earthly treasure. I sighed, looking into his face, pale and scarred with death, but still bearing that same handsome grin that had beguiled the hearts of so many fair maidens in Rome. Son of Mars, perhaps, but liege of Venus.
    I undid my tunic and pulled a bronze coin from my own pouch. Leaning forward, my fingers pried open his mouth, placing the coin underneath his tongue. “There, my old friend,” I whispered, clasping his hand in my own. “When you reach the river, Charon will not deny you. Give the ferryman my regards. . .”

    ENTRANT 7 - Elendil of Numenor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Flames of Insanity

    “Guards!” rang the cry. Footsteps echoed through the abandoned streets as Silanus ran with all his might to the place the voice was heard from. There was a muffled yelp and a sickening thud, just before he reached the sight. Silanus gasped. A huge pool of blood washed the ancient stones of the road. It shined in an eerie red colour, reflecting the fiery sky and the grisly scene. As the sun went down, a rusty lantern lit the sight. A few paces from the pool lay the body of a Roman. A soldier, a Guard of the City.
    His face was white with horror, eyes wide with fear. Blood oozed from his throat, where a deadly arrow pierced it. His scutum lay upon him.
    Silanus bent down to the soldier, when suddenly about half a dozen men burst out of the Palace in front of him. That 'Palace' belonged to a lord called Marcianus, who acted as the haughty, unchallenged ruler of the district. He considered everything in the area his property. This man strode before his guards, who were not legionaries, but well trained and unique personal attendants of Marcianus.
    “What has happened here?” Marcianus asked icily. “It looks like a murder to me...”
    “Sir, I have found this man here seconds ago.” Silanus protested “I heard his cry for help, so I hurried here.”
    Marcianus hissed.
    “Well?” he yelled at his men. “Grab him!”
    “Wait! How could I have murdered him? He was killed by an arrow! Do I have a bow with me?”
    One of the guards sprang forward. Silanus backed down, slipped on one of the stones, and fell on his back, his hand sinking into the pool of blood. It felt as if he plunged his hand into ice.
    “It's cold!” he exclaimed. “The body is still warm – this isn't -”
    “GRAB HIM!” Marcianus shouted, as Silanus began shrieking in pain.
    Three men took him by the arms and led him away. One of the guards hesitated, stayed back. He stepped to the dead body and examined the arrow.
    “Hmmm,” he thought. “To strike him like this it had to come from somewhere ahead and above.” He looked up. The first thing he spotted was an open window on the far side of the road. Dark curtains rustled in the wind, shadowing the opening – which, he noticed, belonged to the Palace. “This just doesn't make sense.”
    Suddenly a group of guards dashed to the scene. They inquired what happened, and Marcianus bellowed:
    “A man murdered a soldier. He must be put to the sword now!”
    “He must be brought before the courts!” said the leader of the company. “How can you be sure he was the killer?”
    “He was here! Look at all the blood!”
    The man stepped to the pool and looked at the liquid. His eyes narrowed as he dipped his sword in it. It trickled down queerly; he stood up.
    “This” he said “isn't blood.” He looked to where the substance led. It flowed to the middle of the road from a house. The trail disappeared under an old oaken door. He signaled to his men.
    They broke in, entering a damp, dingy, circular room. The walls were soaked with the liquid. Not far from the door lay the corpse of a ruined man, his fingers reaching for some kind of cauldron, which rolled to the door of the room, and still dribbled scarlet fluid. The man was burnt, and where his face was not covered with the liquid, terror and agony stoned it. It seemed like an accident, the cauldron was probably too hot.
    “Poison!” the soldiers gasped.
    “It would have looked well in my goblet, eh, Marcianus?” said a new, deep and heavy voice.
    Everyone whirled around. The soldiers stood in the back of the room, cornered by Marcianus and his guards. But outside the doorway stood a kingly figure. He wore a cloak, but even under the hood, the eyes could not be mistaken. Marcianus smirked, yellow teeth visible.
    “Emperor.”
    “A pity your slaves don't even know how to handle a cauldron of acid. Put down your weapons, and your death might be less...” he glanced at the corpse in the room “painful.”
    Marcianus laughed.
    “They are right. You truly are mad, Emperor. You come here alone to arrest me?” his eyes flashed with evil. “I will be Emperor by tomorrow, and you: dead.” He turned to his servants. “Kill him. Now.” He gazed at his opponent with a sneer.
    “Aaaargh!!” His eyes widened with horror when he suddenly saw the tip of a sword protrude from his chest. He looked back. His own guards fell on him, stabbing wherever they could, until Marcianus's blood washed his writhing body on the floor. The Emperor watched them wearily, and when they faced him, he just whispered.
    “Thank you.”
    “It was our duty.” They answered loyally. The Emperor did not pay attention to them, and hooked the old lantern off the wall. The fire danced in his eyes, giving him a sinister aura. A wicked smile crossed his face as his lips moved.
    “I'm very sorry.” He cackled as the lantern was flung in, landing with a loud crash in the middle of the room. The glass broke, the flames touched the acidic liquid on the floor. The explosion shook the street, sent debris many feet into the air.

    The Emperor has long left the fiery scene behind, watching Rome burn from his Palace window. The flames went up from house to house, enveloping every street, every district in a deadly golden glow.
    Nero answered the anxious questions with a mock sigh.
    “Ahh, the Christians will have to pay for this...”


    TotW 35 - The camp fire
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    You Old Coot...
    Standing atop his house's balcony, an old man, leaning on the ledge looked down to the busy street, seeing people running around to their daily affairs, the noisy, new cars drove quickly and he smiled, he knew that because of him, only thanks to him these people were allowed to live, only thanks to him these people now run around and head to their daily affairs, he was still dazzled by the cars... He never knew how they worked, but what saddened him is that people told him, many times, how they work... But he kept forgetting, the fragile old man looked down his balcony and grinned as he saw his son with his grandson approaching, they finally came!

    "Hi, dad" Said the young man and shook his father's hand
    "Hi grandpa" Said the younger boy and hugged him, the old man was on the verge of tears, his moment of nostalgia has been interrupted by the future, as glad as he was, he was still on the verge of tears.
    "Come in! Come in!" Said the hearty old man, and smiled, the two gladly went inside, to the warm house, the lying sun was very perky and strong, but the weather was cold... Too cold...
    As the two sat at the living room, with the view outside the balcony, the hearty old man brought sliced fruit and vegetables, which he prepared in advance.
    "So, James, my son, how are you?" Asked the old man, willing to enjoy every second of his son;
    "I'm fine dad, work's great... Thanks dad... How about you?" Asked the man, while forcing a smile on his face.
    "Lonely... Very lonely" Said the old man, again with tears in his eyes, he did not realize that his son did not appreciate his father complaining
    "I know, dad, what about your friends? Wher--"
    "I don't want anything to do with them! They're pieces of crap!" Yelled the old man, and James, his son, was very surprised, covered up his son's ears;
    "Dad! Mind your language, this is my son here, you know, I don't want him to learn bad words yet" Said James, annoyed
    "I'm sorry... You can remove your hands from his ears now... I have a story in mind" Said the hearty old man again, and James removed his hands, "So, Dilon my boy, would you like to hear a story?"
    The young boy nodded; "Good! Do you see that painting on the wall?" The boy looked and nodded, obviously not much of a talker, "Well, I'm the one holding the flag" The old man said, smiling.
    "He's delirious again..." Mumbled James, out of hearing range from the old man, but the truly fascinated Dilon didn't hear his father.
    "You see... It was a bloody battle that, the Confederacy attacked us at full strength! We had to hold on, we stood our ground, tremendously outnumbered, but we had the high ground, we held firm and powerful! They dared not charge any further, but they held their lines also... You see, a bullet grazed my shoulder!" He said, showing a scar, and he was speaking with such enthusiasm, he forgot that young Dilon didn't understand what he was talking about, nor did he know anything about the civil war. "Now, as the battle ensu--"
    "Shut up" James cut him off, "Just shut up. Stop filling his mind with your rubbish. This is exactly why I don't want to visit you, this is exactly the reason no one wants to visit you, you make up stupid stories" The angry James said, making his way to the door with his son, the old man was truly on the verge of crying now, he was truly amazed, he didn't realize what's going on;
    "You old coot... Stop making up lies, you're annoying us all" Said James and trundled off with his son, which obviously didn't want to leave.

    "You old coot..." The hearty old man repeated, and started crying.
    After an hour, the old man woke up, apparently fell asleep after his son left, but he couldn't remember a thing, he just remembered the words; "You old coot!" and he thought he saw a couple fighting in the street, blissfully unaware.


    (This is based on a true story from my life, details were altered, but still based on a true story)

    ENTRANT 1 - Junius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Russia.

    What is Russia?

    A behemoth straddling continents, still to claim it's true glory. That's what they told us it was. Those beardless, mysterious men, fat and old who rode from the plains of the wide flowing Volga. They were looking for young men to fight for Tsar and Empire. In the foothills of the Urals, far from Moscow or Petrograd, what had they done for us? We were the backwater, the people fit only to die for their Emperor. These men, fine figures in their full uniforms, were skilled at buying drinks and saying honeyed words. Over bottles of vodka they inspired us, with mighty stories, to fight alongside tall Finns and war loving Cossacks for the great Tsar, and spread the glory of the Empire, the Northern Bear.

    The next morning, my head full of pain and patriotic jingoism, I was to leave my beloved Perm. Long marches, drilling along the way, I was made into a soldier. We were not skilled, but there were a lot of us, from Perm and beyond. We crossed the mighty Volga, the river who before I had only heard stories of. And like the small streams and humble creeks which cascade together and make that titanic river, men trickled and dribbled, small groups, like ours, from all over the large Empire, met and tumbled, until, what had been a small troop soon became a mighty army.

    Now I was part of an army, with men from the Urals, the Black Sea, the Arctic, Siberia, all coming together, lured by the same promise of glory and battle that had brought me there. Marched to the furthest Western border, I was given my musket and uniform, brilliant green, like the tall trees of the Urals. We were the grand patriotic army of the Tsar himself, summoned from the farthest reaches of his great personal domain, and now we were to fight against the hated Poles, they who would steal our glory, our promise, our history.

    Thousands poured forth from the great Motherland, ready to risk all for her greater glory. We were the soldiers that would be remembered for ages to come, our sacrifice would make it possible for our families to live in peace, and in riches, for centuries to come. The Poles, hateful beggars, were going to be defeated and defeated easily in an epic battle.

    The night beforehand, we drank, we were all Russian. We sang songs from our homeland, the Volgans sang of their river, the Cossacks sang of freedom and of their great steppes. I joined in with my compatriots and sang of the tall Father Urals.

    The morning of battle. We were to fight over a grassy plain, a place which would be remembered for eternity for the great victory we were to win. The porridge tasted bland, my tongue having been blasted by pure Russian vodka. But the bugle sounded, the morning reveille, and I, along with the other Perm boys, assembled on the improvised parade ground. There General Alexei Storonov addressed us.

    'Boys, you see those pig eyed, ugly little shrill voiced men over there? They are your enemy, though they are beneath even that. Remember your glory, the glory of the Motherland, of the Tsar. You fight not from fear, nor do you fight because you have been trained, like a dog, to do so, but because you are Russia, you are imbued with the spirit of the unadulterated passion of our glorious homeland. Now fight, fight like the men, like the Russians you are!'

    And so I stand, musket in hand. Beside me are Cossacks and Finns, Siberians and Georgians. We are all from different places, speak different dialects. We do not know the same songs, yet we are all Russian. What is Russia? What is it to be Russian? It is not a birth place, or a uniform. It is not a language, not even a culture. It is a spirit. To be Russian is to hold on to the ideal that strength comes from not the few, the singular, but from diversity, from the great continent which the Volga waters and gives strength to. So, Russians fight, and Russians win.

    I look to my front. I see the Poles coming, charging.

    I am not scared.

    Neither are those around me. I steady myself, I shoulder my gun. I aim.

    I do not flinch or fear.

    I am not scared.

    I am Russian.

    ENTRANT 2 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    We will meet in the place where there is no darkness…
    The woodland scene was typically pleasant. It was quiet as the grave and little stirred. The summer was maturing and the air was warm and lively… that is, as warm as it gets in Russia. A large, black bear, menacing yet calm for the moment, slowly and majestically padded out of it’s forest dwelling. It sensed something different. It stepped forward to the smooth ground in the centre. A road ran down the centre and the ground trembled slightly as the Prussian Army advanced along a mile wide front. They had just forded the icy Danube, and were advancing towards a sparse, tall wood. The Russians had left them unencumbered… so far.

    The bear looked up, but dismissed the figures approaching from a distance. It pawed the ground and walked to the other side of the clearing. The explosion ripped through the ground, sending up a fiery spray of mud, dirt and maimed pieces of bear. The animal lay there, groaning as it’s remaining blood drained out of it’s mangled armsockets.

    “CURSES!” shouted Vladimir. “That damned beast has set off a mine!” His commander, Patrushev nodded and stood up. “RUSSIANS, MOVE! Form up outside the wood! Regiments in order of line! The drummers beat the rumbling orders as the wood came alive. They hastened to their positions.

    The booming crack ripped across the land and the Prussians stopped dead. The commander saw the wood teeming with Russians. “Artillery! Prepare to fire - long range targets! Shells!” The artillery horses were whipped torturously, straining as the Prussians ran forward to firing positions in front of the wood.

    Vladimir grabbed his musket and ran, shedding his backpack like many around him. He shouted as the whole formation raced into their formation. Patrushev was beside him, and the company captain ordered his NCO breathlessly. Vladimir nodded with equal exhaustion, as the adrenalin started to fill him. The sergeant cried “Comrades! Fix bayonets!” The men dutifully fixed bayonets as the Prussian cannon opened up with a lion’s roar.

    The sound was drowned out as the shells exploded in mid air overhead the Russians. The men were scattered with hot shrapnel, some of it lethal. Men’s faces were ripped and torn, falling without a scream. Their muskets were loaded, and the Prussians were waiting for them to advance. The Russians did not hesitate - their glory was to be earned quickly.

    Patrushev sleekly drew his sabre and swished it through the already dusty air. “FIRE!” He screamed his loudest, but was barely audible as the Russian 4-pounders began to return fire with deadly roundshot. The unstoppable iron tore through the Prussians. The front rank added their firepower and many Prussians fell, their blue tunics stained by rancid German blood. Vladimir grimaced and smiled, seeing a Prussian commander hit by one of the devil’s marbles. The top half of his body simply ceased to exist, and, bouncing on the tough ground, it tore a straight line, a sword slash, through the enemy ranks.

    Vladimir lifted the musket to his shoulder, the task at hand owning him once more. Patrushev cried once more as Vladimir and the rest of the 2nd rank opened fire with their murderous long muskets, spidery fingers of death pointing at the enemy. The musket kicked angrily like a wild ass, trying to leap from his hands as the .69 calibre lead ball tore through the sulphur-choked air, seeking out it’s kill. Many more enemies fell but still more took their place. Vladimir lowered the magnanimous, gleaming 40 inch weapon, to remove the bayonet. However, it was jammed - the soft metal had been squashed by the recoil and was now bonded inseparably to the gun itself. Vladimir cursed, throwing it to the ground.

    Patrushev took out a telescope and in the chaos, discerned a miracle. The Prussian infantry were retreating. He was as bemused as curious, but saw that this was only for a few yards. The enemy infantry stood dumb… motionless. The cavalry were flying forward to smash the weakened infantry before they could form squares, and the artillery on this part of the line was being narrowed in on Vladimir’s regiment.

    Vladimir looked at Patrushev, unsure, but wanting confirmation. Patrushev frowned doubtfully, then nodded. Vladimir shouted to the company. “Form SQUARE!” The men executed the manoeuvre like automatons, rapidly falling inwards. The men in front knelt, making a chevaux de frise of impenetrable bayonets. The enemy horse troops circled the formation, isolating it and trying to find gaps in the formation.

    Vladimir joined the NCOs and a few men who had lost or broken both muskets and bayonets in the centre of the square. He had cobbled them together for a plan to use their firepower. He heard cannons open up, but too distant… too low a growl… he knew that the shells of the Prussians were coming for him. He looked up, seeing more enemy artillery belch smoke towards him. He looked down and gathered all the men’s cartridges, along with a sack.

    He bit the tops of the cartridges, helping his comrades. He saw one man obliterated by a cannonball, and the tight formation was taking heavy casualties. Once the bag was filled with gunpowder, he dumped the balls in for extra lethality and poked one final cartridge out the end. He fired his pistol near it, the spark igniting the cartridge. As the men desperately fired at the tormenting horsemen, the ‘charge’ was thrown at the main mass of encircling enemies.

    They ere almost totally destroyed by the blast, the heat searing Vladimir’s face with a lick of death. But, ironically, as the Russians charged forwards to defeat the Prussians, a musket ball from the charge ripped through Vladimir’s chest. He fell to the ground in agony as Patrushev looked into his eyes. “For the Motherland…” Patrushev gripped him and said “Of course.” And Vladimir flew away...

    ... to the place where there is no darkness.


    ENTRANT 3 - Lysimachos
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Last Cartridge
    Late August's sun was bathing us in light and the heat was gathering under my hat and coat, sweat was covering my face and body, glueing cloth to skin and I was constantly blinking, because of the biting gunpowder smoke in my eyes.
    "Fire!", called the Captain and "Fire!" bellowed the Sergeant and then the roar of five hundred Muskets surged onto my ears, the shock of the erupting sound made me cringe unconsciously, driving the bullet from my musket's barrel into the ground.
    They've told us how to load and fire a gun, but they never taught us how to shoot, never made us experience the blast right beside your head, too expensive the ammunition to waste it in training.
    But the enemy was here, right in front of us, marching towards us, up the slight slope. They were Prussians, veterans of many battles. If it wasn't so frightening it would have been of astonishing beauty how they moved like parts of one body, that certainty, that confidence! And - lo! - how fast they load their muskets! They were advancing and firing alternately: always one halfcompany firing and the other marching, the whole of their line along.
    I couldn't say how close they were, but too close anyway. I heard the Sergeant's voice again and I reached for the pouch at my side. My fingers felt empty slots and one very last cartridge remaining. The last one - and then?
    My movements were automatic, without spending a thought on them: Biting on the paper cartridge to fill the priming pan with powder, closing the pan, emptying the rest of the powder into the barrel, then shoving the rest behind, with the ramrod pushing the bullet deep into the barrel. We cocked the guns and lift them up towards the Prussians.
    "Fire!" was the command again, and we emptied the muskets, fired our last bullets wherever to, I doubt we hit much.
    Then the sergeant's voice raises again and he announced: "Fiiix - Bayonets!" Clumsily I grasped for my bayonet and fastened it to the musket. I felt my pants wetting while I hold the gun firm, as if it could give me strength, strength enough to charge the prussian guards - charge and live.
    Oh, in that moment, how I missed that last cartridge, the last postponement of the deadly clash.

    ENTRANT 4 - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    What Glory?

    Banners wave high in the morning sun, floating over fields of spring grain. Men in brightly colored uniforms march forward, their raiment soon to be bespattered with blood. Eyes front, muskets shouldered they march, officers urging them forward like terriers baying at the edge of the pack. To their front, black-mouthed cannon belch forth the sulphur of hell, sowing death and devastation among their serried ranks.
    What glory?
    What is it of which poets write, the glory of war and battle? Triumph, victory, the camaraderie of death. Carpe diem. Sieze the day. . .
    Gaps open in the advancing line, mangled limbs scattered among the grass like the playthings of a giant, bodies smashed to pulp by solid shot. Men in lines, lying as they had marched, the rank behind them stepping over their corpses, cut down as grain before the reaper.
    What glory? That men should fight and die, drowning in a welter of their own blood. Struggling, fighting as beasts possessed, overcome with a lust for the blood of their neighbor. Death is ne'er a sweet thing. . .
    A barked command from the blue-jacketed officer on the right, his voice hoarse amidst the swirling clouds of gunsmoke. The glitter of steel flashing in the sun as bayonets are affixed to the end of muskets, their icy click lost in the raging cacophony of battle.
    What glory? To die upon a throw of the dice, a spoken command by a golden leader far to the rear ordering men to their deaths. Arbiter of lives. A tidy pencil stroke upon a headquarters map—the line of dirt men strove for in flesh and blood.
    The line was ragged, wavering now, many of their officers dead among the grain, cut down one by one. Their ranks torn through by shot and shell, yet still they advance, bayonets leveled.
    What glory? Glory is a gift to the living, not to those well nigh dead. Death before dishonor, the poets say. . .
    A hoarse cry erupts from a hundred throats as they begin to run, bayonets flashing on high, filling the dark void of fear with the sound of their own voices, cheering wildly.
    I threw my musket to my shoulder, seeing a pale-faced boy running toward me, seventeen inches of steel tipping his musket.
    A slight squeeze of the trigger and fire exploded from my musket, smoke billowing in front of me. My face blackened with powder, I began to reload, waiting for the smoke to clear.
    The boy lay there upon the grain, his sandy hair flecked with blood, his mouth open as he strained to gasp his last breath.
    What glory. . .

    ENTRANT 5 - Don't Tread on Me
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Grandpop's Masterpiece

    "If only your grandfather could see you now," Peter Finnegan thought to himself.

    Peter’s contacts met him at the Moscow airport and picked him up in a limousine. They were a bit smug, vicariously self-important through their boss. Grandpop would have despised them.

    “Would he despise me now, too?” Peter wondered silently.

    His thoughts turned to the large, flat wooden box propped up along the seat beside him. The whole reason for coming here. Grandpop’s pride and joy. A painting little known outside the small community of Russian romanticism experts and aficionados. A piece many assumed had been destroyed nearly a century ago.

    Last Stand for the Motherland, painted in 1791 by Alexander Afineganov. A classic example of the nationalist fervor of the romantic era, capturing a legendary moment from the Russian victory over the Prussians near St. Petersburg. Peter smiled as he recalled his forefather’s surname, remembered back to his college years as a finance/Russian literature double major, when freedom seemed to sweep through the old Soviet empire and he aspired to help his ancestral homeland make the transition to democracy and a market economy. He even considered changing his last name to Afineganov, which Grandpop’s father anglicized to Finnegan when he arrived in America in 1919.

    In the days of the Red Scare, even an Irish last name was better than a Russian one.

    When Peter saw the tempting perks of the big job on Wall Street, he put his altruistic dreams on hold. Those dreams dissolved in the years since, as Peter got more comfortable on the Street and Russia’s post-communist reforms were trampled under Putin’s boot.

    “Mark my words,” Grandpop used to say. “Russia will be great and good someday! The spirit, the courage, the pride of the people – you can see it in our ancestor’s painting! Look at those brave boys – the Motherland depends on them holding that hill, and they’re not about to flinch!”

    Grandpop would stretch credulity more and more with each retelling of the story. The number of Russian infantry dropped from hundreds to tens, and their ages from their 30s, down into their early teens. Peter eventually half expected him to describe them as wearing diapers.

    But when the story turned to the painting’s fate as revolution erupted in Russia a century ago, Grandpop’s voice took on a tough, steely gravitas. There was no myth-making in this part.

    The painting had passed down to Grandpop’s father, Ivan Sergeyevich Afineganov. One night, a police officer friend showed up at Great-Grandpop’s house to warn him that he would be arrested the next day as an enemy of the Bolsheviks. Fortunately another friend worked at the St. Petersburg shipyard; hoping he could help them stow away, the family rode to the waterfront as quickly as they could.

    But Lenin’s thugs got word of his escape and tried to chase them down. A bullet grazed Great-Grandpop’s arm and he dropped the painting.

    Urging his family to rush inside and find their friend, Great-Grandpop jumped down and painfully pulled the canvas out of the broken frame. A few drops of his blood spattered onto the painting – they are still visible just to the left of the large flag. With bullets buzzing by, he miraculously made into the gates, saw his wife waving a lantern to him from a ship about to depart, and leapt from the pier to the ship’s deck just in time.

    The ship was bound for New York. Great-Grandpop worked menial jobs for a decade but saved enough money to partner with other Russians and establish a modest savings and loan for immigrants just before the Crash of 1929. Somehow they kept their heads above water during the Depression, and the bank grew into one of the great Wall Street investment houses, Finnegan and Roman.

    It declared bankruptcy last week.

    It’s the same story as AIG, Bear Stearns, and the other big boys that went down. Peter was a senior executive in the family business. He was in serious financial trouble for the first time in his life.

    He remembered Grandpop’s painting.

    He had inherited Grandpop’s love of art and read art history books and journals. He found there was even a niche of Russian romantic painting fanatics who made a cottage industry out of speculating about the whereabouts of Last Stand for the Motherland.

    One of them was Yuri Nikolai Fedorov, Chief Executive Officer of Sevastapol Oil Interests.

    Peter contacted Fedorov, told him he possessed the painting, and asked if Fedorov had any interest in buying it. Upon seeing proof Peter was telling the truth, Fedorov offered him $5 million.

    Peter accepted and made arrangements to meet Fedorov in Moscow to deliver the painting. Fedorov offered to have Peter chauffeured.

    When they met at Fedorov’s offices, the tycoon was moved by Peter’s grandfather’s stories. “I have an idea. The Western press has been hounding me about my contracts with the Russian government, our dealings in Iran, all kinds of things. I normally would not care, but Vladimir told me throw them a bone.

    “I will buy the painting. And then I will donate it to the new National Museum of Russian Art here in Moscow. I can still look at it whenever I wish, get some good press, and you can return to America with a clean conscience about the future of your ancestor’s painting.”

    A wave of relief swept over Peter. He accepted enthusiastically. Grandpop would have supported this. Russian children would see their ancestor’s painting, hear all his old stories, and feel pride in their country and its history.

    But Peter knew he couldn’t just walk away from this lucky break, the salvation of his conscience, without giving something back. He asked Fedorov to write two checks, evenly dividing the price of the painting. Before leaving Russia, he endorsed one over to the human rights organization Freedom House and dropped it off at their Moscow office.

    Somewhere, Peter thought, Grandpop is beaming with pride, and so is Alexander Afineganov.


    ENTRANT 6 - Ra's Al Ghul
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Revolution in the air


    We stand here today, all men of Russia, facing the boys of Germany. A field of
    gray clad foe lay before us, moving inexorably towards our muskets. They come to take
    our land, our homes. The Tsar expects all men of the Motherland to stand firm in the
    face of volley after volley, but we do not fight for him. We fight because we have to,
    because if we didn’t we would be labelled cowards and traitors by men who sit in their
    Manors and halls ordering us out here in this bitter cold to defend there rights to free rule
    of the masses. Our officers tell us it is our duty as men of Russia to fight there wars. But
    we have no quarrel with these Germans, we are not even informed of why this conflict
    started in the first place. My wife and child sit at home waiting, hoping, for me to return.
    The men who speak of honour and freedom are the ones who think little of me and my
    life. Hypocrites. One more war like this may push us peasantry over the edge.
    Enough of this though. Today, I must do my duty and stand in the line. My
    musket is old, tarnished and rusting, the powder I depend on clots with the slightest
    touch of moisture. The call to load goes out. I shove my ramrod down the rusting
    muzzle, thrusting the rough lead to the bottom, pour the powder into the pan and prime.
    Suddenly a tongue of flame shot out from the flanks of our army, the artillery duel had
    begun. 8 heavy cannonballs tore through the Grey ranks, leaving 8 red tears which
    quickly filled up with more fodder. Mercenary gunners under German command open
    fire on our positions, thankfully not aiming near me. I hear screams of pain to my left and
    right.
    The infantry close in, we draw our muskets to our shoulders and simultaneously
    fire. A temporary cloud of smoke embraces our line. We each begin the reloading
    process, bring up our muskets and fire, reload, fire reload… It went on for a while, our
    faces becoming dirtier and hotter as we went. Then the call for bayonets to be fixed went
    out. This was it. The final charge. Our General rode in front of us, the enemy stopped
    firing for him, another perk of the aristocrats. He began to shout his pre-charge speech.
    “On this day men, we stand before a host of soldiers, and I will not lie to you.
    They are well trained, and well disciplined men! But they lack one thing, this is our land,
    and not theirs! And I know all of you will do your duty and defend your tsar and
    motherland! For Russia Charge!” I began a slow run forward, keeping in line with my
    comrades. The Prussian horde began to do the same. We closed in. Fear gripped the
    two armies as they clashed. Shuddering ranks came to an abrupt halt. This was it. We
    would die here, our the peasantry would survive to bring a glorious revolution to Russia.
    This was a time of change.


    TotW 36 - Jerusalem
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Deus Lo Vult

    White clouds drift by overhead, celestial puffs of cotton against an indigo-blue sky. Warm zephyrs blow over the city, off the deserts to the south and west.
    I am dying.
    I lie here upon the sun-baked roof, blood slowly trickling from my wounds, draining my body of strength, robbing me of the fountain of life.
    Memories flicker before my half-closed eyes, thoughts of home and love sweet upon my lips. It had been a day like this—when we left my native France so long ago.
    Who would have thought that it would have ended like this? The Holy Father had pronounced the blessing of God upon our mission. Deus lo vult. God wills it.
    Perhaps. Yet here we lie, upon the battlements of the Holy City, slain by the swords of the Mohammedan. Of the heathen once again possessing the land of Christ, the holy sepulcher, the cross upon which our Savior died. Sacre bleu!
    Our defense of the city had been a desperate one, a last gambler's throw. And we had lost.
    I dare not open my eyes, but I remember, and the image springs fresh to mind's eye—of my comrades lying dead to my right and left, their white surcoats spattered with red, their armor washed in their own blood. They have gone to their reward as defenders of the faith.
    I will join them soon enough. I can hear the screams drifting up from the street below, the cries of those unfortunate enough to still be alive. Death is a gift of God, yet my body fights it with every last ounce of strength—the instinct of survival overcoming the desire to rest, to slip off peacefully into that long night.
    My strength is fading fast, my sword lying just out of reach of my limp hand. No matter. I could not find the strength to lift it if it was close here by my side.
    Footsteps, on the roof near me. My eyes flicker open, ever so cautiously. A Mussulman strides past me, a flowing banner in his hand, its silken folds inscribed with the flowing script of the Koran.
    He passes the bodies of myself and my comrades and I close my eyes as he mounts the banner on the battlement, blasphemy fluttering over the Holy City.
    I hold myself still as he returns, praying with every last ounce of my strength for him to pass me by. I feel him pause, his eyes looking down on me, his gaze penetrating.
    The kick comes without warning, landing in my side with rib-crushing force. Taken off-guard, I scream, my face distorting with pain.
    My eyes return to the Mussulman’s face and I see him smile—the last thing I will ever see in this life.
    The sword descends and steel slices through my body, ending it all. Deus lo vult. . .

    ENTRANT 1 - Ratbag
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Kingdom of Heaven.

    I felt the last bits of life flowing out of my mangled body... I would join my brothers in the Kingdom Of Heaven very soon. We died protecting the holiest of cities, the place where our savior had given his life for us.. And now we had given our life's for him.

    But we had failed and Jerusalem had fallen before Saladin's army, we had but to pray that God would forgive us. We did everything we could but the enemy was too strong, they had rallied Muslim warriors from every corner of the world. While I was struggling to breath I taught back at the fight that occurred today, it all looked so unreal...

    After a siege of many months they had decided to attack, we all went to our posts with confidence.. No unbeliever would take this city back from us! Me and my unit stood on the front wall were we would fight of their attacks and protect this holy ground. After some catapult and trebuchet fire their first wave of siege towers sallied forth, they reached the walls and Muslims jumped out, the massacre had begun.


    It were untrained warriors and we killed them all, their bodies were stacking up on our wall, but they kept on attacking. Growing tired of fighting we were starting to lose more and more good soldiers, it was clear we would not be able to keep it much longer. After the 3th wave of unbelievers had been repelled of the walls we had lost over 1000 brave and honorable men, but on our walls laid at least 4000 Muslims. As I looked over the wall to see how many foes were left my heart skipped a beat... Those 4000 were just the tip of the iceberg... a sea of men as far the eye could see still stood before our gate.

    After many more hours of bashing in skulls and removing guts from their insides we were pushed back to a tower in the middle of the city, only 3 of us remained. We were tired, bruised but we would not stop fighting for our city.
    We kept giving al our heart in the fight, but it could not be... I saw my last 2 friends die and cold metal piercing my stomach.

    As so here I was, struggling to breath looking up at the soldier who had stabbed me... The look in his eyes... No mercy... No pity. He raised his sword for the final blow, the blow that would release me from me suffering and send me to the Kingdom of Heaven. His sword came down... And it was all over...My journey to the Kingdom of Heaven had begun...

    ENTRANT 2 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 





    Soul of Stone
    I wound the dry, dusty rope away from the wooden capstan. “Ready, Saladin?” My captain nodded and pulled on his helmet. He turned and addressed the men in the top of the siege tower. It was dark and every man was silent, filled with adrenalin, waiting for the doors to come down, not knowing what they would face. “Alright, men. You can hear the infidel enemy outside. Let’s beat those English and fight for Jerusalem like the true warriors we are!” The men roared like lions, beating their chests with the hilts of their swords. They then remained silent and tense, ready to run forward at a moment’s noise as the noise of the battle, still muffled by the wood, seeped through from outside.






    This was always my favourite part of a battle. Being the first unit to charge off the siege tower. I wound down the rope, letting in a chink of light from the top and then I laughed out loud, overcome with bloodlust and threw the rope to the floor. The wood fell and crushed a few stupid Christian defenders. They were still dazed as I leapt forward, blocking a thrust from the clumsy broadsword of one with my metal shield and slashing with all my might with my scimitar. The precision of my stroke found the gap below the man’s helmet, and the knight’s head was sent flying as he collapsed in a bloody heap.

    Saladin smashed the boss of his wooden shield into one man’s face and slashed upwards into his groin with his wickedly sharp sword. The man cried out and screamed in agony, before falling to the ground, dead from the shock. Saladin turned and parried a stroke from behind, deflecting it’s brute strength and nimbly turning to slash the man’s arm off. The man appeared to feel nothing, throwing down his shield, emblazoned with a coat of arms that meant nothing and leapt on my commander.

    Saladin was winded by the initial blow and was having a hard time fighting this Christian, covered in armour as he - it - was. I stepped in, stabbing an enemy in my way before pushing him off the walls. He shouted his echoing last as I grabbed the man’s forehead from behind and slit his throat with my dagger. Saladin got up and slapped me on the shoulder, breathing heavily. Something unspoken passed between us as he wheezed “Well done, Osama. Thank you very much. I am indebted to you.” I shook my head. “All in a day’s work in a war., sir.” Saladin grinned and grabbed his shield. “Come!” he shouted, and he beckoned 3 men to join me and him.


    We ran to one of the towers. He gestured to me. “Osama, you can do the honours.” I smiled. I stood back from the door and leant with all my strength, smashing through the dry and withered wood. It burst open and my fellow Moslems ran up the stairwell, fighting whenever an opponent ran down to greet them. Saladin skewered one man like a piece of meat, letting him fall behind him as my colleagues dispatched him with further sword slashes. I took his golden torc to add to my collection, slashing his face just for good measure.


    We reached the top, killing a Christian officer that tried to oppose us. He got to discover the rare experience of falling through hundreds of feet of air before being dashed on the rocky cliffs below. I stood, taking my breath and admiring the glorious war before us as the walls of the ‘Holy City’, as the Christians called it were swamped by our soldiers, taking the fight to the infidel enemy. “Saladin” I hailed. “Why have we taken this tower? It is of no practical use and we should get back to killing Christians.” I knew my captain as such a pragmatic man it was an unprecedented move coming up here. “Well Osama” he replied “There is a new bombard cannon that is joining the barrage that is set to commence on the Lower city walls in a few minutes.” Saladin stared out of the shutters. “The sun is high and we have a good view.” I looked out.

    I got the fright of my life as a cannonball, a little screaming dot that grew bigger and bigger till it filled my vision was approaching. I grabbed my captain with a hand and dived. “DUCK!” I shouted as the cannonball tore through the tower, covering half the room in debris and collapsing the roof. I crawled out like a filthy rat, pulling my commander out. Amazingly, neither of us had so much as a scratch on us. “COME ON!” I shouted, barely audible over the rage and fury of the cannon duel now commencing in (and on) Jerusalem.


    But as quickly as the murderous guns had started, they stopped. I listened as a curious mood descended onto us. There was almost complete silence and I realised that the Moslems had won. Saladin hoisted a dropped standard of our regiment, and those all over the blood-stained walls copied him. I stabbed a dying enemy with my scimitar, taking out my anger at these infidel holy warriors. But for now, we had won. For now, we had regained the Christian’s precious ‘holy city’ by conquest and it would be ours… or at least until they tried again.


    ENTRANT 3 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "Who am I?""So long have I lived in the shadow of my colleagues, so long have I sprung theories only to see the entire world discredit them... So long..."
    I whispered to myself as I worked at the digging site, I was fueled with anger and driven by excitement, this would be the find of the century...
    "Now we'll see who-"
    I hit something... And it wasn't a rock... It was some sort of metal... And my excitement rose;
    "G-G-GUYS! OVER HERE! QUICKLY!"
    I screamed into the open air near Jerusalem, I called them to me quickly, I had found something, after all this time, finally I might get some credit...
    We quickly dug up the chest and the Israeli archeologists gave me the honor of opening it... And after I did that, I saw what I had wished for, since my first work was discredited... It was the Templar seal.
    I stood there, mouth gaping open, until my son came up to me, asked me what was it... I could not answer, so I showed him the chest and I pointed at the seal, his eyes lit as if he had never seen something more wonderful, he tapped me on the back;
    "Can you smell the Noble Prize? I can..."
    He sniffed the air jokingly, and I ravaged through the chest, and there it was... The document which proved it... It proved all my theories, I looked up and smiled, I could feel the tears running down my cheeks.


    "This is quite... Impressive... Very nice... Very well done my friend"
    Peter said, a fellow archeologist and a wide supporter of all my theories, he was like a second son, the young man smiled and gleamed... Suddenly everything turned shakey, I noticed the ground shaking... Everything, I was still holding the main document, the ground tore open but Peter did not seem to care, I fell down the crack what seemed forever and landed hard on the ground...
    I could feel a sharp pain in my shoulder, I looked at my armored shoulder and in it was an arrow... I looked up and there was Jerusalem, retaken by Saladin... And there he was, Richard the Lionheart, leading the assault, and we all rushed to join him,
    I am a Templar Knight...
    I was a Templar Knight...
    And I slew the enemy soldiers with my sword...
    When I woke up, I was holding a big fat check, and a prize.
    Many asked me who I was, no one actually knew me... I was the shame of the archeological world, now I -AM- the archeological world...
    So who am I?
    Better than you.

    ENTRANT 4 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "The End of Things"


    How can this be?? We are the greatest Empire on earth. How can this be, the Chief Eunuch cries as he looks over the slaughter. The entire Royal house is dead in one Heinous, venomous act of revenge. Those self-righteous infidels shall all drown in a sea of blood for their malevolence.

    It cannot be said that almost anything is not attainable if one is willing to lose all in achieving their goal. Just three months ago the Isle of Malta was finally seized for the Empire and the followers of the Crescent Cross seemingly broken forever. Well my friends the taste of revenge is indeed sweet, even if ultimately the many shall suffer beyond comprehension & measure for the misguided righteousness of the few. The audacious achievement executed by the few remaining souls from the once mighty Templar's would see Christian Europe by all rights cease to exist.

    Riders, messengers and emissaries shot forth from the once great Byzantine city to the four corners of Islam like Haley's Comet to invoke Jihad against the ungodly ignorance and evil of those self-righteous imposter's in the Great City of Rome. During the interregnum and restoration of order, prayer to heaven would hold the Empire together.


    The only evidence of the culprits and perpetrators of this unspeakable act were the three Templar Knights staked to the walls of the North Tower. Indeed, the Chief Eunuch collapses and departs this world from seer grief. Barely could his last words be heard. Surely this is ....


    "The End of Things"


    ENTRANT 5 - Feragorn
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    I am Abdul Aziz ibn Izz al Din. This is the tale of our Jihad under Saladin to retake Al-Quds (Jerusalem). After a three week siege, our men broke through at one of the southern gates. The Christians fought like lions to keep us out but after a short skirmish, we were in the city. My men and I walked thriough the streets toward where Muhammad ascended to heaven. We were filled with emotion as we gazed at the sacred stone.

    We were snapped back to attention when we heard a group of Christian knights turn a corner and see us. We ran and attacked them. I dueled with one who was very skilled at the art of swordplay. He wounded me lightly on the shoulder, I was lucky my armor took most of the blow, else I would not be talking to you now.

    Ah, glorious combat! The Crusaders were shocked when our army under Saladin made it's way to the heart of the city, the Cardo. The armies clashed, dueling in the streets with the words of the Koran on our lips. "God's curse be upon the infidels!" "Do not say that those slain in the cause of God are dead. They are alive, but you are not aware of them." After a fierce battle, in which we lost many warriors and friends, we finally captured the city! Our hearts were joyous indeed, and we chanted these verses from chapter 48 of the Koran.

    Surely We have given to you a clear victory
    That Allah may forgive your community their past faults and those to follow and complete His favor to you and keep you on a right way,
    And that Allah might help you with a mighty help.
    And Allah's are the hosts of the heavens and the earth; and Allah is Mighty, Wise.
    Surely We have sent you as a witness and as a bearer of good news and as a warner,
    That you may believe in Allah and His Apostle and may aid him and revere him; and (that) you may declare His glory, morning and evening.
    Surely those who swear allegiance to you do but swear allegiance to Allah; the hand of Allah is above their hands. Therefore whoever breaks (his faith), he breaks it only to the injury of his own soul, and whoever fulfills what he has covenanted with Allah, He will grant him a mighty reward.

    Last edited by Boustrophedon; January 07, 2012 at 09:21 AM. Reason: update

  10. #10
    Boustrophedon's Avatar Grote Smurf
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Oct 2010
    Location
    Rome, Italy
    Posts
    3,158

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 37 - Roman theme
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Roman Might

    The sun beats down hot on the Judean plain, filtering through the haze of dust kicked up by the hooves of our cavalry mounts.
    Quintvs Valerivs is my name. I come from one of the first patrician families to settle Galla Cisalpina after the conquests of Caesar. Ten long years have passed since I was sent to Palestine as part of the personal bodyguard of Procurator Pontivs Pilate. Ten years of dealing with a people driven mad by their belief that this land was given to them by a god. A one true God.
    I stare down at the dry, worthless grass crushed beneath the hooves of my horse and grin with the irony. By Jupiter, what type of god would have given this land?
    Yet they fight for it as though it were the very vineyards of Galla, the lush, fertile plains of my homeland.
    A mountain looms above our column as we crest the rise. Mount Gerizim, or so the Jews call it. Ye gods, perhaps this land could be worth something. But the people. . .
    They are the reason we are here this day. The people of Samaria are following a new madman, who promises them victory against our arms. Something of relics buried upon the summit of Gerizim, the details I know not.
    It is sufficient that Pilate wants this rebellion suppressed. My breath catches in my throat as we draw up on the ridge, looking down into the valley between Gerizim and Ebal. Mountains of blessing and cursing, in Jewish legend.
    They are already here, by the thousands. Men, women, and children, families all come to see their 'Promised Land' restored to them.
    Slowing our horses to a walk, we descend into the valley, sunlight reflecting off our polished armour and weapons. Perhaps a show of force will be enough to convince them to disperse.
    Ten years in this land should have crushed my optimism by now. A show is never enough. Our line halts, the signifer riding forward, Pilate's proclamation in his hands, the words of the procurator spilling from his lips.
    The mob does not accord him the privilege of finishing—murderous yells and shouts erupting from a thousand throats at the first mention of Pilate's name.
    A rock flies past the helmet of the signifer and out of the corner of my eye I see our centurion's sword leap from its scabbard, bellowing a single order. “Charge!”
    Our line surges forward, the land disappearing underneath the pounding hooves of my steed. My spear couched, I see women and children scatter as we bear down on their line, their cries of terror floating heavenward. Here and there the sun glints off the sword of a rebel. The Jews were prepared to fight.
    Fight, perhaps, but their line evaporates under our impetus, men thrown to the ground and trodden underfoot, women disemboweled by the blow of a spear, children crushed by the hooves of a rearing horse. Love, hope, vision disintegrating under the iron fist of Roman might. . .

    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Every End is a New Begining...
    How many of you have ever thought, what if I would've... How many of you ever thought, what if I wouldn't have...? How many of you have ever wanted a chance to go back in time and change past events?
    I do.
    So I wouldn't have to look at the faces of their wives, so I wouldn't have to see the blood boiling in the veins of their sons... So I wouldn't have to see another bloodline imbued with the power of vengeance...

    We rode quickly, the third proud legion, we rode and ran quickly as the word of the German rebellion rose, we hastened to the river Rein, to the battle. The second legion was already at the midst of combat, and from the looks of it... It was a grim day for the Roman Empire...
    We rode faster and faster, I raised the banner for the charge signal, and at one moment, the entire organized running formation broke off into squads of insane Roman soldiers, fast and furious, running and sprinting, shields and armor, greaves and helms... Did not interrupt them, they felt no ordinary heat, they felt the heat of battle, I believe that some of them even ran faster than my horse...
    Finally, we passed the valley and on the hill in front of us, the battle ensued, the second battalion held firm, but they were mightily relieved at the sight of our forces.
    I raised the banner and waved it twice, half the soldiers withdrew and sheathed their swords, pulled out their bows and let loose... Hell rained upon the enemy and the screams were terrible, after another wave, they ran into the fray, swords flailing... This was one hell of a tough battle...
    Seeing my best friend die before my eyes...
    Seeing my second in command decapitated...
    I was enraged. I faced off with their general head-on, and not only did I kill him, I cut off his head and threw it at another soldier, the tip of his helm struck the soldier in his eye and he fell down, dead... I was feared.
    I ran into the fray again, and struck people, left and right, until I finally felt a strong pain, I was stabbed by a sword... But that didn't stop me, looking at the soldier, I said;
    "You should not... Have done that..."
    I cut his hand off, proceeding to cutting his stomach horizontally, and seeing he didn't die yet, I also slashes his face, he didn't die though, I left him there...
    I ran back into the fray and I heard someone call me the god of war... I was no god... I was the spirit of vengeance.

    I walked in the streets of Bologna, many military men walking past me... Some wounded... And I have yet to treat my wound, I just wanted to go and tell my friends' wife about what has transpired, my friend's wife reacted as I figured she would, wept and held her daughters close, fearing I might take them away as well, but she said it was not my fault;
    Liar...
    Again walking in the streets of Bologna, I found myself at my second in command's home... I opened the door and told the news, I wish I never had opened that door, only to see his weeping wife, but she asked me something, something that made me think, that not all is black and white;
    "How did he die?"
    "Bravely. Fighting off two German brutes"
    Of course I lied, but he did die bravely.
    She looked at her son, who was enraged with hate, she looked back at me, as if blaming me, and glanced at an armor, obviously fitting for her son, being taught from an early age at the art of war;
    "Every end is a new beginning..."

    ENTRANT 2 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Honour
    The marble gleamed white in the moonlight as the messenger ran up the steps of Caecilius Sextus’ Palatine Villa. The powerful Patrician, one of the most respected senators in Rome. And now, in this late hour of the night, the messenger’s tired, worn sandals beat out a tattoo of urgency on the hard, polished floor.

    Caecilius was pacing his narrow chamber, sweating in anticipation when the man was ordered in. He strode over to him and took the scroll without a word. He sat on the hard bed and read quickly. The servant could feel the tension as his master’s eyes scanned the papyrus. Caecilius looked up, slowly letting the letter fall, then drop to the floor without a sound. His eyes were glazed and full of tears. He barely managed to give a horse croak from his now sore throat…

    “How did it all go wrong…?”

    Caecilius Gallus stabbed the attacking man of Pontus, and his lungs punctured, throwing forth a pink, frothy fluid that shadowed the man’s dying screams in a rush of gurgling. Gallus wheeled his body over, hitting an infantryman with the edge of his hexagonal Praetorian’s shield. The man’s helmet split, but he was not killed. Gallus urged the horse’s body round, closely avoiding a swipe of the man’s spear. The clumsy fool did not even have time to realise his mistake before Gallus’ sword put him to rest.

    “CAECILIUS!” … Caecilius turned, effortlessly making his horse obey him as he turned to hear his friend. But the companion hesitated in attacking an Eastern foe, and the man took his chance, slashing at the Samnite horse with his scimitar. The horse fell and a gruesome crunch of bones showed that the man was clearly lost to this world.

    The enemy was decapitated before he could even pull his sword back to try and attack Gallus, but he now saw that the formation was riding out to attack another set of infantry. Caecilius Gallus looked around him. To the east, the enemy chariots were slicing the Roman infantry’ discipline to pieces with their scythes as the Pikemen, those cursed Eastern descendants of Alexanderos, kept the Legionnaires at arm’s - or should that be sarissa’s - length. The battle was hopelessly lost, but as true Romans they all fought to the last, never thinking of giving up.

    Gallus felt exposed, and he rode to the formation. His commander’s white crest flashed in the sun before him, and he lowered his spear as the enemy hid behind the carcasses of crashed chariots. The scum threw spears, hiding behind the steel-tipped wall as the last Praetorian cavalry left made a last charge.

    Gallus roared, jumping from his horse to slide his sharp dagger through the weak throat of an enemy. The man lay dead as Gallus knelt, truly exhausted. He cried as the sun set, a sun that could be seen on Rome … “Forgive me, father, for I have failed you!” He sobbed…


    ENTRANT 3 - Kátz
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Grief, Sorrow, Pain, Suffering and Death

    It is the day March 17, 45BC as Gaius Julius Caesar along with his subordinates Gaius Octavius and Marcus Agrippa march towards the plains of Munda, modern southern Spain against the forces of the Optimates, commanded by Titus Labienus, Publius Attius Varius and Pompey's oldest son, Gnaeus Pompeius. It was the battle that decides the fate of history.

    The two armies met in the plains of Munda in southern Spain. The Pompeian army was situated on a gentle hill, less than one mile (1.6 km) from the walls of Munda, in a defensible position. Caesar led a total of eight legions (80 cohorts), with 8,000 horsemen, while Pompeius commanded thirteen legions, 6,000 light-infantrymen and about 6,000 horsemen.

    As the Republican soldiers who deserted Pompey to join Caesar rejoined Pompey back again. They had known that they would have to fight to the last blood, fearing they would not be pardoned for the second time.

    Soon after, Caesar shouted "LURE THE POMPEIANS DOWN THE HILL!!!!"

    But the Pompeians did not budge, they are smarter as they are commanded by Titus Labienus, who is formerly one of Caesar's Lieutenants. As one of Caesar's trusted servants before. He had known the tactics commonly used by him. Furthermore, he attempted to counter-lure the Caesarian army to a frontal attack.

    And so Caesar ordered a frontal attack with the watchword "Venus", the goddess said to be his ancestor.

    The battle resulted in an even match, both of the forces struggled to gain an advantage. And so forth the generals summoned themselves to join the ranks of their respective armies. For one of the first times Caesar said to himself "This is not a battle where I fight for a victory. This is a battle where I fight for my life." numerous times whilst approaching the right wing.

    With his favourite legion, called the X Equestris who were inspired by Caesar's bravery to approach the battlefield. Begin to push back their oppositions. Gnaeus Pompeius, sensing danger in the left wing, commanded the legion in his right wing to reinforce the weakened part.

    Titus Labienus sensed his folly, and moves to intercept the cavalry. What happened then is a tragic scene. Gaius Octavius, who led the charge. Does not think Titus would move to intercept him, bringing an army of phalangites. His horse was felled down and his bodies are thrusted by the sea of spears.

    Marcus Agrippa and Julius Caesar heard this message from their messengers

    Quote:
    Sir, the left wing are disheartened by the death of one of our Cavalry Commanders, Gaius Octavius. Requesting reinforcements immediately.

    Furious, Marcus, along with Mauritanian king, Bogud. Leads their forces against Titus Labienus head on. While Caesar did not wish for his death. Alas, fury and rage have taken their heart. And a bloodbath occured in the center and left line.

    Seeing the death of Titus Labienus. The rest of the Pompeian commanders sounded retreat. The Populares have won the battle! But at a high cost. . .

    The casualties were heavy, while the Pompeians suffered the loss of more than 30.000 men. The Caesarians sees the depart of 10.000 men, along with their prized cavalry commander, Gaius Octavius.

    Caesar speaks to himself "Let the dead rest in peace, the grief, the sorrow, the pain, the suffering and the death are obstacles that must be overcomed to achieve my dreams."

    And so he leaves the bloody battlefield, littered with corpses everywhere. . . Wishing the dead rest in peace.


    TotW 38 - Indian theme
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Theodotos I
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Hair

    “Did I ever tell you boys the story of my hair?” A few weary nods greeted the question—the rest of the tavern's occupants too preoccupied with their pints of ale to even respond.
    “No.” The only audible response came from a boy of no more than fourteen, warming himself by the fire.
    Groans went up from the rest of the men in the tavern. “Lord have mercy, kid,” one of the men bellowed, setting down his pint to glare in the boy's direction, “you oughta known better than that. Here we go again. . .”
    The old man in the tattered red jacket ignored their protests, his eyes shining with delight as they focused on the boy. “You haven't, eh? What's your name, sonny?”
    “Jim.”
    “Well, Jimmy, let me tell you about it. It was back in '59, when we went after the Injuns down in Cherokee country, with Colonel Montgomery at our head. Winter came on as we chased them durn natives through the forests, and every morning we’d shiver ‘round the campfires until our teeth nearly rattled from our heads.”
    “Then one fine mornin’ the colonel hisself comes up to our bivouac and says all fancy-like, ‘Sergeant’—that’s me, sonny—and he says, ‘Sergeant, I want you to take your men out on patrol to the sou’west.’ Well, I called together my boys and off we set, six of the proudest soldiers auld England ever produced.”
    The twinkle died in the old man’s eyes and he peered mournfully into his now-empty pint. He reached into his pouch with a long, bony hand and extracted a gold coin. “Ale!”
    Only when his pint had been refilled did the old man continue his story. “Yessiree, some of the best men I’ve ever known. There was John and Billy, Jonas the corporal, the MacGuire brothers, Malcolm and Jack. And me. A light snow was falling as we started out and it got heavier.”
    The boy’s eyes never left the old man’s face.
    “Jonas was the guide, a Kentuck boy hisself, but all the guiding in the world couldn’t have helped us as the snow fell faster. Our tracks were filling in and we was lost. That was when the Injuns hit us.”
    “They came thundering outta the snow on horseback—jest like they knew we were there all along. Jonas got it first, a musket-ball through the breast—then Billy and Jack were cut down. John turned to run, but a spear caught him right back here—‘tween the shoulders. And he was dead. A musket-ball clipped my head and I fell, knocked senseless. I just lay there, not knowin’ a thing till I woke hours later with the sun shinin’ down on me. Malcolm lay not far off, dead as all the rest. So, I got to my feet and walked all the way back to camp on my lonesome. And that’s the story.” The soldier returned to his ale, a look of contentment on his face as he sipped the dark liquid.
    The boy looked puzzled. “I thought you said that was the story of your hair?”
    A cunning look came into the old man’s eyes and he grinned, standing to his feet and sweeping off his hat.
    His head was devoid of any hair, the flesh rough and discolored as though the entire scalp had been removed. The tavern exploded with laughter at the shocked look on the boy’s face and the old man chuckled. “It is, sonny. It is. . .”

    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Beggining...
    he walked from his tent to the general's, pacing quickly through the grassland, many soldiers looking at him. The man in the bright, shiny armor walking gracefully and quickly, he obviously just tidied himself up and cleaned his armor from the battle before, but now he paid little care to that, something was so important, it could not wait. He walked faster and faster, mud splattering on his greaves, he did not care, rain and muddy water on his leggings, he did not care. The carefully cleaned man just kept walking faster, he knew that running might cause panic, so he walked.
    Upon arriving into the general's tent, he stormed in, looking him in the eyes and told the rest of the men;
    "Leave us!"
    They gazed at the general, which nodded, and they left.
    "What is i--"
    "They are coming, we must make haste and rally up all the men, we must hurry!"
    The general smiled, a hearty smile; "Lest you worry my friend, I promise you, we will be fine"
    The man seemed really terrified; "Fine!? How!? They are in the thousands! We are mere hundreds! Horsemen, infantry, archers, shamans, what are we to do!?"
    The hearty general smiled again; "You worry too much my friend. Come, stay, clean up your armor, it is quite messy"
    The man gazed at the general, annoyed... But he did as such, and calmed after a while.

    A day later, at the general's camp, the two were there already, and in came the captains, the general stated:
    "Men, tonight we will face our greatest battle. Prepare the men, it will not be pretty"
    He said heavily, not smiling this time.
    As the captains rounded up the men to war, the general gazed back at the man riding behind him;
    "How many are we?"
    "Seven hundred and thirty three, sir"
    "How many are they?"
    "Seven thousand"
    The general smiled.

    Reaching the battlefield, the general took a deep breath of the clean fresh air, fresh after the rain, and the second he did, it started snowing, he smiled, he knew the Indians would interpret it as a bad omen, he actually loved the snow, reminded him of his homeland.
    "Prepare for battle! Muskets! Aim for the back of their lines!"
    So they did and opened fire, none of the front lines fell, but the back lines got hammered, the cannons opened fire and more were killed.
    The Indians sent in their horsemen, five hundred, galloping quickly, running towards the English.
    "DO NOT, fire at the horsemen!"
    The whole army looked at the general, awed;
    "Keep aiming for the back lines, do not fire at the horsemen!"
    The soldiers, reluctantly, complied.
    As the horsemen reached the English lines, they all stopped, with battle in their eyes, and the lead one, the banner carrier, approached the general;
    "General Hartford, 'how do you do'"
    The Indian asked, cynically, and the general laughed, smiling at the man.
    "I'm fine, thank you my friend. Set up your soldiers at the flanks, we'll be needing them" He said, smiling.
    Seeing that, the enraged Indian chief sent his front lines, who were all infantry, to the fray, they ran quickly.
    "INFANTRY! Charge!"
    The general screamed, after five minutes, both infantry sides collided, but not with the clash of swords, but with joyful handshakes and smiles.
    The hearty general smiled.
    "It's not quantity, my friend. It's quality" The general stated to the man, who was awestruck.
    "Yadid! On me!" The general yelled and galloped ahead of the Indian cavalry, coming to support the English-Indian infantry charging at the Indian lines;
    "This is the begging... Of a beautiful friendship!"
    Yelled the Indian cavalry leader, as they galloped together to meet the Indian chief in combat.

    ENTRANT 2 - Conquistatore
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Torment
    The natives were all around us, left right and centre. We could not move, we could barely breathe. There was no escape for us, we all knew we were doomed. They surprised us, came out of nowhere. How could we not have seen them? How could this happen? Their axes are stained red with the blood of our men, their howling warcries pierce the dead night. The falling snow is as cold as death all around us, endless black and fire.

    Their horses are crazed, mad from the blood rage. They plow into our ranks, crushing men underfoot. We have no chance, we never did. Our General was foolish, he underestimated their strength. Pride in ones country and military skills alone cannot stop the slaughter. He was arrogant, over confident, and now it has cost us our lives.

    The cold wind whips through the night, turning us to shivering bloodied souls. The icy hell that is being delivered is unstoppable, the end is only a black wall. Our reinforcements had not come, we were alone out here, forced to march on against our will and better judgement. This is their land, they love and protect it, who were we to invade and attempt to destroy them?

    Now we are being punished for our sins in the worst possible manner. Our mischief is being returned tenfold. It is my hope that our nation learns from what happened here today, to prevent a slaughter such as this in the future.

    Their muskets light up the night, I see glimpses of the faces of desperate men, trying to get off just that one shot. We are surrounded, there is no hope, not in this life. Death and despair overtake us, some of the men begin to flee, but they won't make it. It is an open field and the enemy is on horse, methinks the running ones will only suffer greater pain and torture in the end.

    Time is almost out, peace is almost upon me. I can feel the life slipping from me, oozing out of the hole in my chest. It is almost over, soon I can sleep forever and end this nightmare, this torment.


    TotW 39 - Cohort vs Phalanx
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Astaroth
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A Soldier

    The blood-red sun is burning mercilessly, turning the clouds of dust and the empty plains into shades of gold. There's no sign of life in this godforsaken land and my heart fills with cold and hate. As the hot armour is burning my back, I ask myself what I am doing in this forlorn land, so far away from home, hundreds of miles away from civilization.

    But now I'm here, lost in the empty plains of Asia, fighting for the glory of the eternal city. Fighting for generals and emperors I have never talked to, feeding Rome's hunger for new lands with my own blood. Slowly but surely, the sarissas come closer as the Macedon phalangites move forwards. Slowly but surely, death approaches.

    To my left and right there are my comrades, preparing to unleash their fury and hate on the enemies. "Roma aeterna!" is sounding through the ranks as our centuria moves forward, forward towards the seemingly impregnable wall of sarissas. I want to shout, to scream: "You fools! Why do you want to die so desperately?" but my dry throat is sealed.

    We keep marching towards the enemy, just like lambs to the slaughter. The forest of spears comes closer and there's no escape. Only death lies in front of us, we are marching to fulfill our destiny. Suddenly, our centurion commands the charge. And like sheep, just like obedient sheep, we charge. "Roma aeterna" is sounding through the ranks yet another time, a last time before the two armies will clash.

    Everything seems to slow down, almost as if it were in slow-motion. No sound can be heard, the shouting has ended and there's nothing but the seemingly endless hordes of enemies in front of us. As I raise my gladius above my head, ready to strike, I feel an incredible, burning pain in my chest. Cold steel is cutting through warm flesh, mercilessly digging its way through my body. I want to scream, shout, cry for mercy - but my voice has left me and I can feel how my legs are collapsing beneath me.

    As darkness is approaching with rapid strides, I desperately try to recall my little son's image. But there's nothing, nothing but emptiness. Tormented by the unbearable pain, breathing is becoming harder every second and I cannot keep my eyes open any longer. Life is slipping from my hands, the world is ending.

    Suddenly I feel free, as if someone had taken an incredible burden from my shoulders. There's no more pain, no more suffering. In front of me there is a light. It's coming closer. Nothing seems to be relevant anymore, pain and death seem to be an eternity away. Suddenly everything is turning golden. A new life has begun.


    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Duel
    "Forward!"
    Screamed the general, seeing that the left flank has already engaged in combat, and same about the right, he decided that striking fast at the middle will break the other two flanks.
    The soldiers marched quickly with their swords, wary of the enemies' spears, but nonetheless, obedient and willing to fight and die.
    "Shields, up!"
    He yelled again, and we raised our shields, I raised mine just in time, a spear hit it and shattered, and I threw a knife I had on my belt, a responding scream came to the throw.
    "Charge!"
    He yelled, we lowered our shields again and charged at the enemy, swords up and their spears down, spears shattering at the clash of shields and spear jabbing into men all around me, and I looked around... I could not understand what had happened, I could not understand how I got here, I could not understand what I was supposed to do...
    I looked at the foe, lunging a spear at me, and I felt a stinging pain in my chest, I fell to the floor, blood splattering all around me, soldiers dying... People fading, the endless darkness of battle and the weariness of war engulfed me, I felt myself starting to fade...
    Someone shouted my name...
    Someone shouted my name...
    I felt my head rocking back and forth, and there he was, the general, looking down at me, and I finally realized, I'm the Lieutenant... How could I allow myself to become so shocked? I returned to the battle in spirit now... But not in body, I could not rise...
    "Sir, I... I ca--"
    "I know, just sit tight, Soldiers! DEFENSIVE FORMATION!"
    He screamed and about five soldiers formed a half a circle around us, shields up and swords at the ready, battle raged all around us, but then it came.
    "Skirmishers!"
    A scream was heard from afar, and soon enough, stones and javelins fell all around us, the skirmishers opened fire, and three of the defensive soldiers fell, dead.
    "Sir!"
    One of them yelled, seeing a group of soldiers approaching, seven of them, the leader was obviously the enemy general, and my general rose, looking at him, the other six engaged in combat all around him...
    The duel began...
    The enemy general slashed at mine, but missed, shields clashed, swords met.
    My general fell down to the floor, the other general knocking him down, but he soon got up and lunged at him, a direct hit to the shoulder, but the enemy general smiled, I could not understand, why? Why was he smiling?
    As blood splattered all over my helmet and armor, I realized, that the duel which was happening right in front of me, has ended. My friend fell to the ground, his throat slashed, and the enemy general looked at his round shield, which had blades on it... And smiled. I looked at the lifeless corpse of my general and darkness engulfed me again... Why was I here, I asked myself...
    The answer never came.

    ENTRANT 2 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    TOTW - One more time…His bare feet ached. Alexanderos ran with great long strides, dodging the carts in the busy streets as he ran down the hill. The hills of the Cilician Gates stood like a sentinel, watching over the lands of Pontus. Alexanderos reached the steep terrace where his family lived. The squalor of the district could be clearly seen in the chipped lime plaster and human waste in the streets as he crashed through the front door of his home.

    The sound of ringing pieces of metal being gathered could be heard as Alexanderos listened to his mother talking to Antonius in the next room.
    “I’ve got to… the honour of Rome… prove myself.”
    “But Antonius… trivial and unimportant…” There was a moment of silence and then a woman’s scream as Antonius slapped her, knocking her to the floor. Antonius ran to the door and stood there, armour clad as he gestured to his fellow sibling.

    “Come, Alexanderos. We’ll see the sun set on that battle yet if we leave now.” Alexanderos shook his head and spoke as the rain started to fall outside, casting a grey shadow on the street outside. “Yes, but will it be from under a Roman standard or a Macedonian one…?” Alexanderos’ family was part Greek, part Roman, and the 2 brothers could not have idolised the Greeks/Romans more than they did.

    Antonius grabbed Alexanderos and flung him to the floor. His back jarred on the stone streets as he fell to the floor. He scuttled backwards through the urine-soaked ground and water as the rain fell harder still. Antonius stood in the dry doorway and pointed his sword at Alexanderos’ gullet. “You are no brother of mine…” He walked over him and within seconds had disappeared into the rain.

    It was one week later and Alexanderos’ feet now compacted the hard, dusty earth above the edges of the River Issus where all those years ago Megos Alexanderos had defeated Darius in his epic duel of wits. Would the Macedonians be so successful today? Alexanderos shifted his shoulder and shield to hold his huge Sarissa more comfortably.

    Antonius manned a Scorpius to the rear of the lines. As full of will, patriotism and bravado as Antonius was, he was still apprehensive.

    But as the two lines prepared to meet, he saw a familiar face standing in the front line. “FIRE!” he shouted as the single huge bolt flew towards the line. The young man was lifted into the air and his pike fell to the ground.

    Alexanderos pulled his shield into his chest and lowered his spear on orders as the Romans advanced. He was ready to thrust when he heard a near silent whistling. He looked up but saw nothing before his vision went black and he felt himself thrown skywards. He slowly rose to his knees and sat there, watching the lines advance in front of him as sound faded from the world. He hadn’t been able to prove himself worthy of his Macedonian lineage…


    ENTRANT 3 - Elendil of Númenor
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Bravery or Happiness

    “Hey, get up, the Macedonians are here!” I opened my eyes. My brother's face was inches from my own. “Come on, out of the tent. You don't want the cohort waiting, do you?”
    I got up, pulled my lorica over my head then fastened my belt. Not too tight, all the equipment was unbearable outside. I picked up the water flagon and pressed it to my dry lips. Nothing came from it. I sighed and picked up my pila and scutum and walked out of the tent.

    The sun hit me like fire, and the sand blew into my eyes. Squinting, I looked around.
    “Hurry up, already! They're almost here!” It was my centurion. I ran up to my place in the second line and waited. Time passed slowly. Eventually the tips of pikes appeared over the hill in front. Soon, the full might of the phalanx was visible, and that wall of death edged forward. My brother, who stood right in front of me, looked back over his shoulder and winked. I returned an unconvincing smile and waited for what was to come.

    The first hit came to our left flank. Men dropped their weapons and went screaming from the battle. Almost everyone escaped from those cohorts. They ran all the way to the Sea, and sailed back to Rome, to live and die one day, peacefully. Cowards, but happy men.

    But this was not to be the fate of my cohort. The sun burned ever stronger and the enemy marched closer to our line. One of the phalangists broke lines and ran forward. I blinked. In a flash of scarlet my brother fell to his knees – the pike struck him between the ribs.
    I felt numb, lifeless. As if it was I who had fallen, as if it was my blood that flowed through the sand.
    Not knowing where I was, what I was doing, I sprang forward, slashing, cutting, stabbing. Many a spear pierced me but I could not feel. I would not feel. The sun flashed on my sword, the blood streaming down my wrist and arm. I closed my eyes. I felt the sand under my lips – but something strange trickled into my mouth too. “Water!” I thought. But it was not water. . .

    I opened my eyes. Everyone was fast asleep around me, though the sunlight was already peering in through the opening of the tent. The centurion peeked in and nodded towards me. I bowed my head slightly. Then I turned to my brother and woke him up. I walked out and strode to my centurion. “Marcus!” He looked at me questioningly. “Could it be possible to send my brother, Sextius Gabinius, to the left flank? I'm sure he'd be better there. Please, Centurion!” He gazed at me, then shrugged.
    “So be it. To the ninth cohort with him, then.” I took my place in the first line, just in front of the position my brother should have stood. I smiled. . .

    ENTRANT 4 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A Soldier’s Story Never Changes Through the Ages

    It was morning. Or was it late in the day? I do not remember. When on campaign in the field, days turn into nights and nights turn into days. All that I know is family are home and I am here. I am only a soldier. I am in a great field army. I follow orders.

    Today the orders were to dress for battle and wait. We waited. As I said it was day and then it was night. And then day again, I think.

    We formed up into battle line formation and approached the enemy on the open plain. First they were a distant speck on the horizon. And now they are close enough to see the battle scars on their faces.

    The battle lines are about to engage. I thought that I had spotted a lone javelin fly overhead. Maybe it was simply the heat and the light playing tricks on a tired soldier thinking about home.

    And then it came: a huge roar and the clanging of swords against shields accompanied by the clashing of spears against shields. And within what seemed like an eternity but was probably only about an hour – it was over. I think we won. I do not know. I do know that I am alive and I still have hopes to see my family again one day. But... the campaign is not finished. This was supposed to be the climatic battle to end the war and now we are told it was but a skirmish. There will be more marching and more fighting.

    I am only a soldier. I am in a great field army. I follow orders.

    ENTRANT 5 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Last Breath

    Why did I do it?

    Well, I suppose the old fool was asking for it, showing valuables like that bracelet
    in a place like this. What did he expect?

    We met on the caravan to Smyrna. He had a consignment of furs and I offered to buy
    them. We let the caravan go ahead for the sake of privacy in our negotiations. He was
    a good talker. His wizened body in its dusty black robes belied a silver tongue. But I wasn't
    competing in that department, just waiting for a chance to relieve him of the wicked
    little dagger slung from his belt.

    Eventually we reached what he thought was a deal. I saw the greedy glint of triumph
    in his eye as we embraced to seal the bargain. Even though I could hardly bear to touch his
    lice-infested form, I gritted my teeth, gave my most winning smile and reached for him...
    before grabbing the dagger and holding it across his throat as I pushed him to the ground,
    relieving him of his jewellery and coin bag.

    Oh, how he struggled! Wriggling like a snake, scratching and biting. But I was prepared.
    Kneeling on his chest, I hammered in the stakes and pulled the ropes tight.

    “Don't worry old man, I'm sure you'll eventually pull one out if you put your back into it, enjoy the
    view!”

    Turning to leave (for nearby Magnesia, not the caravan) I barely had time to register the huge man
    in a mangy fur jacket before his cudgel swung around and the lights went out.

    I awoke still dizzy, head throbbing. Blinking away their fresh spit, I saw them walking back
    toward the caravan.

    For a moment I thought I was going to survive. But I couldn't move a muscle, except for
    my head. Then it occurred to me to look down to see how I was bound (I pride myself on
    being able to escape from any knot, essential in my trade). The sand was up to my chin!
    I tensed, stretched, writhed, twisted, but nothing I did gave me any movement at all and
    I collapsed into exhaustion.

    How was I to know he had a son? That dwarf with a face like a pickled prune and breath
    straight from the charnal house. How could any woman even look at him for more than a few
    seconds without losing the will to live, let alone desire to bear his children?

    It has been two days, Thirst and pain are gone, I float. The morning light is soft, the desert
    shimmers, the ground trembles... Trembles? That's odd.

    The horizon ahead is dark with ant-like figures. They come closer, Phalangites marching in
    lock-step! What a stupid place to hold a battle!

    They are close now. The shadows of lowered pikes fall over me.

    Why can't you see me? My throat is dried up, I open my mouth anyway, and try to scream:
    “Help me! Help me you bastards, I want to live!

    ENTRANT 6 - Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "The Lone Arrow" The fate of two mighty empires hung in the balance. On one side, the Mighty Seleucids, heir to one of the greatest leader’s of all time. On the other, the Disciplined Romans, rulers of Italy, Greece, Spain, and Africa. Both commanders knew victory meant glory and honor for themselves, while a defeat would spell death and destruction for him and his men.
    The Romans had, in recent years, sent a single Legion north, with orders to raze Pella.
    The Legion had marched forward, under a young general, with a full compliment of cavalry, Legionaries, archers, and artillery. The Macedonians quivered and wailed, ever fearing the day when Rome’s might would reach their capital. Thousands of peasants and farmers took up arms and were slaughtered. Skilled mercenaries, including archers of the isle of Crete, swordsmen from the eastern reaches of Galatia, and Thracian auxiliaries wielding the deadly falx were recruited. These men succeeded only in diminishing the Legion.
    Finally, the Legion had reached a relatively undefended Pella and sacked it, leaving next to no survivors. The Senate had been pleased. Far too pleased, in fact.
    They sent their prized legion the Legio XVI Graecia, east, to exact revenge on the Seleucids, an empire whose wealth exceeded that of even Rome herself, so much so they could afford to support their western brethren in war. After months of campaigning, the Sixteenth reached Antioch. Here, the Sons of Seleucus fought to defend their capital. Here, the bloodiest battle of the war occurred.
    The Romans, by this time, had among their ranks enough men to form 7 cohorts, not a legion. The Greeks had 7,000 men, the vast majority of which were phalangites.
    On one side of the battlefield, an army modeled after Alexander suffered from the heat, burning in their armour, sweating every drop of water from their bodies. On the other, the sons of Aeneas felt none of the effects of the sun. They felt cold. Limb-numbing, heart-engulfing, cold. The shivers of fear passed along the ranks, prompting the commander to ride his mount up and down the rows of men, calling encouragements, not even so much as glancing at the enemy.
    The general then gave a rousing speech, informing his men of the Greeks love of sharp objects entering their bodies. This earned several laughs and a cheer.
    The phalangites kept silent as they approached the Romans, holding their ground.
    Now we find out what happens when an unstoppable force collides with an immovable object.
    As the general grimly smiled at his jest, one single arrow streaked past, flying directly towards the Greeks. The General turned, shouting at the men to hold, only to see an archer grinning ear-to-ear. A loud groan rose from the Hellenes, and the Romans cheered as the leader of the Seleucids fell, an arrow through his neck.
    The Romans were exalted, the Macedonians; crushed. Victory fell to the Romans, the fate of two empires decided by a lone arrow


    TotW 40 - Heart of Men
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Astaroth
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Battle of the Gorgoroth



    Ash is raining down from the Orodruin, turning the endless plains of the Gorgoroth into a barren land. Biting smoke is filling my lungs as I move forwards. We were fools, arrogant fools for thinking we could defeat this enemy. There can be no victory against the Dark Lord.

    We're surrounded now, this is our last stand. Loud drums can be heard and the silhouettes of thousands of orcs are approaching slowly. They're coming.

    On the horizon, the mighty fortress of Barad-dűr rises into the dark clouds. The Eye seems to be flaring as if it was taunting us. Sauron knows that there is no escape for us, those who dared to challenge his power will be crushed like ants under his iron heel.

    As the enemy approaches, we are preparing to face him once more. The plains in front of us are now swarming with orcs. Here we will stand and fight until we can fight no more. There is no escape. Huge mountain trolls and Olog-hai from the deepest dungeons of the Dark Tower are amongst them. It will be over soon, our arms are heavy, our hope is long gone.

    The ground is shaking under their feet now and the deafening drums make me tremble. As our first line collapses, I realize that I will never see the White City again. Minas Tirith, the place where I was born, where I've lived all my life. But after this day, there will be no tomorrow for Gondor. This is the end of Middle Earth.

    Suddenly I'm covered in blood. The troll in front of me is raising his mace, ready to end my life once and for all. For a moment, I want to die. My soul is filling with hopelessness and I do not have the power to withstand the enemy any longer.

    Then I hear a shout. "For Gondor!" Without realizing that I am the one who shouted, I take up my spear and drive it through the Olog-hai's massive body. As the beast screams with pain, I suddenly hear a second noise, seemingly coming from far above. I raise my head to the sky and open my mouth to shout:


    "THE EAGLES! THE EAGLES ARE COMING!"
    ENTRANT 1 - Ratbag
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Eternal Life!


    Even as I stood here under the dark red sky, mount doom in the distance, it’s sulfur burning in my lungs and the great eye of Sauron looking down upon us, I could not believe it was really happening.



    Against this power there was no hope of victory.., as far the eye could see orc’s were marching towards us and trolls were already butchering us.
    The man standing beside me got flattened by its huge club. Everywhere there were brothers screaming, dying a horrible death.
    It was here in the land of Mordor the future of our world would be decided and things did not look good.



    In my heart I had already accepted the I would no longer see the white city, the beauty of the sun glistering of the pearly towers.
    My wife and children were so far away, waiting for my return that shall never come. It laid heavy on my heart, for I loved them.
    But now in battle I would not let my heart or my courage fail, it was my love for them that made it worth going through this hell for.



    The Olog-Haî raised its club again, this time it would be me who got crushed. I jumped to my side while the club came crashing down.
    I came down with the crushing blow barely missing me. I got back on my feet as fast as I could but the Troll had already start swinging again,
    he hit me right in the chest and I flew several meters trough the air. I landed on my back, gasping to breath.
    I could see the Olog-Haî raise his club again to deliver the final blow, when suddenly 2 spear hit the small opening in his armor by his neck.



    Before I could really understand what just happened, a brother in arms had already lifted me back up on my feet.
    Still hurting from the blow I looked in his eyes, a chock went all trough my body.
    It was my oldest son, who should have been home in Minas Tirith. “What are you doing here!” I shouted out is despair.
    With a steady look in his eyes he answered “I’m sorry father, but I could not stay behind and wait while all the men were gone to fight for our future!”
    He was still looking in my eyes with the same steady gaze. “Well let’s fight side by side then and show those vile creatures what men of Gondor can do!” I said amused. And so we fought, shoulder by shoulder for the fate of all mankind in Middle-Earth.



    This day would live on into history, we would live on into history…



    FOR GONDOR !!!

    ENTRANT 2 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A DEAd END
    The armies of mordor where coming,I heard screaming people running away,while we were going to the enemy army,I was thinking is this not suicide ?We are outnumbert,I feel a strange feeling in my head,
    do I got a headache ?I hope not so because I need to lead a army of pesents,soldiers,people with guts
    to fase a enemy that wil have no mercy to kill us.
    we where marching with 3640 men strong to a enemy 8 000 men strong.
    We could already see the enemy orks trolls and a Nazgul I was thing if that thing comes to us our morale will be nothing,we tought it would be best to stay here on this hill and let them come to use.it was getting dark soon,something I hate because all thats coming is dark and ivel,as long as I live i will defend this spot so the will not pass because if they do then my son and wife will not be save deer Johana and Ditri,I miss them so much,I got to fight for my family and for all those other family's.
    our swordsmen are gonna hack into the enemy,
    the orks are coming sound the alarm,I heard the alarm I wake up take my sword and shield,
    the orks attacked the front of our army will the armourd trolls where attacking the back of our army.
    I charge upon the trolls with my armourd pics of 600 men,
    I could see in there eyes the where afraid,
    I told them do not fear we shall counter this ivel.
    the orks were stronger then I expected,then we went to aid our friends in battle,there line was olmost broken,
    We fast charge upon the trolls to get them confused,I was thinking could we win know ?
    then out of nothing a Nazgul came right infront of me he takes his mach swings it to me,I avoid it then I try to stik my blade into the Nazgul rider,I succeed but out of nothing I feel a pain in my hand,
    I drop the sword and the nazgul has nothing no scratch I was trying to get up and take my sword but he swings his mach a final time and it gets dark around me I feel cold I could here the screams of my soldiers at all fronts the where overrun.
    I was hearing now nothing anymore,I am dead so are my soldiers,
    know I will soon be with my familie,deer Johana and my son Ditri.

    ENTRANT 3 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Catch of the Day

    “Go on, have another tea-cake dear.”

    Nodding in appreciation, Heather accepted the tiny red cake, holding it carefully in the tips
    of her clumsy thick fingers. “Lovely! They're just so more-ish aren't they?”

    A bulky figure hunched over the embroidery frame looked up. “You shouldn't be so free
    with those Mossy, we're almost out of them. Actually, we're short of thread too, I don't think
    I have enough left to do 'Ron's nose.”

    “Shelly, you spend too long on that thing",
    Mossy replied, "
    you'll end up with back trouble,
    you mark my words”. Appearing to come to a decision, she continued brightly: “I think it's
    time we went fishing again.”

    Heather looked doubtful. “What's the point, we'll never find anything decent this time of year.”

    “Ah, but that's where you're wrong. I'm pretty sure there's big group of lobsters on the way.
    The cave crabs are all a twitter, putting on their shells and running in and out all the time”.
    Not entirely convinced, the others nevertheless agreed to give it a try, and to bring some
    friends from across the corridor.

    Making their way to the cliff where they kept their diving suits, they couldn't help noticing
    the crabbies were really agitated today. Streams of them were heading out, chattering and
    growling and kicking at each other. Suits on and straps tight, the girls followed, wincing as
    they dove out into the harsh light of the Outside.

    Mossy was the first the adjust to the light. “Look! Told you so. Hundreds of 'em! Don't
    forget your baskets girls!” Together they waded forward into the melee.

    The crabbies were not doing well. They were smaller, with fragile shells and, like the girls,
    distracted by the painful brightness. The lobsters were difficult to look at directly, their
    shells shone like silver furnaces and flashed as they lay about them to left and right with
    sharp spikes. Pathetic dead crabbies lay everywhere in heaps, yet there were still too many
    live ones to count.

    “Look out for the spines!” said Heather, rubbing the wound in her side where she had just
    pulled one out. She hit the offending lobster with her hammer, hearing a satisfying crack
    as its shell broke, and swept it into her basket.

    Finally, bleeding a little from numerous minor cuts and stabs, but with baskets full and
    spirits high, the girls left the crabbies to get on with it and returned to the blessed gloom
    with their haul.

    Back at their apartment, Mossy cracked open a couple from the catch to make more
    cakes, while Shelly reviewed her embroidery. It was going to be lovely. Her full name,
    Shelob's Handmaiden” was subtly incorporated into the illuminated border, while in the
    central panel the single baleful red eye already dominated the picture. But then her brow
    wrinkled. She broke her reverie and called out.

    “Mossy, what exactly does Sauron's nose look like anyway?”

    ENTRANT 4 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Dwarf armor is known as the finest armor. Strength is never in the armor though; it is in the minds and hearts of the brave souls who must be fitted with armor. This is a story of hearts and minds put to such a test:


    Battle


    Tonight, a test of civilizations will take place. The good Dwarves of the Kingdom under the Mountain are threatened by the darker forces supported by Sauron. The Men of Dale have given promises of aid, but today they cannot be seen. The Orcs are on the march. The Dwarves will need all of their skills as well as their fine armor to defeat the powerful enemy marching before them.

    Numbers alone will not win the decision for the Dwarves. The Orcs are big and powerful killing machines. The Dwarves will need to coordinate and attack individual Orcs and overwhelm them or the battle will quickly be lost. The Orcs cross into the Kingdom in a tight formation to the great surprise of the Dwarves. Can this be? Are Orcs going to coordinate and cooperate?

    In any event, the great Dwarf army must form up and prepare for the assault. The Orcs march closer. The sounds of their advance begin to send tremors though the ranks. The scent of fear can be a terrible disadvantage. Many a battle can be lost purely on morale.

    The Dwarves are muttering and pockets of dissent will quickly form. To lead great Dwarves in combat is the responsibility of the King. This is such a time when leadership may make the difference.

    The great king addresses the Dwarves, “It is time to remember why we are here and what will be our price of failure.” He pauses. The great army quiets. “The Orc Army is but a tool of Sauron. As a tool, it has not heart in the task before them today. To the Orcs, this is but an assignment. To Dwarves, this is the essence of life. It is our very existence. I will not tell you to fight well. You know no other way to fight. I will not promise you that the Men will come to our aid. Promises are never as strong as the family ties of our Kingdom. Prepare and shortly we will know our destiny.”

    The Orc army is now upon what will become a bloody field of battle. To the Dwarves’ great surprise, the Orcs now fan out into their classic spread position for attack. The luck may yet be with them. There is now an opportunity to overwhelm them one by one.

    The roar of “Charge!!” rises from the ranks of the Orcs and they lunge into the deep lines of Dwarves. The ground becomes wet with the spilt blood. The Dwarves are weakening. The Orcs are winning the contest.

    Off in the distance, the Men of Dale are spotted. Commitments have not been forgotten. The Orcs flee in panic. The Kingdom under the Mountain shall live for another day.

    Last edited by Boustrophedon; January 08, 2012 at 08:57 AM.

  11. #11
    Dark Storm's Avatar saut dans le vide
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    West Mids, England
    Posts
    7,569
    Tournaments Joined
    1
    Tournaments Won
    0

    Default

    TotW 41 - Rain
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    PRAY FOR RAIN

    "Just another swing, please!"..."Just...another...one..."

    Swing...Blood spurt...Swing, a hacked limb...
    I can feel the cold sweat slowly flowing down my cuirass, and dampening the skin of my back...Who would have thought, that a single thought like:
    "God Almighty, give us rain today, flush this damned heat away!" would actually reach the heavenly ear of Allah...

    Patiently, hiding just as we were thought from the day we learned to stand, my Hashashin brethren watched the Infidel crusader column moving in the morning heat, clad in that wretched steel armor...It would start soon, the slaughter is nigh...A single cloud in distance gives me hope, ever so slight
    but still hope.

    I slowly speak to my brethren: "Now we do what we're bred for, for Allah and our beloved Sultan. Death to Infidel Prince, the white skinned slayer of children and women..."

    Clouds now come ever closer, as if stalking the column, just like we are doing, Allah-u-Akhbar...Sun finally seems to fade behind the darkness of the clouds and the air comes into my chest without scorching my soul as intensely as it did this morning.

    Sallah-din should be commencing the assault with his cavalry any moment, just as we agreed...Buying us time to do our holy duty, the one we were brought into this world for. And just as the thought went past in my mind, the familiar sound of Sultan's brave bodyguard, comes charging into our eardrums. It has begun...

    The dust cloud becomes ever larger as the cavalry charge nears the quick forming line of Infidel armored infantry. And the carriage that holds our precious target gets left with but a few guards..."Now is the time! Thread fast, and slide like the "rih al khamsin" does in Sahara..."

    Just as we're about to enter the arrow range from the carriage, one of men trips and draws attention from bodyguards. "Damned fool! Our cower is blown, CHARGE NOW!". The cursed charge into the midst of the Infidel's best bodyguard begins, and hopes are high we can reach the wretch in the carriage before we're completely overpowered. And at last...

    The heavens open up in a furious bursts of water drops, deafening in noise, and suffocating the screams of the bodyguards for reinforcements! The sweat on our backs is replaced with bucket-worth amounts of water in mere seconds, but now even visibility is minimal as well. There's our chance! "Allah-u-Akhbar!" I utter one more time, while sending yet another bodyguard to hell.

    Only 2 of them stand between me and my prized target now, "I must endure...".
    My blade moves ever slower now, and my swings become heavy as the weight of water the heavens have unleashed upon this field today.
    First guard of the two is down, and the last one charges towards me..."DIE YOU BROWN-SKINNED COWARD!" I can hear him screaming something, "Is he cursing me?"...

    As I propel my body with last bits of my strength, my saber cuts into the neck of the last bodyguard...
    The swing...the blood spurt...Time has all but stopped as I watch the huge water drops exploding on the blade and my armor...Turning slowly around, I see the shadow jumping out of the carriage and dissapearing in the flurry of water, as another wave of bodyguard's shades grows ever larger upon me...

    "Who would have thought..."

    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Insanity
    A loud bang slashed through the air as a lightning pierced the skies, one could only imagine it due to the intense rain, we could not even see the skies.
    I looked around me, there was just enough light to see the two men to my sides, but not to my front or back, I looked behind me and aside from a muzzle from a torch, nothing was seen.
    "McLaud, ye' hear that?"
    "What?" I asked
    "That!" My friend yelled as a horn was sound, and soon, hundreds of arrows behind us were loose, and the screams of pain coming from the enemy were silenced by the crack of lightning.
    "Yes, I definitely heard that!" I yelled, smiling, and he smiled back... At least I think he did.
    Another crack of lightning, and soon, a soldier bashed his spear's shaft onto his shield, two others joined him, I joined them as well, soon enough, the entire platoon bashed their spears into their shields in a corresponding rhythm, again, and again, soon enough the entire army responded.
    The sound was terrifying, and for the first time, not even the crack of lightning could overcome the intense sound of our bashing.
    Again and again, we repeated, I smiled and waited eagerly for combat... And a small flash of light was seen from afar.
    "What the hell was that, McLaud?"
    "How the heck should I --YAR" I screamed as a cannonball exploded right in front of me, dozens more hit our lines, and I could her the general screaming:
    "Men! March!"
    We advanced through the rain, continuing the bash of our shields, and our foolish enemy kept firing at our old position, couldn't even see we were gone.
    "ADVANCE!"
    The general screamed again and we starting running, neglecting the bashing for screams of battle and the engagement with the enemy.
    "McLaud!"
    "Over here!"
    "Glad to see you, I was looking all over for ye'!"
    "Well, keep up!" I smiled, he replied the smile. Even though he was my bodyguard, he was more than a friend to me.
    The battle raged on, I lunged my spear, only to have it shot off, I drew my sword and slashed and bashed, dashed and gashed, many fell to my feet.
    "McLaud! Five already!"
    "Ha! Seven here!"
    "What!? Son of a b----!" He was cut off by a strong crack of lightning, and I smiled and kept bashing.
    "Mr. McLaud!"
    Someone yelled
    "Mr. McLaud!
    MISTER MCLAUD!"
    "What!? What!?"
    "It's time for your medicine, sir" said the nurse.
    "Where am I?"
    "You had a bad dream. Just sit up and take your meds, sir"
    "But... I was there, at the Americas... Right?"
    "Yes sir. You are in Brooklyn"
    "But no, I was in the..."
    "Take your meds, sir" She said, and I dared not oppose her again.

    ENTRANT 2 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Brave charge


    My name is Donkomir I am a soldier in the army,I have grown up in a village far from where I am know,I have also leaved my wife behind to go to war.
    I will do all that it takes to keep the enemy from sacking my village.
    We where called to take up our duty to defend our land,we where assembling the army and at noon we where marching to go and face the enemy.
    Most soldiers had never gone to war before,I could see there nervous faces there feet marching to a place they never had gone before.I had been fighting in a war before it was hard and many died that day,but know I can make a difference.
    I told them :"soldiers we will fight for our grandchildren loved ones and family the will have to pass us to get to our land lets kill them leave none alive"
    in the evening we could see the enemy we where preparing to charge but then out of nothing it begone to rain and harder and harder we could not see anymore the enemy.
    we could hear the drops of rain splash on our Armour,the soil changed into mud,
    some soldiers where panicking and scared.
    The general told them don't fear this storm use it to our advantage,I took a spear and begone to march to the enemy it was hard I was hold back of the hard rain,I could olmost see nothing.
    Soldiers that where scared now begone to march to eager fight the enemy and out of nothing the army was ready to fight.
    I Donkomir was marching and getting closer to the enemy,now I could see them.
    I hear from my back our army marching and shouting "dead to the enemy"
    I know was eager and ready.
    I didn't feel the rain anymore on my Armour the soil of mud where my feed where standing on was something I soon forgot.
    I took my spear I hold it into the air ready to point it to trow it to the enemy soldier
    the heavy rain makes it hard to maneuver from the arrows,
    I was charging into the enemy lines I took the spear took a fast position to trow it and the spear went right trow the enemy general.
    I know took position with my shield and blade our army charged into the enemy lines,
    I site by site was fighting with my brothers,the enemy army was getting kilt piece by piece.
    The enemy was beaten,the prisoners where kilt.

    Our land was ones save again,I was looking forward to go back to my wife and village.

    ENTRANT 3 - Ozy

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Diary.

    Day 133.

    All I can think of is being back in dry land. Arriving to the port, and finally seeing them again. That motivates me to move on in this ship, surrounded by the blue, unexplored regions of the ocean…

    Day 141.

    A storm found us. We have lost our route and have not seen land for days. Dense fog covers the stars and all around us. The captain seems optimistic, telling us we should soon find our way.
    I have been in bad situations before, made it every time. Surely when all is over this will be a good story to tell the kids when I get back.

    Day 143.

    We have found a man in the mist. A sailor saw him floating on the water over a piece of wood. We took him in the ship, hoping he could help us find our way. He was unconscious, but breathing. Hopefully he will wake up soon…

    Day 145.

    The man woke up today. However, most of our hopes died when we realized the man was crazy. He told a story about monsters that hunted the Ocean, taking ships, confusing them to sail to the end of the World. Just a lunatic…isn’t it?

    Day 153.

    Good news! A seagull was spotted in the sky. It should be heading to land not far away. I feel more confident about seeing them again. If only the man we found would shut up! He began yelling when he heard about the seagull. “it’s a trap, they did it to us!” he yelled, over and over again. “They will take you all too!” he said, finally, as we grabbed him and locked him in a storeroom. He will see soon…

    Day 158.

    Five days. No signs of more seagulls. The captain says we should move ahead, that land should be just a few days away. I hesitate. What if the man is right and this is all the work of evil powers that plot to take our souls?
    I see them in my dreams. A storm, a new ocean falling on us drop by drop from the clouds, and dark feathered men that take us to the water, dragging us to the abyss. I beg the gods to let me survive to be home again.

    Day 160.

    This night we heard thunders. Probably a storm is coming. We see more seagulls ahead. We will reach land soon! The man in the storeroom began to yell again, demanding that we let him out. We ignored him, and only later we found he had hung himself. The thunders are getting louder.

    Day 161.

    They are here. Came from the clouds. Have dark, red feathers on their heads, and make terrible noises. Many men jumped into the water, drawn mad by their screams. The brave ones fell to claws and steel, and were dragged to the water. Then we saw the fall in front of us, the end of the World. We tried to turn around, but it was too late. The few of us that remain have hidden in the lower levels of the ship.

    I will never see home again. I'll take my sword and face them in the rain. The ship will soon go in an eternal fall to the nothingness, I better hurry...

    ENTRANT 4 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The figure without a face

    Arminius turned fitfully in his sleep. The sky was dark outside and dust scattered noisily on the stone floor. A bolt of lightening split the sky in two, ripping a jagged path through the heavens, before disappearing in an instant. Arminius rolled and tossed like a ship in heaving seas as his mind played on his fears.

    He was walking in a robe across the black chamber. The night was just as heavy as when he had left it, and it’s total inky blackness blocked his vision. Arminius blinked and stared, his eyes now seeing through the invisible murk. He saw a figure lying in his bed, indistinguishable in the dark. The phantom slept peacefully, but there was something supernatural about it, thought Arminius: somehow, it didn’t breathe.

    With a rush of wind the wooden door swung open with an echoing creek and slammed into the wall with an eerie and final shudder. It stayed there, pinned by the force of the weather outside as Arminius slowly moved towards the portal, one side dry, the other sodden and saturated. His feet made a slow pattern on the hard surface, highlighting his movements as he stared blankly through the opening.

    He heard a tapping splash and a footstep, but they were gone even before he could register them. The other buildings of the small village were barely visible in the pounding rain as he continued to stand there, gazing raptly at the silence and emptiness… he felt like it was watching him. Arminius heard a creaking of timber and swivelled where he stood, turning to stare at his bed.

    His now empty bed.

    He saw the figure standing there. It was silhouetted by a candle, with no light but that which clung to the edges of his shadowy form. Arminius took a single step forward but arrested his motion as he touched the ground - what was wrong? He slowly gazed down, purely on instinct, and there he saw the sword rudely protruding from his belly. He had no reaction, being too startled for mortal words, but he felt no pain; he felt lighter than the softest silk. Then he felt himself being pulled backwards, and everything lost it’s colour before disappearing.

    Arminius’ form was catapulted upright as he awoke, feeling the cold air scorch his hot throat and dripping face. He exhaled heavily numerous times, swallowing vigorously as he recalled his recent nightmare. But as he lay back down, he heard a noise… that same small innocuous footstep… gone before it could be heard properly… and was within seconds out of bed. The same grey slate slanted downwards in iron streaks towards the cratered earth as he opened the door.

    The vision before him was unreal. There were many figures protected by the darkness, but the one in front of him shone out. The man carried a long, glistening sword that somehow glistened in the absence of any light and although as intangible as a ghoul he had white hair that somehow carried with it the same pure iridescence.
    Who…

    ENTRANT 5 - Astaroth
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    For Allah

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    My heart is beating quickly, hammering in the depth of my chest. Heavy drops of water are dripping off my sword and clothes, my skin is cold and wet. The fighting has been going on for many hours now but there's no end in sight. The soil is saturated with blood, the most valuable of all liquids, and corpses lie everywhere. The bodies of my comrades, my friends, covered in mud. They've fought and died, all of them gave their life. For Allah.

    Screams can be heard, men are shouting, crying, begging for mercy. They're dying, feeding the sateless earth with their blood. The rainfall is becoming stronger now, the heavy patter is drowning out everything else. The water is washing away our sins, cleaning our souls. For a moment, I feel free, as if a heavy burden had been taken from my shoulders. Free like a bird.

    Then I see the dark figure in front of me, blurred and covered in shadows. Without hesitation, I raise my sword and strike out. Cold steel cutting through warm flesh. Through the rain I can hear him screaming, crying with pain. Slowly, my enemy is sinking to the ground. Within seconds, he has disappeared, vanished into nothingness. For Allah.

    My arms are heavy now, tiredness is filling my body. It's cold. I'm thinking about my family, my wife, my little son. He will be five soon. Five years old already. I don't know if I'll ever see him again.

    The rain is lashing against my back but I barely notice the pain. It feels as if it has been raining for hours but I have lost track of time an eternity ago. Suddenly, I notice something in the dark. It's approaching quickly, fast as lightning.

    I'm too tired to react to the arrow which is piercing the rain, aiming for my heart. Before I realize what has happened, I fall to my knees. My sword is slipping from my hand and death is reaching for me. The pain is overwhelming, I can't keep my eyes open any longer. Then everything becomes dark. For Allah.

    ENTRANT 6 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Dueling Knights Opposing armies move symmetrically --
    The Kings' men march to the battlefield’s center; followed by knights from right flanks attacking the same.
    Each positions archers -- providing covering fire behind the enemy front.

    Symmetry is broken! Peasants threaten the archers, but are struck down by arrow volleys.


    More peasants threaten the archers.
    The archers withdraw, but still threaten the center.

    Peasants move to the battlefield’s center only to be struck down by the threatened pikemen.

    The good king moves out of danger by chariot.
    Pikemen move cautiously toward the battlefield’s center.

    Peasants strike back at pikemen holding the center.
    The skirmishing archers withdraw slightly, again.

    And now more good knights threaten the center.
    And more archers skirmish and threaten the first good knights.

    The minister views the battlefield from the flank.
    The second skirmishing archer group threatens the minister shielded by knights.

    The minister tactically withdraws while the shielding knights move against the minister.

    The good archers now strike down pikemen and directly threaten to fire upon the king.
    The king chooses to move aside and avoids the archery fire.

    The minister makes a tactical withdrawal, again.
    The king now captures the good archers.

    Peasants take even more of the center.
    Pikemen move a bit on the left flank.

    Additional peasants take more of the center.
    The second skirmishing archer group returns to threaten the same knights.

    Peasants now move even deeper into the enemy ranks and directly threaten the king.
    The archers sacrifice themselves for the king's safety and the king captures the remaining peasants deep in his ranks.

    The minister aggressively moves deep, threatening the king.
    The hetman responds, shielding his king from threats.

    The good chariot now threatens the king, but the king can easily step aside.

    The minister follows up with yet another threat, but the king withdraws nearly off the battlefield.

    The good knights on the left flank threaten the hetman who must withdraw slightly to prevent injury.

    The remaining good archers threaten firing upon the king, but they’re lost to the pikemen on the far left flank.

    The other good knights charge the center threatening the hetman.
    The hetman responds moving to the left flank threatening all good knights as well as the minister.

    Undeterred, the good knights continue their charge and threaten the king himself.
    The king meets the challenge by marching and attempting to melee the charging knights.

    The knights continue charging against the king, this time deep into the enemy ranks.
    The king has no choice but to march and attempt to melee the other good knights in the center of the field, but this group of knights also continues harassment of the king.

    The king must now move even closer to the good ranks, attempting melee with the knights. With all of the good knights harassing the king, the duel may be to the death.

    A final attempt is made preserving the king’s life.

    Left flank lowly peasants strike the critical blow.

    The king is dead. Long live the king.

    ENTRANT 7 - Kallum
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    The Tragedy of War

    I hate thunderstorms. They come with rain and a lot of noise. Rain that makes my hand loosen it’s grip on my cold blade. Noise that distracts me from my goal, as the finest wine it distracts me, disabling me in seeing what is important.

    We stand here, on the brink of civilization. Everything will be decided tonight. Whether we live or die as a civilization or as slaves. I wish Allah had chosen another night for this battle, I can’t see anything, everything is a blur, am I still in my own formation? Or have I walked to the other side?

    I can’t see anything, only the reflection of the thunder in my blade. It lights up, revealing my position to the enemy. Where am I? Who’s that!? a shadow sent by Allah to grab me and bring me home? Or a messenger of the god of the enemy?

    The shadowy figure raises his hand “Qui est-tu?” sounds through the loud rain and thunder. The sky lights up for a brief moment. Clearly revealing the blue coat of the man in front of me.

    A Frank! You will not see the new day light again! One quick move with his right arm and the blade reaches the neck of shadowy silhouette, the sky is lit once again and tears of blood lit up in a cruel way. The tears splatter everywhere and with the sounds of battle and the thunderstorm surrounding us it is like the Christian God crying for the death of one of his followers.

    I can die with a smoothened heart. I made sure that at least one Frank can’t kill one of my friends, my comrades, men I would trust my life. Another lightning enlightens the sky, revealing that the man is shivering on the cold watery ground, fighting a losing battle against dead.


    ENTRANT 8 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Go For Broke

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    I cannot lose!

    My plan is simple. I will humble that bastard, he will never be able to fight again. Nothing less will serve to balance the hurt he has done me.

    Once I had prospects, a coveted position at a prestigious Dojo, on the fast-track to national recognition. But then he arrived, his silver tongue tricking me into a contest, convincing me he was bluster without ability. He led me to the very cusp of victory before revealing his secret, not merely winning, but making me look like a novice. I lost my post, and soon I lost my fiancé also, his hypnotic guile proving equally effective with women.


    With nothing left to lose, I approached a back-street cybernetician. I gladly gave up my savings in return for the means of my revenge. The implant now sits beneath a flap of false skin, intimately connected to my brain.

    I entered the annual competition, as was my right, knowing we would eventually meet. The authorities lack imagination, they look for drugs and for strength-enhancing devices. My kind of desperation is alien to them.

    Finally we are matched! We fight as one of eight pairs in a driving rainstorm. We salute with our Katanas and begin the graceful ballet of combat. He tests me, I am content to block. He tries a more aggressive move and I riposte, scoring a touch against the safety-mesh on his shoulder as he twists aside. He is angry now, showing more of his skill and I am hard put to defend. I activate the implant, the world jumps as it takes effect. We dance in slow motion my enhanced reactions racing ahead of the muscles they control.


    He is still winning! How can this be? I am faster, but his every move makes multiple threats and I cannot assess them all, I increase the power further.

    We punch holes of dryness through the shimmering veil of rain. The implant is at its limit now, burning my scalp in its eagerness to dump waste heat. But it is insufficient, I use the override and the world jumps again.

    Now I can calculate the path of each individual rain drop. I see every possible outcome of his next sweep and I glimpse the way to victory! I need only sway, dip, reach, feint left then bring my blade back and down to sever his foot.

    Everyone will believe it a tragic accident, the dress-rules will be changed extending the mesh over the ankle. I will drop out of the competition and disappear from public view.

    I reach forward, a thousand glistening drops bounce from his blade, my implant screeches as it assesses the trajectory of each one. My blade begins its final arc.

    It is too much! With a final ripping howl the device explodes from my head in a shower of blood and components. My spasming body slowly topples toward the ground. A single thought fills my consciousness, a timeless scream of frustration...


    TotW 42 - Campfire time get your story up
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    "Roma"

    Charon awaits, coins at ready.
    Enemy comes, hold steady.

    The wretched boatman, fear of olde.
    Hold no anger, but behold.

    Hades longs, for your shades.
    Appease him not, my brigades.

    They step closer, to their doom.
    For their souls, sorrowfull gloom.

    In times that come, world on fire.
    Torches lit, the moment's dire.

    Unleash the javelin, let it fly.
    The more in air, the more will die.

    Unsheath the sword, make no error.
    Watch them panic, enjoy that terror.

    Hold the center, press the flanks.
    Reinforce the line, shred their ranks!

    Form testudo, arrows come.
    Let them waste, until there's none.

    Quivers clear, now let's charge!
    Are they brave, as their number's large?

    Howl like mad, make them shiver.
    Meadow blooded, by crimson river.

    Foe that falters, in eternal shame.
    For us no more, but an easy game.

    Broken spirit, rout is close.
    How they run, on their toes?

    Wounded pride, their defeat.
    Enjoy your victory, a mighty feat!

    For our children, ground foe to dust.
    Barbarian's nemesis, to be we must.

    On this field, monument erect.
    Savage army, here was wreck'd.

    What's done here, forever known.
    How bravely we, put those down.

    Proud men, of Aeneas' blood.
    Today's heroes, how tall you stood.

    Centuries that come, remember fame.
    Mother Roma, shout her name!

    ENTRANT 1 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Caesars legions

    Caesar marched into Gaul territory moving to the Gaul capital Alesia with a legion of 5000 men most of them where experienced veterans and eager to kill those barbarians naming theirselfs Gaul.

    A soldiers says: it's a dark sky,the soldiers looks further and then he saw with his eyes a blue sky he now gets a comfortable feeling.

    Caesar was one a horse at the front of the army with several bodyguards,he looks in front of him he looks very far at the end his eyes can see and then he saw movement in the hills in front of him he saw Gauls moving on the hills into a line ready to charge on the command of their Gaul warlord.

    Caesar saw this immediately a danger to the Roman army and sounds the horn a sound goes through all the ears of the soldiers,

    All soldiers knew this means the battle was about to begin,some soldier think am I gonna live when the battle is done ?

    The Roman army moves into formation the arcgers up front to fire their missiles at the enemy the veteran cohorts where in the second line behind the velites.
    Archers where waiting one the orders of Caesar to fire upon the Gauls,every soldier was eager to fight and loyal to Caesar.
    The sun came through the dark blue sky,the sun was shining on the soldiers their face they where all feeling eager and strong a dark day became a sunny day,a good sign a soldier says to a other soldier.


    Gauls where now moving fast on the ground with their feet the soldiers could hear the ground shaking at the noise of the Gaul army charging to the Roman army.

    Caesar orders the archers to fire,archer soldiers take their spear from their belt point it at the sky aim to the point of the sun to fire upon the gauls.

    A war-cry came from the charging Gauls and Caesar says Roma Victoria,all soldiers repeat Caesar,then the Romans charge upon the Gauls.

    The 2 armies clashed upon each other and the sunny day became a bloody day.
    You could still hear in the Roman say "Roma Victoria !!!"
    ENTRANT 2 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Pride

    Boom... Boom... Boom... The drums sounded...

    Boom... Boom... Boom... The men marched...

    Boom... Boom... Boom... The ballista fired...

    Boom... Boom... Boom... War has come...


    "Hold your lines! Hold your lines!" Screamed the general into the air, our round shields were up and the hail of javelins hit them with an annoying crunching sound. As the hail stopped, we lowered our shields and screamed, letting them know we would not be subdued this easily.
    "Soldiers... My brothers... My god what a glorious day this is, in the gods' names we have gathered here, upon this field of glory..."

    He stopped talking as he dodged a javelin thrown at him.


    "To destroy the evil that has risen, to destroy this foe that has come... They dare challenge us, on OUR lands! For that we have united my friends... To push this vile creature off our lands, once and for all... For that reason we have united, my friends"

    The general turned forwards, facing the enemy with his horse, he raised his sword up, and the entire army stood up straight, no more shields up, perfect line formation.
    "Soldiers! Brothers! Warriors! TO WAR!"
    He screamed, and they charged to meet the Roman force, more javelins hit, more people were killed, and I ran frantically, hoping not to get hit, I saw something black in the corner of my eye, and the cold grass met my face... I was speared... Like a wild boar...
    I rose again, I knew I should have felt pain, but it did not come... I continued my run to the enemy, my frantic sprint, but I got hit again... This time in the chest... In my pride... My coat of arms destroyed...
    My honor...
    My dignity... Ruined...
    I have come all this way...
    Representing my people...
    Representing my family...
    And here I die... With not one achievement...
    Not any pride...
    I die now.

    ENTRANT 3 - Hesus de bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Thoughts before battle.

    I slowly move my eyes over the land, thy don’ t reveal any thing from this point. The columns of maniples passing me bellow on the small muddy road, did not awake my worried thoughts. Thy where moving in to battle formation.

    You could here the centurions shout there orders. Primumagmenhalte.

    It has been three months since we left Italie, the constant fighting has cost my legion a lot of brave Roman souls who will wander about in the underworld.

    As I lifted my head up to the sky I could feel the cold rain drops tingle my skin. It felt like a redemption as I knew this would be the last battle. Thy where tired of fighting, some of the prisoners that where caught a few day’ s before told us that thy where pushing there general to fight the final fight.

    I was still in deep thoughts when one of my officers approached me. He saluted me and continued, general the legion is in position. I even did n’ t notice it. But reacted on the man' s question just in time to not make him worried about my sate of absent.

    Any news of the enemy centurion? Yes general thy are approaching us from that small hill. As pointed out the hill with his finger, you could see the enemies banners march over the hill straight to us. You could hear them raise there war cries. Hilthe heer, haltan hindieeer, a powerful war cry aroused from the enemies line.

    At the same time you could feel the tension rise from both armies that would soon clash in to each other trying to gain victory. Thy looked fears these men on the other side of that field. Brave warriors with painted faces, well fed, well equipted and ready for battle.

    My own men where few in numbers, to refill my legion I had to put my faith in local Greek warlords who expressed there loyalty to Rome. Thy had send me some of there skirmisher units, well trained in throwing there javalins but underpowered and lightly armed to fight well trained soldiers. The 240 hoplites thy send me where a bit better if you would use them proper that is thy where armed with a helmet some armour of lesser quality a huge round shield and a large spear. I decided to flank them with the 400 sword hoplites. Dividing them equally on both sides. As thy act in one massive formation you need to protect these spear hoplits flanks.

    I drove my horse in front of the legion, you still could here the enemy shout there war cry and hurl insults in our direction. BRAVE ROMANS look to the sky and see how the gods are weeping for the loss of our comrades, we are here this day to avenge there dead. With the help of the gods and the will of better men we will crush our enemy...

    Victory or dead to us.


    ENTRANT 4 - Benz282
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The rain pounded on the brim of my helmet. The droplets, tiny and insignificant alone, together joined to drum out an orchestra for all the world to hear. And yet, despite their grandest efforts, I was the only one that payed them any mind and indeed, to me the rain was an incredible nuisance. I shivered uncontrollably as I marched forward with my comrades, my feet sinking down into the half-liquefied earth. Chills ran down to the very root of my spine as water collected on my skin and flowed down to the tips of my toes. I clenched my fists around the slick leather straps of my shield and the wood of my javelins. Nails dug into flesh and crimson blood gathered around my fingertips, only to be washed away by the rain. The pain brought life back to my limbs, and that was all that kept me moving.
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    The officers barked "Tarda.....Consiste!". With that, thousands of feet stopped their synchronized march.

    "Pila tolle!"

    I shifted in my place, unsure of whether I had the will to carry out the next order.

    "...Pila iace!!"

    I groaned as I reluctantly stepped forward and relaxed my grip on the wooden shaft, sending the weapon flying up into the air. Even before the shafts left our hands, we were bracing ourselves for the return volley. I crouched down into the vegetation and grabbed another javelin, looking to the skies. When it was safe, I gripped my second javelin and immediately launched it across the field.

    A second time, I hid in the weeds; my fingers fumbling to connect with the third javelin as my eyes darted from left to right. But then my hands slipped, and it fell to the ground. I looked away from the sky, searching for my final means to harm the enemy.

    "Pila iace!!"

    I stood just as my fellows began retreating, having already thrown their final volley. But I was determined to finish my duty before running to safety. I pulled my arm back, began to step forward and then abruptly fell to the ground, gasping for air. A cruel iron tip had lodged itself in my neck, and I struggled to remove the foreign entity from my soft flesh, but in vain. Pain wracked through my body, but instead of warmth, I felt cold slowly taking over my body; sapping away what little life remained there. My teeth clamped together on my tongue and tears streamed down my face. My shield lay out in front of my face, the arm strapped to it devoid of any movement.

    Then the pain seemed to slip away; muscles relaxed and vision dimmed. Soon all I could see was but a single blade of grass, tormented by the wind and rain just as I was moments earlier. As I closed my eyes for the final time, I heard only the sound of the rain as it hammered against the dead man's shield.

    Perhaps the rain wasn't so terrible after all...


    ENTRANT 5 - Kátz

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    White Reflection

    The sun is shining brightly as the clouds are moving in calmness. Every soldier braced their equipments for the upcoming war and all of them seem confident. But one figure does not perceive the weather this way -- he is Heero. As his name says, he is a hero in battle. Once champion that is yet to meet a worthy rival. But -- the weather instead signs to him that a rival is there to greet him.

    A bright sun inside his dark thoughts reflects the light in his heart. What people might call "White Reflection" is once again rebirthing inside his heart. Heero is known to be cold before by his fellow comrades and minions and more importantly, being known to resort to extreme ways to win a battle. A flash of thoughts now clouded his people. How has he changed?

    The source of a faraway universe -- More than peace, more than freedon, more than justice. Is the light within the human heart. Even if rivals didn't exist, even if there is no life inside him, even if the sight has begone from his eyes. He has one that he keeps to himself as a promise. That is to achieve a freedom, and to show the light within the human heart. Although at times he resorts to extreme and dark ways.

    More than hope, more than ideals, more than aspirations. Is the way a mind thinks. Now he wakes up, equipping himself with the ideal equipments. In hopes he can show the light within the human heart this time. And with an ideal of justice within him. He embarks his journey to go for war.

    Soon he knows the details of his opponent. His heart seems to be torn after hearing it. He faces an old friend, Leonardo. One that he knows for so long a time. To face a 'former friend' separated through harsh times is harsher than separation. Perhaps his resortion to extreme ways before is why he has to face such harsh times.

    He sees the Javelinmen preparing for war. Praying to his God, somehow -- he sees something never seen before. The shields are reflecting white even though it's colour is golden. Finally, he realizes something that he seen in his dream -- White Reflection.

    ENTRANT 6 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    RED, RED SUN



    SONOFALEXANDER


    Zeuxis tipped back the jug, inviting it’s cold, sweet contents into his mouth. The red wine, glistening in the dim light like blood, disappeared down his gullet as a cheer of many men broke out behind him, accompanied by a cacophony of laughing soldiers. He turned on the stool to see men crowded round a high platform in the tavern, where a slave girl was slowly undressing, every piece of clothing she removed drawing a cheer from the exhausted spectators.


    He shook his head, wondering how the men could relax so easily and cursing each and every one of them for their ability to forget the trauma that they had endured earlier that day.


    If it hadn’t been so bad, then the Greek tavern would have been a lot fuller.

    Zeuxis hung his head and exhaled slowly, trying to get the adrenalin out of his system. He heard the bartender begin to mumble as he closed his eyes. His head swam, the deep black of his closed eyes flowing into a landscape around him. All voices faded as the bartender’s pervaded the silence in his head.

    “…Youth of delight, come forth,


    And see the opening morn…”


    He saw in front of him a gently rolling hill, with meadows to his right. He saw the view pan from side to side, revealing the men beside him and behind. The Roman Legion marched forward. From over the hill, the hooves of enemy horse reached his ears.

    “… As sure as stars fade with the dawn,



    Battle is an endless maze…”



    He shrugged, letting the Phrygian helmet of the Cilician Mercenary Auxiliaries fall more comfortably over his now sweat-washed head. He blinked as the first drops of rain began to fall, mingling with his sweat.

    “…Tangled roots perplex her ways,



    The gods of war guarding o’er her gates…”

    Zeuxis looked up in angry defiance. He could make out vague forms of enemy horsemen making their way towards him, but he saw nothing for a moment after. He searched for the elusive sight, his mind coming to center on the same place… but his arm was held aloft, javelin ready, instincts taking over as several tonnes of trained equestrian meat headed straight for his positions.

    “… choose you foes carefully, for they’ll stay with you to the end,


    They’ll last with you longer than your friends…”


    The metal flew and Zeuxis mind with it, as he felt himself ripped out of this world in his mind. He heard the crunch as his spearhead met the bone and armour of the Greeks… his skull sounded with it as he slipped from his perch and smashed his bare skull on the stone floor. A burning pain… sight and sound evaporate…

    He was on the plains of Greece, watching the sun go down over the battlefield… the red, red blood failed to soak into the sodden ground as the rain ceased and the sun emerged between the hills, it’s red, red light like blood casting out over the land.

    A red, red sun.

    ENTRANT 7 - Ozy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    A gift from the Gods.

    "It will be a good day to depart," exclaimed Amalric.

    Adelmar did not respond, looking outside of the cage. The sun would be rising soon from behind the eastern hills. He saw the light rain fall delicately over the meadow, as a gentle breeze from the mountains refreshed the prisoners, bringing them the scent of the wet dirt and flowers of the field. The scene made him long his home in the North.

    "A good day indeed," he replied, finally.

    The peaceful moment became interrupted by the sound of a horn. Soon, a detachment of soldiers approached to the cells. A deformed smile grew in their leader’s scared face and the men around him began to laugh as well, making sickening grins. Two of them opened the doors and dragged the chained men outside. Disgusted, Amalric and the rest stood up and carried their chains, pressed by their guardians to stride out of the fort.


    The barbaric invaders had formed their lines of red shields on the grassland. Their leader was mounted on a dark horse, plated from head to toe, the coward, and wearing a red mane on his helm. Bastard had burnt down villages and murdered thousands, men, women and children alike.

    They had to give him credit for his originality, though. After all, who wants to see yet an other boring crucifixion? "You ambushed us throwing spears and arrows to us, now we shall do the same to you," was what said the translator after their capture.

    "Quite a spectacle for his brutes,” exclaimed Amalric, "he has summoned them all."

    The line of prisoners moved in front of the first rank of the army, before the javelinmen. Upon reaching the correct position, they were ordered to stop and turn to face the army. The sun now rose over the mountains, shining from behind the fog and clouds on the sky. The rain drops fell on their faces, providing the condemned with the tears their eyes could not produce in that sour moment. Their precious land, their cold forests and whispering grooves; their green plains and rainy days, conquered by the steel of graceless bigots from the South. Adelmar imagined his grandchildren, speaking the weak tongue of the conquerors and worshiping foreign gods in temples made by men.

    The foreign commander on the horse stared at his eyes. He looked amused. The prisoner turned to him, challenging. Raising his hand, the rider turned to one of his subordinates and, nodding, the man began to yell orders.

    The condemned faced the enemy. The brutes chuckled and betted on who would get the best hit.

    The sun got higher, but stayed hidden in the clouds, as if it did not want to see.

    An officer rose his sword, and his men got ready to shoot their javelins. Rain continued to fall, more heavily.

    Adelmar looked to the Sun, as it cried rain drops over them.


    "Fire!" was the last sound they heard, and then went to sleep...


    Later that day, when the Romans were gone to their camp, leaving the dead on the field, a celestial line of colors was drawn across the sky, falling gently over the fallen heroes.

    A gift from their gods.


    TotW 43 - Hear ye, Hear ye
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Power of the Ring
    The Orc fights well, frothing at the mouth, tortured red-rimmed eyes focussing on the silver-clad Gondorian, hateful cause of all its pain. But yet again, the Man is just too strong. He charges with his shield, his immense weight pushing the little Orc off-balance, and thrusts his great sword deep into its gut. The Orc screams and collapses to the ground, curling up around its wound and howling out its death-agony.

    Damnation! I really thought that one was going to win! Clucking with disappointment, I jump from the poor thing's shoulder and look for a fresh mount among the huddled mass cringing behind the battle line. The Man doesn't notice me of course, I am invisible to Men and Orcs alike.

    I am Zyzyx chief of 11th Orc Riders (Sauron's Own). I am proud of my job, my boys have fought in many battles against the foul forces of self-styled 'Good', sacrificing legions of trusting Orcs. Without us the enemy would be easily triumphant and Sauron's realm would bear their stain forever.

    We go unremarked and yet our work is crucial. Orcs are mild-mannered pathetic peaceful creatures, much given to basket-weaving, group-hugs and contemplating cave-fungi. Without us Imps whispering into their ears, they wouldn't be able to fight at all. We are running short of mounts, but just in time, 4th Delivery Troop brings up a new batch. I pick out the best specimen and return to the fray.

    He is magnificent, working easily up to his battle rage with just a few well-chosen words from me, and we score a kill almost straight-away. He is so good I steer him toward the enemy leaders. We have felled five Gondorians now, an unprecedented score. I glimpse the enemy chief surrounded by his bodyguards. One of them is even shorter than an Orc and has hairy feet (must be scraping the barrel for recruits these days). But wait! There is a dread feeling coming from this one, what is that thing he wears around his neck hanging from a fine cord? I can't make it out, but it feels as if I were gazing at the Dark Lord himself!

    Distracted, I don't see the enemy chief until he swats the sword from my mount's hand.
    My Orc cowers and I prepare to jump ship, but no, the hairy footed one is pointing at me and the enemy leader looks straight into my eyes! How can this be? I jump down and run, but the human stamps his foot on my cloak.

    DON'T LOOK AT ME!” I command. “I don't exist. Even now Trolls prepare to strike you from behind!” For a moment he is confused and looks wildly around, unable to remember it was me speaking and not his own thoughts.

    The idiot still has his foot on my cloak, I fumble with the clasp, but the hairy-footed bodyguard comes closer and the Man's confusion fades. I see him sighting down his sword as he prepares to strike...

    ENTRANT 1 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Destiny

    "This is not my fate and I shall not die here"....Alan grew up in an aristocratic family in southern Gondor away from most of the political intrigue surrounding the regent. Ignorant bliss followed him his whole life until adolescence when his family moved to the capital. There he studied and learned all the skills necessary to become a diplomat, never knowing that his life's path would bring him to this...

    "No, I shall NOT die here!!! I shall live to show them that they are wrong!!!!!" {The circle of Gondorian defenders becomes ever smaller as the ambushed patrol stave's off annihilation.} Living in the capital brought with it advantages in schooling and exposure to opportunities of culture, influence and advancement. One day in court at a seminar he caught the notice of the regent from that moment on his life would be forever altered...

    The orcish hordes continue to press the defenders on all sides hacking and screaming their eternal hated of mankind. Their absolute blood lust could only mean victory or death for them....The Godorian patrol had managed to claim the high ground on a hill perhaps the only reason they continue to draw breath. For all their bravery and heroics were equally matched by that of their malevolent attackers....

    From the day of the fateful seminar the youth's life's path was forever changed. Over time the youth spent copious amounts of time with the regent basking in the light of affection and knowledge. Over time their kinship & affection would harbor great resentments toward the youth and bring him to the intimate challenge for his very survival. Some time ago it was made clear to him that he would stand or fall on his own merits & wits against all of those that would see him fail. This challenge he embraced with true relish.

    Covered in gore and bodies the exhausted patrol continued to hold out. By sheer volition did they survive. "I shall not Parrish here!!! I shall survive this vicious trap to reach out and grasp my....Destiny."

    ENTRANT 2 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Aragons vengeance

    After the destruction of the Ring Sauron was defeated at Mount Doom.Aragon know he had to finish of the remaining orcs that where still in the lands around mordor.


    He marched with all his men that fought with him even his friends Legolas,Gimli that where called for help from Aragon to destroy the last evil on this earth.A army of veterans that fought with him at the black gate and new ones that have joined having hope in their new king,and so Aragon begone to march to the last evil place Bar Dűr.The fortress of Sauron,called Bar Dűr where still orcs where eating and killing plundering the lands around making fear and terror.


    It was early in the morning when we left Minas Tirith,I will never forget our king,Aragon he was a brave and good king to the people of Gondor.We where in a swamp or something else hard to describe.The soil was dead dry,no living thing to see in miles, the sky was brown,dark,misty evil was close by.Most men felt it in their feet the ground shaking a little bit,their eyes saw nothing else then a sky of a dead land that was poisoned with evil.But then our king came on his horse past us,we shout with joy when he comes near us,then he looks to us with a smile "we can beat those foul orks today and we will" I tought in my mind thats a men worth fighting for.

    It was noon and we arrived in the land of Bar Dűr,we tought their would be not so many orks and trolls to fight,we where stund when we came down the hill and saw a army of 6000 orks with armored trolls,all ready to attack us,trolls with drums giving the beat in the army a complete battle line of orks with banners where waiting on the order to move and charge the army of Aragon.How did they knew we where attacking ?"Aragon says to one of his captains."


    I felt scary so did the soldiers between me.


    The trolls begone beating their drums the ork army moved,we felt the ground shaking and orks shouting all at the same time.


    we reacted and begone to beat with our swords and spears on our shields at the same time and Aragon says to all of us,


    "for all that is pure and good we fight this foul orks today and we will win for Gondor!!!" Orks and men where fighting and many died on both sites,I looked around me and saw Gimli and legolas fighting and counting how many the killled,

    I tought good old times.
    Then I saw Aragon fighting against 3 orks at the same time but at his back a armourd troll came with a long blade running to him to kill him,I took my sword and shield I charged and screamed for Aragon and with my sword ready to hit that troll in the back of his neck.I was olmost their I killed all those orks along the way,a few seconds I had left to kill the troll and the troll looks at his back,he hears a shouting voice a blade cuts through the troll his body,it falls down on the ground,you could hear it last bread running out.
    Aragon made a fast gesture of thanks,we know fought site by site as brothers of Gondor.

    We killed so many orks the feared us,our men felt eager and all soldiers didn't grow tired instead the stay eager and full of strength,the orks where losing and where killed,their large number of 6000 was reduced to 2300 orks.


    the orks panicked and the organization of the army was broken most orks where running in fear to all directions.


    Aragon says to us "We have defeated this evil the lands are pure and good again,know we can go back to see our families and friends."

    Long live the king Aragon!!!

    ENTRANT 3 - Sunbird Alkibijad

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Potions
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The shield feels heavier than ever...


    "Good ol' Kazah'dur..." a thought goes through my mind.

    "What would I ever do without your magic potions and elven tools?"


    It was just another day for me, patrolling the forest path to the North of Minas Tirith, when call came for all the able-bodied men to gather on Pelenor field on the next full moon.

    "The orcs are coming!", I can hear the sargeant's spittle-filled shout.

    Mordor's Mount Doom has spitting more poison into the heavens in last few weeks than it has alltogether since the day I first could remember it's name...


    And now we will know why.


    "Heaven's, there's so many of them!", shivering voice of a novice next to me almost turns into a weep...

    "Shut it! You're of Gondor! You are Gondor! Each and every one of you is Gondor! Today. And to everlasting memory of mankind. Orcs will know defeat this day, and by all we hold dear, we will swim in their foul blood!"


    Sargeant spits another wave of poor encouragements...Like a few words will make us not see the black mass of death and madness that forms ahead of us...


    "The stench...oh gods of olde, what horrid stench...They won't even have to bother killing us, the smell will do it for them..." Indeed, that remark was not too far off the mark. The foul odour of armored trolls they brought along was being carried by the warm wind directly blowing from their ranks into ours. Made me dizzy, I must admit...

    "Oh well, it's time for the potion..." another thought races through my head...

    I stick the sword into the ground so I can grasp one of the canteens that had a potion in it. The smooth feel of Kazah'dur's canteens is just incredible, almost silky...Gulping it all up in a single pull, I wipe my mouth with inside of my wrist and grasp for my..."SWORD! OH YOU DUMB MAVERICK!"

    "Remember Deamir, the potion will take effect only upon the weapon in your hand. Remember that well"...But all this son of a cow remembered was that:


    "potion will make your body tireless for wielding the weapons, the limbs invulnerable and those weapons unbreakable"...


    "You shan't be able to wield a weapon that was not in your hands while you drank the potion. Remember that..."

    Taking a desperate look at my mythril enlaced claymore standing upright, on the side of it's blade facing me I can see a reflection of a long long cow-like face...I bit my tongue to prevent my self from unleashing a moo-like sound...

    As the orcs come closer, I brace for impact and squeeze the canteen in my right hand...What a weapon...I guess I must hope they don't go for the maverick-faced bloke with a huge impenetrable shield waving a canteen at them...

    Shaking my head in dismay, I whisper to myself "Potions..."

    ENTRANT 4 - Nazgűl Killer

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Osgiliath
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    "Move it you maggots! Move your sorry butts off the ground!" screamed the Uruk.


    "Move it move it!"

    He screamed and the entire line of Orcs moved, accompanied by about a dozen trolls, Lagzug looked up at one of them and continued moving down the line, feeling the stinging pain of the whip on his back, he cowered in pain, but continued on, Minas Morgul was finally in sight, and the plains of Gorgoroth far behind... Osgiliath is the target... Humans is the prey...

    "To the river! Quick!" Ordered Faramir, I sprinted and grabbed my sword from the soldier handing them out, I quickly took up a shield I found on the floor, my bow, strapped on my back with the quiver, rattled against my armor again and again as I ran to the river.


    Me and Faramir stood, facing each other, he looked at me and nodded, I was young, he was scared that I would back out, I showed him my determination, placing my shield in front of me and my sword at the ready...

    "Quiet..."


    Said Morgoth

    "Faster!"
    He ordered
    "Kill him!" He pointed at a Gondorian in the window of a ruined building, Lagzug strung his bow and fired, the human fell lifeless.
    "Draw swords..."
    He ordered
    Lagzug drew his sword and prepared for battle, the ramp fell from the barge, and the Orcs rushed into the city, amazed to find no resistance.

    Faramir gazed at the orcs, he counted until six went past him and charged, I followed quickly.


    "Kill them! Kill them!" He screamed

    Someone in the distance yelled; "NAZGUL!"
    And there they were... Felbeasts... Giant felbeats from the skies...
    I got hit by a hammer to the head, I fell down but quickly recuperated, slashing at the orc, some Uruk screamed to the orc:
    "Lagzug! Finish the human and come to the courtyard!"
    The orc nodded and I slashed at him, hitting him in the face, the enraged orc attacked, I easily sidestepped him and stabbed him in the back, he fell to the floor, lifeless.
    I sprinted quickly to the courtyard, the once beautiful courtyard of Osgiliath, I slashed at an orc and Faramir gazed at me with amazement and fear, I looked at him and I felt a stinging pain in my back, I suddenly flew up in the air, I looked down and I saw a gigantic claw through my chest...

    ENTRANT 5 - Garrigan
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Death In The Grey Woods

    Gimilkhor tightened the grip on his bow,

    "Where are they?" he whispered hoarsely to the soldier next to him,

    "They should be coming along the road soon." the soldier whispered back. Their Commander, kneeling in front of them, turned and shot them an angry glance. It's meaning was obvious; complete silence was necessary.

    Moments later Gimilkhor caught a flash of movement in the corner of his eye and, glancing to his left, he saw a man running crouched double through the wood's grey half-light. The man ran across the front of the line, and muttered urgently into Gimilkhor's commander's ear. The Commander nodded,

    "Archers" he said quietly, "arrows on strings." Gimilkhor obediently pulled an arrow from the arrow-bag hanging at his side, and notched it on the string of his hunting bow, "Stand up!" the Commander hissed, the men all stood. "Pull back." The string of his bow tickled Gimilkhor's ear, "Loose!" the dim shapes flitted through the trees, and then slashed down onto the figures occupying the road. What had minutes ago been an empty track through a grey forest was now filled with writhing figures, screaming in pain,

    "Second volley!" The Commander shouted, all stealth gone now, Gimilkhor notched another arrow, and pulled it back, "Loose!" The flight of arrows hammered into the unfortunate Gondorian troops. "Draw swords!" Gimilkhor dropped his bow, and yanked his short scimitar from its scabard, "Charge!" As one the line of men leapt down the slope towards the track, screaming their war cries as they went. A horn blared from behind them and Gimilkhor heard a loud voice shouting, "Umbar! Umbar!" They burst out of the trees and onto the road. In front of them the Gondorians were struggling to form a shield wall to defend themselves from the screaming ambushers, but they were too slow. The Umbarian raiders smashed like water onto rock, and the rock shattered.

    Gimilkhor swung his scimitar at the unprotected neck of a man in front of him. The man, little more than a boy really, dropped his weapons and fell to his knees. A second stroke of Gimilkhor's blade felled him. The raider pushed forward, hungry for blood. He spotted a large Gondorian infanryman in front of him, fighting off another Umbarian with his longsword and shield. Gimilkhor threw himself into the fight, just as the infantryman hacked his assaliant down. He reeled back from Gimilkhor's sudden onslaught, but soon recovered. Quickly parrying a wild slash at his helmeted skull he smashed his shield into Gimilkhor, knocking him to the ground. The Gondorian loomed above him, shield raised. Suddenly he stabbed down with his sword, plunging it straight into Gimilkhor's lightly armoured chest. He choked as the blade entered his lung, and spat blood from his mouth. The blade was withdrawn, and blood spurted across his fallen body. Gimilkhor tried to call for his mother, but found he had no breath. Blood gargled in his throat as he gave one last sigh, and then lay still.

    ENTRANT 6 - Caesar Julianus Morelli

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Dyed

    A terrible shiver runs down my spine. It has been 61/2 months since the war should have been over. Making our way home, we are forced to slaughter.
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Blood stenched armor weighs a ton. My legs are weary, but my heart does not skip a beat. The ring is destroyed, and yet peace is not upon us.


    Who hath forsaken us so? We wander and wander. We walk through woods and feel them breath.


    I remember when I left. forced out of my home, I figured it would end quickly. Now, who knows how many years later, I still don't give up hope to make it home.
    The sky is different now. When I would gaze upon it, it was bright and blue. Now, all I see is red. My punishment for the blood spilled over the years without mercy. This is my atonement, death will be my savior.

    As I strike my enemy I can see the red dyed sky. Consuming the deep ocean blue, which ages ago stood triumphantly over this land.


    Until now I had not realized my blade standing next to me. It is not my enemies blood I see. It is mine. It is not my strike I see it is his. Finally Redemption, Freedom. I can see his hessitation, I can see his guilt. And as he brings the final blow I shall embrace it. I will take it with me. My precious I come to you.

    ENTRANT 7 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Last Thoughts

    I lay upon the ground.

    A blow to my side has thrown me to the ground.

    I am dazed and dampness is spreading near my ribs.

    The dampness is not from the blood on my sword, but seems to be from within.

    There are beads of sweat upon my brow that now begin to blur my vision.


    I shift my body to raise my sword.

    My bloody sword is prepared to take one more soul to hell if such a warrior be so brave as to strike at me.

    A warrior approaches quickly and with a purpose that can only mean to strike.

    He moves his shield first to strike a blow.

    The shield is now a weapon and no longer merely armor.

    He has driven the shield to parry my blow.

    Then his sword appears all bloodied and dented.

    The sword will need to be mended and honed after this battle is complete.

    Though bloody, the sword can still make a certain and deadly thrust.

    My sword can also still make a parry and thrust.

    My sword arm seems to be moving very slowly now.

    The body lies still.

    My soul lives on.

    I am doomed to relive the end of my days forever.

    Last edited by Boustrophedon; January 08, 2012 at 01:56 PM. Reason: less clutter
    ...treasure, pleasure, leisure, les yeux;
    It's all in your eyes.




  12. #12
    Dark Storm's Avatar saut dans le vide
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    West Mids, England
    Posts
    7,569
    Tournaments Joined
    1
    Tournaments Won
    0

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 44 - Join this weeks campfire and tell your story
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    First a preamble for the story. I cannot fit this into the constraints of the competition and the first part may be of interest rather than just editing it into the ether:

    First in the midmorning, the sweat lodge is started. The lodge itself is a small mud and stick structure over a shallow excavation. There are two entrances on the north and south. The entrances are covered with colorful blankets that were placed for the occasion.

    A large fire in an open pit burns bright. Soon the pine is reduced to hot coals and glowing embers. The stones are carefully placed upon the coals and then more coals are shoveled over the rocks until it seems to be nothing more than a very large pile of embers. More logs are added. Soon the lodge is ready. The rocks are carefully transferred to a trench at a lodge entrance.

    The old man entered the lodge naked but with a blanket. When the lodge was warm enough he handed the blanket out to his niece. He then invited us in. We entered. We were also naked with only a thin wrap for comfort. The wraps were not needed in the warmth of the lodge.

    The old man began singing a song of the ancients in a language that sounded like Spanish. I could not understand the phrases, but the tune and words were poetic -- strange and melodic.

    Then his son, my host, began a new song which was much more modern and in English (a courtesy for me?)…. a story about the peace of the desert and the animals. Man the hunter. Man the preserver. Nature the provider. Nature the harsh avenger. The other man, an uncle, began another song of hunting and providing for his family and tribe. There were many songs. I was asked and tried to sing my thoughts. It was awkward, but they were polite.

    During the songs, the rocks were splattered with water with a dried grass brush. The lodge was now hot and steamy. The songs continued. The songs were not simple poetry, but also stories of the past and questions about what should happen in the future. Some were sung and some were conversations spoken quietly in the steamy dark lodge.

    The old man rose and left the lodge. This is dry country and hot. There are now snow drifts to cool in or a cool pond or stream close at hand. In the shade of a tree the earth was used to cool the heat of the lodge out of the body.

    And then the family feast began. Food from all is assembled. Nieces, nephews, children as well as the adults appeared form seemingly nowhere. I guess during the time of the sweat lodge. A great meal was enjoyed by all the family members and their guests.

    And now my tale:

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Learning the ways of the Warrior


    The day started early. The old man had promised a full education on the ways of the warrior....

    ...Later that evening long after the midday food was digested another ceremony took place with the family men. This was supposed to be after fasting I was told, but I should experience it as well as I could under the circumstances. We returned to the lodge. It was cool now and candles and electric flashlights illuminated the walls. Prayers were chanted in Spanish (I think it was Spanish, but maybe a mix of an older language as well).

    A dry object was blessed upon the table. A bag of smaller dried objects was passed around. I was asked to take four, they were dried mushrooms. I was asked to eat them as I would communion in church. The first one tasted so foul, that I spit it out on the ground. The next ones were easier, like taking medicine as a small child. I eventually threw up. Tobacco was passed to be chewed and then crude fashioned cigars were lighted up to help take the taste out of my mouth.

    I sat and thought. I listened to the stories of the old man. I heard stories of his father and the days before the reservation. I heard stories of days before the white men who did not speak Spanish came into their lands. I heard stories of hunting for food and worshipping of the gods before man brought the faith from across the waters. Their gods were animals of great imagination. I soon was seeing the animals in what seemed a bit like a dream. The lodge walls seemed to be the edges of a fog. There was no reason to question or to be distracted. I could concentrate on the thoughts that were important to me. I then fell asleep.

    I am awakened by the morning sounds of people were moving about. I was still in the lodge covered with a blanket. The others were gone. A new day has begun and now I must leave my guests. I have learned a small bit of what it is like to be a warrior.




    ENTRANT 1 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Strange Dream

    Good night Peter,good night mum. "Peter falls into a deep sleep." Peter opens his eyes and looks around him,he sees a strange place,a full moon,dark clouds and ravens flying high in the sky. "It looks like the fly next to the moon!" Peter starts to walk, he sees a landscape covered with bushes and dessert sand.Its misty."The surroundings seems so unreal to me."
    I hear a noise of something running fast over the ground. I look ahead of me and I see a shadow running to wards me.
    it has long white wings,
    a beautiful horn,long hair, Peter sees it coming closer to him, I see it now its a unicorn! But what is that next to the beautiful unicorn?
    It looks like a predator,black specks, yellow fur, could it be? "No it can't be,a Lynx! Peter looks amazed to the 2 figures running on the sand next to the bushes, with a full moon!
    A predator running next to a unicorn ?
    Normally he would attack and eat the unicorn. The unicorn and the lynx seem to have a close connection.
    "Peter waits until the 2 figures are next to him" Could I ride on you Unicorn ? With a gesture the unicorn looks like she understands me, with her eyes she looks into my eyes that I may ride on her.

    "I climb on the unicorn." She starts running,I feel the wind in my face, the landschape of bushes around us moving fast behind me, the ravens in the sky first flying in front of us are now at our back. A Lynx running next to a unicorn where I sit on. "Peter has no words for what he has seen." While he is riding on the unicorn,he hears a voice. "Peter its time to wake up,you have to go to shool." Peter opens his eyes,mum I had a very weird dream.
    It was just a dream Peter. "It was more then a dream Peter thinks."


    ENTRANT 2 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Insight

    My lord?
    The question echoed through my mind...
    My lord?
    Threatening to drive me mad, it echoed again, banging at the walls of my consciousness...
    "My lord?"
    Waking up from my slumber, I looked up and saw my young apprentice.
    "Ah, yes James, I am awake" I said, sitting up and smiling.
    It was a cold and wet night in this endless forest, this darkness of the forest continued as far as the eye could see... We sat at the clearing, rather large one indeed, me, my apprentice James and our companion, Randolf the wolf, an animal which I had known since I have known James, nine years now, they came together and approached me... Ever since, he's my young apprentice...
    "We should get moving soon" he said, looking up into the skies.
    I nodded in agreement; "Put out the fire" I ordered, and he complied... A great soldier he would be one day.

    As he put out the fire and dawn cracked through the horizon, the bright and smiling sun looked down upon its friend, Mother Earth, lighting her up with all of the sun's magnificent rays... I smiled when I saw this, I always loved the dawn.
    Noticing I got up, James accompanied me and we started walking now, continuing our seemingly endless traveling, Randolf was not far behind.
    "So, I always wondered, but foolishly I did not ask, after yesterday's... Trial... I am ought to ask, my lo-"
    "For the... I lost count... Just call me James, James" I smiled.
    "But, it sounds as if I am calling myself"
    "Does it really matter? We're alone here" I smiled.
    He nodded and smiled too;
    "So I was wondering... What happened to you in your life, why have you become a Templar?"
    "A divine intervention" I said, nodding.
    "What?" He looked at me, as if I had gone insane
    "A creature came to me, not in my sleep, a creature came to me, a brown horse of fine breeding, strong and mighty with wings of an angel and of a demon with a large horn between its eyes came to me, and what mastered it appeared to be some sort of a predator's head, and it talked to me. Such a thing I had not seen... I was fifteen at the time and I have started believing in the divine art of the God, so I took an oath to protect it" I said, finally gasping for air.
    "I see..." James thought I was insane...

    I continued talking to myself in the darkness of my chambers, the strong steel doors stopping me from escaping, I saw my family look from beyond the bars... But I did not really see them... For me, they weren't there... I was a Templar knight! And a good one...
    I wasn't insane.
    I was happy.


    ENTRANT 3 - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Universoul, the paradox

    Universe is endless, but it is no bigger than a man's soul, with each and every one of us bearing an entire universe on our shoulders, or better yet, in our chests or in our heads...I can't get the paradox out of my mind, and every night the same thoughts keep raiding my mind's realm...

    If an entire universe rests in my soul, what am I? A God, that can weather the fates of entire worlds and civilizations by the power of his thought, or unconsicous flick of his feelings? But, God created us, didn't he? Would he just let us play with his powers in such blatant and unaware manner?
    Would he let us destroy each other day after day, and thus destroying entire galaxies and countless other souls, not just the one we cause to die in this world?

    But then again, soul is rumoured to be immortal...So do we just press a "reset" button each time we commit a murder, a genocide, or conquer our share of the world and a page or two of the future history books?
    Have Agamemnon, Achilles, Alexander, Hannibal, Caesar, Genghis and Kublai Khan's, Hitler, Truman and Osama pushed that same button? Were they a different sort of Gods, or were they just more determined to play with fates of others then the rest of us were?

    Hmmm...Us? Well, I certainly am thinking of getting myself on that list of names. After all, I do sit here, gazing at the moon, maybe I can just pull it down and crash it into Earth? Or will the muzzle flash of the gun that is pressed to my ear do the job more efficiently? Shattering some distant or someone else's universe into pieces as the contents of my head hit the skin of my winged horse? Only to be re-assembled once again, somewhere else and sometime different from now?




    ENTRANT 4 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Alexandre et son ręve


    A gentle hand pushing at his shoulder… “Sire…” … the hand rubbed Alexander’s shoulder more roughly. His eyes opened, all traces of sleep gone in an instant. He had been tired - God knows that it was reasonable after the drama of that day - but the boundless energy of Zeus filled his being as he turned to the man who had woken him.
    “News?” said the Macedonian.
    “Yes Sir.” replied General Seleucus.

    The man groaned in his anguish, then crying out anew as the dressing on his arm peeled back under the instruction of a physician. The stump was still bleeding, and now sand stuck to the amputee, inflaming and inflating his already exacerbated spear wound. Alexander grabbed his hand and held it tight. “Hold on Kassander, keep going.” The man nodded and returned to his world of pain. Seleucus whispered deftly in Alexander’s ear. “The last men of Persia have been killed or captured, but-” as Alexander’s face brightened a little, quickly fading again at the sound of Seleucus’ interruption of his thoughts “-Darius still eludes us.” The Great One indicated that his commander may leave, and the man’ sandals clopped like a horse’s hooves as he strode away.

    Alexander looked up, stepping out onto the fresh dry sands of Gaugamela. The moonlight was reflected in a million blades lying on the battlefield, with the surprisingly large full moon shining on the final resting places of the Macedonian men… and those of Darius. Alexander began walking towards the pen where his magnificent ‘Ox-head’, the strong steed Bucephalus waited for his master. “Darius…” Alexander cursed inwardly , restraining his anger at his eternal foe. The actions of his life centered around that coward… he would escape him soon, he could feel it as sure as if Poseidon himself was flowing through him.

    He flung up a leg, settling onto the leopard skin pelt of his life long companion with ease. He knew that the beast was feeling exactly his emotions, for he took off at full pelt with no urging. This was what the Conqueror needed… a moonlit night, with no bodyguards or worries of assassins, no battles, no mental excursions trying to outwit Darius.

    Even if it was only for that moment, there was nothing in the world, the field hospital behind him ceased to exist as the two godly beings flew over the fluid sands in a motion of endless grace and glorious solitude.

    The Victor halted Bucephalus, the animal breathing heavily as the moon burned to the east. In his mind he saw the light glinting from the reins… no, for the beast felt like Pegasus tonight, with his celestial wings spread in ultimate elegance, the sheen of his mythical horn pulling them to another world altogether. Bucephalus’ eyes widened in frenzy as he felt the weight of the endless silence around them.

    Nothing moved.


    ENTRANT 5 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Epic Trip
    Alex Phillipos chugged the last of his beer and stretched, luxuriating in the afternoon
    sunlight. Putting down his book, he crumpled the can and threw it into the pick-up.

    'You know Louis, this place could almost be Gaugamela, the desert, the scrub, the
    mountains. Where did Oliver Stone film it anyway?'

    'Morocco' said Louis.

    'Oh... Say, what'ya reading?'

    'Fantasy.'

    'Girlie books!' Uncoiling like a rattlesnake, Alex reached out and grabbed the book.

    'Hey! Not so rough!' Louis complained.

    'Maybe I'll just give it a try... We're out of beer, what else you got?'

    'Just Magic Mushrooms, you use 'em?'

    'Sure, hit me!' Alex said, unwilling to admit he'd never gone further than Hash.

    'Don't eat it all at once' Louis advised offering a handful of what looked like pale beef jerky.

    Sitting in the shade, Alex looked out across the desert to the distant shimmering
    mountains. He took a strip of mushroom and dipped into Louis' book, chewing
    absent-mindedly. Sleepily, he read passages at random.

    Evil crows searching for an escaped Princess... A Warlock in a silver balloon for
    whom touching the ground meant death... A flying unicorn... A talking horse that
    insisted it was a Muslim... Poisonous land-urchins? Ridiculous! Twaddle! Still chewing,
    Alex drifted gently into a new state of consciousness.

    ***

    Alex looked down at his mount. It looked nervous, the silver balloon of the Warlock
    loomed large in the sky.

    'Easy Bucephalus, easy' he murmured, stroking its mane.

    'It's alright for you Effendi: you've got the sword!' the horse replied indignantly.

    A mine-field of land-urchins lay ahead, their poisonous barbs dripping with death.
    The leopard pelt on which Alex sat raised its head and addressed him.

    'Urrrrchins ahead, Crrrrows above, Imorrrrtals behind' it growled in warning.

    Alex decided that the time had come to use the potion. Reaching into his bag he
    cracked open a glass vial which began to fizz, pushing out an aromatic fog.

    'Oh wondrous CoorsTM, do your work and do it fast!' he incanted, waving the smoking
    vial under his horse's nose.

    Bucephalus stopped and, shivering like a wet dog, shook out a beautiful set of dove
    wings and a corkscrew horn. Assuming a noble pose, it threw itself into the air and
    flew with powerful thrusts toward the balloon. A few foolhardy crows tried to interfere,
    but the wily horse skewered them neatly on his horn.

    The balloon filled the sky as its ship-gondola hove into view. The Warlock Cyfiére
    could briefly be seen peering up from the deck before turning to escape below.

    'Oh no you don't, Louis!' Alex laughed, pulling out a can. It described a graceful arc
    before striking the Warlock squarely on the back of the head. With a comical look
    of surprise he tumbled over the rail.

    Looking down, Alex noted the closeness of the ground with disappointment, turning
    swiftly to joy when the Warlock unaccountably burst into flames on striking it.

    'Right!' Alex said recovering from a shaky landing. 'So where's that Princess?'


    ENTRANT 6 - Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Find thee a Kingdom

    ‘“...And I, Bucephalus, the greatest steed on the earth, will take you to these fantastic cultures, the monumental cities, these vast expanses of land.”
    The magnificent beast spread its wings, whinnied softly, and sped off at a velocity like none I had seen. I could not discern whether or not the beast flew or galloped, as no sounds could be heard, save the whistling of air past its glorious wings. This, however, was offset buy the dust and dirt coming up beneath the hooves of the horse.
    “When the beast was out of sight, I turned and cast my gaze into the sky, as if to see the will of the gods in the dark expanse. I saw what could be seen as an omen: a murder of crows flew towards a flock of ravens. Just as the birds were about to collide, I awoke. I was covered in a cold sweat, my eyes wide with terror, though the dream was not frightening in the least.”
    The men standing near me, including Philip II of Macedon, nodded slowly. For all they knew, this could have been a fabrication of mine. I was, after all, a clever young man, capable of combing lessons on geography, myth, and zoology to create a tale full of vivid descriptions of far away lands, cities, and a magnificent mount.
    “This...’India,’ my son; did the horse-“
    “Bucephalus”
    My father glared at me, clearly not interested in the name of the beast, “As you say. Regardless: did he offer any explanation other than the existence of elephants and large mountains as to the nature of the aforesaid civilization?”
    “No, my father.”
    The man nodded, his blind eye looking like that of a demonic figure in the red, late afternoon sun.
    “Fine. You may attempt to tame the beast, Alexander. Under one condition: if you fail to tame Ox-Head, you must pay the thirteen talents yourself.”
    “Agreed, father”
    As I walked towards the horse, I recalled the images of grandeur portrayed by the beast in my dream, and focused my energy into claiming those cities, those lands. I also recalled the Beat warning me about the evilness of shadows...
    I turned Bucephalus’ head towards Apollo’s ailing sun. I saw from his earlier movements he feared his own shadow, so I removed that factor from my attempted taming of him. I rode Bucephalus around the pasture six times, growing in confidence and speed with each pass of my father and his associates. Soon, I was able to proclaim his tamed.
    My father, upon seeing this, smiled. He patted my on the head, and just as he was striding away, turn and spoke. These words cemented in my mind the desire to conquer, to rule nations:
    “O my son, look thee out a kingdom equal to and worthy of thyself, for Macedonia is too small for thee.”
    [/CENTER]


    TotW 45 - Come and tell your story
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Blade
    Who was that?
    I asked myself again and again...
    Who was that?
    I tormented myself with that question, as I lay on the grass, my horse fled from me, and my life trying to follow...
    Who was that, that was holding that blade?
    The blade which was as sharp as needle, and as hard as a diamond... Cutting though flesh and gleaming in the dim sunlight of afternoon...
    I gazed upwards and I saw his silhouette, a shadowy figure with the late sun at his back, he looked almost like a demon, with the orange-red light behind him...
    Who was that? The question tormented me...
    The blade rose up again, and as it fell it struck a different blade...
    I knew that blade.
    As the two scuffled and fought... I saw him...
    Who was that?
    I know who it was... I knew his face...
    My savior was slain...
    The blade came back to me... Now gleaming in red orange light... Drenched with even more blood...
    Who was that?
    As the sword came closer and closer... It seems as if eternity passes... I finally realized who it was...
    I could not formulate the answer fast enough... I could not muster the power of his name...
    The blade no longer gleamed, the sun has faded...
    As my head rest to the west, I saw the moon rising, prevailing over the sun, and I felt the cold steel being pulled out... He stood above me, his target achieved,
    My life was at an end,
    The sun was defeated...
    Who was that?
    It was the one who none dare fight.
    It was the one, who you will never defeat.
    He, was the one you will never want to see.
    Death was his name, the blade his disguise...


    ENTRANT 1 - tuore
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Man blessed by the God

    The enemy armies were gathering up on the hill, as rain dropped from the gray sky. This was the time to strike. We heard the horn and prepared for the coming challenge. Although we clearly outnumbered them, we should beware. Their leader is a great warlord, known for his cunning strategies. Some people rumor that he is the son of the god.

    "What is it, John?" asked my fellow soldier, Arthur.
    "Nothing really, i just wonder... do you think it is true that the god has blessed our enemies?"
    "It doesn't matter. I don't believe on that rubbish anyway." Arthur answered.
    I was still uncertain.
    Anyway, it was too late to retreat. The musketmen were ready to fire, and so were the enemies' men. Everyone in this field, under the stars, were waiting for the final sign to start the massacre.
    A leaf falled from a nearby tree. I clearly understood that everyone knew the sign by now. When the leaf had fallen to the ground, our musketmen fired. And, if i heard correctly, they fired back. The air was full of smoke. Arthur, next to me, was looking pale to me. In fact, everyone was looking. The waiting was painful. When the smoke was finally gone, the next shots were fired. But this time the shouts of death did not come only from the front, they also came behind us. We all turned around to see what had happened.

    A cavalry regiment had charged and delivered a killing blow to many men. Someone behind me shouted "It's their general! The one who is rumored to be blessed!". It was my turn to become pale. I didn't believe in God, but still... why would there be such rumors? The seconds following the charge felt like hours... felt like years. When they were gone, i saw that only ONE cavalry regiment had killed almost every single one of the 500 men in the rear. "That is not humanly possible", someone shouted.
    And once again, fear filled me. Luckily our cannon regiment started to fire, and they woke me up. I was in some kind of shock... i could barely hear my fellow soldiers. Everything i saw was blurred. It was no longer raining.

    Only thing i could clearly see was their leader. He was coming towards me. But i had my spear, and he had a sword. I realized that i had chances to win. I was certain of my victory, but then something happened. When he lifted his sword, it was reflecting light more than a mirror. Just when he was swinging it towards me, i knew he was truly blessed.

    When i fell to the ground, i the cannon regiment routing. We had lost this battle, but not the war.



    ENTRANT 2 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Tide of Battle

    Its 18 June of the year 1815, Napoleon marched from Elba via Marseille, and all the way now to march to Waterloo with 73 000 men strong. He knows Prussia and the English will be prepared for him. Napoleon his army has arrived near waterloo.
    Its raining the ground is unstable and the soil has changed into mud. The men are eager because a genius like Napoleon is leading their army.
    The enemy lines are to the north and east. Napoleon orders his men to make a formation of 160 men by 4 meter. His cavalry at the left site of his army, and the artillery at the back of the 6 lines of 160 men by 4 meter. A enemy unit was moving to flank our army. Napoleon orders us to attack it, we where the royal cavalry, elite guard of France. We moved slowly 6 meter, 5 meters and we begone to charge. we fighted them of 360 men we where with 540 men, we would easy win, light infantry riflemen they didn't stoot a chance against us, we fast begone to slaughter them.
    The rand to all directions, I go after one and he turn around ready to attack me.
    I draw my sable, I come closer and the sun shines on my long sharp sable, it reflects in the eyes of the enemy. he is dazzled for a moment, I took my chance and hit him, my sable cuts trough him leaving a dead body on the ground. We moved back with our unit to the main army. Napoleon orders his riflemen to fire! Aim, steady, wait , open fire! Reload Aim and Fire! Cannons aim to that group of cavalry of 560 men and fire! You could here many cries of pain and cannon fire, rifle fire. It sounded like hell! At the same time I felt good the enemy where shot by pieces their men loosing legs, hands, being shot in the chest, on all the places on their body. We toughed we where winning but the tide of battle changed against us. The enemy surrounded us from the east and northeast their cannons blow holes in our line! Our drummer begone do drum faster to give the rate in the army, we hold our flag high in the sky, to let them see we are France under rule of Napoleon the greatest general of all time! But still we where losing, was it because we where outnumbered or because they where more eager and brave then us ? NO! We are soldiers with a rifle or sable its not about morale but about skill, a thing the Prussians don't have.
    The battle lasted the entire day, the field was full of corps with lost legs,arms,heads. It was disgusting to see.
    Napoleon goes on his horse gives the command to follow him to charge the enemy that where coming closer every second he orders his men to keep on firing until they had no more munition. The cavalry with Napoleon leading it of 4600 men strong, Napoleon knows he is losing. He tries a last stand hoping he will brake the enemy line and morale. We all shoot for France!
    I tough in my mind we are riding against 6000 men with rifles, cannons, cavalry what are we doing, Napoleon must know we are losing, But I am loyal, so I continue to ride on my horse with my unit together with all others that where following Napoleon.
    Napoleon a general that I will follow until death!


    ENTRANT 3 - Quattro
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The End of A Rivalry

    Louis and Charles were two great rivals since 10 years ago before the climax would ever happen. Both were friends that have severed their ties 5 years before. And today they would come to settle things once and for all. People wouldn't know, whether the armies both of them had built are only an afterthought and just for shows. But nonetheless they were reassured of their condition by the respective commanders.

    As soon as the battle begins, both generals marched to a place a bit faraway from the rest of the armies. They have a dialogue towards each other. At least in a polite manner, but people didn't know what they were up to. . .

    "Long time no see, my lifetime rival Louis." In a cold, calm and chilling manner he spoke to his rival. Louis was not shaken at all at his rival. He focused only at his sword, and that of his rival. Their horses keep galloping at different obstacles. Bullets, rifles, cannons, everything they managed to avoid. But there was one they couldn't : The face of their rivals.

    "Louis, if only you hadn't killed my friends. It wouldn't have come to this!" Suddenly, the skies have grown darker as the tone of his speech increases. "You are the one who had drawn me into the fighting in the first place!" The more philosophical and still Louis spoke, the grasses moved, rustling kindly as his words.

    "AARGHH!" Much to Charles' dismay, Louis had managed to land a blow at him. "If I had wanted you to spare my life, I wouldn't have to send agents to send you the new set of equipments!" Something strange was going on through the mind of Louis. Who can only reply a question mark at him. "Anna might've been my substitute mother if she hadn't died! How could her killer say like that to me! What's the point of defeating pathetic generals?!"

    "Stop mocking me! All you do is look down at the others! I am better than what your feeble mind might think!" The now-enraged Louis sends a blow at him. Charles who is at the same state of mind also lands a blow using his spear. A sadistic moment ensues. Both weapons struck their victims' heart. And so ends the rivalry between them. Nobody seems to care about it. The commanders were too bothered about their petty rivalry alone. From the sword of Louis, a reflection of the sun is seen. The skies somehow turned blue once more, and the soldiers. . .both of the armies had stopped fighting. Smiling as the darkness of the clouds replaced by clear skies. They were confirmed to be KIA as soon as the soldiers seen them. . .


    ENTRANT 4 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    A Halo of Fire


    I stood there in the driving rain, hearing the heartbeat of the heavens thundering across the Hungarian plain. The grass heaved like a sea, waves rippling in the gentle sweeping folds of countryside, the winds crashing onto shores of men that stood there. There was near silence.

    The cross stood defiant in the centre, threatening us all with it’s icy gaze as a robed and wizened priest ambled around it slowly, sprinkling holy water and mumbling in Latin. The General, even though he was a fierce devotee of Allah and fully dedicated to his personal Jihad, allowed the priest of these lands to bless him in front of his troops. I had never seen him so calm and accepting, and the way that, albeit momentarily, he let the figures of Christ approach his soul disgusted me. I growled, before turning myself away from these men and their gods.

    The sun broke through the clouds, illuminating that ceremony in a ring of pure radiance, a halo of godly grace. I felt the shadow of the clouds close around my head like a halo as I pulled my cape around and swept away. I continued towards the stormy horizon, where daggers of lightning and thunder raced each other across the sky. Below that, the Austrians waited.


    “HOLD ON ZOLTAN! HOL-” My shout to my lifelong colleague was cut short as I closed my mouth and eyes against the shower of mud from a nearby shell explosion. The bombardment of splinters and noise rent the air as it became saturated with the fog of battle: smoking cinders of cartridges and the choking, dry, sulphurous smoke of gunpowder. I rubbed my eyes with my dirt-stained fingers, feeling the pain of their red colour.

    I ran low at a crouch, zigzagging towards my Corporal. I ducked down, feeling several musket balls part the air over my head. I turned to him, coughing on the stench as he sat too, resting his back on the stone wall. He began to tear open a cartridge, speaking through his broken, rotting teeth as he held the musket ball there.

    “Austrians are moving through our cannon… damned Frederick‘s whor-” His speech was ruptured as he instinctively lunged forward, sheltering his face from the shrapnel of a mortar shell bursting overhead. The missile came out of the sun, drawing it’s circle of death on the battlefield as I heard hot lead sing off my helmet.

    He did not rise.

    I raised my lance and mounted the nearest steed. I turned his head and rode at full gallop through the fire towards the guns of Vienna… to kill myself would not be enough… I would have to impale myself on the burning metal. But a sabre wielding hussar blocked my way. Cursing, I lifted my lance and swung it at the Austrian. The man flicked with his elegant sabre, the perfect halo of God’s sunlight piercing my gaze.

    I flew at him through the smoke of Hell…



    ENTRANT 5 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Kinship

    The morning is fresh and clean, the dew enhances the smell of the meadow
    through which our gun-train toils its way to the next firing position. We have
    been in action recently, and the breeze intermittently brings the reek of burnt
    gunpowder and sweating horses , overpowering every other scent.

    I am not with the struggling teams today, we walk at a distance from the column,
    looking out for enemies. Free of the torment of the biting flies that follow the
    column, I can enjoy the wonderful feeling of my legs ploughing a fresh furrow
    through the pristine damp grass of the meadow, it is almost like walking through
    water. With the wind now at my back, I trust my partner to stay alert while I
    immerse myself in the feeling of the moment.

    Something is wrong! I feel my companion's sudden tension, and I am brought
    abruptly out of my reverie. There is movement at the edge of the woods ahead,
    but it appears only in silhouette and I cannot tell exactly what it is.

    We gallop closer, flying over the grass like swallows. The wind shifts its direction,
    briefly bringing us the creaking and grinding of the gun teams making their
    weary way forwards, before coming around to blow directly into our faces. I am
    immediately awash in the dank mustiness of the forest, filled with hidden dangers.

    My comrade calls a halt to assess the thing in the woods. He fumbles with his
    scabbard. I too am ready for the fight, but at that very moment the Sun finds a
    gap in the clouds and we are dazzled by the intense wash of light. The heat on my
    body distracts and confuses me.

    Then, borne on the breeze, comes the unmistakable smell of horses. I peer at the
    form ahead, it seems somehow familiar, we advance a little further and I am
    suddenly certain. No matter how long we have been apart, I could never forget her.

    I am overwhelmed with emotion. Surprising my partner I bound forward on
    impulse, and I see that she has recognised me for she does likewise.

    We meet, my partner and her captor screaming at each other with nervous bravado,
    sword and spear clashing with desperate energy. But I ignore all that, she is here!
    We stand side by side, almost close enough to touch, awaiting the result of the combat.

    My partner's sword, flashing in the sun, sweeps under the guard of his opponent and
    slices a gaping wound in his chest. He falls, and I rejoice. My sister is free! She is
    scarred and thin, the bad men have treated her poorly, but she will be safe now with
    us. I nuzzle her gently while my partner takes her reins in his hand, and we begin
    to trot back toward the guns.

    I am utterly content. We are a family again.


    ...treasure, pleasure, leisure, les yeux;
    It's all in your eyes.




  13. #13
    Dark Storm's Avatar saut dans le vide
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    West Mids, England
    Posts
    7,569
    Tournaments Joined
    1
    Tournaments Won
    0

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 46 - Take your place at the campfire
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Don't Tread on Me
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    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.


    ENTRANT 1 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    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"


    ENTRANT 2 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    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!


    ENTRANT 3 - Benz282
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    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.


    ENTRANT 4 - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    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...


    ENTRANT 5 - tuore
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    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.



    ENTRANT 6 - Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    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.


    ENTRANT 7 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    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



    ENTRANT 8 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    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.





    TotW 47 - Gather around for some new stories
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Juvenal
    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.



    ENTRANT 1 - Theseus1234
    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!



    ENTRANT 2 - Viking Prince
    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.



    ENTRANT 3 - Yojimbo
    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


    ENTRANT 4 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    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….


    ENTRANT 5 - SonOfAlexander
    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.



    ...treasure, pleasure, leisure, les yeux;
    It's all in your eyes.




  14. #14
    Dark Storm's Avatar saut dans le vide
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    West Mids, England
    Posts
    7,569
    Tournaments Joined
    1
    Tournaments Won
    0

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 48 - Bards of TWC tell your stories here
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Golden Scourge

    My name is Taemojin, son of Dodejin. Of Ujur clan. Loyal servant of great Temur-Khan and his most trusted bodyguard.

    So much trust he has in me, that he had me lead his advance force into Besarabian towns and let the Novgorod and Kiev overlords know what's coming from the far and wide east.

    Screams of the youth, of the women and of the old fill the night, almost overwhelming the thundering sound of squadron's hooves.
    "From each town leave but one alive, leave them with but one eye and point them to but one road, the one to their lord's keep. We need someone to spread the terror, and who is better for that but the weak and powerless? Numbed and maddened by the terrors of Horse Lords..."

    "Ride now Taemojin. Ride, and grant me the pride of having you lead my army!"
    This town is unusual. Reminds me of desert towns near Baghdad...

    Riding through the town, I finaly see one to serve as the messenger lord instructed me to make of each town. A boy with fiery yellow hair, not more than 12 seasons old, terror widening pupils of his westerner eyes to so much it seems he had no whites around them. One eye soon enough, soon enough...But there's something about him...about the town as well...I can't find the word...Gleam. Would that be the word? That Chinese tutor was so utterly useless! My father thought too highly of those pesky creatures...A man that don't carry a sword is not a man that should be listened to! How can you learn from such a man...

    "Tell them it's the Golden Horde...Golden Horde that's coming their way!"
    Those thoughts finaly lit up the darkened corners of my mind, finding the word I was seeking. Golden...The town looks bathed in gold. Sublime feeling, almost unreal, as we glide on our steeds through the streets and among the buildings lit by thousands of torches...Yes, town does look covered with gold...As if gold was shed upon it by invisible hand from above...

    As if it was whipped, whipped by a flaming Golden Scourge...






    ENTRANT 1 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    For King and Country
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    An arrow wedged in my shoulder irritated me, mocking at my sorrow.
    A slash of the sword on my back, hurt me, deepening my resolve.
    With such pain all over...
    With no power to recover...
    With no strength to lift my left hand,
    And with no resolve to my mind...
    I took up my sword, it also mocking me...
    My defeat was nigh, none gazed upon me...
    I looked at the line of horsemen riding through the streets...
    No more will I hear my heart's beats...
    I gazed upon their leader, armored full well with his sword held high...
    I felt the end was nigh...
    I could not move...
    I could not stop...
    And then it dove...
    Another harrow hit me deep...
    Deep in my gut...
    I felt like a rotten mutt...
    But I was not to be stopped.
    I would not be removed.
    I would not leave this world without a meaning...
    I had to do something, as death was looming...
    There he was.
    In the horizon.
    The cause,
    For it I fight on...
    My king laid on a pike...
    My pain spiked...
    Revenged pumped through me...
    Grew inside me...
    I got up... Lightning fast...
    No more darkness shall be cast...
    He was dead, the leader.
    His soldiers, shiver.
    I saw him again... My king...
    And before him stood a being...
    It beckoned...
    I respond...
    And I was taken beyond the world...




    ENTRANT 2 - Ratbag
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Divine Tune

    Dark clouds were hovering over us as an omen of what was to come. The same dark clouds were hovering in my heart and it lead my mind to the worst of places.
    I could not stop myself to think that this could be the last time I was in my beloved home city, the last time I would see my beautiful baby girl.
    She was sleeping peacefully in her little crib that I had built for her and suspected nothing of the danger that was looming over us.
    I could not shake this dreaded feeling that it was my destiny to die in the upcoming battle, together with the rest of Saladin’s army.
    Rumors of those white men who were defending the holy city had reached us long ago, whose king has murdered the people of Jerusalem.
    They knew not the meaning of the word compassion, they were fighting in the name of a God yet they were the worst of mankind,
    only letting my thought dwell upon them made my hart as cold as the steel my sword was made of.

    A horn could be heard from the highest tower, it was time.
    Time to meet our destiny, to meet our foe in battle.
    I feared that all would be lost, but not all my hope had vanished for if there was a man able to defeat those dreaded monsters from lands far away it would be our glorious leader Saladin.
    He had already brought some crushing defeats onto those infidels but nothing of this scale. But nonetheless we would follow him to battle, we would even follow our divine leader trough the cursed gates of hell.
    And so we rode for glory, lord and Allah to meet our foes in battle, it reminded me of a saying my father once thought me.
    “When Satan makes impure verses, Allah sends a divine tune to cleanse them.”
    We were the divine tune send to cleanse this world of the impurity those crusaders and their false God represented… And we would succeed!

    ENTRANT 3 - webMaster412160 (rejected)
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    The Jihad

    Imam Aligi Ne'reb has called a Jihad to defend Antioch from the Christian crusaders. Many have heard the call and came to join the fight struggle.

    Sultan Ji'hu Sagham of Egypt was there with his own army to guide us all to victory. The crusaders were fools to think they could just come into our lands and face no opposition. We are Muslims! Children of Allah! Many had come to fight for our cause, Royal Mamluks had come with the Sultan of Egypt. We have come all the way from Izmir with Qapukulu and Janissary heavy cavalry.
    Sultan of Egypt:
    Good...We have many a cavalry, captain with how many are we ?

    Captain:
    We have nearly seven thousand infantry including the archer troops, four thousand cavalry and six cannons.

    Sultan of Egypt:
    Ask for Sultan Mufan Keçne of Mamluks, we need to discuss how we're supposed to defend Antioch.

    Sultan Mufan Keçne steps into the tent of the Sultan of Egypt.

    He speaks:
    How do we defend this city against the crusaders ? One of my spies has spotted the crusader army the are near Adana with a large army with banners with the holy cross and heavy cavalry,... We have to find a way to let them fear us, we are with many as well, but we need to prepare well.

    Sultan of Egypt:
    Are we holding in Antioch or do we bring the fight to them?

    Sultan of Mamluks:
    We are the 2 leaders of these men, we have to be wise...We stay here. As soon as it's night and the crusader have their camps outside and are sleeping we attack with our Mamluks and Qapukula heavy cavalry. Try to storm the camp...

    Sultan of Egypt:
    Good plan my brother...To victory!

    Later that month the crusader army finally arrived and made their camp outside the city walls.


    Sultan of Mamluks:
    The guard towers on the camps might give them a warning too soon...I am sending my assassins to deal with them before we storm them..."

    As soon as the signal came from the towers that the guards were taken care off, the two Sultans strode up before their army...

    Sultans, making a combined speech:
    For all that is holy to our Muslim hearts, ride to victory! For Allah! For the world to know who we are! CHARGE NOW CHARGE!

    Shouts came from many a thousand throats, all making the night tremble and shudder with shock of excitement and fury in the men of Islam...The gates of Antioch opened up, and the flood of men came spewing out in endless streams...

    The crusaders, alarmed by the noise, started gathering up...Only to see us coming up ever closer...Awakened soldiers and all of the entourage were suprised and soon enough a bloody and unfair battle would take place. The blood of crusaders would flow in rivers. Screams of men trying to defend themselves in small patches of organised resistance were heard throughout the Christian encampment, but all was for nothing.

    All of the Infidel were put to the sword by fair men of Islam...


    ENTRANT 4 - Bucket of Lithium
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    As I ride through these crumbling passageways and walks of men will thou say no? Will thou protest? Will my presence be questioned? We who ride say no!

    Words are wind to me and my kind, idle fluttering of pitiful notes; breakable phantasms that shall do naught but murmur as useless, as worthless as those who formed and birthed them.

    Protestation, inflammation of an inevitable end, enraging our coming. Incensing the nature of we who ride, we who rule. We, righteous men, shall bare no complaint. Suffer no dissent. For we who ride stand triumphant to all, for all. This is the first and last, the truth of things.

    And now, with judgement just nigh on the blackened horizon, will thou question us this day? Question our right? No! For you stand upon naught but sand, eroding as people of stone. Unmoving, unneeded husks of men you may have been. With nay but questions thou shall tread the path aside us, beside us. Below us! Thou shall make way, as befits kinds most abominable, for me, glorified and radiant in the coming splendour of dawn’s caressing touch. For it comes. The dawn arrives soon, on our horizon. And as suits one of such magnificence, such wondrous supremacy, It Rides!


    ENTRANT 5 - Benz282 (rejected)
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    As I walked through the gates to the citadel, I felt a wave of sadness and despair overtake me. Women and children were crying and all around, there were bodies. They were propped up in doorways with arrows sticking out of their chests, blood and dirt soiling their faces, and as they closed the gate behind me, I realized just how few had made it back to safety.

    This is it, I thought to myself. This is the day we all die.

    It was a sobering thought.

    A scream echoed out from beyond the walls and I immediately feared for my Isabella. My poor, poor Isabella... I wanted to look for her, maybe she was among the women weeping before me... But part of me knew she hadn't made it; part of me knew she was still out there.

    We failed. Now we all must pay the ultimate price. I shook my head, tears falling to my feet. I failed. Now she is paying for MY mistakes, MY shortcomings, when she did nothing wrong...

    Another scream pierced through the air and my heart sank even more. They truly must be going from house to house now.

    But I knew that somewhere out in that city, Isabella was thinking of me...worrying about me, even now. I laughed at her stupidity; only she would be worried about anyone but herself right now.

    What else could she do, though? The answer was simple: Nothing. She needed me to protect her, and right now, I was not there.

    With that thought I rose from the ground, heading for the gate back into the city.

    Tonight I will die. But while I still live, I will make sure it is not her last day as well.

    The gates closed behind me once again and this time I found myself looking out not on a scene of tears, but a scene of fire. It was my sole duty to find my love and protect her, even while the city burned around us. I tightened my grip on my sword and strode out into the hell that lay before me, ever aware of the danger.

    Fighting through the enemy, I eventually found myself standing in front of my home, with the door knocked down. Sorrow filled my heart, and I entered utterly fearing that I was too late. Two men were robbing what little valuables I had. I raised my sword and cut them down before they even had a chance to drop their loot.

    Tears clouded my vision and my breathing became erratic as I continued further, sorrow slowly filling my heart. And then I found myself staring at her body, strewn across the bed, blood soaking the exposed feathers of the mattress. I fell to my knees and dropped my sword. It did not matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. I would let the fires consume me and my bride, for even after all my efforts, I had still failed her.

    -The greatest defeats are when you have nobody to blame but yourself-



    ENTRANT 6 - Copperknickers II
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Dimashk was under siege. Prince Duqaq could see the great host approaching the walls of his city, like a huge fiery flood, the torches flickering and twinkling devilishly as they got closer and closer. Duqaq was the son of Tutush, Sultan of Syria, and he was not going to let his birthright be desecrated by Radwan, bastard despot of Aleppo.

    Duquq had never got on with his brother. Radwan had always been Tutush's favourite son, even though he was the youngest, and so Duqaq resented him bitterly. But he was too cunning to oppose him openly. Even when Tutush was assassinated mysteriously, with a whole battalion of Ismaili guardsmen to protect him, Duqaq bided his time whilst Radwan ruled Syria. Then, his opportunity came. Ilghazi, emir of Jerusalem and a close friend of Duqaq's, fell out with Radwan's guardian Janah, and threatened war. Duqaq seized the chance, and fled Aleppo with a small group of followers for Dimashk.

    Radwan had impetuously marched on Dimashk, as Duqaq had known he would, and now his army stood in front of the city.

    "Give the signal," ordered Duqaq rather conceitedly; his brother was so predictable it was laughable. Even when they were children, Radwan had been so easy to fool, putty in the hands of his elder brother. The fool had been angered into action, and had thereby walked straight into the trap - 20000 heavily armoured mamluk fursan commanded by the infamous ilghazi, greatest commander in the Levant. Duqaq smiled, as he watched the Ismaili messenger he had ordered run down to give the signal and ensnare the foolish 18-year old and his merely 5000 strong force.

    But little did Duqaq know that Radwan had organised a little trick of his own. The Nizari Ismailis, better known in later years by their nickname, the Hashashin, were loyal not to Duqaq but to Radwan. The messenger had not run down to deliver the message, but back into the palace and up the stairs to the balcony. He proceded to impale Duqaq in the neck with a crossbow bolt. He died still smiling smugly at his impending victory.

    After one of Radwan's spies had informed him of the trick his brother had been planning, it was a simple matter of bribing Ilghazi and the city was effectively his. Radwan trotted ahead of his army, and rode into Dimashk through the already open gate. Syria was his, and his obnoxious brother had been killed by his own foolish pride. Afterall, pride always comes before a fall. As Radwan's mamluks paraded through the city with the little opposition that remained melting away before them, he felt utterly content.



    TotW 49 - Gather around the campfire for another...
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Copperknickers II
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Conflict. War. Victory. Casualties. Words often bandied around by those who have no intimacy with them. No concept of their meaning. Because, my friends, you cannot understand, envision or even hope to conceive the experience. The battlefield is a terrible place - your very soul is ripped apart by what you witness.
    The shouting, the clang of metal on metal, the screams of the dying and the sapid, metallic tang of blood on your lips.

    I am a soldier, a warrior, a defender of my country and a hero. I have taken the lives of more men than i care to count, but i have seen things. Children murdered, young women violated, men using their own limbs as clubs in last desperate attempts to surivive... all of these give me horrific nightmares. But i am not evil, though i have done evil. Achilles favours the strong, and i do only what i must. I risk death, but He protects me and while i have his blessing i am immortal in battle.

    For though i have seen the worst sights that ever human eyes have looked upon, i go back into the arena, the sanguinary domain of the sword and spear and javelin, with pleasure. Why? Because, my friends, i am drawn to it. It delights me and fills me with a thrill, an electrifying urge. The charge is the apex. As i raise my sword, and join the rising battlecry, and sprint forward at the enemy, i feel alive.



    ENTRANT 1 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Following orders

    The enemy was large in numbers, we where surrounded by Romans. We are Frankish Nobles, with our long blades we cut our enemy to pieces.

    General Hutz: Frankish soldiers we will defeat the Romans here and now, their empire is on the edge of collapse, the are weakened.
    Follow me and listen to my orders and we will win. Men shooting, Hutz, Hutz ...

    The Romans stood ready and waited on the enemy to come, the Frankish didn't wait but marched to the place where the enemy would be.

    General flavinus Brodus: Men defenders of Rome and the our emperor! We will keep those barbarians at bay we will stop them here on this day! Roma Victoria!! "Men felt eager and shoot Brodus, Brodus, we fight for Brodus!!!!"

    The clouds kept the sun away, it was raining and it was cold dark weather. But we where warmed by our brothers our graves and gauntlets
    and leather kept the cold wind at bay.

    General Hutz: Frankish Nobles I want you to direct attack them at the front of their battle line, make sure their legion are death. And now attack! Yes general, "our captain told him with a serious face."

    Our unit soldiers armed with long swords charge down on the enemy without fear and doubt.

    General flavinus Brodus: What do they do, stop them archers fire, fire now, legions form a double line! Don't let them come trough.

    Battle had begone, and it took a complete day before it was over, no one could say who won. Because of both sites all men had died or where bleeding to death. The leaders of both armies: Hutz and Brodus run in shame for the rest of their life.


    ENTRANT 2 - Nazgűl Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Expendable
    Standing at the front, listening to the arrows flying...
    Standing at the front, seeing men crying...
    Standing at the front, where cowards are not welcome...
    Standing at the front, where we will not return from...
    Shields and spears, facing the enemy.
    Fear fading from me.
    Here I come, dear foe
    Here I come, steady and slow.
    Marching down the hill,
    I felt ill...
    I fell as an arrow hit me,
    My foe, I will find thee.
    Sent at the front
    I felt like a grunt...
    Expendable in nature...
    Imminent danger...
    Here he comes, to fight me I wager.
    I stood up and grabbed my sword,
    It felt as I was holding a glacier...
    I looked back at the man I adored,
    On horseback,
    It's his steps I wanted to track...
    I charged forth, fighting in his name...
    It is my will he learned to tame.
    He sent me ahead, expendable in nature...
    He held the answer...
    The axe, where it came from?
    I may never know...
    I fell to the ground, felt so calm...
    I felt the ground as it hit my torso...
    The muddy ground, drenched with blood, dirtied my face...
    My heart beat at a steady pace...
    I look at him, the man I adore...
    Here he was, the man I abhor...
    Sent me to my death...
    Sent me to my doom...
    Here I was, here was my path...
    I wanted to bloom...
    I was too young to die...
    Yet, my end was nigh.
    Expendable, I was.
    Expendable, I remain.
    A wild animal gnaws...
    My flesh rotten, was I insane?
    No... That pleasure would not be given...
    Not to me...
    As my eyes darken...
    I hold the key...
    To my own misery...



    ENTRANT 3 - Ratbag
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Viking Blood

    My feet sunk deep into the mud at the beach of Scarborough,
    still I was glad to feel the ground after the long sea journey we took from my home country of Norway.
    We had come to challenge to English on their own grounds for our King demanded this of us.
    The gods were not working with us though, dark clouds were gathering above us and it was clear a storm was closing in.
    But no storm strong as it may become would stop us.

    After a few hours scouts came back with the report that an army was marching our way. The English knew of our invasion plans already.
    Our general ordered us to set up rank on a nearby hill. We would wait for them and use the terrain to our benefit.
    It took 3 more hours of waiting under the dark clouds before the English army could finally be seen arriving at the horizon.

    They were numerous and well armed, a professional army of which we had heard stories of as a child by the fire before going to sleep.
    But no army, no matter how well trained would stand up to the fierceness of our Scandinavian blood, the blood of Vikings that ran through our veins.
    Today would be the day of our greatest victory, the beginning of the Norwegian dominance over England and the first step to the conquering of the world.

    So it had begun, storming towards the lines of our enemy, FOR NORWAY!!


    ENTRANT 4 - RVFVS
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Dirt, blood, sweat, crap. It was all on me. My comrades roared to keep moving as I ran. It was no real organized charge. We simply ran. The Romans stood close enough, we...we knew that it would not be an easy fight. Hell we did not expect to even make it to their damned square shields. I kept moving, my legs felt like branches under the weight of a tree. I was tired, wet, weak. I could'nt stop. I would be stabbed or trampled. So I ran. It must have been a few more minuets before the Romans through their javelins. Pili...pilii...ah, I can't remember what the heck it was called. They through the bastards and they pierced our shields. Not mine luckily. But old Taratorix was not so lucky. Got a...whatever...right in his eye. He called my name. He asked for my help. But I did'nt listen...why not? He was trampled no doubt. Dead by his friend's foot. Oh well. Nothing I could do. I kept moving.

    Gods this his felt like forever. As I ran the Romans began to materialize. They shouted in their strange language and threw another volley of javelins. Another paltry dea...AGH! I was hit. One of those....ah screw it....one of those javelin thingies got me right in the chest. The army kept charging, if you could call it an army. And me...I just sat still. I just sat in the dirt, the blood, the sweat and the crap. It was remarkable I wasn't stepped on. But soon the battle began. Screams, death, murder. It all happened so fast. I just lie still. Clutching my side. I knew the Romans had one when I saw one walk up to me. I raised my hand in peace. "Please Roman!" I said, "Please have mery!" The Roman took his Gladius and raised it he brought it down har...AGH! He didn't kill me though. I survived. I survived and guess what...I am a slave. Why oh why was I present on that bloody evening.



    TotW 50 - It's time for another tale
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Benz282
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Cnaeus took a moment to breathe. The sun was high, dirt filled the air, and the sound of men being gored was deafening; not exactly the best way to enjoy the mid afternoon on a Sunday. Determined to put a stop to the chaos, clever Cnaeus came up with a plan so that the rest of the day might be saved from this dismal fate.

    Raising his arms and waving them back and forth in the direction of the nearest beast, Cnaeus shouted, "Hail mighty elephant!"

    The monstrosity turned ever so slightly to face him, sending tremors ripping through the earth.

    "It is I, Cnaeus of Aretua, member of this humble platoon. As everyone else is busy cowering under your awesome presence, I have elected myself spokesperson."

    At this, the elephant seemed to laugh and gored a man that had been standing too close.

    "We mean you no harm, great one. Our quarrel is with the men riding on your back."

    The creature's eyes filled with rage.

    "No, no. You see, they have the pointy-sharp sticks and we find they are liable to throw them at us. Now, my men and I do not like having the pointy-sharp sticks thrown at us, and so we would appreciate it if they would stop."

    The behemoth seemed to understand this desire, but remained determined to protect its riders.

    "Besides, we do not think it fair that they steer you into harm's way. Those others like you here, they were stolen from their mothers, just as you were."

    The fires in the beast's eyes were replaced with the cool waters of sadness.

    "Your destiny is greater than all this; you may be a ferocious creature, but you were not made for war. Nor was war made for you. You were made to be free from suffering. You were made to live in bliss. And now, thanks to the men that "raised" you, spears and swords have pierced your flesh. And yet this is not your fault; it is theirs."

    The mammoth being stood still.

    "So please, let the men who ride above you down. We will make sure they know the pain you feel now. You will be free to roam, free to go where you please, and free to be free. All we ask is that you stop."

    With a thundering crash, the elephant fell to the earth. There was a brief silence which was followed by a cheer as men clambered on top of the carcass, slaying the cowardly archers who still hid in the tower.

    And therein lay the genius to Cnaeus' plan. While other men attacked the stone hide of the beast, he sent a stab deep into the heart; the very heart and dreams we all share.

    "You have finally escaped. Now go; run through your meadows and be at peace, my friend."

    A final, bloody tear and uttering in honor of a life that should have been.


    ENTRANT 1 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    The tale of the Mountain

    In front of us, far away almost unclear to see. Where elephants with soldiers on them, with one archer. The where passing trough.
    But our general saw that different. Alexander: Never let a Persian go. He told us. so we went to intercept them. We tough it would not be so hard with our spears. I was in a unit that had only swords not spears, so for us it would be dead that will hunt us.

    We had to attack form the left, while the main army of spear men attacks from the right. A horn sound, attack! I first didn't know what was happening. My brothers where scaring a elephant, and trying to attack it without being hit by the elephant. I stood still terrified by the elephants passing trough and the archers on them firing there arrows on my brothers. Next to me stood an other soldiers of our unit, he was pissing on the ground because he didn't had the nerves to attack the large animal. A few second latter, I look back to the guy next to me. He is pierced by one of the many arrows of the archer's on the elephants. I was so angry, he was my brother mate, a friend in harsh times.

    I scream at the beast, and throw my sword to the archer that hit him. The guy falls down on the ground, I take the sword of my fallen brother covert with blood.
    And run to him, before he has the chance to stand up and fire at me. I swing my sword, and cut his throat open. I look in his eyes, until I don't see them blink. I had taken revenge, but the fight was not over. I went to my brothers who where trying to kill the elephant. I took a torch and set it on fire, I move it around in front of the eyes of the beast. I saw the beast, being afraid of the big fire. I told my brother, take a torch, and spear kill it! They listened to me and did it, the animal got pierced by Macedonian spears.
    Alexander came to me on his horse, and looked at me for 5 seconds. That was the best day of my life.
    Victory was ours!
    The Persian soldiers that remained where running in shame for their life.



    ENTRANT 2 - Sunbird Alkibijad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Red, red wine...

    "Marcus, get up. Can you stand? I think it's over, at last...They're on the run!"
    The sound of horns signaling the retreat for Armenian army and their mercenary swarm was all over the field...Somehow, in the haze and heat of the afternoon, all I could think was: "wow...I lived through it again..."

    There was no joy over victory, as the old poets like to say there is...That must have been from some different kind of war. I am just glad that I am still standing, alive, and almost unscathed...I did get a wound, but it was just a small slash at my leg, nothing more...Stings a bit...

    "Marcus, get up man! You're not even scratched, the bastard knocked you out with the hilt of his sword, nothing more, don't be a girl!"

    Damn, the wound stings...Maybe if I wash it up a bit with the wine? I reach down for the whine skin laying on the ground, and notice Marcus finaly showing some signs of activity...Lazy bum...
    The wine...mmm, good, now we're talking, the wine does help...Especially when you take it down the throat...

    "heh, that's better" , I think to myself, as Marcus stretches his arms out towards me...The bastard wants wine...

    "You want some? Then you better get up, boyo, coz I'm about to drink it all up..."

    The thumping noise becomes louder behind me, I just realize that...must be the last of the elephants being put down before they cause more havoc...

    "L-Lucius!!!"
    I almost drop the wine skin at the shout from Marcus..."what the..." Then I see him pointing behind me...

    A group of elephants rushes less than thirty or so paces off our position...And the archer on one of the towered elephants stands gazing at me...with the bow strung up all the way and pointed in my direction...

    "Ah fu- kkkkhhhhh..."

    "Well, I don't think the wine will help with this one", the last thought that goes through my conscious mind as I hit the filthy ground...



    ENTRANT 3 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Plebeian
    SonOfAlexander


    The two boys ran quickly down the cobbled streets, ignoring the market stalls and animals that they nearly collided with… they were too excited for that. “Come on Flavius, catch up!” called Titus, before turning around and running off again. Titus clutched his knees as he gasped for breath. “Damn you, you lanky gimp.” muttered Titus as he ran again, trying to catch his leggy brother as they made their way to the Legion recruiting office at the Fields of Mars. The sun shone brightly as he heard other plebeians talk of the war in the Far East…

    Flavius rubbed his grimy face and looked up. He felt the sun punishing his skin and lowered it once more. The stifling heat was made worse by the smell… no, the appalling stench of men’s sweat, dirt and body odour… not to mention the aromas emanating from the loose bowelled members of the cohort. He could see nothing over the sand in front of them… just like the million other dunes he’d seen, all placed by some unimaginative creator.

    “Jupiter’s :wub: Flavius, we’ve been in formation since the sun was high.” Titus whinged as he mopped his constantly soaked forehead on his arm. Flavius for once lost patience with his younger sibling. “Oh shut up will you, you fat bastard? If you didn’t carry all that blubber around you’d have an easier time in the heat.” Titus sneered and shook his head gently, annoyed but retortless.

    The rough, scrubbed looking grass tickled his feet. Flavius swore that he would faint from dehydration when he heard a low rumbling, and a few grains of sand began to roll over the dune. Had he just been hearing things? For a moment he thought so, but then the centurion barked out orders to advance to the crest of the dune. “At least I get to stretch my legs” he thought. He turned back to face the front and his mouth and eyes opened wide like a fish.

    As Flavius gawped, the men at the front cried out, their Latin pleas for help drowned out by the bellowing of the elephants in front of him. Like horses as high as houses, the tusked juggernauts ran straight through the Romans as if they didn’t exist. Whole files of men were mowed down like grass as the beasts passed through the Hastati.

    Flavius got to his feet. “Titus, are you alright?” He had only expected one answer, but when he stood up his brother lay dying on the floor, an arrow in his neck. The man choked as Flavius leant over his form, clutching and looking into his eyes. “TITUS! SPEAK TO ME, PLEASE!” He shook his brother but it was no use… the friend he had convinced to join him in the Legions was dead.

    Flavius was shaking and crying uncontrollably, breathing hard. He scanned the chaos before him, then drew his gladius and held up his shield. He stood there, shaking, sobbing…

    Waiting.


    ...treasure, pleasure, leisure, les yeux;
    It's all in your eyes.




  15. #15
    Boustrophedon's Avatar Grote Smurf
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Oct 2010
    Location
    Rome, Italy
    Posts
    3,158

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 51 - Tell your story
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A Moment of Clarity

    They say your life passes before your eyes when you die. I never believed them, whoever “they” are. Or, in those moments when I did, when I contemplated death (a common practice for a pessimistic soldiers such as I), I had assumed it would be instantaneous. The slowing of time, a series of images, each completely unrelated and utterly dear to me, flashing past, inhibiting my view of my inevitable death.

    I was wrong. Instead, I now see my own reflection in the man’s spear. But the figure is not me as I am now. It is me as a young boy, frowning slightly, barely holding the tears in, as my mother rebukes me. It is me as a teen, fearing for my life as my friends and I took turns leaping from a balcony. It was my body, coiled in shock and pain, when I was on the receiving end of a punch to the face, as a young man.

    My eyes slid from the steel, moving to the large shield. The round, yellow-and-gold shield, with a pattern eerily similar to my sweetheart’s favorite pair of earrings. This, more than fear of death, caused my eyes to water. I remember her sparkling eyes as she smiled, the pieces of gold and bronze at the sides of her head shaking slightly with laughter.

    Do the dead miss loved ones? Will I miss my dear mother? My father? My lover? Or will they notice my absence, and mourn, whilst I waste away in some desolate land of those who lost man’s greatest privilege? I know not.



    The only thing I am aware of now is the spear. A testament to man’s destructive nature; a simple piece of wood, turned into a highly effective weapon of murder and destruction. Do not trees represent life? We kill such magnificent towers of life and longevity, shave the remains, and use them to murder humans and animals. Where is our love of the earth?

    Pain: the simple act of one’s body informing one’s brain of a problem. In this case, a major problem; there seems to be a piece of wood protruding from my abdomen. Philosophers say pain is good. They announce to the world that accepting it and allowing the body to work naturally is the correct course of action. But has any of those geniuses been run through with a spear? I find it hard to “accept” that.



    Strange that in all my years, I had fought and farmed routinely. Never considering any of life’s endless questions. And here I am now, bleeding and suffering, wondering how the body creates blood, and why it is needed. Why this moment of clarity at death? Why could I contemplate these mysteries in the safety of my home, where I could perhaps write a book? But that is for the Fates to decide, not a mortal as myself. My time is come, and my senseless cogitations are done.

    ENTRANT 1 - webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Abandoning the Group

    We went after a call for help from a village near Athena. We where with only cavalry to be fast there, we fast charge to the place. Many where dead when we arrived. We searched the place for traces, to find who did this. We found out it where pirates. We found a flag of the pirates. the Red Sun pirates there name was.

    soldier: I think I know those pirates, they live in a camp not far from here. A day ride maybe.

    General Humon: Good we go there to take revenge.

    Nikon: I joined the Greek army for many reasons, also because my brothers is in the same unit as me.

    Donos: I know you do to everything I do, we will fight like true brothers and loyal soldiers. We arrived the next day.

    Sub-captain: We came into the camp, it looks like abandoned.

    soldiers: I don't trust this, I think we should ...

    Before the soldiers could say what he toughed a arrow goes trough him and he falls to the ground. Pirates appear form everywhere out of the bushes.

    Captain Alex: Ambush! Move attack back.

    The pirates where with more then we possible could know.

    Nikon: Brother we can't win this we must leave and save our selfs, or we will die for nothing. We can fight back an other day.

    Donos: That would be a decrease, leaving our army and unit. We would be seen as traitors back in Athena.

    Nikon: Would dying for nothing be better ?

    Donos: If you explain to the king why we abandoned the army, then yes for our lives.

    Nikon: I just tell our king we know the location of the pirates there camp, and we can strike back and take revenge.

    The 2 brothers move away and with there horses run fast away form the battle, Donos looks back and he sees there general Humon fall form his horse and stormed by pirates with long spears and blades. He got Pierced by 10 weapons at the same time. His was looking to 2 figures that he could not see clear before he died. Those 2 where Nikon and Donos running from death.

    ENTRANT 2 - Copperknickers II
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Companions

    I know it well. Alexander had just died, leaving behind him the biggest empire in history. He was an arrogant and generally caddish lad, so he was, seems to me as soon as he departed this life he took a ringside seat on Mount Olympus and sat there laughing at the great mess he had caused for the next 100 years.

    Of course my great-great-great-great-uncle Seleucos had big plans. He had been Alexander's most loyal friend and most feared general, so it only seemed natural that he should take over. Needless to say that didn't go down well with some of his peers. Ptolemy took Egypt, and there wasn't a whole lot Seleucos could do to stop him. But he managed to hold on to most of persia and anatolia, right up to Bactria for a little while. It was all relatively stable for 10 years or so, until Antigonos.

    He had been embroiled in a civil war back in Greece for a while, but he had soon grown immensly powerful. Once he started attacking Syria and Mesopotamia, Seleucos knew he had to act. And that was it. My great-great-grandfather's first taste of battle, told to me by my grandfather when i was your age. Was he excited? Of course! Seleucos was the best general since Alexander himself, and he destested the upstart Antigonos. So they met at Ipsos, a small village near Phyrgia.

    It was magnificent. Imagine, Gaius, a great company of Companions glistened, the golden sun relfecting off the silver plates. Antigonos stood no chance. My great-great-great-grandfather told of his first taste of blood, a fleeing thracian no less, whom he promptly impaled upon his spear and rode him down. It was a resounding victory, and victory is glorious, young master Julius. Who knows, the next Alexander might even be a Caesar? You, even.

    "Thank you, tutor," said Gaius. He was an ambitious boy.

    ENTRANT 3 - SonOfOdin
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Last Charge

    "Fight...Today sons of the Northlands...fight...with Blood,Sweat and Tears" ,That was what I heard my commander, Alextriat Triistenas before I was struck with an unnamed feeling inside me. My blood was pumping, my legs were shaking and my spear and shield were clattering together like when wind brushes through the grassy meadows in a cold winter's night. But this was probably the end
    No more should I have to fight to live. No more should I have to spill blood of the innocent. This was the end of the journey, but certainly not the destination...

    I heard a warcry, and an arrow struck my comrade on my right right on his forehead. Everyone was just about to run to the hills in a full retreat when felt the ground shaking...horses...large steeds...with their riders armed to the tooth all with spears, javelins, swords and steel. The trumpet sounded and Alextriat shouted : CHARGE!!!!!!! ,and my fellow clansmen and I gripped our weapons tightly and we charged to certain death
    I speared a horse and at that time I felt a big bang on my head....

    I woke up to find a horse just beside me...2 horses...3...more than 100
    I was still in battle. I pulled myself up and killed the nearest horseman
    I killed 2 more before I felt a razor sharp blade in my gut
    This was it...
    I fell to the ground face up...and as I lay there gazing at the sky...I was happy
    I was finally a free man

    ENTRANT 4 - thealmightyzorg
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    For The Gods

    He looked towards the enemy lines and saw thousands of troops. He did not care. This was his moment. His time to prove himself to his country, his family, and the gods. Twirling his javelin in his hand and hearing the battle horn's long drone he urged his horse forward to oblivion and glory.

    As he went faster and faster blood pounded in his ears and he saw his brethren charging with him. The gleam of the enemy helmets was blinding, the rain of arrows deadly, and the horses screeching deafening, but as he let loose his battle cry all was silent it seemed. Letting loose a javelin he saw an officer slump forward in his saddle, dead.

    The enemy troops let loose their own volley of pila and the man next to him was gone, passed to the gods. Grasping towards the quiver of javelins on his back and grasping nothing, he reached instead to his sword. He charged, and with his warrior-brothers many were slain.

    He lay on the battleground, covered in blood and bodies, wounded by an enemy arrow, he did not feel pain or grief. He stood, surveyed the scene around him and limped off, feeling that he had satisfied the gods-at least for the time being..

    ENTRANT 5 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Closing the Gap

    This was found in the archives. It is an excerpt from a diary of an anonymous cavalry officer serving in the Thracian Army. My apologies for any errors in translation:

    The Macedonian army relies on all arms to achieve victory. My unit is the Thessalian Cavalry. We are cavalry trained to prevent the enemy cavalry from flanking the main force, but we are used for many purposes. Today, we are formed in a square to rush the center, create a gap, and then hopefully rout the enemy.

    The day started well. We were held in reserve and only placed into the battle after the enemy units had been committed. We rode into battle prepared for any opportunity. A gap was spotted and the captain of the cavalry ordered a pick up in pace -- then a trot -- then a gallop into a full charge. We were now committed. Our unit would either break through the gap or be consumed in the melee as the enemy infantry closed the gap in the lines.

    But the gap began to close. I and my buddy were on the outside edge of the square. It was our job to use our javelins to keep the gap from closing. Two men on horses standing firm as the rest of unit charged forward.

    The enemy closed the distance. We flung each javelin with force and accuracy. Some hit their mark. But even those that were not fatal strikes served a purpose. The enemy moved slower against us. Soon we were out of javelins. Our swords would have to do the rest of the job. Two of us were against dozens of enemy men. Though we were on horseback and they were on foot, if they could close the distance – the cavalry charge could become bogged down and we would fail in our mission.


    With the luck of the gods and a strong personal effort, we held them long enough. The enemy broke and fled the field. We won the honor of the enemy general’s flags and will serve Macedonia with honor again on another day.


    TotW 52 - Time for another story
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - TheTrueGreek
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Jedi Varus's Legion.

    START TRANSMISSION. It was cold, the rain seeping through our stormtroopers armor. A Geonosian traitor is guiding us to the last know location of General Greavus, but i fear we may be to late to save this planet. I have a feeling of grave danger ahead, but i cannot tell from where.

    We spotted a Droid Destoyer up ahead, and the general deployed his troops into a grand line of men. 100,000 troops, 10 ranks deep, 10,000 ranks accross, with our capitol ship providing close support, morale was high, even in these conditions. It was then that we heard a rumbling inside the Republic's Savior, and she started to list as her left engine began to put out. Soon, we saw a fighter lift off from the Savior and fly off into the distance, confused, the general tried to contact the ship, but there was noone there to recieve the call. As the Savior continued to list, it began to drop.

    Soon, the middle engine sputtered out, a huge explosion seen coming from it. Now the ship began to seemingly push itself towards our line, almost as if it wished touch the ground but its last engine wouldn't let it. Our commanders wouldn't let us look at the specticle, thinking that a droid attack could come at any time. Then, a screeching could be heard, although from where i have no recolection. Then there were explosions as the Savior began to fire its main cannons into our line, we were shocked, and didn't do anything at first, but we realigned our cannons and even though our heavy firepower tore at it, it kept shooting. Then, another rumble and its last engine sputtered out, it soon began to freefal, right at our lines.

    It crashed and sent a huge wave of dust and blood and armor everywhere, 10,000 of our own troops were killed by the crash, with another 10,000 from it sliding over our men. Then, from under us, the ground began to shake. Out of the ground sprouted huge creatures, with mandables capable of ripping off an arm without effort. thousands of these sprouted up from the ground, ripping apart our army, and even though we fought back, their tough hide made nothing but the strongest of heavy weaponry useless. Master Varus killed many of these, before his head was ripped off by one of these creatures. At his death, we had nothing that could fight these monsters from Hell, and they ripped our armor and flesh apart, till our massive army was nomore.

    I managed to hide in a cave nearby, however, i fear that i shall not be alive for long. May anyone who finds my body use this to know what happened to Master Varus's Legion. END TRANSMISSION

    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Damp

    Our boots trampled the mud, we marched and marched, yearning to the warmth of the ship, now hovering above us...
    The battle was imminent, I held my rifle tightly, I stood shoulder to shoulder with my brothers, I looked to my left and nodded, he nodded back.
    "So, who's ready for some whooping?"
    He asked, the Clone to my left, I smiled and nodded, he aimed his rifle up to the skies, and fired one shot... That was the signal.
    The ship's outer alarm was heard and with a battle cry, hundreds of Jedi broke through our lines, sprinting with the power of the force, their lightsabers drawn...
    "Sarge!"
    The Clone to my left screamed, I looked at him and nodded; "Everyone, CHARGE!"
    All of us, tens of thousands... We sprinted through the muddy land, firing wildly into the horizon, seeing the explosions of dozens of Droids destroyed, and there it came, the capital class ship...

    Cutting through the skies in amazing speed, it fired its main cannons, blasting and destroying, we charged forth, up the hill, down the slope...
    Into the valley, and up to another hill, we opened fire again, the Jedi, in their hundreds, massacred the helpless Droids...
    Now came the last strike, the two bombers behind the capital class ships, firing their cannons and befell the enemy vehicles...
    A plasma shot missed my helmet by an inch, and the Clone to my left started laughing at me as I looked completely shocked; "You okay Sarge?"
    "Shut up!" I yelled jokingly. "Everyone, to the Jedi!"
    The front line jumped forwards and joined the melee fight with the Jedi, covering them, making sure they don't die... Yet...
    Another plasma shot missed me by an inch, I fired at the enemy, it exploded in a cloud of metal and dark smoke, I got hit, I fell down, a Droid knocked me down, aiming at me now...

    A bright light approached, the Droid was destroyed, the Jedi looked at me, Ayala Secura her name was, twice has she saved me, she got me back on my feet and nodded, she jumped upwards, slashing a Droid fighter as it zoomed by her, and she dropped into the main battle scene...

    I felt myself flying through the air at amazing speed, and my leg burning with pain, something hit the ground near me, I felt ill, the pain from my leg spread to my abdomen, something caught me in mid air, another Jedi, second time in one minute they had saved my life... he put me down and nodded at me; "Sarge, don't die on me now, we need you!" He said and nodded, drawing his lightsabers again and charging into battle...

    I adored these beings, amazingly powerful and swift... Too bad they had to die...
    The battle seemed to have already won... I fired five shots into the air with my unique plasma rifle...
    Another victory, in a very long war... One the Jedi will not see the end of...

    ENTRANT 2 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Refugees

    Thorgils looked up as he heard an angry cry pierce the ship's deck. He rose from his filthy hovel that he called a berth and waded through the human waste towards the foredeck of the ship. He saw Leif standing there, clutching the gunwales. As I expected.

    "Calm down Leif. I know that the women must wait till landfall, but it's not so..." His attempt at humour failed. "Damn, Thorgils! We set out from the fjord weeks ago. We should have reached Iceland by now" He paused and took a deep, cleansing breath. "Ah, that bastard Cnut and his troops... if they destroyed the town, I swear by Thor's baggy left..." Thorgils cut across him. "Maybe you should spend a bit less time cursing Saxons and more navigating - That storm looks rough." Leif saw it and swore once more. It's too big to go round, we'll have to ride through it... No matter, our Norse ships will see us through."

    The wind slapped the puny boats. The lightning hit them like an iron clad punch and the sea's rage was unbearable. Thorgils thought he would die, unable to take shelter below but manning the helm. So he was the only person to witness the bright flash of light that danced over his head, though he was certainly not the only one to feel a strange sensation of pulling, like the gods were pulling at his chest. He could fight the storm no longer... his knees gave way and he slipped into unconsciousness.

    *creeeeeakkkk*...the ship slowed... could it be la-*shhhhhhh...* The ship ground to a halt on a bed of pebbles and his head slid forward into a beam. Rubbing his scalp, Thorgils clutched the mast and pulled himself upright. He looked around. Flat grey land, watery sunshine... was this Iceland?

    And those birds...

    The ARC-170 Pilot pressed the control for the intercom.

    "Commander, I'm picking up a large group of lifeforms below."
    "How many?"
    "Approximately two thousand sir."
    "Location and type?"
    "Directly between us and the CIS forces. Humans, sir."
    "Acknowledged. Report back to Battalion CP, trooper."
    "Yes sir, Commander."

    These bloody raiders, Throgils thought as he shook his head, listening as the Nobles argued over how they would attack these foreigners. Clouds crept stealthily into the heavens as the men began to run to various ships, shouting and pushing people, giving orders. Within an hour there were a few hundred warriors lined up with many women and children behind. The Vikingr would fight these menofwhite.

    But they never met. The enemy held odd, black crossbows ("Bah! I can say hello to them from 400 yards with this bow!" boasted Leif) and a large red metal cloud flew behind them... their gods must sit there in their Valholl. But the storm grew worse, and the day darkened till vision was impossible. The men stopped marching, the rain drumming on their helmets. They felt a tug at their hearts, pulling them from this reality back to their own...

    ENTRANT 3 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Price of Victory

    Wars begin for a number of reasons, but end for only one reason – one side stops fighting. It is called defeat.

    Jedi Master Obi-Wan claims victory in the opening battle of a war, but neither he nor any man can ever claim victory in the war. The aftermath of this great battle is a battlefield strewn with the corpses and debris of a great conflict. The cost of victory was quite high, but there is always something worse than victory in battle – that is defeat in battle.

    The price of this victory is the unleashing of a great weapon. Clones are a weapon that will change the course of not just this war, but all wars to come. This is so -- just as a distant war was ended by bringing on chemicals to the region of a battle. This is so -- just as a distant war was ended by bringing in the nuclear age. Clones are just such a terrible weapon.

    Obi-Wan needs to remember that the opening battles seldom destroy an enemy’s will to continue the fight. The shock of defeat numbs the mind just as the shock of the terrible cost of victory blurs the need for peace. The opening battle merely allows both sides to continue on towards the next battle and then the next, and the next. Until one side loses the will to pursue another battle, war does not end.

    So Obi-Wan – what price of victory shall we be willing to pay to continue to win this war? This is a war of clones against the forces of the dark side, but both sides are holding the drawstrings to the shroud. This a proxy war where the proxy is our own flesh; a proxy that is our own soul. What shall the price of victory be in the next battle, a battle that will not end this war? What shall the price of victory be in this war?

    ENTRANT 4 - Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Despair

    Why did we choose to fight the Republic? Their inexorable march towards victory has crushed countless planets, ruined others, and caused the deaths of millions. Yet they would have us believe it is the fault of the Confederacy. They would have us believe they fight for “freedom.” How can one truly be free when one is ruled by a Supreme Chancellor?
    This does not matter, now. The “rebels,” as we are called by the Republic, are preparing to defend their homes and lives. We have spent several days creating trenches and gun-positions, gathering supplies for a long siege. The men are in high spirits, with the understanding that the Republic only has so many men in this sector, while the Confederacy has hundreds of thousands. We will soon receive the reinforcements we so desperately need to wear the enemy down.
    The rain continues to come down, drowning out all but the loudest of noises. I issue orders on durasheets, as spoken orders would be lost in the tempest.
    Then; the thumping of boots. The men hunkered down, looking through scopes and peering through rain. The deep humming of a large engine could be heard, followed by the whines of several smaller machines. Where were the droids?
    Suddenly, a group of three of my warriors turned and ran, fear seen plainly in their eyes, as well as in their body language as they glanced over their shoulders in pure terror. This alone caused another knot of men to run. I glanced forward, and saw what caused the stir: a solid wall of white plastoid. Gleaming through the rain and muck, thousands of shock troops marched. Clones of Jango Fett, we were told. Clones of the most efficient killer in the galaxy. Clones bred for one purpose: to destroy the enemies of the Republic.
    Gone were our feelings of pride, our love of freedom, and our morale. IN their place: despair. Every man knew he would die. We now could hope for one thing: to take down enough clones to make the Republic think twice about invading our planet in force again.
    A thunderous crash was heard, followed by screams and a massive shockwave. Dozens of my men had died in one blast from the huge capital ship in close support of the army. Then the small arms fire opened up. Blue-white bolts flew towards us. Men fell left and right, before a single man could pull a trigger. Soon, only a few of us were left standing. The clones charge and began taking us, one-by-one, to their transports.

    I still can not understand how such a feeling of elated pride and accomplishment could change so quickly into one pure and utter despair.


    TotW 53 - Join another campfire
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Last Reservoir of Strength

    Battles can start from a chance encounter. Reconnaissance units can be reinforced by both sides. At some point the skirmish becomes a battle. This was the case as my company of riflemen rushed to the sounds of battle.

    The early morning dew was still damp on the grass. The foggy mists were lifting. An enemy rifle company was spotted. We were out numbered. Withdrawal across the open fields was impossible due to a small cavalry reconnaissance unit that started this skirmish. I though it best to make our stand in the open where distance could be our ally.

    The men formed up into a line. We fired the first volley of the morning. The enemy returned a volley. I was fortunate to only receive a flesh wound in my right leg through my boot. Both sides fired with the precision of well trained units. The second ball cut into my right leg again. Blood ran, but my aide was able to make a rough bandage to stop the loss of blood.

    Soon our unit was joined by others to each side. We were now the center of our forces on the field. Our enemy was stronger as well and maintained their advantage of numbers. The skirmish was now a battle. The third ball was more serious. It ripped a hole in my left shoulder. There was now more blood and more bandaging to keep me on my feet and in command. Men were fewer on both sides, but the ones that remained were still steady in their gruesome duty.

    The fourth ball does not even really count since it struck near the first wound in the early morning. A pain shot through my leg. The ball had done its destructive job. I grew fainter, but I continued to lead my men. They were holding up admirably against the weight of the enemy. I had to remain and guide their fire as the enemy began to advance in skirmish formation.

    I ordered them to hold their fire until all had a load ready. Perhaps a single concentrated volley could break the morale of the skirmishers before bayonets would be needed. They fired and the enemy began to fall back at bit. The idea had bought us some time.

    The fifth ball struck at the end of the day as both sides were slowly withdrawing. The battle would end without a decision for the day’s efforts. The ball struck me in the face. I fell to the ground. The accumulated loss of fluid through the day and the final shock sapped my body of the last reservoir of strength. I was fortunate to awaken in a dispensary. The surgeon needed to remove my right leg above the ankle. My shoulder was bandaged and apparently still in working order. My face was a mess. Time can close many wounds. Unlike some of the poor unfortunates of battle, I am here to write my day’s account.

    WINNER - Don't Tread on Me
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I do not know his name.

    When I used my spyglass to survey the field below our hill, I saw his company, what remained of the South Carolina 10th Regiment of Militia. General Morgan had sent ‘em ‘round my hill to flank Tarleton’s left by the creek bed. But Bloody Ban saw those boys comin’ and unleashed some dragoons to head ‘em off. They dismounted, pinned ‘em in on the boggy hillside and started pickin’ em off like it was a turkey shoot.

    Looked to be dead, all ‘em, but I saw one kneel up. Blood was runnin’ down his face from his ear, shot clean off, ‘twas. I saw him grimace, clutching his shoulder or his chest – couldn’t tell – then gripping the muzzle with a bloody hand. He steadied himself on his musket and stood. He started hollerin’ at the dragoons as they marched away. He loaded and fired, hit one dragoon. The man toppled like a tater sack. The rest turned around, growled and headed back toward the militiaman.

    “Boy’s liable to bleed out in minutes,” I thought. When the howitzer nearby was bein’ reloaded I heard what he was yellin’. “Give me Tarleton’s quarter! Give me the same what my ma and pa got! Come on, now, you bloody cowards!” I’d heard tell what depraved things Tarleton done out in the wilderness. He once killed a man, raided his farm months later, told the man’s widow to dig him up and serve him dinner before letting loose his animals on her. I wondered if she was this boy’s mother. I reckoned all he wants in his last mortal moment is to make his stand with honor.

    “Look at that boy yonder,” I called out to my artillerymen. “Tarleton’s men took everything he had but his last breath, and he is ‘bout to use it to kill one more o’ them devils. They think we are things, to be used and trodden ‘neath King George’s heel. This man’s had enough, and we need to show him – so have we.”

    I ordered the howitzers wheeled ‘round – “Quickly now.” The shells had to rain down before the dragoons closed to their pistols’ range. “Fire!” The shells arced skyward then plummeted, exploding all around Tarleton’s men but a safe distance from the Carolina man. The dragoons’ wretched cries of unspeakable burning pain reached us on the hilltop, as did the acrid odor of smoke and charred flesh.

    The Redcoats battling our foot regiments in the trench slops further out were horrified to look back. As for ol’ Ban himself, I could just make out his face, red as Mars as he thrashed around with fury. Our infantry rallied and seized the moment of the Brits’ confusion. ‘Twasn’t long afore the Brits just started scatterin’.

    The militiaman had fallen where he stood, succumbed to those first two shots. I do not know his name. But he was a hero to his country that day, and I will never forget him.

    ENTRANT 1 - Ratbag
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    2 Words

    Honor and pride... Honor and pride... Honor and pride. I kept repeating these 2 words in my head but they seemed so small now.
    My philosophy for life seemed so small and insignificant as I was faced with the fact the that same life would end shortly now.
    But I had lived my whole life in the pursuit of these 2 words... now at the end I would not falter.

    The body's of my fellow soldiers, my friends stacked up at my side. It was a battle clearly lost... Honor and pride I thought to myself once again.
    I could see the shadows of death closing in in front of me, it wouldn't be long now. My vision was blurry because of the sweat that dripped into my eyes.
    If this was my final stand I would take as many with me to the firey depth of hell as I could. I was sure it was hell that waited for me.
    The faces of those I killed were flashing through my mind, together with the 2 words... Honor and pride.

    Reloading and shooting time and time again, every time a shadow fell. No matter how close they got my eyes could not catch focus as if they knew their job was almost done.
    Honor and pride...the shadows stopped marching...Honor and pride... Their guns raised...honor and pride...the sound of thunder ripped the sky's as the heat of lead ripped open my heart.

    2 thing mattered here and now... Honor and pride

    ENTRANT 2 - Copperknickers II
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    There but for the grace of God go I

    The midday sun is dispersed through the gunsmoke, and the lone survivor gets up to find his company dead. The eery fog muffles the now irregular cannon fire, but still his ears are ringing. He is afraid, confused. What happened? It must have been an exploding shot, no shrapnel or he would definitely be dead. The stifling smoke fills his nostrils and throat, and his mouth is dry. He remembers now: his company was sent around the side to flank the British cannons on the hill and pave the way for the cavalry. He starts, he was behind enemy lines when the cannon hit. Had they lost? No, or there would be no cannon. He cautiously leaves his fallen comrades and proceeds. He sees two figures approaching, and he ducks behind a hedge. He sees them more clearly, two British routers with no rifles. He ambushes them, and one, seeing his advantage, promptly begins to draw a pistol. But he is too slow, and the lone survivor dispatches of both quickly. He is heartened now, if the enemy are routing perhaps he is not the lone survivor after all. He sees his opportunity - the enemy must be mounting a last stand with the cannons. He skirts round the hill and sees that there is a small group of men manning a redoubt at the top, definding the still ten or so strong howitzer battery. The smoke has drifted round, masking him, so he takes his shot. In quick succession, head after head explodes in a spray of blood, and after the fifth they raise their hands, thinking themselves surrounded. The Prussian private had captured an entire company by himself, and won the battle. He was given a medal for his bravery, but recovered all of his fallen comrades and honoured them for the rest of his life.

    ENTRANT 3 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Blind
    My uniform felt heavy with the blood of my foe,
    My friends moved on, to Limbo...
    There I stood, blooded and afraid,
    Here they came, like a night's raid,
    I reloaded and aimed, only to miss,
    They fired again, I heard them hiss.
    The horn was heard, but it was too late.
    The horn was heard, no one left to hate.
    The field was huge, the battle long,
    Who did I belong?

    Fire and thunder, I heard it roar.
    Fire and thunder, there it were.
    I fired again, hit I did.
    I saw him fall, was he killed?
    They ran faster, and I was alone.
    I looked around, only to see them gone.
    My friends lay dead, moving on.
    But here I was, and I fawn.
    I fell as it hit, a stinging pain,
    I hoped it would end, nothing to gain.
    I found myself rising again, reloading my rifle,
    I felt myself, feeling so nimble.
    Was this the netherworld? Was this Limbo?
    No, this was my sanity going low.
    I felt insane, I fired again!
    And there I fell, again with the pain?

    Why me? Why was I left behind?
    No one else, were they that kind?
    I felt so betrayed, they had left me and fled!
    Had they fled?
    They have died, as will I,
    Now I die, I say goodbye...
    To Limbo I go, the next world,
    My mind whirled...
    I was as if blind...
    How did I not see that in my mind?
    A blind man I go,
    To Limbo...

    ENTRANT 4 - thealmightyzorg
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I Walked On

    I stand alone on the battlefield. My friend Henry lies upon the ground, soaked with blood. I reach for his trembling hand, tears running down my face. It is growing cold, and I know he is fading. It seems all is slow. I focus only upon his face. Not the numerous men around us, crying for God's mercy and their mothers, nor the cold chill of the air, or the horses trampling the ground.

    He shook one last time, and was gone. I wept, 'O God I wept! A hero, a companion, a soldier, was dead. My thoughts turned to his daughter, and of his wife. As I saw their faces is my mind, I rose up. I trudged forward, musket in arm. Maybe I had not the presence of mind to release my grasp, or maybe I simply could not because of fatigue.

    The horses galloped, reapers of death. Enemy or friend I did not know. They carried sabers, like scythes reaping grain. And as soldiers fell, I marched on, not moved by the horrors I witnessed, only wishing for home. The sky was grey and exploding with cannon thunder, and yet I walked on. Musket in hand I trudged, to a place I knew not. I may have fired the gun, I know not. The shells landed 'round me, and still I walked on...

    ENTRANT 5 - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    There's no such thing as Honour




    The corporal looked down and behind him.

    No-one... they're all dead. My whole company is dead...

    He wiped the tears from his eyes but the smoke returned to blind him. He looked up and saw the thick cloud completely stationary ahead of him. It sat there like a great wall, leaning forward and towering over the small lump of shadows and dust that was his frail existence.

    Please... let it be over. God, but let it be over...

    There was always the generals behind, ready to shoot any man that ran from the field. It was useless, he screamed, useless! Why should a few men die for no achievement just because some General wanted to be 'honourable' ? It's not fair! If they were so honourable then why didn't they stand alone against the hordes of enemies, sure to come... but there was always a chance... they could have stopped. Yes...

    A lone howitzer streaked overhead, whistling and impacting far ahead, and it was like whipping a bull. A volcanic explosion of noise and fire began to pour from the cloud and it grew, feeding on the musket flashs and the cannon barrages, fed by those hallmarks of man and his constant strive for sorrow. And now they had come... the harvesters of the sorrow, feeding on it, reaping it and sowing anew... No! They're just men, they're just like m - A ball cracked and whistled off his boot - S H IIIIIIITT!

    But as they drew closer, he stood up and loaded his musket. That's odd he thought, somehow now detached from the pain he had just felt. Oh... look he thought. I hit one. Better reload again... But then his leg exploded and he fell to the ground. He looked up and realised that his tears had nothing to do with the smoke. He loaded... slowly, slowly... aimed it. He couldn't keep it still. There was a bang and a bullet flew through the air.

    It hit.


    TotW 54 - Another tale war
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    WINNER - Muttonchops
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Last of the Jacobites


    Upon this accursed moor, lays our dead, a generation of Highlanders, sacrificed for the sake of a loss cause. There they lay, sinking and bloodied but not ashamed; they have died gloriously. Without fear they charged towards our foes, with courage in their hearts and a long sword in their hands, they met the cruel bayonets of our English oppressors with a determination that overwhelmed the odds. Many were struck by the enemies’ muskets as they struggled through the moor, the wounded crawled forward, the calls of the bagpipes led them forward and forward they charged! Their angry war cries filled the air, their anger was met by the British who clung to their rifles with fear. Like a storm, they smashed the British lines with fury, victory seemed possible, but fate decided to rob us. The British counter attacked and drove us back, the day was lost. We were chased from the field and harassed by their cavalry; many were cut down including me. Now as I lay dying, bleeding from my throat, you, must tell the others, what has happened, you must tell them how we fought and died gloriously, in this godforsaken battlefield, here in the Moors of Culloden……

    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    What is in the Horizon for Me Now?
    I've always been told,
    Not just by the old,
    That in the horizon my future lies,
    Why then do I feel such despise?
    For with every breath I take,
    I feel like a drake.
    Not a legendary drake of old,
    But a spiked drake of the cold,
    Betrayed and forgotten, thrown into the battle.
    To the massacre ahead, beyond the babble.
    The babble of my lords, the nonsense they sold,
    They stupidity they sown, so deep in us, deep in the cold.

    They came with horses, like the four.
    They came with muskets, and my friends were no more.
    We fought and fell,
    No more to dwell.
    I felt the darkness creep over me...
    And I was thrown to misery.
    How was I so easily fooled?
    How was I so easily ruled?
    I left with a vengeance,
    I left with silence...
    And I went cold, never to grow warm.
    Foolishly I conform...
    No more...
    My lord I abhor...
    Over the horizon they said?
    Over the horizon they plead?
    I see the horizon...
    It holds no new,
    I see the stallion...
    It has been fooled too...

    ENTRANT 2 - ELITEOFKINGWARMAN88
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    "FORWARD", the colonel shouted. We rode into battle with our sabers and pistols at our side. We are only few hundred strong versus many enemy on foot, but our commander felt confident we can beat those rebel dogs. We rode slow at first..... then faster....and faster.... until we was riding at full spreed towards the enemy. The enemy quickly formed into an firing line and opened fire....and again..... We lost several ranks, but we kept on charging until.....

    "FOR GOD AND COUNTRY!" shouted our Commander. Suddenly.... He was dead, bullet though his head. Not even an minute into the fight.... Our men rode though the lines in an fury....Slashing and cutting the rebels, while the rebels only could shoot back at us here and there and get an few lucky kills until we slaughtered them....They was horrified at the aggressive of our small, heavy cavalry unit. I and another solider rode up to an group of inftrany who we reconized the murderer.... the one who just killed our commander. We rode up to them, slashing our way though.... Finally, I came face-to-face with him..... I brought my saber down and slash him hard across the head..... Blood spurted everywhere..... We was able to ride onto victory..... We lost 100 soliders....Enemy lost over 400 including that murderous pig who killed our commander.....

    ENTRANT 3 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Cavalry Raid

    It was mid-August. My Regiment has just completed making a splendid mounted charge. The ground was dry and the weather was ideal for war. My regiment was assigned to sweep behind the main enemy units to seek out and destroy enemy supplies and to also disrupt communication between the main units.

    The men assigned to reconnoiter the ground ahead of the column had spotted a couple dozen wagons escorted by a company of soldiers. The supplies must be munitions for the enemy corps a day further down the pike for such a large escort. This would be an important contribution to the success of the campaign.

    I ordered the men into line formation and we began our march toward our adversaries. Catching an enemy by surprise is always a relative term. They did not expect us, but veteran soldiers know what their duty. There were too few of the escort to form a solid formation to repulse the cavalry charge and still protect the wagons. They choose to split the difference and some used the wagons for cover while the bulk of the company prepared to fire in close formation at our mounts.

    I ordered the men to charge and break the volley formation; there would always be time to take on the men with the wagons later. We charged with sabers drawn. The enemy got off a quick full volley, but we were still too far out for the bullets to do much harm. Upon reloading we were now much closer and the bullets ripped into the men and the horses. Many fell, but the charge continued. Now we are upon the enemy. Sabers cutting and slashing into the foot soldier, we rode hard into the formation. Without loaded rifles, the enemy broke and began running.

    My mounted men were recalled. We did not pursue. Our job is to destroy munitions and not to run down the enemy. We still must act quickly before they can reform and counter attack.

    My Regiment reformed and now we began the charge against the wagons. The enemy defending the wagons would not be so easy to break. They were able to keep the wagons between themselves and our charge. They also were not attempting to fire volleys. It seemed safer for us as we moved closer. Upon contact, the wisdom of holding fire was now revealed. They used the bayonet mounted rifles as spears and discharged a shot at point blank range into the mounts.

    In the end my Regiment won the day. The wagons were destroyed. Over 80 men were taken prisoner. The company commander and the company colors were ours.

    We took heavy casualties as well in both horses and men, but mostly in horses. A rider was dispatched to headquarters with the news of the battle. We now had a long march back into friendly territory with our wounded and the prisoners. We could have used a wagon or two. Too bad they were all burned.


    TotW 55 - Another tale war
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 







    WINNER - Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Silence

    The cheers, taunts, and various mind-numbing screeches coming from the orcs were met by an equally disturbing silence from their so-called “allies,” the men of Rhun. The disciplined humans stood stock-still, knowing an eerie silence was just as frightening as blood-curdling screams. They held their pikes and scimitars, each made by top-class smiths, and glared across the field at their long-time foes, the free and brave men of Rohan.

    The horse-lords were armed and armoured in typical cavalry fashion: light chain or scale male, light helms, leather skirts, lances, bows, and javelins. The Rohirrim sat, unmoving, on their steeds, waiting for the order to charge, knowing the Easterlings were out for revenge for their recent defeat at the hands of a small Rohirrim force.

    Though the men of Rhun had a long history of fighting with the Men of the West, they were used to the clash of infantry, the heavy armour of the Gondorians. Only with the Dark Lord's recent expansion into Ithilien, and the lands to the north, have the Easterlings fought consistently with the men of Rohan, a task they relished more than anything. Seeing horses skewered on the end of long pikes, cutting the blonde warriors down from their high mounts, feeling the light arrows fall harmlessly to the ground after a run-in with the dragon-scale armour of Rhun. This was the joy of an Easterling.

    The cavalry began to trot forward with the orc skirmishers running to intercept. Still the silence held. The orc body charged, the horses galloped, orcs fell. Screams and clashes heard across the battlefield. Still, the silence, and the disciplined ranks, held. The orcs routed, the Rohirrim reformed, and cheered. Easterling pikes were lowered in utter noiselessness. The charge began, and the distance between the two forces shrunk, the thunder and cheers ever increasing in pitch and volume.

    The evil men of Sauron reacted in one way to this threat. They smiled. Here they would extract revenge on the Rohirrim for aiding the Numenoreans and killing their ancestors. The pikes wavered, though not from fear; from excitement.

    "Hold!" called the Captain of Pikes, the first man of Rhun to utter a sound during the battle. The lines steadied, braced for impact. At this point, fear could be seen in the Horse-Lords’ eyes. Their opponents stood, unwavering, in face of a sprinting charge, something orcs could never do. By the time of impact, the cavalrymen feared for their steeds’ lives, as well as their own.

    It was at this moment that the silence was broken. At this moment, the Easterlings shouted, a single, deafening shout of anger, of excitement, of revenge.


    ENTRANT 1 - Nâzgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Courage
    Oh there I stood, oh how mighty was I,
    Stood so proudly in the face of death, seeing men cry.
    Dear me I pity them, them who did not know,
    Them who do not know of the the seeds we sow,
    Them who do not know of the glory,
    Them who had not felt the sorry...
    Such pain I felt that day,
    Such glory with it, not leaving it stay.
    I felt proud and strong as Faramir yelled,
    I saw as my friend beheld,
    He beheld the enormity of the foe,
    He did naught but wallow.

    His fear did not touch me, I was stronger.
    I knew my power.
    I was imbued, the power of my people,
    I felt myself more than capable.
    Death stood there, holding a pike.
    Death stood there, yelling, warlike.
    The fury of battle flowed through me,
    Rh
    űn stood before thee.
    Serving the Dark Master, they screamed.
    They then steamed.
    We taunted and taunted, they charged ahead.
    I could not stop myself from feeling glad.

    Whether this was my doom or my glory,
    I did not know.
    Whether this was my life or bury,
    I did not know. I fought, although.
    It was a fight worthy of
    Númenor...
    Worthy of Gondor...
    We fought, once more.
    Never to gaze upon the sun, forever more...

    ENTRANT 2 - Imperator Romani
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Flashback

    We've been fighting for years now. I remember when I was a boy, my father left. He had a weapon, and that was it, as he couldn't afford more. He was sent by our warlord to fight. He never came back, my mother wept only in private, as that is custom. How I loved my father, how he loved me. When he came in from the fields, he would kiss my mother and hug me and my sister. This is not like our ways, but he didn't care. We must have been 6 when I last felt his firm embrace.

    I was the future of the family. Everyone else had died from this never-ending war. It was my father and me who were left to carry on the family name. But he's dead now, just leaving me to carry out this task. Now here I am, waiting on the enemy. I must survive, I must. Why does this burden fall on my shoulders? Why am I worrying about all this, when I've been raised not to. Why?

    Me and my comrades have marched many miles to come here and kill. I've had much time to reflect on these questions, to have flashbacks to my past. I remember when I married the warlords daughter, making me and my mother and sister rich. This let me afford the finest equipment, some of the finest in the world. This doesn't keep the sorrow from surrounding me like a blanket. Why didn't my father have this same equipment? It may have saved his life, saved my family grief, saved the family name. But no, the world turns because of money, and he had to pay for it. We had to pay for it.

    We have just topped a hill, and we spot the enemy. We outnumber them 3 to 1. They only have weapons, their task is hopeless. All they are trying to do is protect their homes, their families, their livelihood. You can see the weariness, the exhaustion, the grief on their faces. We continue to march, getting closer and closer, close enough to see the wrinkles on their faces. The calluses on their hands from years of hard labor, just trying to scratch out a living. They've been torn from their homes and families to fight here, to die here. We stop. The man next to me lifts his hand and gives the order to charge. To charge and slaughter men identical to my father

    ENTRANT 3 - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Cut Bouquets and Wildflowers

    On Main Street –
    Soldiers march to honor the dead.
    Good citizens wear a cut poppy in their lapels.
    Bands play songs of those who once marched into battle.
    Flags are waved to honor the occasion.
    Speeches are given to the honor and glory
    of the soldiers alive and dead.

    In the cemeteries –
    The graves of soldiers are marked with stone.
    The graves of soldiers are honored with flags.
    The graves of soldiers are memorialized
    with cut bouquets placed by those left alive.

    On fields of ancient battles –
    The graves of soldiers are lost to time.
    Soldiers were buried where they fell.
    The soldiers are memorialized with
    the wild flowers that only nature provides.

    I prefer to lie beneath the wild flowers a quiet repose
    rather than in the coldness of the cemetery
    where all is set and trimmed.
    Cemeteries and cut flowers are for the living.
    The wildflowers are for the dead and buried.
    ENTRANT 4 - molls
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    And in the darkness bind them
    "Where are they?!"

    The golden elite stood there, perfectly organized in ranks. Waiting.
    And nervous.

    "How I loathe this land - its green grass, its dense forests, its cold... for Ancthunr's sake!"

    "Shut your hole man, we've got to keep some of our nerves to battle the enemy for we must not fail..."

    "Running out of time here. Screw it, WHERE IS this army?"

    Often enough some of the men were lurking back over their shoulders.

    "I can't see anything! This army isn't here I say!"

    "They MUST be! The Dark Lord is never wrong, his many eyes never grow tired and spot everything!"

    "Oh really, I wonder why he did not forsee the trouble we're now in?!"

    The golden spearman continued to rant, shaking his fist at the forest before him.

    "Come out then, you army of cowards! Show us the might of your ring!"

    "Will you calm down already? They will come, we will kill them and their pathethic ringbearer and we'll sort it out! Have faith, brother."

    "I still don't understand how the ringbearer's army can move so quietly through this land? Our scouts should have spotted them by now...
    Still they must have assembled all their strenght to protect the ringbearer on his way to Mordor. Even THEY wouldn't have been foolish enough to travel in small groups with Sauron’s creatures lurking everywhere!"

    "...When they come they will pay for all this!"

    Some angry shouts and cries rised in the ranks.

    "The ring better be worth it...I still can't figure out why all the Mumakils went crazy since last month. We recieved message that all our camps were devastated by Mumakils suddenly turning into berserkers!
    Our homeland Harad, trampled and crushed from the inside! Never would I have imagined such madness occuring in our holy deserts!"

    "We WILL cut the ring out of their hands, be assured of that. And then the Dark Lord – and we - will gain control over our animals again.

    -One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them-

    The Mumakil will be ours again!"

    "Let’s hope they will...ever since they went bloodthirsty on US, their protectors and lords, we were running from our own breed. Can't believe even the three old Mumakils in our cohort finally dashed away into the forests! We are lucky to be still alive - they decided not to trample us all, argh!"

    "These beasts are gone for good, don't worry. There has been no sight of them for 24 hours now, they must have found another prey..."

    "Wait, can you feel that?"

    Frodo and Sam, covered by their Elven Hoods, were sneaking by the flank of the Haradrim army in some distance. Still puzzled over how the Harads appeared to have been waiting for them here, they were even more surprised when the dust cloud and the noise appeared.

    Three Mumakils emerged from the dust and charged at the rear of the Haradrim army. The golden elite fled in all directions.

    ENTRANT 5 - Raglan
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Here it comes, finally the chance to avenge the disgrace. Four long years since that defeat, four years of living with the thought that you are a coward. Now battle has come again, and now is the chance to redeem yourself.
    Standing with polished armour, sharpened weapons, training complete, they know that this time there will be no retreat. Staring at the foe, you feel the fear beginning to build, but this time you are not succumbing to it. Next to you stands your brother, behind you your cousin. Many of those around you are friends, family, brothers in arms.
    And this time you will all stand, none will run. Damn this fear, Damn this feeling of being a coward. It is eating you up inside.

    ARGH!

    Acting on instinct, you jump forward. Raising your hand, you shout at them, showing that you refuse to run this time. It makes you feel better, the fear begins to fade. Looking at the man next to you, you grin at him. Seeing the fear fading in your eyes he jumps forward as well.

    YEAH!

    All of a sudden, everyone is cursing and shouting, the fear has gone now, and the battle is approaching. Win or loose, this time know one is running.

    ENTRANT 6 - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Scent of Victory
    King Girion looked proudly over the serried ranks of the Army of Dale, brought to an
    unprecedented pitch of perfection with Dwarvish gold.

    Although confident of success, Girion regretted things had come to this. He
    didn't particularly want to conquer Rhűn, merely to control its trade. The Lords
    of Dale had become accustomed to profits, and with the trade of Mirkwood and
    of the western Dwarvish clans already completely sewn up, Girion had needed to
    expand to keep the greedy Lords from turning on each other or even, gods forbid, him!

    The inhabitants of Rhűn were warlike but disunited and naďve in the ways of business.
    Dale traders had fleeced them for everything they had. But now a war leader
    had emerged from the vastness of the desert and united all of the Easterlings against
    Girion. But no matter, they were still a rabble and victory was assured.

    The fight began with an exchange of arrows. It was a glorious slaughter! The men
    of Dale had the very best Elvish equipment, the Easterlings cheap shoddy bows
    sold them by merchants of Dale at grossly inflated prices.

    Then the splendid Easterling cavalry charged, but Girion had an answer to this also.
    He signalled his Camel Corps to light-up. Men ran among the animals setting fire to
    bundles of pitched-faggots on their backs giving each a smart whack in the direction
    of the enemy. A hundred panic-stricken screaming honking dromedaries bolted straight
    into the oncoming enemy. Those horses that didn't instantly throw their riders simply
    galloped off, their helpless passengers soon disappearing over the horizon.

    Much of the remaining Rhűn host suddenly remembered urgent appointments at
    this point and hurried away. The men of Dale cheered loudly at their victory,
    but unaccountably not all the Easterlings had fled. A band of Rhűn desert fighters
    were marching steadily forward, their strange nose-pinching coal-scuttle helmets
    glinting painfully in the afternoon sun.

    Dale arrows made little impact on their thick armour, so Girion ordered his men to open
    up these foolish tin cans with their spikes and mallets. The enemy halted, but instead
    of bracing their weapons, began to make strange wind-milling gestures with their arms.

    It was at that moment that the wind changed direction and the men of Dale received
    the Rhűnish secret weapon full in the face. The stench was beyond description!
    Girion's men came to a disorderly halt, clutching at their throats and voiding the
    contents of their stomachs (and bowels) upon the ground. They lay writhing and
    helpless as the enemy walked calmly among them, fastidiously impaling each man with
    their long spears. Only Girion and a few comrades escaped, saved by their horses.

    His Army destroyed, King Girion was disgraced. When the Dragon Smaug came down
    from his mountain two weeks later and burned the city of Dale to the ground, Girion
    was so desperate to escape the indelible lingering smell of Rhűn that he actually
    welcomed the killing flame merely for the surcease it offered.

    Last edited by Boustrophedon; January 09, 2012 at 05:10 PM.

  16. #16
    Dark Storm's Avatar saut dans le vide
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    West Mids, England
    Posts
    7,569
    Tournaments Joined
    1
    Tournaments Won
    0

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 56a- Home
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER - Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Home
    The boy stood, his knees shivering and his hands fidgeting. He should have stayed home. He should have fought the urge, but no. He just had to leave. And now he was. Here. In the front line.

    It's not as if he was a coward under fire. He had been in fights before. Staged brawls in the alleyways, spontaneous punches thrown in crowded taverns. Frantic blows to ward off brigands at night. He could take all those without a second though. But this...this was different. It was too....regimented? Controlled?

    Or maybe it was because the boy already knew the outcome of this battle. He knew the opponents he would be facing. No excitement, no well-titted barmaids he had to impress. Only the rugged officer who had dragged him from the street corner. The boy didn't want to impress him, he wanted to run.

    He hated these open plains, these flat expanses. He hated the sprawling churches at his back, and most of all he hated the homes of the merchants he had been conscripted to defend. He hated the merchants, too. It was all he could to to restrain himself from breaking and running, from turning tail and attacking his so-called benefactors. He belonged on the streets. Not in a battle line.

    The boy would have chuckled if he hadn't been terrified. He had always heard the stories of warriors thinking of their homes and wives before a battle. He had always written it off as that- a story. No true warrior, no true man would think of that. He would think of nothing but killing! Killing....

    He looked behind him, straining his eyes to see the part of the city in which he lived. He could just see it in his mind's eye. Filthy. Grimy. Disease-ridden. Crawling with thugs and prostitutes. But it was home.

    And as the enemy approached, a tear came to Niko's eye. They were trying to take that home away from him. And they would have to die.

    Entrant -Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Judea's Grand

    Lines and lines they stood, their bows ready.
    Lines and lines they marched, their arrows steady.
    Let loose they did, pouring steel upon us...
    We were naught but cowards.
    Saladin there stood, his army proud,
    Saladin there stood, his sword loud.
    We marched to him, searing heat.
    We fell like heroes, one more hit.
    We marched on and on, fearless.
    We lied, we were cowards.

    I felt the fear creeping upon me,
    I felt the fear stealing the army.
    We marched on and on, Saladin there stood,
    We marched on and on, naught but crude.
    Alas, I saw my friend perish,
    How young was he, a lot of life to relish...
    So young were we then, so young at our doom.
    So unforgiving is fate, to send us this gloom.
    Oh darkness crept over me,
    Oh the light faded over thee,
    Now where shall I stand,
    If not in Judea's grand?
    If not in Jerusalem, I shall stand,
    Where would I then, in the wasteland?
    "No!" I yelled, I was not to be subdued,
    "No!" I yelled, I ran up to them and did not rued.
    If I was to die, I would not perish like a commoner.
    If I were to be killed, I would be like a Crusader.
    With the cross on my chest, I let go of my wrath,
    With the cross on my shield, I wield to my warpath.

    Die they did, they did not stand.
    Jerusalem was ours! Judea's grand!
    Oh we were proud,
    Seeing the blossom,
    I vowed...
    If my death was to come -
    It would be here, in Judea's Grand.



    Entrant -Raglan
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Cruel Love

    Ah Constantinople, the most beautiful of cities.
    A jewel of the world.
    Does any compare, will any ever match her?
    Many men envy her, and it is this envy that makes them want to take her, to possess her.
    Like a beautiful woman, she can enrapture, steal your heart, but like the devil, she can ask a high price.

    Today’s price is high, for she is demanding blood, a tribute so she will let you keep her for a little longer.
    Always taking, rarely giving.
    But your soul has long been hers, so you fight, so you die, and pay her price.
    Never realising that it is her games, her cold humour that you do it for, always thinking it is your own idea, your own reasons, your own will.

    But when you are broken, paying her price, never regretting that you gave everything you had, and that she took it all, that is when she no longer seems so beautiful, that is when the price is no longer as worthwhile.
    For even angels can be cruel, and she is cruel, for she cares not for your pain, only that you love her, and die for her.

    A death worth paying, in heaven or hell?
    A price that seems to high?
    Who can say, for men still pay it.
    And the more she receives, the more she asks.
    Always taking, never satisfied.
    Is this love? Maybe, not love as it should be, but a Cruel Love


    Entrant - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Fly

    It's here. I can smell it.

    Ingrained in the streets. In the walls. In the places where centuries ago, walls stood. From the highest tower to the lowest gutter. Constantinople.

    Constantinople. Miklagard. The Great City. Why do people have to have so many different names for the great works? It doesn't matter - a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. This is the capital of our great Earth.

    The men of the city spent all their time staring at the stars, trying to digest and name them, to control them and won them. Do they suffer from the same illusions? Do the men of those foreign worlds far away belive that they are the masters of all they survey? How unfortunate must they be - I do not suffer from this city's great visions of grandeur.

    I enjoy every second of it, every fragile heartbeat.

    There it is again. That stuffy, fragrant smell, the wondorous stench, the disgusting aroma... I knew it well. Ironically, everyone does. They simply ignore it.

    They used to call it Ra, Zeus or Jupiter... now they masquerade as Oden, Allah and God. Some call it Lucifer or Satan. It's all the same thing. Life is unfair, and it punishs some whilst raising others to the highest mountaintops. That's what these names all are.

    They are life. And it thrives here like an infestation...

    in Constantinople.

    And armies approach to have their way with her. They will rape and destroy her...

    But I have a sword in my hand. And she will not be alone.

    Even now as they block the horizon for as far as a mortal eye may scan, we stand ready with bow in hand. She shouts her war-cry, and we hear it as the storm clouds gather over head. She draws her sword in a flash of lightning, the glorious towers of her Hagia Sofia illuminated in a brilliant flash.

    She calls us to war...




    Entrant - Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Thermopylae

    The irony of the situation would have been comical if it weren’t for the impending doom of our great city. My fellow soldiers and I, the final defense of our great city, Constantinople, were armed with naught but bows and swords. We, the descendants of the great Greeks of old, armed with the weapons of cowards, of the Persian scum. Across the field, standing in a valley, stood a host of Easterners, of Turks, of Persians. These descendants of men with no courage, with no honor, were armed with spear, with sword, and with shield. They were amount beasts of speed and agility.

    Though, apart from the arms, nothing has changed. We Greeks, still considered the lesser, still fewer in number, still the defenders of our homeland, stood defiant to Persian subjugation.


    The Persians began to march. As they did, the universal rule for outnumbered combat became evident: the weaker army suffers a decrease in overall morale and fighting spirit inversely proportional to the distance at which then nearest enemy can be found. A man to my left handed me his quiver and ran. Similar scenes were taking place up and down the line.


    The despair of my men showed, even as they raised their bows. The order to fire rang out, and thousands of arrows flew into the sky.


    Then we will fight in the shade!


    I smiled grimly as the famous quote came to mind. The Persians fell in waves. Hundred stumbled to never rise again. Dozens clutched at legs and arms, crawling forwards. Yet still they came on.


    Horsemen surfaced among the vast wave of men, surging to the front of the lines.

    The most frightening moment in our lives; hundreds of equestrian soldiers, sprinting on their mounts towards our lines, lances down. We fired one last volley. Our small arrows were ineffective against the mail of the Saracen nobles. Not one fell from his horse.
    I still think back on that day. On the unmitigated carnage. On the blood, the screams, the cheers of jubilation from the Muslims. Our city fell, and with it, our freedom.





    TotW 57a - Legio’s story without a title
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER - Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    It was a good blade. It was a stolen blade, too. It was a sturdy helmet. It had been stripped from a corpse. It was nice weather. Perhaps that had been spirited away from the Undying Lands by a mischievous burst of wind?

    Anyway, what did he care? All he had come here for was the gold. And supposedly, glory. The stern recruiter had regaled him with tales of the great Gil-Galad, or Earendil the Mariner. But that was not what had convinced him. The free ale was what had convinced him.

    Who cared if he was Sindarin, Eldar, or even a dwarf? Well, he was thankful he wasn't a dwarf. Short stature meant shortness in other things. Breath was not what he was thinking of. But maybe if cut a few orcs down to size, maybe then he would get paid. But the captain was a stern one. No pay until they had fought. And they wouldn't fight until they had found something to fight. And what was there to fight in this land? Absolutely nothing! Not an orc to be seen, not even a pile of orcish dung to track.

    And there wouldn't be any orcs for some leagues. They were now in the heart of elven territory, and very few orcs could make it past the borders. Their best bet would be with the mountain passes and crevices. There, they would find something to fight.

    But for now, all they could do was strike at the wind.

    Entrant - Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Oh How Mighty Have Fallen


    It seemed endless, forever lasting,
    Such was that battle, so enchanting.
    Such strength flowed through my veins,
    As my Elvish companion remains.
    He remains so strong and vigilant under the searing heat,
    He remains so powerful and agile under the blazing beat.
    The battle huge, his arm tired,
    He fell to the floor, Death him desired.
    But that was not his fate, not yet,
    I ran quickly and struck an enemy down with no regret.
    Gil Galad was not to be slain here - Oh not today,
    Gil Galad was to be slain another day.
    I fought vigorously, defending my lord,
    Eventually I fell down, along with my sword.

    Such my death has been,
    So empty and with no grin.
    I did not die at peace,
    But my life did indeed cease.
    This story is to be told - Never to be forgotten,
    Oh how mighty have fallen, at the hands of the rotten.


    Entrant - Imperator Romani
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The End


    Blood. All Zoe had seen that day was blood. He dodged a sword, then quickly retaliated with a blow to the head with his mailed fist, then stabbed his enemy. He dropped before him, and Zoe continued to the next man. This man was different than the last, waiting on Zoe to strike. Sadly he was too focused on Zoe to see that Lanson ran by him, just to strike the man down from the rear. Lanson had always been Zoe's best friend, and his most trusted companion. This was a good example why, they always watched the others back. They continued on, keeping 5 feet apart from each other to fully function. He could hear his comrades gasping for air, they had ran so far, killed so many. He was so tired he could barely keep on. The only thing that kept him moving was Lanson. He found another man, and he nearly killed Zoe. Zoe had to stay more focused, as the sword barely missed his stomach. He stabbed the man in the leg, and then quickly ran his shoulder into him, knocking him down. He prepared to finish him off, lifting up his sword. That's when he looked up and saw too many men to count. He paused for a split second, and looked at Lanson. Lanson stopped as well, and rested his sword on his shoulder. "Gil-galad help us" he said.

    Entrant - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I cannot improve upon the poem that inspires this picture:

    "Gil-galad was an Elven-king.
    Of him the harpers sadly sing:
    The last whose realm was fair and free
    Between the mountains and the sea.
    His sword was long, his lance was keen.
    His shining helm afar was seen.
    The countless stars of heaven's field
    Were mirrored in his silver shield.
    But long ago he rode away,
    And where he dwelleth none can say.
    For into darkness fell his star;
    In Mordor, where the shadows are."
    I shall try to tell a tale of the picture in a series of haiku forms:



    Gil-galad Has Fallen

    A valuable weapon,
    Crafted by the Elves,
    A blade to slay the Orcs

    Fielding an army of soldiers,
    Armed with blades glowing,
    An army that stood with Gil.

    An army never met defeat,
    Each blade strikes its mark,
    One blade did strike Gil-galad,

    The Elven army headless,
    Standing in mourning,
    With blades pointed to heaven.

    Entrant - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Consequences

    Let it be known that I am DiNarodd son of Fingon son of Fingolfin etc. etc., brother
    to Rodnor, a bumptious oaf, known to most as "Star of Radiance" or Gil-galad. I write
    these runes, not for those who mock me now, but for the benefit of generations to
    come, hopefully unsullied by the prejudice that forced me into hiding.

    It is all so unfair! My whole life was spent in the shadow of my brother. You who
    are not Elvish cannot even begin to comprehend what being kid-brother for a
    thousand years does to one's self-esteem. And don't mistake him for the humble
    paladin of the sagas. He may have kept me ever by his side, but I was also held
    firmly in my (second) place. He always took first pick for himself and never gave
    me the credit I deserved.

    Didn't you ever wonder how Gil-galad got to be High King? I can tell you now
    that it was not due to our official lineage, but to the rumour he was bastard son
    of Orodreth and hence of the line of Galadriel!

    ***

    That final battle, it should have been a triumph! The Allied Host of Númenor had
    been in Mordor besieging Barad-dűr for seven years, we had covered ourselves in
    glory on countless occasions. Surely I can be forgiven for one small mistake amongst
    so much heroism?

    I was unwell that day, my head swollen and heavy, my last memory of the previous
    evening one of anticipation, having beaten my brother for the affections of a particularly
    renowned Elfette of the camp followers. I am certain now he must have spiked my
    cordial, for I could normally drink a whole band of Dwarves under the table!

    Sauron and all his host had come out to break the siege. We were sorely pressed,
    but Gil-galad was confident. Elendil, our ally had pinned most of the enemy with
    a desperate charge, and we Elves made straight for Sauron himself.

    While my comrades fought his Black Guard, my brother and I stepped up to face
    the foul Lord of Darkness. He paused in his work, flinging aside the charred corpse
    of one of our complement. My brother made a fine impromptu speech, full of
    defiance and retribution. Sadly given my condition I remember little of it, but
    Sauron must have been impressed, for he launched himself at us, snarling with rage.

    'Brother, give me my magical spear Aiglos, known as “Snow-Thorn”, that I might
    be immune from the Burning Grasp of this Fiend and end his Evil for the remaining
    Ages of the World!'

    It was only at that point I realised I'd left the damned thing back at camp. For the
    Ainur's sake, was I to be his nanny as well as his servant?

    Longsword shattered by the mere touch of Sauron's bare hand, he just had time to
    give me one
    last look of irritation/panic/love/hate/regret/resignation before his face
    turned to crackling within Sauron's fiery embrace.



    TotW 58a - Greed
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Greed

    We could have had it all. Fame, Respectability, even Love could be bought for
    the kind of money we would possess. All that was needed was a modicum of trust.
    Was that so much to ask?

    Charles was always the savvy one, worldly-wise, a natural salesman. My own
    talent towers above his, let down only by its narrowness. I could charm monkeys
    from the trees, yet couldn't persuade a philanthropist to give me a dime.

    But I must also give the Professor his due, he found the island. His unshakeable
    certainty, borne of obsession, drew us helplessly into his mad scheme. He was the
    only person ever to have turned Charles' power back on him, and in consequence
    we found ourselves backing his expedition with everything we owned.

    Still, it was all true! The island was there, just where the Professor had predicted,
    overshadowed by its smouldering volcano, verdant jungle on its slope slashed
    with lines of blackened devastation.

    We found the Salamander under a charred tree-trunk. Its twin aspects of beauty
    and menace transfixed me. It melted three of the cages we had brought before I
    mastered the trick of how to keep it calm. Like a snake charmer, I worked my
    will upon the creature enabling the others to lift it gently into the fourth cage
    using heavy-duty tongs.

    We were jubilant! The Professor especially as this was the culmination of his life's
    work. I still wonder how he must have felt when he discovered we had marooned
    him on his island and taken his most precious discovery for ourselves!

    But now I think it was a mistake, starting Charles along an unhealthy line of
    thought. He knew his time was coming. He would be the one to sell this marvel
    to the world, to make our fortunes and seal our place in history. At some point it
    must have occurred to him that I was no longer necessary, even though we had
    been together for almost every minute of our lives (except the first, when I had
    committed the unforgivable sin of becoming eldest).

    I tried to make him see he was making a mistake, but people have never been
    my forte, so I was unceremoniously dumped into this life-boat. Three days supply
    of food and a gallon of water my only reward for a lifetime together.

    ***

    Our little boat chugs resolutely on its auxiliary engine through heavy swell. I know
    the Salamander will awaken soon and without me there to soothe it, will become
    agitated. With emotion will come the expression of its powers, powers that Charles
    doesn't fully appreciate.

    Yes, there! I see the glow begin. It spreads as the wooden decking shrugs off its
    coating of brine, giving itself fully to the flame. Then, like a firework, the glow
    explodes into a thousand bright streamers as the boiler gives way. I feel the urge
    to applaud, and in the gloom, the boat appears to bow, before slipping quietly
    beneath the restless sea.

    Entrant - Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    No Pain

    They were so many of them, I looked around and everywhere I looked I could see guns blazing and muzzleflash flaming...
    God what a cruel fate - Just yesterday the tables were turned, but now we are cornered and against the wall.

    I looked to the helm just long enough to see it get ripped to shreds by shrapnel cannons and the soldiers on top of it ripping in half... Blood everywhere... That was my fate - Death.
    I could not fight. I could not get to my rifle, I reached out and my hand was no more - But pain did not reach me, I felt no pain... I was in ecstasy... The fury of battle overcame me.
    As I reached with my other hand to a pistol a fellow sailor dropped, I fired once, twice, but the third time the pistol exploded - The blazing hot pieces of metal embedding themselves as a new body part of mine...

    I rose up once more, seeing red but feeling none. I ran to a canoneer next to me and helped him reload... Oh what a sight, two one-handed men reloading a cannon... Such desperate were our times... The cannon fired - And I could tell that the enemy ship's crow's next blew up and away... Whether this was my doing or not, I did not know.

    I ran quickly to another canoneer, I ran and ran, but I lost my balance...
    How did I do that?
    I was in mid air, flying over and landing on the ship's hard wood... A cannon shot sent me flying... I got up once more, attempting to reach my rifle once again...

    Goodbye I said, as the ships circled us...
    Goodbye I said, as our doom loomed over us...
    Goodbye I said, as my friend lay fallen...
    No more shall I speak - As I had fallen.
    The skies lit orange - And I felt no pain.

    Entrant - SonOfAlexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    François sprinted over the deck of his burning ship. Even as the weathered timbers were devoured by the flame, he flew lightly towards the bow. He weaved and bobbed around barrls and rigging, ducking under a beam. A cannon went off, the powder inside ignited by the intense heat of 2,000 tonnes of La République's finest firewood.

    He hastily shielded his face, narrowly avoiding the red hot brass as it jumped backwards with a limp cough, then the mighty metallic bang of gunpowder. The first mate sped up again, leaping up stairs leading towards the stout, and as yet safe foredeck of L'Ésperance .

    As he reached the top, a carronade on the far side of the deck exploded. The blast threw him roughly against the stair rail, and he slid off, bouncing off and rolling to the bottom. He lay dazed for a moment, as the air escaping from it's metal prison cooled his face. But only for a moment.

    "Capitaine!"

    The Commander of L'Ésperance pivoted to see a bloodstreaked, sweat stained sailor standing panting like a dog before him.

    "François!"

    He opened his mouth to speak, but then sighed, pleading to François with eyes. Imploring him. What can I do? they said.

    ************

    The dolphin swam in it's slow, steady stokes through the water. It looked up. Even through the deep swells of the sea, he could hear faint noises. There was an orange haze hovering far above him.

    What is it?

    Soon, he was only a few second's swim from the... whatever it was. Something very loud rang out occasionally, but mostly there was a gentle roaring sound and some muffled high pitched noises.

    Click... clickclickclick clic-k-k

    The dolphin span around. Nothing to fear. Only one of the pod. He wandered if he knew what this thing was.

    Clicck-ckck-ck clu-click click click

    Ah... no idea then. Well, it doesn't seem to be dangerous...

    Bubbles formed a small coumn as something dropped into the water. What was that?

    Within minutes the water was full of them. Pink things with 4 long, fat fins. Lots of bits of driftwood were sinking slowly all around the dolphins. And then, the water gripped them like a fist, pulling them inwards. They swam outwards, panicking and signalling to each other violently.

    Slowly, a massive hulk descended from the Great Dry Above. The dolphins swam round it, examining it as it spiralled downwards. Large bits of grey, shiny rock were piled on the outside, and more of the burnt, pink things drifted away from the main structure.

    Entrant - Viking Prince
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    Entrant - Leslie Knope
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Great Torment

    My brows filled with sweat, my arms ached and trembled, and my heart thundered with fear. The screams of war and death seem to overwhelm the senses. The stinging stench of gunpowder was everywhere, its dark and ominous cloud covered the battlefield, but I could hear the screams of men over my own, and the smashing of cannon balls near me, was absolutely terrifying. Though I could not care less if the battle was won or loss, as I held my arms around the half blown mast of our ship, weeping uncontrollably. My mind neither wandered but remained focused from the thought of never seeing my beloved Annabel and our beautiful home. The image of her sweet kind smile, her rosy cheeks and brunette hair beckoned for me to return home. Home, what is home? Is it the small wooden bunk in which I have spent 2 years of my life sleeping in perpetual discomfort and illness, I fear that I have forgotten its meaning, it is but a hollow word, of a dead man. And a dead man I shall leave his majesty’s floating tomb. However grim my disposition was, and my wishes to end my suffering as soon as possible, it would seem that the enemy was not willing to cooperate, they’re muskets and projectiles seem to avoid me, and for the first time I finally relinquished my grasp over the mast, I raced towards the side of our ship with demonic speed, as I laughed and waved like a mad man, daring them to shoot me, to kill me, to end my torment! One of our officers pushed me out of the way, fate was truly cruel, and a musket ball entered his skull, he died swiftly and without pain. Oh how cruel fate was, I thought to myself, as I laid on my stomach. I watched the deck of our ship and the screaming wounded, and the torrents of rain that smashed unto the battlefield. I smiled, my vision became blurred, a sharp pain struck my forehead, as blood trickled to my mouth, its bitter taste, seem to revitalize me, as I slowly stood up, and my madness seem to subside. My heart pumped, as the enemy ship came nearer, I backed away and raced to the other end of the ship. I cried at the desperate position I found myself into. Then five men watched me, looking at me as if I was a man on the verge of insanity. Leave me alone! I shouted, they came closer and closer waving their hands at me. I backed away and felt a sudden rush of air, as I plummeted to the ocean below me. The shock of falling into the water was dreadful. I begun to gasp for air as I surfaced, watching as the ship I was a couple of minutes ago burst into flames. I swam as fast as I could, but my arms were tired, I wanted to give up…

    Entrant - Feragorn
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Sinking of the HMS Indefatigable
    An exhausted sailor clung to a shattered piece of wood, the saltwater of the sea burning his numerous wounds. He shuddered in the cold water as a wave hit him. He almost let go but managed to cling to the spar. He was a simple midshipman on the Indefatigable, he’d been on the ship for a few months. Then, yesterday, the lookout in the crow’s nest had spotted a French Man o’ War on the horizon. Their frigate pursued the French ship for a day and a half, and finally got within cannon range. A single broadside put a good hole in her hull, but it was way above the waterline. The French ship gave up running and turned to fight. The Indefatigable had been doomed from the start. The French ship was too powerful. They exchanged fire for a few minutes, until the British frigate tried to run. The French ship caught them with thirty-five cannonballs. The stern of the Indefatigable was ripped apart, and an unlucky shot hit the magazine. The ship was blown apart, scattering wood, metal and sailors everywhere. And so, the sailor clung to his little piece of hope that the other British ships in the area had heard, and would come to look for survivors.




    TotW 59a – Lost in translation
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Lost in Translation

    “Did you hear that?” one exclaimed (we shall call it Michael), literally quivering with excitement.

    “Mmm... Yes, looks like you were right, one of those pathetic creatures really is sentient” its companion (who we shall call Gabriel) responded wryly.

    They silently contemplated the mental amplifier dominating their cabin. Of course, now the call had been detected, they would need to go back and investigate fully. Reluctantly reconfiguring the living area for in-system use they turned their little ship back to the island of life they had so recently left.

    Their search of the region of the call's origin remained fruitless for a long time, during which the two gravitated toward their usual temperaments, Michael excitable and optimistic, Gabriel saturnine and cynical. The detector responded to every mote of life, its chimes loudest for the two-legged ones, but there was never anything coherent. Then, finally, the mental tone they remembered came again.

    They landed at a native monument, its design resembling a standard mooring for interstellar craft. (Were the locals subconsciously aware of the wider universe?) Having sent the ship up far enough for its saucer shape to be inconspicuous, Gabriel insisted that they adopt forms that wouldn't be unsettling to the locals. Michael agreed grudgingly, but had trouble coordinating the four-legged part without waving the arms of the rider in time to its trot.

    As it turned out, the locals proved not to be a problem, their puny sensoria easily fooled by Gabriel's powers of mental projection. They arrived at their target's domicile just in time to receive the mental blast of its loudest broadcast yet through their portable amplifier.

    “It wants something desperately, but I don't quite understand what, damn that useless machine.” Gabriel complained.

    But Michael was much more assured. “I got a clear psychic impression of its friend/mate(?) in distress, of the need to poke holes in the friend's hide to release excess fluid. I think it must have Bloat!”

    The two agreed that the best way to get on good terms with their target would be to find and bring relief to the friend/mate, whose signature was so strong in the call they would have no trouble locating it.

    As they hurried off on their mercy mission, Michael mused. “At least we have these shiny pointy things, they should be ideal for relieving Bloat.”

    Gabriel couldn't help voicing its reservations. “I still don't really understand that last word, are you sure it means Bloat?” it said, waving an admonishing tentacle. “They don't resemble us at all physically you know, they might not even have acid sacs.”

    Michael ignored the remark, preferring to amuse itself practising therapeutic stabbing actions while the phrase continued unnoticed in the background, repeating itself over and over...

    'Will no one rid me of this turbulent Priest?'.

    Entrant 1 Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Duel
    "Where is he?" I asked the air.
    "Where is he?" I called for the heir.
    I awaited his arrival and he had not came.
    I awaited his arrival, had he no shame?
    I clasp my sword as a noise was heard,
    As I prepared for battle, I felt absurd.
    Under the night's skies and in the cover of darkness,
    I readied myself for the time that is upon us.
    A time of death and misery,
    When our swords cried wildly.
    The two princes clashed,
    We both slashed.
    Under the moon's gaze we fight,
    Fighting wildly in the night.

    He slashed,
    I dodged.
    He stabbed,
    I blocked.
    I took my sword and vehemently bashed it on his helm,
    It cracked open with a noise not from this realm.
    The awestruck prince then retook his sword,
    I felt a pain I could not afford.
    Such pain I felt as cold steel met my flesh,
    My shoulder facing a gash.
    I took the sword once more, this time stabbing,
    He easily dodged with his face laughing.
    I felt my doom,
    I felt it loom.
    My death was near,
    But he was here.

    I saw the Reaper, he beckoned...
    I refused to go, my pain worsened.
    I took my sword once more, stab I did.
    The prince looked at me as my sword slid.
    He fell lifeless to the floor,
    Victory was at my door!
    But the Reaper was there...
    Oh how would I dare?
    I said no, but my pain overtook me.
    I saw just black as the Reaper took me.
    So I leave this world, triumphant.
    So I leave this world... But die I mustn't...
    I have no choice...
    Death has no voice...
    I fight it again,
    But we are already at the plane.
    This is how I die,
    Not with a cry,
    But a whimper.
    A cowardly death, for a proud fighter.

    Entrant 2 Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "Only Faith"

    Wolves howled in the crisp night's air. Moonlight glanced down upon the temple stones, as if they were a scolded child caught with dirty fingers in the butter churn. “The Devils” had chosen harvest time to bring their wrath. As the two doomed companions rode across the meadow...


    Yuri, I don't want to die.....Shut up you little twit. The Tuetons sacked Danzig a fortnight ago, set it ablaze with left nothing but ashes. They eviscerated the village priests on the temple stones, then stuck their heads on pikes. They say you can still see the gaze of terror in the priests eyes. How can any creature harbor such malis and hate? We've been summoned and we must go. We’ll be at the gathering point by morning. You‘ll feel better with some food in you. I’m sorry we didn’t eat before we left but there was no time.

    But the Ritterbruder’s eyes are coals of fire and breath far fowler than any rotten carcass. Their fangs drip with poison that kills in an instant. Their sacks filled with the heads of children that they cover with honey and snack on while drinking tainted wine mixed with buckets of blood. Oh by the gods…let’s go home Yuri. Shut up,… little twit that’s nothing but bullocks we told you children to keep you in line. Come on now, we’ll be their by morning and you can get some rest.

    In the back of his mind Yuri remembered that every breath of it was true. He saw those butchers kill his parents, but by Odin’s breath they would not take his children. His bladder released it’s warm embrace and tears strewn down his covered face as he thought of the past and the things to come.

    Twas rumored that Christian Poles rode from Krakow to help them banish the Demons……



    Entrant 3 Benz282
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The ringing of a bell broke the silence of the night. The burning flames of torches danced wildly in the air, but the people remained still and without the slightest utterance. The place was sacred, but a sense of desperation bound their lips. No prayers or festivals were to be held; no feasts or great tales of bravery. As cruel as the land had been when it had come time for harvesting last season, it was the indifference of the gods which struck the populace the hardest. The priests claimed the famine was brought about by an offense to the gods, and so they were here; here to rectify their wrongs.

    The ring around the central disk parted to make way for the three priests, whose faces were hidden behind hoods. When they had positioned themselves in a perfect triangle around the disk, they bowed their heads and uttered a short blessing. The audience bowed as well, and repeated the phrase. Then the priests raised their heads and called out a name.

    "CERIAN."

    Had the situation been any different, the tribe would have protested vehemently, but it passed almost without feeling. Whatever her crime, the gods demanded her death. She hesitated a moment as the grappled with her fate, then stepped forth. Tears fell as she spread her limbs across the disk, and saw the dagger being unsheathed. The next moment it was planted firmly in her chest. Her final breath left then, as silently as it had came.

    "ANGWEN."

    Again, the victim stepped forth, and again, the scene was repeated. When the life had finally left the body, it was dragged off the disk and discarded to the side. And hence, the ring around the disk grew smaller and smaller, until there was no longer space to dump the bodies; at which point, they began stacking...

    "HEREMON."

    By the time the last man was called, the intentions of the priests were clear. He stepped forth, half-crawling, half-climbing over the bodies. Blood trickled down across the land, and the priests' robes were now stained a too-familiar red. He lay his head down on the stone tablet, in the same place his children had before him; in the same place his lords and servants had too. His eyes looked up at the sky; only the moon stared back.

    Then the third priest lay upon the disk, and the second. Finally the leader was the only one remaining. He slashed his wrists so that his blood mingled with those of his kinsmen, and seeped into the ground to be reborn anew, then gutted his eyes out of shame.

    But none of this, the travelers knew. They rode past the stones silently, even as the stones cried out their testimony.

    Entrant 4 Ozy
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Observers.


    "What do you think they are doing there?"

    "What do I know?"

    "I think they are just exploring. Maybe investigating the place..."

    "Ok, let me rephrase that. What do I care?"

    "Well, it was their ancestors who worshipped this place, before the new cults from abroad came..."

    "So?"

    "So their curiosity for their forefathers may have brought them here, which could lead them to finding their true origin..."

    "Bah! As if those "things" would be able to figure it out."

    "Don't underestimate them. Not that long ago that you said they would never buildup, now they are erecting stone fortresses everywhere."

    "You call those things fortresses? I'd barely call them buildings at all."

    "I call it progress."

    The silence grew between the two colleagues, as they carefully watched the riders moving around the ruins, exploring.

    "Besides, erosion has probably done a good job at erasing our traces."

    "Look! He's touching the stones!"

    "Relax! they won't find anything."

    "Maybe we should, you know, scare them off."

    "Yeah, because that would not make them suspicious of our existence."

    "It is a good idea..."

    "Hey, last time you had a good idea you decided to go down and help them build THAT! And now we are stuck here!"

    "If they find it out, it is us who will have to respond to the Council...again."

    "They do not scare me. I've been dealing with them since we were first sent here...like, 3000 years ago?"

    "3618 years, 134 days, 21 hours, to be precise."

    "See? They have had all that time to find these stone's origins, and they have not done it, what makes you think they will do it tonight?"

    "They are getting smarter, friend, you can't...wait, what is that one doing?"

    "Touching the stone?"

    "No, he's reading from it. He's...pushing that one in the middle with the metal stick, then going South for the second...then...he's activating the sequence!"

    "I-I think you're right!"

    "I told you they would do it!"

    "So now what? We cannot let them activate it!"

    "I guess we'll have to put them to sleep."

    "Don't be stupid! No! get away from that module! We are not supposed to interfere anymore!"

    "Let me do it! Let go! Ah! See, you made me turn on the lights!"

    "They are looking up! They are looking at us!"

    "Of course they!"

    "Imbecile! And now they are running away! Oh no! The Council will be so angry!"

    "No they won't if you let me take care of them!"

    "No, wait! We'll use the new equipment. Take them up here, and if it does its work, they won't remember a thing! It'd be as if nothing happened!"

    "It's never been tested on them!"

    "We have no other options!"

    "Um, yes we do! Let me finish them!"

    "No! I am your superior and you will obey my commands!"

    "*Sighs* As you command Sir...I have a feeling that we will regret this..."

    Saying that, the disk lifted the two men, and got lost in the dark infinity.

    Entrant 5 Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    NIGHT
    He shuddered under his helmet. The night sky seemed to cover them like a funeral shroud. And the only thing darker than the sky was the circle of stones before him. Well, before them.

    He hadn't noticed that he was being followed. He hadn't thought that anyone would bother to venture so far out into uninhabited land. By day it could have actually been picturesque...in a weird way. It wasn't a very natural place, and the great menhirs jutted out of the landscape like jagged teeth in need of bashing in.

    Bashing.

    He was still being followed.

    The soldier, despite being clad from head to toe in the panoply of battle, was unsure if he could win against this opponent. An unknown one. Was it a bandit living in the hills? Were the stones his temporary hideout? Was it a ranger, one who scouted the area regularly?

    Oh, why had he come! He had always been drawn to the wilds, he had always been fascinated by the dangerous spots. He had always ignored the warnings of his family, his friends, his superior officers.

    The soldier turned and saw his own reflection in the hazy night air. Something wasn't right. Why was his gear so dirty? And where did he get that scar on his arm from? The gauntlet had been completely torn off. But his eyes, his suddenly wise and weary eyes, rested on the sword in his shade's hand.

    It was covered in blood.

    The soldier galloped as hard as he could back to camp. He would never return there again.








    TotW 60a- When wishes come true
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    When Wishes Come True

    I run down the stairs two at a time and wrench the front-door open, breaking a nail in my haste.

    DAMNATION! Even though the door-chimes still echo faintly at the edge of my hearing, there is nobody here again.

    This is the fifth time today, I'm now certain someone who knows about the delivery I was expecting is teasing me. Fuming with rage I am just about to go back in when I happen to glance down and see the package.

    I run back up the stairs almost as fast as I had come down, bursting into my bedroom and ripping the packaging away with hysterical strength to reveal... a videocard.

    Yes! This is it! The latest leap of graphics technology in a (barely) affordable package, at last I am going to actually be able to look at the lovely buildings in a siege game without the frame-rate dropping down to picture-postcard speed.

    Oddly, the card doesn't bear the logo I was expecting. Have I been cheated by a dodgy online retailer? Well, it's here now, so I might as well give a try.

    Card installed, I fire up the PC, start the game, cross my fingers and turn the viewpoint around to face the city I am assaulting... YEHAAAAR!!! It works! Everything is smooth and the city is indescribably beautiful. I see every brick, every tile. Water drips from gutters, there is even mist rolling across a mill-pond. I am utterly entranced, so much so that I've forgotten to give my army any orders. Hey! Why is that gate opening? WOW! Would you believe it... the defenders are actually sallying!

    The enemy general comes straight at me leading his bodyguard, every last detail of his armour crystal clear. I can even see the heaving of his horse's flanks as it breathes. He gets closer and closer and, just as I expect to see him clipped in half by the renderer, there is a soft popping noise. I blink and there he is standing on my desk, horse's hooves scrabbling for purchase on the smooth wood!

    A silly grin spreads unbidden across my face. Out of the corner of my eye I see a glimpse of bows on the battlements and a cloud of arrows launches into the sky and I involuntarily put up my hands. Ouch! A dozen pin-pricks burn my palms.

    Right, this has gone far enough, I stab the abort keys with my throbbing fingers and the game disappears. But the general remains, his horse snorts and I feel a tiny globule of spittle land on my cheek. I'm really scared now.

    The General's cold blue eyes stare through his visor into mine. He lowers his lance, I think he's going to charge me! This is ridiculous! How can a game hurt anyone? Paralysed with terror, all I can do is raise my ballpoint and brace it with both hands and hope against hope that the Pen really is mightier than the Sword.

    Entrant 1
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Hero

    As the sounds and sirens of the fire truck screamed in my ear, I suited up.
    God this suit was heavy... I had to put it on... Got lives to save.
    I heard the guys at the back prepping the hose and ladder, we were good to go.
    "We're here!" The driver yelled and we all jumped out and into action.
    The ladder extended to the third floor as two of my comrades quickly climbed it, I grabbed the hose and started spraying at the second floor, watching the flames steam and some even put out, I felt overjoyed...
    I've been waiting for this moment for so long, I was a hero! I fought in the front lines... Oh god, what does she want now?
    "MICHAEL!"
    My mother screamed at me.
    "What!?" I yelled back.
    "Get up! Time to go to school!"
    I sighed and looked at the time, 7 AM. Another day at my boring school. Great.
    I looked at the toy knight on my desk, right next to my computer, mocking me;
    "Kid, you stinkin' loser! How could you just stand there? You're supposed to be a hero!" The knight spoke.
    "I know, I know. Just shut it... It wasn't my fault!"
    "Hell yeah it was your fault! You dumb kid! You screwed up, it's your fault!" He said, so rudely.
    "I won't screw up again. Don't worry, I'll make you proud!" I said, begging.
    "I know you will, jackass. Now go to school"

    "Don't worry hun. It'll be okay" Mom said as I left the car; "It was the fire... It wasn't your fault she--" I closed the door, waving goodbye to my mom. Preoccupied with my own thoughts.
    I entered the classroom, followed by dozens of looks of grief, pity and sadness as I entered, I couldn't look at them, I just sat down.

    My thoughts wandered as I head home, the long 3-mile walk... I couldn't help but thinking if there are going to be girls watching the game... Damn, one thing I didn't want is to make an ass of myself in front of them...
    "Holy..." I said, coming to a halt.
    "Stop right there kid, you can't go through here" A police officer said, setting a perimeter around a burning house.
    Here they were... Dozens of firemen trying to take down the blaze... But there's a kid up there, in the second floor... Where's the ladder, damnit!?
    That kid couldn't have been more than four years old... I had to do something...
    "Screw it" I thought, and I dropped my bag as I ran towards the door.
    "No! KID DON'T!" Yelled one of the firemen, I couldn't help but wonder; Why didn't they open the door? What the hell is wrong with these idiots, don't they know what they're doing?

    I opened the door.
    As an orange-yellow light engulfed me, I felt so good...
    I felt like I could do everything... I redeemed myself... I'm a fireman now...
    Screw that...
    I'm a hero now.



    Entrant 2
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A Plastic Paradise

    "What the f ** k you doing that for?"
    "The archers can't..."
    "Yeah they can, you dumb s ** t. Just outflank the b***ards, and you're home and dry."
    "Ach, my phalanx is routing! Bloody Romans..."

    BOYS! Dinnerrrrrrrr!

    "S ** t... Pause it, and I'm going on after."
    "Nah, you've been on the computer for 2 hours today."
    "Yeah right."
    "Yeah."
    "Half an hour?"

    BOYS!

    "Done!" shouted Sam, who sprinted downstairs. His sedate brother followed him, always the mature one.
    "Two whole bloody hours..."

    The screen was frozen with a large 'PAUSED' banner hanging ominously over it.

    Something stirred beneath the desk.
    "They gone...?"

    A small toy soldier moved out from under the desk. He was a dirty yellow khaki colour, and held some gun that looked like an old fashioned Lee Enfield. He waddled from side to side on the base his legs were monuted on. His expression never changed... well, it couldn't.

    "All clear SARGEANT!"

    A large group of toy soldiers, slowly edged out from under the table. On the other side of the room, a small die-cast model of Thomas the Tank Engine moved forward, and remote control dalek steadily advanced. Another voice:

    "Get up there and take a look!"

    The toy in question nodded. He was a toy knight, with a large red cross on his white shield. He snapped down his visor and clambered onto the table. A box stood waiting...

    "Identify yourself, toy!"

    The harsh command was slightly muffled by the knight's armour. The clear plastic window on the box faced upwards, and no-one had seen inside. A few moments of nothing. Then...
    the plastic rattled, as something pushed on it from underneath. The beating hands became stronger and more frequent, and the whole box shuddered. The knight lifted his shield.

    The box end burst open and a small horse walked out. The same scale as the knight himself, the horse was covered in a large embroidered cloth, with merely two small holes for the eyes. Then the rider, a man clad both in armour and similar cloth, slowly emerged from the box.

    "Ahoy there!" called the knight at the other end of the table.
    Although the face of the rider was invisible behind his visor, the knight could tell that he was looking straight at him, and it was a look of pure hatred.

    The man saddled up.

    The knight had no idea what would happen, but was extremely nervous. He lifted his shield and braced himself.
    "Who are you?"

    The mounted man hefted his lance and reared on his horse, before galloping towards the Knight, his lance slowly drooping downwards until it reached the other toy. It bounced off and landed on the floor. The knight got up and walked over to the toy soldiers.

    New bloody toys.


    Entrant 3
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Virtual Knight
    As Frank sat there on his PC, little did he know what would happen latter that Evening. Frank was playing Vanilla Medival II Total War, he sent a Small army of English Knights to Assault a Huge army of Scots in an open field. Before the battle, Chatter amoung the English Knights Increased. The leader (His name is little in importance) said aloud to his men "Not again, this fool, he always sends Us Into an utter slaughter every single Bloody time. We have got to do something men!" The English Knights charged En Masse against the Computer Screen, Eventually Breaking through. Frank sat and wondered what was going on. The English Leader said to Frank , "I have come to put ye in your place you scum". Frank wondered why, When Suddenly The Leader Charged Towards Frank with his lance lowered. Frank had Terror Stricken across his face, and before he had time to react Frank was on the Floor, not Because He was Strucken by the Lance, but beacause he fainted. The Knights Realizing their Job Was done Went back into the game and Retreated before the Scots Got To their Position. To this day Frank has not Played Medival II Total War, or any Total War Game Scince.

    Last edited by Dark Storm; April 02, 2012 at 08:53 AM.
    ...treasure, pleasure, leisure, les yeux;
    It's all in your eyes.




  17. #17
    Dark Storm's Avatar saut dans le vide
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    West Mids, England
    Posts
    7,569
    Tournaments Joined
    1
    Tournaments Won
    0

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 60b – The Challenge
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER - Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Attention to Detail

    Yudl Loew ben Bezalel stared at the neat row of figures with disgust, identical painted faces looking back at him blankly. He knew now he was a fool. While others did something practical to resist the Turk, he wasted his time here with worthless magic.

    Yet he had come so close! The incantations actually worked, his terracotta warriors marching around the workshop like real men. But should even a single drop of water touch their parched hides, then this false life given them by the holy parchment in their mouths would fly straight back to the Almighty, leaving the Golem of no more use than a clothes dummy.

    “Wouldn't they look better glazed?” said Yudl's feckless assistant Berthold, finally arrived with bread and wine Yudl had ordered an hour ago.

    Turning to administer a well-justified cuff to the boy's ear, Yudl froze in shock. “By the Prophet's beard, you're right!” He exclaimed. “Fire up the furnace! Hurry boy!”

    While a sample Golem was firing, they heard the sound of an explosion from the nearby city wall. Yudl sent Albrecht to out to find out what had happened. The boy returned quickly with the dread news that the enemy had broken into the city.

    Pulling his finished figure out of the furnace, Yudl directed Albrecht to glaze and fire the rest of the batch, then bent to the task of conducting the ritual and writing the holy words of activation on slips of paper.

    Heart in his mouth, Yudl ordered his first Golem out into the dark snow-covered street to join the defenders. Painted to look like a soldier of the Emperor, the Golem soon became the champion of the bedraggled group at the end of the street, and slew many Turks.

    Yudl and Albrecht worked together to stoke up the furnace, in their desperation over-working it, causing the main chamber to give way with a loud crack. But it was enough. Ignoring the spilled pile of burning coals, they pulled out the red-hot manikins.

    Stuffing slips into hot mouths, Yudl was immensely relieved to see the figures come to life. With not a moment to lose, he ordered the whole group to join the remaining soldiers in the street.

    Looking back, Yudl saw that his workshop ablaze. But no matter, success now would bring him untold riches, while failure would relieve him of the need for a workshop at all.

    The Golems marched in lock-step through the snow, red-hot feet melting puddles at every step. Then one stopped abruptly, stiff form slowly toppling to the ground. Yudl stood open mouthed in shock as a second Golem did likewise.

    Even though he didn't know Albrecht had neglected to glaze the soles of the Golems' feet, Yudl could see the trend. Ducking around the back of his burning workshop, to pick up a prepared bundle, he sprinted toward a section of wall far from the fighting, first step along his road to a new profession.


    Entrant 1 Son of Alexander
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Once upon a time...

    A fire crackled merrily in the corner. Men laughed as they danced with their wives, and all in the hall smiled as they drank and celebrated. A dog barked and wagged it’s tail happily, whilst children ran up and down the stairs of the tavern. The log cabin was friendly and warm, reassuring and relaxing.
    .............The crow,
    With black, greasy feathers, let out the dry hacking cough that was it’s call. It was devilish, a creature of pure hate… it seemed as though God had done everything possible to make the wretched thing look filthy and disgusting. It’s eyes, black as coal and unseeing as stone, settled upon the faint orange glow coming from under the door of the tavern. A footstep crunched in the silent, snow covered wood, and the bird took flight, letting a drop of pure, innocent white snow fall to the ground that had been desperately clinging to the frail purchase of a stunted black twig, identical to those that sprouted from all the empty trees in the wood.

    Lazy chain mail dragged on the ground, angrily grinding through the virgin snow. The man beneath it, unwashed and unthinking, moved slowly towards the village, the warriors behind him shadowlike and pale in the cold. A small brown mouse, twitching and squeaking, ran quickly into the tavern out of the cold. Another followed it, and the silhouetted figure stepped forward, skewering it in the snow with the tip of his sword. The honourable red of the poor creature’s blood stained the smooth snow, and it ceased to move. The human juggernaut rolled on.

    The tavern fell silent.

    Hushed voices.

    The enemy, shrouded in cold and unrelenting metal, slowly glided down the small street. All stopped, and there was no sound. A gust of wind blew, and it howled it’s disapproval, cursing those in the weak light of the glowing moon.

    *****

    Several hours had passed, every single second dedicated to anger, violence and war. The air itself shivered, the spasm running through all who felt it’s hand passing over them… touching them… touching them with the hand of death. One villager lay fallen in battle, his face frozen for ever in a macabre mask of finality. The enemy stood motionless, surveying their kingdom of deceit and hate, their republic of cruelty. The moon, silver as the icy blades of the warriors, looked gently on the scene. The crow landed clumsily on the man’s face, before selfishly pecking into his flesh. It heard a noise in the corner and looked up without emotion…

    A fire crackled in the tavern…

    Entrant 2 Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Remember My Name
    He had lain there for at least an hour. Watching the sky. Trying not to breathe in the stink of the corpses around him. Good God, there was a horse's gaping mouth right next to him. From this position it might as well have been the gaping maw of hell. Come to think of it, the earth could swallow him up at any moment. And he would be forgotten. Forgotten. Forever. Fallen in some godforsaken village, in the company of men who didn't even know his name. Well, they were dead men now. Every last one of them. Except for him. And he would die soon.

    Wasn't his life supposed to flash before his eyes right about now? Strange. It wasn't. All he saw was the sky around him. He didn't mind the stench anymore. It seemed so...peaceful. Strange. Just minutes ago the air was rent with the screams of the dead, the dying, and the living. But now, there was..almost silence?

    Just some crunching. It reminded him of food. Odd. Now he remembered his last meal. It was coarse bread. Burnt, too. It practically crumbled in his weathered hands, and became dust between his teeth.

    No! It wasn't bread. It was boots.

    With a heroic effort, the dying man lifted himself up on his elbows. He defiantly looked the victors in the eyes and opened his mouth.

    "Remember...."

    A superhuman strength seemed to invigorate him, and yet he was not able to finish his sentence. There was nothing but the sound of the spear going through his body. They left it sticking out of him like a grotesque limb.


    Entrant 3 Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Yet again they had struck! The wickedness of the night had taken good townsmen once more.

    Flames crackled as the fires illuminated the perverse scene around them. The pale skin of the fallen was magnified by the intense moonlight, their blood permeating the snow around them, the reflection of which enveloping their bodies in a sickly black aura.

    For Captain Haagen the scene was becoming all too familiar. The attacks had become more intense and their foe more brazen. What had started with the dissapearance of a few hen and cattle had turned into the cries of women and children. He had ordered nightly sentries to patrol the village but it appeared the brigands would continue unabated.

    He had seen battle countless times but never looks such as these. The victim's faces were locked forever in primordial fear. Their last breath a scream for mercy or God's deliverance. His sons Darin and Danten had heard the men's yell and the crash of windows. Racing quickly to the sound they saw the bursts of flame rise but as so many times before, they arrived far too late. As they stood over the dead, the crisp winter air bit deep under his skin.

    He could remember when he enjoyed the cool night air of winter and would take his wife in the forest to lie with her and gaze upward at the heavens and bathe in their magnificence. He would trace the constellations with his hand guiding hers ever so slowly until the wonder of such discovery came over her.

    Now the night only brought death, the stars and moonlight something to be shunned and shuttered. He turned towards his youngest Danten and saw the horror sweep over him. He could hear his son's armor rattle as the young plebe shook standing still.

    Haagen slowly approached the bodies of his comrades, kneeling beside them in the snow then recoiled quickly. Darin rushed to his father's side and held him up, Haagen's face becoming as white as those that lay before him. The corpses were awash with the marks of the hamrammr!

    The black smoke curled skyward and began to obfuscate the silver moon behind them throwing an opaque pall over everything. However, the tracks of the enemy could still be seen imprinted in the snow; the unholy scars leading deep into the woods ahead.

    The three men peered intently into the thicket of large timber, the fear of not knowing as commensurate as that of bearing witness to the beast. They stood there motionless as only the rustle of branches in the distance broke the silence.

    "Come father, let's go." Darin pled to his father.

    Haagen breathed deeply. His time with the hamrammr would come soon enough.

    The men turned towards their home. They would bury the dead in the morning lest they wish to join them on this night....


    Entrant 4 Majonga
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Silence:

    The only sound was the crackling roar of the flames. Light snow floated silently on the soft breath of the wind, slowly and gently landing ontop of the crisp ground deep with snow. A small puff of steam fettered in the wind as the snow stained red, the hot liquid melting the ground's quilted cover. The Huskarl's breath condensed at their mouths, swirling like steam from a dragon's snout. Their faces were masks, twisted and metalled like Satan's spawn. The fire of the burning house bathed them in light, like the fires of hell lit the eyes of it's demons. Cold were their eyes, like the biting wind and the soft ground, bright but uncaring.

    The corpses before them steamed, turning the snow into bloody slush around them. The Saxon stood shivering softly in the chill. His sword gleamed with fresh blood, red like wine. It speckled his face and dribbled along his knuckles, turned bone white with the frost. The thudding crash of timber broke the peaceful silent stand-off, smashing and cracking in a thunderous boom. The Huskarl bounded soundlessly forward, his shield afore and his hatchet high. his feet made deep dents in the snow with a biting crunch. The ring of steel sounded shrill in the silence, like fingernails on chalkboard.

    The hot splatter of blood and thumping crash among the crunching snow, followed by another screeching wail of a banshee. A choked gurgle followed a heavy thunk as the axe bit into the neck's flesh. The snow crunched as the Saxon collapsed to his knees, arterial blood spurting hot blood onto the ground. The Huskarl grimaced as his slick hands grappled with the haft, heaving the cold steel form the Saxons sternum. Now free a second swishing thump, impacting with the sound of crumpling meat and bone. The Huskarl's eyes glowed with the fury of Thor as the Saxon's body prostrated. His axe swinging up and down upon the corpse, until he too fell to his knees, chest heaving, shoulders drooped.

    The smooth crisp snow was speckled and melted, dyed red like the berries. The cold chill blew, swirling the falling snow in a silent descent. All was quiet now, all was still and the flames still crackled.

    Entrant 5 Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Dual-Perspective

    “Four more over here, Wyson”
    ”Aye, I see them. You want to grab that one, and I’ll get this one? We can come back for the rest later.”
    As his comrade nodded, Wyson noticed something odd about one of the rebels lying on the ground. He seemed almost...living.
    That couldn’t be so, though. Wyson recalled the battle. He remembered the utter havoc wreaked upon the rebels by the King’s men. It had been horrible. Boulders, arrows, shafts the size of a man, all flying through the air, ripping the poor peasants into shreds. Fire fell from the skies, arrows and bolts soon followed, creating a mass panic. Then the infantry charged through the mangled gates and into the streets. The defending rioters and disgruntled townsfolk held, though only through their hatred.
    Then the rout began. They fled, like a herd of goats. They were slaughtered as such. The streets ran red.
    “Do these men seem rather colored for having been here over 7 hours? Or am I just imagining things?” Wyson looked expectantly at his companion.
    “There’s no way anyone could-“
    The man’s flippant, condescending response was cut short by several shouts, followed by the sound of metal striking metal. The man at Wyson’s feet sprung up, along with another man just down the road. Desperation could be clearly seen in his eyes. Desperation, fear, and determination.
    Snow fell between the two groups. It seemed intent on dousing the fires of the siege, as well as negating all visibility. The rebels shouted and charged, clubs and makeshift spears raised. Wyson took a step back, suddenly fearing for his life...

    How? He promised us victory. He promised us a nation of our own. He promised us hope. Instead, we received naught but fire, brimstone, and destruction. Despair. Hopelessness. Death.
    He told us to attack; we were routed. He told us to fight; we were slaughtered. He told us to retreat; we were cut down. Today, he ordered us to defend our families, and we were annihilated. So here I lay, waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge from the king’s men, for murdering my family.
    They came. They talked in hushed voices, drawing near. Then a scream cut through the night. I jumped up and stared at my opponent. Wyson, I believe his name is. I allowed the full extent of my hatred to flow out upon his poor soul. I noticed a fire, a gust of wind. Strange, the things noticed in a time of utter fear: a cross around the man’s neck, his blue lips, and the Latin words, “Veritas et Fides” engraved on his helm.
    I ran towards him, spear held high. I saw a stream of red flying into the night sky. I could no longer feel my legs...my arms...my body...
    I cursed the king. I cursed his soldiers. I cursed myself.
    And with my last breath, with a rush of realization, I cursed...him, the source of my pain. My suffering. My death.

    Entrant 6 Thokran
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    We never saw it coming...

    I was but a youth back then, an aspiring fresh recruit to the town guard of Breslau. I was appointed to the midnight shift of guarding the sleepy town's palisade walls. The night was like any other, and my comrades were just as unassuming as I was. The moon hung high in the sky when they came. Like wolves upon sheep, they lunged at us without warning. And like a flock without its shepherd, we panicked. I could only stare in petrified terror as their arrows shot out from the shadows of the tree line and struck my fellow guardsmen with deadly accuracy, swift and silent. The quiet whizzing of arrows were soon drowned out by the sound of men, frenzied warriors who dashed madly through the open gates of our humble town, ransacking and killing anything that stood in their way. Soon enough, the unknown aggressors were upon me. Instinct alone had forced me to react, and I raised my spear in defense as one of them lashed out at me with their spiked flail. I went to counter the attack, but realized too soon that my skills were dulled, my experience green against the professionals which stood up against me. The flail crashed into my chest cavity with devastating force, knocking me flat on my back, what little wind I had left in me knocked out with ease. I lay in paralysis now, my blurring eyes watching in horror as my comrades fell beside me, staring back at me with dead eyes. My ears pressed against the fresh snow of winter, now marred with the blood of family and friends, and all I could hear is the reverberating march of the approaching enemy. By now the sounds of battle were replaced with the sound of pillaging. I could hear them bringing their spears down on my fellow guardsmen who like me had also fallen in battle. All I could do was gaze up into the sky and await the grisly fate that awaited me as they closed in on my body step by step. The sound of their boots grew louder and louder, like a clock ticking down to my demise. I could not close my eyes for the inevitable. Only one thing ran through my mind as they finally came before me.

    How could we not have foreseen this?



    TotW 61a- Final Charge
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER - Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Final Charge

    "What ho, old boy?"
    It was a lanky old veteran fingering his musket.
    "Jolly good day for a fight, what what?"

    Still no response. Ah, finally!

    "You must be bloody barmy." This from a very young soldier, who could barely lift the gun into resting position. This boy had failed all his drill tests and had barely been able to squeak by in previous battles. Of course, he had lost six pairs of trousers and a musket or two. Also his kit bag and bayonet. The only thing he never lost was his good luck charm, a dead rat which thoroughly disgusted the other men in his unit. He kept it in a little leather bag by his heart. It wasn't a very big rat. More like a rather large and bloated mouse.

    "If only you knew, old bean!" said the veteran to the boy. The veteran held his gun in an expert grip, and loaded the charge with remarkable efficiency. This man was clearly an expert in the ways of war, and his age did nothing but increase his knowledge of it. "Back in the Crimea, boys like you would be court marshaled and drummed off to become nothing more than a street urchin! I was one myself before I joined the forces lad, school of hard knocks and all that!"

    "Shut up you old knob!" was the boy's response as he fumbled, dropping the bullet into the turf.

    Meanwhile the cavalry trotted closer and closer.

    Fearless.

    Reckless.

    This, if anything, was nothing short of an elite strike force. And this was the elite strike force's gambit. With a mighty warcry, they descended upon the infantry, scything left and right with their wickedly curved sabres.

    "What ho!" was the boy's cry as he narrowly avoided a thrust from one of the troopers. Before he could even try to retaliate, the cavalryman was gone, off to his next target, almost like a mirage. Like magic, another man appeared before him and gutted him with a remarkably low cut.

    The battle raged around his corpse.



    Entrant 1 Kip Bohannon
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The tin felt cool in his hands. His fingers worked across the sculpted musket of the toy soldier, the chubby flesh smothering the miniature man’s face. He traced the muscles of the metal horse, and paused to scratch a speck of dirt out of one of its steely haunches. The boy knelt in the dirt and gingerly placed the soldier in place. He wiped his forehead with a meaty fist, and admired his handiwork. The tin cavalrymen steadfastly held the line, their horses elegant, their faces stoic.

    “Forward!” he cried, his throat rattling desperately. “Forward!” The smoke was choking, hot against his face. Grasping the hilt tightly, he drew an ancient saber from his hip, and raised it above his head. His men followed suit, and the blades glittered in the fading sun.


    Knees sore, the boy stood and surveyed the field. The wind whistled vigorously through the tufts of wheat and barley. They waved a polite hello. He laughed.

    The horse’s ribs were hard against his knees. The wind broke against his face, soothing the burning ache of fire and smoke. Shouts. His eyes watered. Screams. The hoof beats thundered, the rifles crackled – they were smothered in the storm.


    The light was fading. Soon, his mother would be calling. The days were long, but they were silent. He was lonely.

    A horse whinnied violently, the scream piercing the guttural rumble of cannon. A man dropped from the saddle, a horse crumpled to the right. “Faster now, boys!” he screamed, his words drowning in the raging storm. The words sliced his lungs, deeper than any bayonet.


    The wind burst. One of the horsemen tipped, another was swept around. The boy loosed a wail, and fell to his knees. Scrambling to catch the feathery troops, he aligned them back in place.

    A musket ball screeched past his ear. The horse rocked beneath him. The puffs of smoke atop the hill curled together, a writhing serpent of grey and black. They would never make it.


    He whimpered. Every time he replaced a fallen man, the wind gusted and sent the other horsemen toppling. He couldn’t replace them fast enough.

    Atop the hill, the infantrymen were machines. Automatons. There was the flashing of shadows, and then the eruption of embers and lead. The boisterous beating of hooves was dying down. There weren’t that many left. The storm was consuming them all.

    A tear rolled down his cold cheek. The gusts were relentless, and despite his frantic pleas, only one cavalryman remained standing. The captain, his regalia colorful, stood wedged in the dirt.

    The storm was mighty; the storm was terrible. It will consume us all.


    The boy stared at the lonely captain.

    The sky was black.

    Something tickled his forehead. He gently touched the spot with his thick finger, and found it wet.

    The rain drops fell on his face. The burning was quenched. The storm… it couldn’t be escaped.

    The boy looked skywards as the rain began to fall.

    Entrant 2 Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The eye of the storm

    An excerpt from the log of Commander Allied forces, October 1st 1712 ..

    As the Russians assembled on the hill in front of us, I could clearly see their battle line forming. Heavy infantry at the front, ready to face our powerful charge, low quality militia at the rear and flanks, ready to fight to the death or be ground under our steel shod hooves. Both sides were equally nervous, this was an important battle in the campaign. The last few months had been extremely trying for both sides, endless skirmishes had been fought in distant battlefields. Many men had died, including many of my close friends, now I was alone out here with only the men on horse beside me.

    This battle was to be the turning point in the war with the Russians. Our foolish leaders had expended many resources to fight and hopefully win this conflict, defeat here would undoubtedly mean a full scale retreat and eventually collapse of the empire. I could not allow that to happen, not this day! I ordered our brave men into position, ready to charge the enemy head on. Cold winds sweep overhead, whipping at our flanks and freezing us to the bone, the icy rain falls from the dark cloudy sky like the black death come to claim new victims. Thunder booms overhead, frightening the horses, lightning flashes through the sky, momentarily blinding both sides, the time to strike is now!

    I order our men to charge... this would be our greatest victory yet. Our horses power across the field, lurching forward and running toward death itself. Musket fire breaks out from the top of the hill, I can hear the cries of man and horse as bullets begin to find their targets, our horses are fast and strong, their riders equally as brave. Too much is at stake here today, in this instant, victory or death. We are almost upon them, so close now. Fear is clearly on the faces of our enemies, they did not expect us to reach this far. Their first rank is crushed under our hooves, hundreds of pounds of horse and man come crashing down onto the Russians. Men are trampled and killed, others are run through with sword. Blood begins to cover the ground, the enemy being to rout, their army turns to flee and victory is now assured.

    We pursue and run down the routing army, we must let none escape. A victory today has been won, defeat was not our fate. The rain continues to pour, cleansing the earth of the blood spilled today, but history marks this day as victorious for the allies and the beginning of the end for the Russians.


    Entrant 3 Major Darling
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "Make Ready! Preeeeeesent...."

    The Lead Trooper understood these words, even though he could not speak Russian, he understood... The next few seconds that passed seemed like an age,

    "Fire!"

    The Ripple of Gunshots reverberated across the field, the smell of gunpowder and sulphur rising in the air, the grass catching light from burnt wadding and then the screams.. The Screams of men, dying men. The sound heard udnerneath this unholy screams was that of a scratching, the muskets being cleaned. A Pouring sound, the powder entering hundreds of Russian Muskets. Then yet more scratching... The Cardiff Yeomanry continued its valiant charge, the charge that had been ordered by an ageing general on a hill, an ageing general who had been ordered to that hill by a suited man in Whitehall. The suited man ordered to Whitehall by a robed man on a Throne in Windsor. The robed man ordered to a throne in Windsor by God...

    That lead trooper lay on the cold earth in a field outside Kiev, among burning grass and dead men.. That lead trooper saw the Russians fire again.. The Yeomanry was never meant to leave Wales.. He was never meant to leave Wales, he had been betrayed by a man claiming to be appointed by God. That lead trooper now looked into the sky, ready to be recieved by that very same deity... He had fallen in battle, just like all but 5 of the Cardiff Yeomanry.. A Yeomanry never meant to leave their own city, a Yeomanry made up of Traders and drunks, not soldiers.



    Entrant 4 Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Into the light! Deadly fire beckons bright! Guided skyward with Heav'ns might!
    The charge of horsemen with all their thunder, musket shot drives them asunder.
    Called upon into duty, thrust into battle most unduly
    Farmers, cobblers, shepherds, peasants, all together in this instant.


    The rain comes down hard as gallows upon the heads of hapless fellows
    managing one final fray, so surely will they die this day.
    The rifles' report belies the story that these souls will have no glory.
    Wood and fields turned into cinder, guns and cannon need good timber.


    Times as a child these men n'er remember, for here on this dark and cold December
    Dragoons roaring all around, wicked flames taking down
    Any vestige of honor past. Chivalry was not meant to last
    In this day of gears of war, the machine blurs all that's fighting for.


    God and Christ watch in vain as more blood is not shed in their name
    But for coin and paper and placation of some haughty men of station.
    A new religion sent these men to die, forever in this ground they soon lie.
    A simple cross the tell-tale fate of these pawns of nation-states.


    TotW 62a- The land of regrets
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    [IMG][/IMG]
    WINNER – Mega Tortas De Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The land of Regrets

    I should have lied and said no, when they asked me. I should have denied who I have become. Shaman, priest…Do you
    have regrets? Damnation for being a now, truthful soul…Yes, I have many regrets…and with that they grabbed hold of
    me and took me to a place they refer to as the land of Regrets. With a week’s rations of water and hardtack they
    wished my soul eternal light, then left me to ponder my imperfections & mis-deeds disappearing into the starless
    night…I now truly regret that they did not slaughter me when they gutted my comrades in arms like feral pigs being
    prepped for market…

    With the dawn and the wiping away of sleep from my eyes, the journey of intraspection began…
    Do not kick the dog in a burst of rage, for he shall look at you with eyes filled with bewilderment and sadness at
    your hateful betrayal. Ya cannot take it back…Kiss or say goodbye to loved ones before you go out the door to
    market or even to the most mundane of chores. For if something should happen…Ya cannot take it back…Do not lie and
    be deceitful with those that you truly love. For when your action is discovered and the trust is broken, Ya cannot
    take it back…Do not hesitate, hold back, or leave for tomorrow things that should be done today. For if your delay
    causes or invokes harm, Ya cannot take it back….

    Breaking momentarily from his self imposed torment, the priest admired the Divine cruelty of his adversaries. Tis
    simplicity…to one and all he would say. Do not do things you will later lament for we all must travel to the land
    of Regrets….some sooner and with heavier burdens than others….

    Entrant 1 Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Faith held dear

    “AHHH! God has forsaken me in this dreadful place!, I’m all alone with no one to guide me!” The hot sun was beating down on my skin, slowly roasting my flesh until it turned red and began to burn. My throat was dry from lack of water and extreme thirst. Swallowing my dried and sand filled saliva was a challenge in itself. My feet were heavy, I had been walking for days, plodding along in the desert, searching for anyone, anything to escape from the heat of the sun. I had no food left, my horse had long died from the heat and exhaustion. This, I knew would be my final moment, yes I can feel it now. The heart starts to slow, my eyelids become heavy, my feet and legs start to give way. I drop down to my knees in the burning hot sand, the light reflecting blinds me, I am unable even to see my own demise. My god has forsaken me, though I know not why.

    I have followed his teachings since I began preaching at the church from the age of seventeen. I have walked in God’s footsteps, spreading his good word, telling all of the deeds of his noble son, and now, like Christ himself, I am to die here, alone. As the life slowly creeps out of me, I feel a presence to one side. Dark clouds gather in the sky above me, the sun is blotted out, darkness covers the land. In my last moments, I look to the heavens, what I see cannot be real. God himself is looking down upon me, ever watchful and merciful. He looks at me with arms held open, welcoming me into his embrace. “Come my son, it is time for you to return to me. For I created you and all man on this Earth and your duty here is done. It is time to come home and let another take up this task.” My faith had indeed not deserted me, God had finally come to claim me, and I did so return from whence all man came. To this day I now look down from the stars, watching and waiting for my time to walk the Earth, once more.

    Entrant 2 Ariovistus Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Scourge of God


    I warned them. Surely as the mighty Lord above, I warned them to change their wicked ways.

    The old city and its people sank, generation by generation, into greater and greater depths of sin. Thievery, murder, immorality… the list goes on and on.

    They called me a delirious; mad. They passed off my warnings as the ravings of an old lunatic, whose time had long since passed. But I never gave up on them.

    Still, they would not heed my words. I was reminded of the Proverb, spoken by the Angel of Wisdom so long ago.

    Ye have set at naught all my counsel, and would none of my reproof …

    Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer. They shall seek me early, but they shall not find me. For that they hated knowledge, and did not choose the fear of the LORD.

    And surely their destruction does come like a whirlwind. That scourge upon Europe, which men called the manifestation of the wrath of God, swept through our country.

    It was deadly as the plague, and quick as fire. The Mongol horde erased the sins of my people in a wash of blood and destruction. The ruins of their idle foolishness and vain pleasures were all that remained of the people I had tried so desperately to save.

    But for my part, it was to no avail. They were dead, their city was in ruins, and my time was fast approaching. I am a failure.

    The barbarians from the East made great sport with me. They must have derived some sort of perverse pleasure from tormenting a priest. They dragged me to their camp. They beat me, tortured me, and did whatever else with me their mean minds contrived for their own pleasure. Sometimes they would strip me of my vestments and wear them, strutting about pompously, as if in some great ceremony.

    But today, they woke me up, fed me the first good breakfast I had taken for many weeks, and told me that I am free to go.

    I am not deluded; they have some other motive for this, and I fear that this would truly be the end. Nevertheless, if for no other reason than to put my misery at rest, I must take their offer.

    As I suspected, I have made it but a furlong from their camp, and see riders come after me. Now I know my fate:

    I am target practice.

    Now they ride around me in circles; arrows begin falling around me. Then I feel one thwap, and then another as the arrows find their mark.

    I fall to my knees and stretch out my arms to God. Why must this fate be mine? What have I done?

    But… but now I see Him! He has come to bring me home! Yes, this earthly body, and its sufferings, are but for a moment. Now I shall be with Him…

    in Paradise.

    Entrant 3 GrinningManiac
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "Where am I?" Thought the old priest "I've never seen such a place before. Everything's so...unreal."

    "This is surely the work of the Devil himself."

    "Damn him and his tricks! Damn him...and Damn you for beliving him! You wretched old Fool!"

    "You Miserable old Fool!" he shrieked, tearing at his hair. He wept and sank to his knees. There was no wind, no movement, no noise and no warmth. There was no earthly sensation at all, only the misery and horror of being completley alone

    Forever

    "All those friends, those faces...those women! All the happiness and success a man could ever wish for! Why did I not see through his lies? That caped man...that masked stranger...that fiend!"

    "The Devil himself walked into my church and I, a man of God Almighty, did not see him!"

    The man sat in remorse in the desert for years...and yet time, like the greatest of torturers, drew out his pain inch by inch. After what could have been mere months, or a million millennia, a black-coated stranger appeared on the horizon. He walked towards the man, who watched him coming for nearly three weeks, so flat was this prison of a landscape.

    "Benedictus...my dear friend" sighed the man, his voice muffled by a featureless mask.

    "Be gone...you beast. You have tricked me once, and I have suffered. We are done...depart!"

    "But, my dear friend, I'm here to help! I feel...sorry...for you, and I thought I'd drop by to offer you a second chance. Double or Quits, as it were. You in?" Asked the Devil, holding out his hand to the man. The Fallen Priest looked up at the mask and, after a pause, took his hand

    The Devil wouldn't trick you twice

    Would he?

    Entrant 4 Comrade Chernov
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    THE LONELY PRIEST

    The priest couldn't believe his eyes. All around him lay thousands of his dead Countrymen, mixed in with a handful of Saxons. It just sickened him.

    It was 425 A.D., and The Saxon Empire had grown to the point that it encompassed all of the Province of Gaul, Britain, and controlled most of the territory of the weakening Frankish empire. The Western Roman Empire, or what was left of it since it had lost the Iberian Peninsular and Africa to a combined assault by the Vandals and the Berbers, and Illyria to the Treachery of the Eastern Romans, had tried to hold off the Hordes of Saxon Warriors that threatened the Crumbling empire's Frontal Outpost, Samarobriva(Trapped between Saxon-held Gaul and Belgica).

    There had been a massive battle, but it was more of a desperate last stand; roughly 3,000 Limitanei, under the command of Captain Marcus Julianus, was attacked by an advanced force of about half as many Saxon Keel Spearmen. The battle lasted less than 20 Minutes; The Entire Roman force had been annihilated by a force half the size. Even worse, the Saxons lost only 50 men or so.

    There was so much running through the Priest's head. "Will this mean the end of our strongest outpost?" "If the Saxons could do this, what would happen if they reached Italy?" "Will we be able to survive?"

    But there was no time for that now. He was there to bless the dead and give them a proper burial. And, as he buried his dead Roman Countrymen, the Priest, tears in his eyes, looked up to the heavens and screamed, "Why, dear god, Why?"

    Entrant 5 webMaster412160
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Blessing of Mars

    It was a bright sunny day when a priest named Borealis was walking on the road and looking to the green landscape with olive bushes and cypress in a long line in front of the stone road. Borealis and his friend Mercas also a priest begone to talk while they where walking to there town.
    "A blessed day it is." Mercas replied. Borealis takes his cup to his mouth and drinks some wine. "Indeed Mercas." Both priests where talking further, but a group of raiders was coming closer in gallop. The small stones lying on the ground where slowly shaking and shaking more when the raiders coming closer.
    "I hold them off, they want the precious relics we carry run for it Borealis!" Mercas takes of a precious ring and gives it to his friend Borealis. "I can't leave you, they will kill you if they find out you are worthless to them." I will make up a story about a treasure we guard, I will keep them busy you have to run and hide Borealis." He shouted at his friend. A raider takes his bow and aims at both priests, he fires and Mercas had no other choice but to jump in front of Borealis. The arrow went right trough Mercas his belly and a pool of blood appeared on the stone road.
    Borealis went trough some bushes for some paces and heard the raider stop near the dead body while running away from it. "No, no I can't belief this my friend gone." He shouts to the sky.
    He stopped with running and his feet where standing on dry sand, no green was to be seen. All was dead or abonded. He shouted to the sky: "Mars I am a Christian but deep in me still a Pagan. "Mars" Borealis begone again. "Mars give me vengeance." He shouted at the bright sun. He kept waiting, and waiting ... But nothing happened and he buried the body of his dead friend when the raiders left.
    He made a oath to become a knight and defend the helpless, but kept wondering why the Pagan God did not answer back. Every time when he went back to sleep he told himself: "It must be because I was wearing a Christian robe."


    Entrant 6 Kip Bohannon
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Faith

    Our homes are consumed by fire. The ravages of pox and plague devour the flesh from our still-living bones. Our fields are barren and dry. Kindling for hellish flames. The fire cleanses. We are the stain.

    Why have you forsaken us? Why have you forsaken us?

    Our wells are parched. Our livestock, skeletal. Our clothes, tattered, hang from our slender shoulders in strips. The cold of night bites like the ravished wolf. The heat of day boils the bile in our throats.

    Why have you forsaken us? Why have you forsaken us?

    We are no longer afraid of death. We are death. Death will be our redemption.

    They came in hosts innumerable. The hounds of chaos unfettered, the agents of hell unleashed. Loosed upon us were the horses and the spears, the blinding light of the Cross. We withered, unguided, like grass in the summer’s glare. We were alone. Helpless. Easy prey for ravenous mouths.

    Why have you forsaken us? Why have you forsaken us?

    Children skewered, like meat for the spit. Our women, ravaged; our men, tortured. Our blood ran deep in this land, in the sandy soil beneath my feet.

    Now, our blood flows freely.

    Our gods lay shattered in the dust. Hollow faces. Hollow promises.

    We are lost.

    Why have you forsaken us?

    I beseech you, answer me.

    Why have you forsaken my people?


    TotW 63a - Duty
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – Kip Bohannon
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Duty

    My purse is heavy.

    I force myself to imagine the clinking silver, the jostling copper.

    My stallion heaves beneath me, tossing his head wildly. His mane flows fluidly in the frigid air, like quicksilver in an alchemist’s vial. I see them ahead; several dusty shapes, swarming uncontrollably. I glance to the right and to the left; my companions glare forward. They are wordless, unshaken. Their faces are stone. Their horses are boisterous. Their gazes are steadfast. Unbroken.

    I grip my sword tightly. Squeezing the hilt, I will the blood to flow back into the desiccated veins of my hand. My knuckles are red. Raw. Bitten by winter’s growing chill. My horse breathes heavily, the drum of his heart matching the drum of his hooves. Each hoof-beat casts a swirling plume of dust into the air. My horse’s sinewy muscles are mechanical, like the motions of the miller’s wheel. His eyes are bloodshot. My eyes are watery.

    The cold of the air seeps into my nostrils, chapping the fleshy lungs hidden deep beneath my tunic. The scent of Christ’s Mass is on the wind. The trees are skeletons, standing tall like crucified victims. Their flesh is crusted. Dry. Christ’s Mass is on the wind. It smells of decay.

    My purse bounces at my hip. I catch my drifting thoughts; I force them back to the metal in my bag. It is heavy, hanging from my belt.

    The forms ahead of me begin to take shape. First arms. Then legs. They almost blur in their haste.

    Duty defines us. Duty makes us. What are we without our duty?

    We are nothing.


    My duty is to the sword. Vow-breakers die by it.

    The shapes are fully-formed now. Peasants hurtling over one another, their piercing yelps betraying their mortal fear. These runaways had been easy to track down. They were slowed down by the sick. By the women.

    My purse is heavy. Silver. Copper.

    Some of the peasants whirl around in terror, frozen in fear. They are like the skeletal trees, unmoving, their hands thrown over their faces. They are the trees. We are the woodcutters.

    It is my duty.


    My companions press harder. I keep pace. I see a sword raised high in the corner of my eye. I hear a squeal, and then a wet sound. The same sound the cook makes when he carves the pork for Christ’s Mass feast.

    How heavy it feels on my hip.


    I see a woman break free from the convulsing mob. A comrade veers off after her, his horse snarling violently.

    Copper.

    A man with a leather cap trips, and tumbles into a bedraggled mess. My stallion bears down on him, instinctively.

    Silver.

    His eyes are white with terror. My sword is made of lead. I wrench it high above the iron cap that rests atop my skull. It too, is made of lead.

    I let the sword fall. My hand still clenches it.

    My purse is heavy.


    Entrant 1 Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    The Hunt

    A smile crept onto my face. I saw the prey, running hard 40 feet ahead of us. Their backs turned to us, their shoulders swaying with the movement of their legs. I laughed inside my mind, they had no hope of escape. We had horses, to run them down and ride them into the dirt. They were unmounted and terrified, completely demoralised and scampering in fear. We were so close now, I could almost taste their blood in my mouth. My gleaming blade held low by my side, hungering for human flesh and bone. One of my men charged his horse forward, eager for the kill. He quickly covered the intervening distance and rode down 3 of the prey. They fell easily and with little effort. The rest of the men yelled a great warcry, madness in their eyes and their muscles pumping hard with adrenaline. All of us charged then, the time had come to claim the kill. We had learnt their habits, their defences, now it was time to strike, like the cobra. One bite, was enough to kill.

    We descended upon our foe, with lightning speed and without mercy. Our blades flew through the air, rending flesh and severing raised hands. Our scimitars bit deep into their bodies, protruding from their chests and cutting their throats, It was beautiful! A few of the prey put up a meagre effort to defend, but they fell quickly under our harsh and terrifiying strikes. We had them encircled now, moving through the gaps in their ranks slicing each side, the cries of despair and pain could be heard through the massacre. It was glorious. I could see their commander watching, with a look of hopelessness so profound I heard him order their surrender. The enemy stopped fighting and threw down their weapons. My smile turned into a wicked grin, the fools. We cut them down, no mercy, only blood. Their commander, seeing his mistakes screamed rage and shock, I ended his life with a quick thrust into his throat, his voice cut off immediately. With my sword protruding from the back of his neck, he fell sidewards to the earth, never to rise against us again. We had tasted blood, the hunt was over now. These are our hunting grounds, where prey come to meet their fate; so it has been and so it will be, forever.

    Entrant 2 Ariovistus Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    No Honor Among Thieves

    Only a fortnight ago, I would have trusted Edmund with my life. Now… now I would just as soon feed him to the dogs. If they would even take him, that is.

    The plan had been settled, planned, and planned over again. We would kidnap the Duke’s son and hold him for ransom. We probably could have lived off the profits the rest of our lives; it was well worth the risk. I suppose I should have sensed his reluctance to follow it through; the pig always was one to snivel in a dark corner
    We carried out the snatch perfectly; killed the guards, grabbed the little brat, stole the horses and disappeared. We left instructions for the duke in the carriage. It seemed too easy. Probably was.

    Even after we’d finished, Edmund seemed scared stiff. I wonder if he’d already decided to turn us in. His devious little mind was always working on a new scheme. We found out soon enough what it was.

    The next day, Edmund was gone. He’d headed straight for the Shire Reeve to turn us in. Yes, he sold us to the duke and his men for a paltry reward of 100 crowns. We could have taken ten times as much in ransom. But old Edmund never liked to split a prize, and this way he didn’t have to worry about being caught.

    I was the only one away from camp when the Duke’s men came. I’d been looking for Edmund. I came back in time to see my comrades being loaded into carts. The lucky ones of our group were already dead; slain by the Reeve’s men.

    But then I saw, free as a bird and riding with the Reeve, the snake, Edmund. I made the connection immediately; Edmund had led them right to our hideout.

    Nothing was to be done about my fellows who were captured; they would soon be executed in the Duke’s castle. But there was something we could do. I’d have to act fast; Edmund knew, of course, that I was still at large, and he’d leave nothing to chance.

    It didn’t take long to gather a few people who were eager to make a pretty pence or two, and steal a few horses. First we paid a visit to the Reeve. A few severed fingers later, he told us where our quarry had gone. The Reeve had sent him on his way with a purse, as I’d expected. We buried the Reeve in a safe place and then set out on the chase.

    Three days later, we came to a village by the name that the Reeve had given us. I sent one of my accomplices into town to confirm; yes, we’d come to the right place. We spurred our horses and galloped in, peasants scattering before us.

    Edmund found out soon enough; we spotted him in a group running for the city. The taste of revenge was near. Oh, sweet revenge...


    Entrant 3 Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Of Death and Determination

    Of our misery I sing,
    Of my sorrow I ring,
    I do not know where I go,
    I do not know where I arrive,
    Toward us, they row,
    To battle, they strive.
    Burn our possessions,
    Shall they?
    Slay our barons,
    Shall they?
    Revenge will come,
    Revenge will rise,
    To my doom I come,
    With their echoing cries.


    As the bright sun approaches,
    My heart races.
    I feel my feet, they are cold,
    I feel my heart, it beats bold.
    Oh how near is our doom,
    Oh how near is our foe,
    Now we fight the gloom,
    Now we fight for tomorrow,
    Now we die, with no sorrow.
    We fight with pride,
    We fight with honor,
    To battle we ride,
    To face our Ogre.

    Shall we fight?
    They ask.
    Shall we flight?
    They plead.
    We shall right,
    The wrongs of their deed.
    Revenge is my name,
    War is my game,
    With no reproach and no shame.
    Oh now, here they came.
    Oh now, here comes the rain.
    The fields scream - But with no pain.

    For tomorrow I say,
    For tomorrow we fight.
    For tomorrow we lay,
    For their deaths in sight.
    We lay in our beds,
    We sink in our heads,
    We remember those who have fallen,
    We remember those, who are dead.

    Entrant 4 Comrade Chernov
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    THE REVENGE OF THE FRENCH...

    "Finally," The Rider thought. "We will have our revenge."
    It had been many years since the ruthless attack that against France had been made by the Milanese. The French had lost nearly every single battle because of the English to the North, the Danes to the Northeast, and the self-proclaimed Holy Roman Empire to the east. All of this, combined with the threat of the Moors to the Southwest, had spread the French out thin. They were also flat out broke, their coffers losing more and more and more Florins every month. Inflation had become a Plague more than a problem. The Only hope for the french was to send a Diplomat to Milan, but every time they had tried, he was either turned down, or killed, whether on a ship or not.

    But now, the French Horsemen had THESE Milanese Militia Scouts on the run. The Rider made his horse increase speed, and, with a mighty swing of his blade, brought one of the Monsters down. But just then, the leader of the Riders all of a sudden fell fom his horse, only with a gurgling sound from his mouth and a single word..."Ambush."

    Suddenly, from the trees emerged dozens of Milanese Cavalry, Mailed Knights, Mounted Seargants,nearly every type. They surrounded the Three remaining horsemen and, in the confusion, one pulled out a bow, took careful aim, and fired at another horseman. It shot right through the Frenchman's head. That Frenchman was the rider who, just then, as he was dying, thought, "Why us, dear christ, why?"


    TotW 64a – The Great Storm
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – Ariovistus Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Great Storm

    Suffering… it has been the way of my people for many generations. Always have outsiders plagued us, out of jealousy, or greed. Before my grandfather’s grandfather was born, my people had learned not to trust the outsider.

    My ancestors had fought to keep rival tribes out of our hunting ground. I had to fight an unending storm of white men, a blizzard of colonists that came into our lands like the frosty white flakes of snow in winter.

    But retreat into the sweat lodge would not protect us from this blizzard. This blizzard was not content merely to drive us into hiding; it would hunt us down and kill us. This was a new kind of storm. Not one from which to hide and take shelter, but one that we must meet aggressively. They must be destroyed.

    Such was the determination of my dwindling village; such a fight must end in death. The rich soil would run with blood. I was determined that it not be my blood, nor that of my braves.

    Too long had the gods watched our pain without pity; the stars foretold that they would not stand idly by as they had in the past. Braves assembled, ceremonial rites were observed, and our band moved out into the dark of the night.

    We were merely shadows, spirits, as we glided through the forest. My men knew every tree, every thorn bush like an old friend; we were invisible to the outsider.

    Finally, we saw the smoke of a white settlement. Soon we could make out the forms of men milling past campfires. We could hear their loud, oppressive laughter and raucous song. I never understood these creatures; they took no pleasure in sitting still. They did not commune with the Great Mother; always they were rushing here and there. I wondered how one could live in such a world; I am sure that I never could.

    Soon, they would not live either, but not by choice. In the early twilight hours, my braves slowly crept toward the target. They had become the very trees and bushes; they would be invisible even from feet away.

    I gave the call for my men to prepare. It was the call of a thrush. My men would know immediately that it was me. The foreigners, however, never spent enough time in quiet to realize that this call belonged to a bird that had not made its nest in our lands for many moons.

    In moments, however, they would have the opportunity to spend the rest of eternity in peaceful silence.

    Entrant 1 Sunbird Alkibijihad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The world came crashing down today...With sounds of "hooshhhhhhh" and countless thuds and squish sounds, as the arrows found their resting place for the day.

    The world came crashing down today - and it crashed upon us with all it's might...
    All of our advance guard has been cut down by the wretched arrows!!! And those stupid bastards?!!? Now they lay prostrate, as if they passed out after a drunken night, as if they were not supposed to live through it and defend their homes by standing in the square with us? The morons...

    I told the bloody mongrel : "Have yer men draw they're archers up front, then retreat back to the cover of the buildings near the square..."
    And what does he do? He leaves the bloody beggars to sit with they're butts wide open for a ride up from behind...

    "B-but Sir..." I could hear his young aide trying to speak up, the fear obviously getting the better of him "They did start retreating the moment the archers drew themselves up front!"

    Now, our commander threw a bewildered gaze at the young aide : "What the hell? How in the God's name did I happen to lose nearly two hundred men then, please do tell me?"

    Squirming where he stood, with all the unease, panic and insecurity of this world boiling up inside of him, the young aide blurts, almost crying the answer out : It was a single volley, Sir! A single vo..."

    HOOOOSHHHHH

    Indeed, it came crashing down upon us...With the force of steel tipped pieces of wood, and in numbers that matched the total count of the invading army. A single volley it was. It cut the numbers of the men holding the square down to two thirds.

    HOOOOSHHHHH

    Another volley...Now there was barely a man without a feathered arrow tail protruding from his chest, leg, arm, skull...

    "Oh bloody STOP! STOP IT" Now I could see and hear our commander trying to raise the white banner up, and the moment he did, we could hear the answer as it came:

    HOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHH


    Entrant 2 GrumpyBean
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I remember it rained hard that night in Scotland, not of water, but of cold steel. The rain had soaked the ground with a deathly dark red stain which covered most of the street. The gibbet was gloriously shinning in its black coat during the morning’s sun. The smell of the aftershock was bitter-sweet as the bodies among the road and buildings were strewn all over the place in a disturbing manner. The sound of pathetic moaning from the heap of blood soaked corpses, rags, and souls pulsated through the thick air and into my ears leaving a permanent memory of grief and pain.

    I slowly walked through the dampened road and into the bloody mess. Reaching the near center of the mass of moaning and motionless bodies, a man of medium stature who was riddled with arrows from his feet to his shoulders, lunged for my leg in an attempt to pull himself up. He failed at his attempt to bring himself upright and landed face first onto my boot. In the process of hitting his face, his nose was crushed between his face and the hard leather boot. The feeling of cartilage and bone being crunched against my foot rippled up my leg and soared up my spine, producing goose bumps on my skin. I shuffled my foot from under his head, realizing he had just died. I felt weaker every step I took down the road of what seemed to be hell. I paused briefly in my steps to glance at a young women laying upright against a building whose jaw was hanging by only a tendon. An arrow must have tore through her lower cheek dislocating the right part of her jaw, allowing the rest of the jaw bone tear her mouth clean open with the help of the arrows momentum. Her long blood soaked hair was strewn over her face. Her empty lifeless gaze pierced the hardest part of my soul allowing a feeling of sorrowfulness, dreadful pain, and.......guilt to travel through my mind. I took a long moment to myself, staring at the men and women who had died that night. I thought to myself, 'What kind of monstrosity would drive a man to commit extremely heinous acts of unrelenting cruelty such as this.' I turned slowly and painfully to my men in the center of the village. I then gave orders to pile the dead and burn the place to ashes......


    Entrant 3 Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Young Hearts

    Little Timmy and little Tommy were heading out to play in the fields, as they usually did on a summer's day, as they usually did every day in fact. Cheerfully did they skip down the street, past the noisy tavern; where all the adults gathered, down to the bakery to beg old baker Bilbo for some sweets. After some resistance the old codger gave in and the boys got their reward. They knew the treats weren't good for them but they ate them anyway. Their parents wouldn't know of their mischief until it was too late, chocolate stains on old clothing being impossible to hide.

    The boys continued on their journey, through the market where people bought and sold goods, past the man haggling with Donald the merchant. They paused a short while when they came to the gallows. Their parents had told them that if the boys ever did anything wrong there would be serious trouble, this was the trouble they would be in for. No the boys definitely didn't want to end up stuck in there. On down to the end of the road now and right at the fork, yes right, we don't want to go to the left. Unknown lands lie in that direction and it would not be prudent to venture that way.

    So the boys went right and continued along the beaten track towards the outer fields. They waved to farmer Macc as they passed him on the road, he was always such a cheerful fellow. Finally they crested a small hill and stared out at the fertile field below. Yes, they had reached their destination, the fun awaited.

    They played for what seemed like hours, all time and thought was lost. By the time they realised how long they had been gone it was starting to get dark. Their parents would be worried; they usually returned home before this time. Oh well, that couldn’t be helped now. Little Timmy and little Tommy started back towards the town.

    They walked back along the path, passed the small hill and left at the intersection. They caught a strange smell in the air, was that smoke? Turning towards the town they saw black plumes rising in the distance. Curious and scared at the same time, they began to run towards the settlement. Quickly and quietly they crept ever closer, keeping low to the ground to avoid being seen. They found some large rocks, quickly ducking down to peer around them and look.

    What they saw was death. Fire, smoke, and blood. The town had been burned, its people murdered, their parents, dead. Little Timmy and little Tommy began to cry, their lives had been destroyed, all that they knew gone. Old baker Bilbo, Donald the greedy merchant, everyone and everything. In their moment of confusion and distress, they failed to see the hooded figure creeping up behind them, knife in hand. In that instant, Little Timmy and Little Tommy would never care about anything again.

    Entrant 4 Ketchup
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Though my eyelids rest heavily, blotting out the harsh, earthly light, I see… The most beautiful scene imaginable; my Elysium, complete with my sweetheart standing, waiting. It seems as though she has been waiting for me these five, long years, never wavering and never forgetting. She holds out her hand, murmuring words which soothe my heart and soul, though my body feels exquisite pain. Everything my heart has yearned for these past years since her death seems tangible at last, within reach if I could only make that one, last effort. “Not yet, my love,” she breathes, soft as snow and sweet as honey. For years the lingering memory of that voice has been my private burden, to be borne at all times, now it brings an intense sense of peace and bliss. A sharper contrast could not be possible between this and the carnage of mere minutes past. In this state, I lie confused, sapped of all my energy and willpower; what can she mean? We are united once more, never to be separated and she speaks in riddles to me? And then it all fades to blackness, heavy and impenetrable…

    My eyes snap open as I attempt to remember. The pain swiftly puts an end to such an effort. It is unbearable and I soon find myself choking on a torrent of tears, though I’m unsure as to the source. Is it grief or pain? Perhaps a combination of the two sensations has reduced me to a whimpering wreck. Eventually, I recall the physical events that had occurred. It was folly from the beginning, outnumbered almost ten-to-one, though we had no choice but to defend our homes, our livelihood. To a man we had been cut down without ever coming into contact with the enemy and now here I lie, pinned to the ground with cold steel, a cruel mockery of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross.

    And yet, strangely, none of this matters to me now. Only whether what I saw was real, or perhaps a heartless vision conjured by some evil spirit to torture my already angst-ridden soul… Is that what really waits for me after death? If it is then I surrender myself to it, had I the strength, I’d embrace it with a voracious passion, dirtying my blade for the first time today...


    Thence I lie, allowing myself to wallow in these fantasies, though, deep down, I know it was but an apparition, perhaps even my dying wish made true. No matter how close I felt to her, how plainly I could hear her soft voice, how clearly I could smell her sweet scent, she’s lost forever. Gone. And with this knowledge I release my stifled grief, combined with the unremitting, excruciating physical pain in a single scream of anguish.

    I must have lain here, helpless as a Spring lamb, for some time and been mistaken for dead as the raiders seemed to have passed on. My scream had roused the women though, no doubt tending the few other survivors, and I could feel, rather than see, that I was soon surrounded by bustling bodies, crying out for further help. Alas, is it not obvious that I’d rather they left me?

    Entrant 5 Juvenal
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Collateral Damage

    They will burn us now, I have seen the faggots being carried to their village square. The crowd
    taunts us, my whole body throbs with pain from the beatings. Dominic whimpers, crouched in
    the corner of his cage, doe eyes staring with uncomprehending hurt at the stone-faced throng.

    How can they say I am a witch? I've never hurt anyone, only tried to protect my brother from
    those who would exploit him. He fits so well the role of cretin, his shambling walk, his lack of
    speech, his trust, even the deformity of his back. He needs me to protect him and to control his
    powers. Though older than me, I still see him as my child.

    What was so wrong with what we did? We wandered the land, repairing metal tools for food
    and money, no worse than Gypsies though our methods were different. But then I was
    negligent and a curious local caught a glimpse of Dominic's talent in action.

    I still can't believe how quickly they changed from smiling friends to crazed zealots. We were
    bound and beaten and dragged to their village. Their priest performed rites of exorcism upon
    us and we were sentenced to death.

    The crowd makes an ugly sound, like a pack of dogs with a rabbit. Even the Militia, marching
    out today to join the Emperor's army, have stopped to watch the sport.

    Two Sheriff's men approach with the Blacksmith, iron keys rattling in his hands. An idea comes
    to me... maybe Dominic at least might escape, if only I can get him to do the right thing...
    Now is the moment, before they touch the lock!

    “Dominic!” I scream. “Fix the keys!” He looks up, panic films his eyes, we have never done
    it this way before, he isn't prepared mentally. But he obeys automatically. He focusses on keys
    and lock, the air shimmers with heat-haze, the keys fly out of the huge hands of the surprised
    Blacksmith, and the lock explodes in its urgency to be united with them.

    My head rings, the whole crowd has been bowled over, even the Militiamen at the back.
    Dominic's cage swings open. I open my mouth to order him to run, but before I can speak
    something hits my cage with a crash. Then another, and another. I crouch in the corner as
    belts, coins, hobnails and all manner of metal objects strike the bars.

    The fusillade dies down and I call to Dominic. He jumps down, opens my cage and we run.
    My back itches with anticipation and I can't help looking back. They are mostly back on their
    feet now, some already running after us. Then I look up and my mouth falls open in shock.

    I pull Dominic flat against the wall of a barn, under the eaves, and we watch the cloud of
    arrows ripped from the Militia, some still trailing their quivers, as God's judgement descends
    upon our tormentors.

    Entrant 6 Comrade Chernov
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    "Freedom!"

    yelled the Scottish commander as he led the Infantry charge. He led not a horde of Infantry, but a pack of Lions. Wolves, on the hunt. They weren't fighting for loot, or conquest, or glory; They were fighting for their lands. They were fighting for their loved ones. They were fighting....for their lives.

    It was the year of our lord 1297. Scotland was in a fierce war for independence against it's Southern Rival, England. And, although the English Army had Ten men for every Three Scottish Soldiers, the Scots were on a winning streak. However, no country's war for independence didn't have a defeat.

    An English army had surrounded a small but Important scottish town, for it was the place where Merchants where trained, and, at this point, they were Scotland's only income. Scotland had the best Merchants, so their income made up for the expendature of the the Scottish army and Construction projects. The Scots had a garrison of about 3,500, but most were either Peasants or Militia, with a small force of about 100 Crossbowmen. The English had 10,000 men, including 6,000 Infantry, 2,000 Archers, 1,000 Knights and 1,000 Scottish Mercenaries.

    Despite the overwhelming odds, the Scottish Garrison managed to hold out for Eighteen Months. Finally, out of Frustration, the English General ordered the full attack. The Infantry advanced and blocked off all roads in or out of the Town. The Archers took up positions behind the Infantry, took aim, and opened fire. Instantly, roughly 150 Scots fell. Dead. They litter the ground. For a full 30 yards, it is just Bodies and Arrows. No ground.The Scottish Commander decided to make a bold move. He signaled a Charge, dismounted his horse, and then led that charge.

    "Freedom!"

    It, although rallying the men, would turn out to be the last word he ever said. A second Longbow Volley was fired, and the Scot General was hit at least Half of a Dozen times. He fell, blood gurgling from his mouth, eyes twitching. But, just before he blacked out and died, just before he met the Lord in heaven, he saw his Countrymen run right past him. He saw them hit the English Line. He saw them fight. If he had been alive at the moment that the English had shouted "Retreat!", he would have wept with happiness. But it was too late now. He had died leading the charge. The charge that broke the English army. Broke the army which hoped to win the war. That charge saved Scotland. If he had been alive to see that day, to know that his men had saved his country, he would have been proud.

    But, now, he is dead.

    ...treasure, pleasure, leisure, les yeux;
    It's all in your eyes.




  18. #18
    Dark Storm's Avatar saut dans le vide
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Jun 2011
    Location
    West Mids, England
    Posts
    7,569
    Tournaments Joined
    1
    Tournaments Won
    0

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 65a – Justifiable Vengeance
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – Mega Tortas De Bodmeloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Justifiable vengeance

    He seethed with anger as he gripped the parchment in his right hand, squeezing it with such force that bones crackled and nails bit thru the glove, then heavily calloused palms into the succulent flesh beneath. Freshly drawn blood now flowed freely, blotting out the finely etched calligraphy that described his disgrace. Not worthy!!!!! He screamed, smashing the already mangled hand into a tree that he stood by insuring it would never again be able write poetry or even print his name.

    The blood soaked document told this Guardian of the White Tower that he was not chosen to be in Gondor’s new elite unit….
    “The Dunedain Rangers“. Although highly prized for his skills, the Guardian unfortunately would not be among the chosen few.
    “Many thanks for your years of faithful service“….Farimir, Captain of Gondor.

    Nooo!!!!! Came the screams as the hand once again smashed with enraged defiance against solid oak .
    Overwhelmed by the excruciating white hot pain, the disgraced guardsman collapsed in a heap. Upon awaking, depression struck with fearsome might regarding the complete failure of his life. Then a sudden flash of redemption struck him….Saruman’s standing price for Farimir’s demise was 4,000 silver talons and dominion over his elite Black Guard. Now he need only wait in place for the rebirth of his honor. Without fail, Farimir led the daily patrol that passed not 100 meters from his hiding spot. With one last act, the remnants of a once powerful hand pulled back on the bowstring and through clenched jaws, enduring unspeakable agony.... Justifiable vengeance was but a bow shot away…..

    Entrant 1 Ariovistus Maximus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Practice, Practice, Practice

    "Not big enough," my foot. I swear, Boromir and his tight-knit circle can be so presumptuous at times. I am as much a man as any in this city, yet they treat me as if I had just quit the cradle yesterday! Such arrogance! Elven males undergo army service at a young age; why must I be left at home like a woman?

    I know my city is in need of fresh men; why do they refuse to accept me into the garisson, when I could do such good there? Well, I will show them. Soon, they will see a true warrior. All I need is exercise, and they can't stop me from doing that, at least.

    Hmm; it's beginning to rain. Bah, what's the difference? A determined warrior must learn to suppress the desire for comfort. Maybe they will even notice me out here on the training field, and see my determination. Hah; more likely they will insist that I should be working instead of "playing games."

    Still, the rain makes it hard to see. Oh well, it will give my eyes a work-out as well. How about... 40 paces. That's a fit distance for a man to shoot at.

    The tension of a taught bowstring; how I love the feeling. The smooth wooden shaft is one with my hand.

    Breath in, breath out, hooold...

    Ahhh; nothing beats the feeling of a good shot. The tension is released throughout my body, and my ears are rewarded with the satisfying twap of the arrow into my target; a bulls-eye. Let's see what they think of this "child" when I beat them all at the archery tournament next year! Ha! I can see their faces now.

    Wait; did that tree just move? Odd.

    My eyes are playing tricks on me; the rain is getting pretty heavy after all. Still, you could almost mistake that shape for an orcish creature of some kind. Only, of course, if you were a child, and had nothing better to do. Heh, I remember when I used to battle all kinds of imaginary beasts here. Well, I'm much too old for that now; I'd better get back to practice.

    Now there it is again! I know there's someone there. I don't think he knows about me though. If I creep forward ever so slowly...

    A raiding party of Sauron! Or maybe scouts; that must be it. It matters little; they are a small group and our horsemen will trample them into the dirt, if I can but give the alarm. Or, better yet, I might just take them on myself. Wouldn't that be something?

    Could I? I'll bet I could. They don't see me, and there can only be six or seven of them. Even if they saw me now, I could strike down three before they reached me. Fine then; I'll do it.

    Now they will see what a man can do.

    Breath in, breath out, hooold...


    Entrant 2 Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Hand of Ilúvatar
    There I stood, my hand sore, the scorching cold of winter flailing...
    I strung my bow, knocking an arrow, my hand bled.
    The field rattled with the noise of wind, masking the sound of my steps, I lurked closer, my prey oblivious.
    I felt the rush... I felt it coming... A rush of blood to my heart, and it pounded.

    Boom-boom...Boom-boom...

    I drew closer, shivering. Clouds were gathering, I felt the chill run down my spine, I felt the rain threatening to fall.

    Boom-boom...Boom-boom...

    Another gust, another ripple, the wind sliced through me like the sword of the gods, I heard the ancients, they blew wind upon my face, I covered it with my mask, to no avail.

    Boom-boom...Boom-boom...

    My heart pounded harder, my heart pounded quicker... Adrenaline through my veins, and there it was - My prey.

    Boom-boom-boom-boom...Boom-boom-boom-boom...

    My heart raced, it drew near. I saw the Orc, his figure so distorted, his face so atrocious, such foul beasts were not to be allowed to live... Oh I felt the sting of the arrow in my hand, it pleaded me to set it free... It was anxious...

    Boom-boom-boom-boom...Boom-boom-boom-boom...

    A blinding light ripped the sky apart, the Orc was slain and I was in pain. The hand of Ilúvatar himself banished me, destroyed my prey. I looked at my hand and it was slashed, I looked at my bow and it was cracked.

    Boom-boom-boom-boom...

    I was dazed, something drew near... What was that? Oh now, the image was clear.

    Boom-boom-boom-boom...

    Hooded he was, crown to his head.

    Boom-boom-boom-boom...

    His sword went up, and I failed to react.
    Dead, was I?
    Nay.
    Dead, was he?
    Nay.
    The hand of
    Ilúvatar saved me.

    Entrant 3 Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Ranger

    His name was Dralion, Captain of the Gondor Rangers. He was part of a roving patrol that roamed the forest, patrolled these lands and kept the free people of Middle-Earth safe from the evil, at least that is what he was told. He was concealed in the brush, crouching low and peering through the undergrowth at his targets. A small band of orcs had wandered much too close to Human lands. They needed to be dealt with quickly and quietly, the nation's sovereignty had to be protected, it's people saved. Yes, this was his duty on this day. As he crept closer, signalling his men to stay low, he heard a faint rustling in the trees behind him. Quickly turning, he saw nothing. Must have been the wind he thinks to himself, there were always strange things moving about in this forest. Shaking his head, Dralion turned his attention back to the band of orcs, with a smirk on his face he drew his bow, and his men did the same. Did he feel pity? Remorse? The orcs were evil, their terror spread like a plague from Mordor, the tide had to be halted, the evil stopped. But they were defenceless, completely unaware that they were about to be destroyed. No matter he thought, they had encroached on their lands, if they were not stopped they would undoubtedly terrorise the plains or burn and sack the small villages further north. No, he decided, they must be stopped here before their slaughter was allowed to happen. He picked his mark, was just about to loose the arrow when a sharp curved blade thrust through his chest, clear through his light armour to protrude beneath his chin. He stared at the bloodied blade in surprise. He felt no pain, for he was in shock. It took a moment for all the pieces to click together in his failing brain, they had been tricked. The orcs had led them into a trap. They knew our tactics and our ways, they had led us here, knowing we would follow them. They must have sent a detachment to creep up behind us, while the main party kept moving, clever devils they are he thought. The full extent of their evil was now clear, he had failed. His life was forfeit, these orcs were free now to unleash their fury on unsuspecting towns. Dralion’s heart slowed, his last breath was short and full of blood. I have failed, my duty remains undone. He began to weep, there was no hope; Mordor would crush us all, one by one, the free people of Middle-Earth would fall to this menace. His eyelids grew heavy, he slumped to one side, laying there to rest till the end of days. The evil would spread, there would be others who stood up to fight, other brave men of Gondor and horsemen of Rohan, but the time of Dralion and his Rangers was over.


    Entrant 4 Astaroth
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A Ranger of Ithilien

    27th of Yavannië

    Thirteen days have passed since we left the White City. Winter is approaching quickly, the icy cold is biting my flesh. The lush green hills of Ithilien are engulfed in heavy clouds. It is almost nighttime now, darkness is embracing the hillsides of Emyn Arnen.

    The silhouettes of hundreds of Haradrim are approaching quickly. They're coming. Evil men from the south, fierce warriors on their way to Mordor. The Dark Lord is preparing for war. I've seen the endless hordes of orcs, evil men and beasts. There can be no victory against such an enemy.

    As the lightning strikes the ground the whole world seems to tremble with fear. We have made many sacrifices in this war, I have lost count on my dead comrades. What are we still fighting for? Why do we struggle? For it is futile, all hope is gone, dead, buried.

    They are coming closer now, we can hear their war drums from afar. The rhythm of death. My heart is beating quickly now, constantly picking up pace. Will I ever see the White City again? My wife, my little son? My family?

    To my left and right, my comrades are preparing to strike. Swords are unsheathed, bows are drawn. The mighty trees, Yavanna's beloved children, still shielding us from the eyes of the enemy. As I draw my bow, fury is suddenly rushing through my veins. I will not die here. My work is not done yet.

    As I release my first arrow I suddenly feel free. My fear, my worries, gone as if they had vanished. Disappeared into nothingness. Here we stand, on the hillsides of Emyn Arnen, ready to defend our freedom with cold steel. We will not falter, we will not run. We shall fight, even if it is the last thing we do. Without a second thought I draw my sword and charge towards the enemy.

    "FOR GONDOR!"




    TotW 66a- And he spoke of victory
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    For months, he had awaited this event. For weeks, this day. For days, this time. He had marched through, sailed across, and climbed over Hell itself, it seemed. He had struggled through mutinies, disease-ridden men, and blood-thirsty foes. Each had taken its toll, leaving fewer and fewer of his followers alive to pursue their final goal.
    Now, on this day, in the coming hours, his dreams would be realized, his plans fulfilled. He knew how everything must be carried out. A grin began to creep across his face, as he imagined the carnage his followers would create.
    A tall man entered his tent, head bowed lowed out of both respect and necessity, cutting off the man’s private joy. The intruder looked rather bored with his duties, as were most runners and messengers.
    “The men are eager, m’lord. They await your signal.”
    “Thank you, Duughaa. I will be ready soon. I need a moment to collect my thoughts,” replied the Sala’ Ali, the man sitting in the tent.
    The Duughaa dipped his head a bit farther, and took his leave. The leader of the Muslim armies sighed and began to strap on his armor. Several of his contemporaries scoffed at his seeming lack of self-respect. They would mock his humility, his lack of interest in slaves.

    He exited his tent, fully armed. He knew he looked the part of a conquering man of Islam, covered in gold, steel, and silk. It would inspire his men.

    He walked to where he knew the towers would be located. Their majesty, their beauty, their awe-inspiring height took his breath away. He knew they were built exactly proportional to the walls of the so-called “EternalCity.” Excitement coursed through his veins, as he realized his entire campaign would be decided in one day of fighting. He had reached Rome, in a fierce drive to remove the head of the Christian snake.
    Men looked to him from orders, and the bustle of the camp subsided slowly. He raised a hand, acknowledging his followers. He ordered the men to form ranks, and he began to speak. He spoke of trials, of difficulties, of brothers lost. Men bowed their heads as their mood was sobered. Then, he spoke of rewards in the next life, of man’s duty to Allah, and of triumphs.
    He spoke of victory.
    He then shouted, “To the towers, men!”
    The men roared, their level of enthusiasm matching his own, as they rushed to the engines of war. The followers of the Pope could be seen quivering on the walls.
    Sala’ Ah grinned, and ordered the towers to move. It was time. Time to achieve victory. He uttered one last prayer to Allah, thanking Him for triumph.

    Entrant 1 Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    No Quarter
    He approached me a put a hand on my shoulder, smiling widely.
    His fake, ominous smile made me shiver, I looked down again and he sat next to me on the stone wall near the farmhouse.

    We did not need to utter any words, I knew what was going through his mind and I could tell he knew what was going on through my mind. He did not speak. I did not want him to speak. I just wanted to relish the silence.

    I looked at my shield, freshly polished, it was a beauty. A proud, beautiful and brave red lion was embedded upon it and the steel around it glittered in the dim sunset's light.
    I loved that symbol. The red lion looked so brilliant, it made me forget all my troubles... I loved it as much as I loved my kingdom, as much as I loved my family.
    The red lion is like no other.
    I looked to the west and I saw the sun kissing the far mountains. I got up.
    He looked at me with a questioning look, I ignored him and took up my shield, strapped it upon my back. I took one look back at the farm, and my father just sat there, escorting me with his look. Beside him lay a woman, she was dead.
    On the field lay dozens and dozens of villagers, all dead.

    I continued to walk away from the farm until I reached the main road of the village, the tall walls of the city blocking my sight further. I walked further and further into the village, I found a dog slain upon the floor. Even the dogs?

    As I continued to progress toward the walls, I saw a child and he was standing. I continued to walk, avoiding his blank look, the spear ran through his entire body and kept him erect.

    I passed the corner of the wall and looked towards the gateway, it was shattered.
    Siege towers were still in the palm trees and the banners still erect. The blood had already dried, yet the wains of sorrow had not dwindled.

    I continued to walk and I entered the gateway, the gate shattered into little pieces and the garrison lay before me at the gate, slain. Hundreds of soldiers and horses were slain in the courtyard, and I kept walking.

    Why?

    I felt compelled.

    I passed a house that was in flames, yet none tried to salvage it. Corpses were lain in the streets, be it children, women or soldiers - All were dead. Even the dogs were slain, the cats, the sheep and the horses... What monster would do that?

    The mocking sun disappeared behind the mountains and the city fell into silence of darkness, yet the stench of death and war were still in the air.

    At last I reached the citadel and I met a smiling face, he wore the proud red lion upon his chest and he yelled; "My prince!"

    Entrant 2 Budhababe
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I followed him here, my lover, my friend, my soul. And here is where he will die. I just can’t bear to lose him. When he left with the Legion 60 days ago, I was devastated. How can he leave me? I am love and light, the Legion is cold iron and death. I begged him to stay, but a Roman soldier cannot desert the Legion. They would be marked and death would come all too soon.

    So, I followed my love. I stayed behind the soldiers with the other women and servants. I helped fetch water and washed the road from their bodies. I tried to stay far from wandering hands. Always turning in early and never joining the drunkenness.

    I saw him twice in the last 60 days. Yet, his eyes never looked upon me. I called out to him, but the roar of a thousand men washed away my words.

    And I grow tired. The road is hard on a woman. The night air chills the bones. My feet are swollen and my eyes burn. I am blanketed in dust, fear and anticipation.

    Now we are here. The Legion is about to lay siege to some unknown enemy. I can wait no longer. I hide myself in the ferns hoping to catch a glimpse of him. The day breaks and he is standing under one of the towers. I can try to whisper his name and dream he hears it like a sirens song, slowly following the notes to my loving arms. I can go to him with my swollen belly. Show him his unborn child. And surely death would follow me being so close. What is life without my lover, my friend, my soul? What kind of life would this child have being born on the road with no father, no mentor, and no man in his life? This must be the path the gods have chosen for me, being a martyr to the world of blood.

    Entrant 3 Don’t Tread on Me
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Hidden Mangonels


    Sweat poured down Ranulf’s brow as he hid under a canvas sheet in the dense brush, the low palm fronds scratching his face. “Not until the signal,” he thought, his hand gripping the mangonel winch. “Christ save us, this must work.”

    The wheels of the Saracens’ siege towers groaned as Ranulf's thoughts returned to that day two weeks ago when the blacksmith offered a desperate gambit.

    That day marked the third month of the siege. The garrison was already outnumbered threefold when the Muslims arrived; starvation and dysentery then decimated their forces. The city’s lords were debating surrender when the blacksmith approached. He had been an engineer with the Crusader army that took the city twenty years before. The blacksmith proposed demolishing city buildings to gather wood, metal and stone to make mangonels.

    The lords scoffed. “Why, so we can amuse them with a few rocks?”

    “No, m’lords. The machines will slaughter them outside, on their final approach.”

    The blacksmith explained he would guide the construction work and gather the ingredients for the notorious incendiary Greek fire. The improvised mangonels would be wheeled out under canvas sheets at night, with dead livestock also piled underneath. Any Saracens who accosted the men transporting them would be told the carts contained plague victims to be buried – an explanation certain to prompt a recoil. The final night, the carts would contain the crews and Greek fire ingredients.

    Ranulf volunteered to serve. He agreed with the blacksmith: We are too outnumbered to make a traditional defense. The Saracens will not put their men in the siege towers whilst in range of our archers’ fire arrows. And we will not have a clear shot at them using mangonels behind the city walls. Our only hope is to destroy the towers simultaneously, from hidden locations outside, after they’ve reached the walls and begun filling with men.

    Ranulf peered under the sheet as a tower slowly rolled past. Parched and delirious, Ranulf tried to still his trembling hands.

    As he watched the tower reach the walls and the Saracens direct their soldiers into belly of the beast, Ranulf said one last prayer before pulling back the sheet. He heard the bell inside the city, the designated signal, and a fellow crewman began winding the lever. The machine’s makeshift parts creaked, building tension in the rod. Ranulf loaded the Greek fire.

    Ranulf released the rope, the rod swung forward, and the incendiary hurled in an arc. A direct hit! The entire structure was engulfed in flame within seconds. The Saracens screamed, some running back out onto the ground, their bodies inextinguishable. Ranulf heard explosions all around the walls as other mangonels stuck their targets. Even as he choked on the acrid stench of burning flesh, Ranulf felt a relief he had not known in months.

    The Saracen force was so depleted and demoralized that Antioch’s tiny garrison repelled them with ease. A humble blacksmith had provided hope, and a holy city was saved.


    Entrant 4 Spartan262
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Late one evening in the blazing sun of Lower Spain, a Moorish Army under Newly
    Appointed General Sahim al Raja set out to seige a Spanish City. Spanish Prefect
    Fredrico Pisa redied his men and rounded up the militia. As soon as the Moorish
    Seige Engines began to move the Gate Keepers rushed to the Prefect and gave him the
    news that the Moorish Army that out numbered him by 20,000 men, was moving
    to assault the City of two rings. The Prefect Signaled the men and they moved to their
    defensive positions atop the City walls of the outer ring. When all of the Spaniards
    were in positions the Seige Engines were Half-Way there. The Spanish Archers Set ablaze
    their fire arrows and launched them at the mighty Seige Towers. Although the Archers tried,
    they Failed. The Towers were opened and the Battle was on. Althrough the City the
    Cries of men, and the stench of dead bodies fill the air. The Battle raged into the
    night. Eventualy the Spanish soldiers had to fall back to the the inner ring of the City.
    The men on bith sides recived no rest and as soon as the Moors entered the City they
    Immediately Brought in Battering Rams to Assault the Gate. Fredrico was told of the Rams
    and told the men to brace the Gate themselves. The Men obediantly braced their bodies
    against the Gate, but to no avail. The Moors busted open the gates and rushed in like
    Maggots on rotten fruit. Fredrico Realising that All would be lost if something
    wasan't done Held his Sword High and Screamed , "For Spain and Chrsitendom", and rushed
    the Moorish Soldiers, and Within half of an hour all the Spaniards were Slain.

    Entrant 5 Sunbird Alkibijihad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Taker of Cities

    DEMETRIOS...DEMETRIOS!

    I can hear my name being spoken in whispering tone, as the hands of Illyrian courtesan gently pull me away from Oneiroi. Morning sun rays make me shut my eyes closed after a mere moment they've been exposed to them, and I find myself dipping into Nyx's embrace once again...

    Hello, young Demetrios.
    Coming from two different voices, one male and one of a gentle female yet, no sense of direction is upon me. I look around me, but I only notice the retreating cloak of Hypnos and a distant cacophony of giggling Oneiroi voices...

    Over here, young Demetrios!

    Now a clear but soul-shattering male voice rumbles behind me. I turn and my gaze meets the sight to behold. Moros, in all his morbid splendor, one that even Zeus shies away from, now extends a hand towards me. As I sense my hope and courage dissipate and vanish into oblivion, a warm feminine voice finds it's way into the depths of my soul and rekindles the flame of life within it.

    Come, young Demetrios...Me, and my brother here, have something to show you...

    As nimble and fragile figure of Lachesis strides beside me, towards the increasingly bright opening in the onyx wall before us, I find a flicker of curiosity light up inside of me...

    Come, come now, walk with me...

    ...As the blindness fades away, the first thing my eyes make out is the lingering flag of Royal House of Antigonos! And then the flashes and haze completely fade away, and my vision gathers two massive constructs of wood and stone. SO HUGE...As my jaw drops in sheer astonishment of the scale of these towers, chilling rumble rises again...

    Hey! HEY!... PAH!!!
    I'm thinking I might have made a wrong choice for this task already...Sister, why you believe in him so? Demetrios, you blighter... Listen carefully now: This is Rodos. The children of this island have neglected my temple and refused to worship my name. They praise that pompous golden child-god, Helios...PAH! You're to grind their city to level with the sea, and anything less than that, you shall die in misery and disgrace, and I myself shall take care it is so. See the towers over there?

    His finger, all engulfed in withering dark flame and completely covered rings of most exquisite and menacing radiance and aura, points towards the constructs ahead and above us...

    First one you shall build on the plain in front of the city, it will be known as the Helepolis, or for you, mortal, the Taker of Cities...
    Now, this is how you do it...

    My head buzzes with the rumble of his voice, and it is only the gentle touch of Lachesis that allows me to stand still in this violent storm of sounds.

    ...the second tower, however, only need be a mere copy of the first one. Build it of whatever material you can gather, it's just there to offer distraction for the Helios lovers...But it is still essential part of the plan, are we clear on this? Make sure you put enough of wat...

    Vasileos Demetrios! Vasileos!

    As I stumble out of the tent, I realize that Helios offers me a hot disdainful caress by his early afternoon shine..."what is it" I raise my voice, signaling with my left hand for the wine skin, as my lips ache for moisture...

    Vasileos...Vasileos, the second tower...It's collapsed...The wood was too dry as the water carriages got destroyed by the foraging party from the city several days ago...we had no means to maintain the wood from drying up...the sheer weight crushed it...What say You, my Lord?


    Thoughtful, yet of completely blank mind at the same time, with my index finger and the thumb waging a war over the dominance of my chin hair, I let a few words slide out of my half dried-up mouth...

    "I'd say I pretty much got it right up my arse, right now..."

    I look up straight into the wretched Orb in the afternoon sky...and I see it's gleam of burnished gold, and a wretched sneer in the center of it, aimed at me...

    "...Wouldn't YOU agree, YOU SON OF...Meh...

    ...Where's my bloody wine?!?!?"



    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Demetrios - Poliorcetes "The Besieger", son of Antigonos I Monophthalmos and Stratonike, was a king of Macedon (294–288 BC). He belonged to the Antigonid dynasty. USED ONLY ONE TOWER FOR SIEGE OF RODOS (HELEPOLIS -the city taker)

    Oneiroi - tribe of demi-gods, dream gods

    Nyx - was the primordial goddess of the night. A shadowy figure, Nyx stood at or near the beginning of creation, and was the mother of personified gods such as Hypnos (sleep) and Thánatos (death). Her appearances in mythology are sparse, but reveal her as a figure of exceptional power and beauty.

    Moros - god of fate or destiny and most directly - of Doom, son of Nyx

    Lachesis - second of the three Fates, She instructs the souls who are about to choose their next life, assign them lots, and presents them all of the kinds, human and animal, from which they may choose their next life.

    Hypnos - another of Nyx's offspring, god of sleep.

    Helios - god of Sun, attributed as son of Hyperion




    Entrant 6 Celsius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    May God Help Us


    March 3, 1208
    I am stationed at a fort near Cordoba. Our Spanish allies have supplied us with food for the month, and we continue to receive supplies from Lisbon. We will begin the siege in the morning. May God Help the innocents in the city. We have been ordered to kill everyone in the city that will not convert. I must show mercy, to proof I am no Devil

    March 19, 1208
    Our siege failed. We lost at least 1,000 men in the battle. The citizens aided the defenders, and we were beaten. The Spaniards have run off to their city to the North, and we left to rot. I will make my way back home with the others. Our army is defeated, and we are unprotected.

    July 27, 1208

    I have heard news of a God bringing Army from the Muslims we attacked a few months ago. The King has ordered his levies, but they will not stand a chance to the things I have heard about the Muslin army. I am not worried at the moment. Rumors tend to be untruthful in this day of age.

    October 19, 1208
    We are being attacked. Giant towers are hovering towards the walls of Lisbon. We have the men to fight them off, but not the weapons. We are trapped, and this city will be our grave. Just a peasant I am, but the King has told us to fight for our city. Even it he would have, I still would take up my sword. The Muslim's will surely have no mercy on us, as we did not have any on them at the Battle of Cordoba. We will be slaughtered, and all we can do is prey before they storm the walls. The King has left, to him we can be replenish. We are people. We are God's People. We do not deserve the fate we are heading towards, but we will try to fight it off, even though it will not help.

    24 Raby` al-THaany 605

    I have found this journal lying in the street a few days ago. Only today did I begin to read it. It goes back to the siege of my city. I remember it well. Now we march through their city with the their people dead. I pray to Allah that all of this is over soon.





    TotW 67a -…and so I Run
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – RaZor HeaD
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    ...and so I Run!

    Heat. Pain. Disbelief! The lion of the West. The horned devil himself. Alexandre! The unstoppable man. No offers of hope, only death.

    "Where is my Captain? My most noble Lord and master?"
    His orders are issued and the units displayed. Our assault rushes forward to the desperate call of his horn. A ragged arrow has split his eye, the pain driving him mad. Red blood gushes upon a golden sand. A sickly sound as the breath rattles in his throat.

    "Where is my Company? My valiant companions in arms?"
    A mighty wind has laid them spoiled and in ruin. Fractured bodies, arrayed like bloody stones on a road of death. A thousand splintered spears piercing the ground. A thousand shattered shields marking the mile stones of their passing.

    "Where is my God? My unwavering faith in victory?"
    Vengeful and cold, he turns a darkened eye toward us. Our empty prayers are answered only in ashes, and a foul curse now sits upon our heads. His only true concern, punishment of our sins.

    "Where is my courage, my honor and strength?"
    Wasted and consumed in the noon tide sun. A fanatic fear grips my fingers to their arms. And now, in the end, only terror lends its' dreadful strength to my legs...and so I Run!

    Entrant 1 Comrade Chernov
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Thoughts of a Persian Soldier

    The Plan had been simple.
    That was the King of Kings had told his men.
    That was his reason for leading them to this slaughterhouse of a battlefield.
    That was what had killed Thousands of good men, good PERSIAN men, on this day of death.
    The plan had been simple.

    The plan was for that Greek Boy's army to be beleaguered by the sheer size of this army of epic proportions. A Quarter of a Million men were here. Two Hundred and Fifty Thousand men from all Satraps, from Thrace down to the Border with India and from the Steppes to Libya were here to save their empire.
    The plan was simple.

    That Child of a General's army was outnumbered Five to One, was tired, and low on supplies. Their only advantage was their enthusiasm. And what enthusiasm they had! They pressed on, Wiping our Mighty Chariots aside with mere Javelins, Scattering our Cavalry on our Left, pressing on into our rear guard, heading for our king. When he ran, all of us ran.

    The plan was simple.

    The only thing close to sucess that we had was our Right Wing Cavalry. It virtually destroyed the Macedonian Left, only to be stopped by Mercenaries that they had to the rear.

    Wait, what is that? I hear something! What is it? It sounds of Hoofbeats. I mustn't turn. I must keep running. Maybe then I will be able to-"UGH!"

    Another of my comrades has just been killed! I must run harder! But I must know, who is chasing me?

    I see a man on a Horse. His Horse whinnies at him, tired of it's charge. His Breastplate glistens in the Desert sun. His Helmet's Red Haired Crest glows like the Fire in Hell. I hear another Macedonian coming.

    With my rough Greek Language skills I can understand what they say. "Alexander!" He shouts, "Our Left wing is faultering! We must break the persuit!"

    "Fine." The man says, and Gallops off.

    The plan had been simple.
    It turns out that their plan was simple as well.

    Entrant 2 Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Enemy Awakens

    The wind whipped furiously around Samesh. He hurriedly made his way down from his vantage point at the top of the nearby sand dune. His loose clothing stuck to his skin as sweat streamed down his face, the sand that swirled around him forming sediment around the rivers of salt water. Yet the elements did not concern him. The enemy army was much larger than even his king had imagined possible.

    He had been sent forth to scout troop movements for the Sultan. The invaders had already sent an ultimatum and Samesh's king had killed their messenger in defiance. It was only a matter of time before another, more final proposition would be made. The ominous long spears of the enemy's phalanx moved in unison, even from so far away. Samesh shuddered. The Seleucid army was legendary for their efficiency and the entire contingent, moving in such perfect unison sent chills down his spine.

    His Sultan was a proud andnoble leader but how could they hold back the might of thousands? What could possibly be in store for his people but death and slaughter? He continued running. The rays of the sun beat mercilessly on his back but there was no possibility of even a moments rest. The intense heat emanating from the cracked earth penetrated the lamb skin that covered his feet as they continued to swell.

    In the distance, the thunder of black beasts grew from a whimper to a roar. He must have been spotted! Samesh turned his head and saw pillars of smoke arise in front of the enemy column and through the shimmer he saw the frantic movement of a hundred horses. Samesh winced as he ran furiously, his legs now burning from the energy with which he commanded them to move. The river was but a few miles ahead and his only chance to evade certain execution.

    The rumble grew louder. He prayed to Allah that he could fly home, grab what little belongings he had and make for the safety of the oasis and avoid the horror which was certainly to come. The wind and heat seemed to intensify as the ground now shook beneath his feet. He dared not turn around. A faint trace of the river bank appeared on the horizon. His legs wobbled and his gait became clumsy and awkward but he still churned forward. The sound behind him was now almost unbearable.

    Samesh willed himself to the edge of the stream but the speed of the enemy was far too great. As the cavalry overtook him, he heard the swords being drawn from their scabbards. Samesh screamed in anger, in pain and defiance as the blades came crashing down upon him. But as life slipped from his body, on the other side of the river his fellow tribesmen scurried to their own horses. As he passed he could only hope that the others would avoid a similiar fate....

    Entrant 3 Korf
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Bella, horida bella

    Since I was a child, I wanted to be a warrior. I've dreamed for many nights the battlefield, the enemy defeated, the city cheering my army coming back victorious from war... the day has finally come, and I am prepared for it. Now I will feel the battle with my heart, and my spear, not from tales of the elders!

    The march is exhausting... the road is tough... the weight of my shield makes me tired... i left my home days ago and I am already miss my roof shadow. My feet are burning, my mouth is dry, and the back is killing me. I am trying to stay focus on my goal, motivate myself... i remember the great stories of war, and boost my energy with hate for the enemy and love for my country.

    Today I became friend with an archer. We talked much, enjoying the sound of our voices, since the only noises i heard during last week were steps and armor moving. He told me about previous battles, how he was almost killed by an arrow launched wrong by a mate behind him. Then he asked me why I wanted to join the war. Hearing my answer, he tried not to ruin my morale and enthusiasm, but he advised me that I should leave, I still can, for the sake of my life ahead. Also he told me that even if I manage to stay alive after battle, i would not be the same, killing someone is not something to forget, and my mental health would suffer and never recover. I did not listen those words. Maybe he wants the glory all for himself. If what he was saying is right, how come he is normal after killing so many peoples? He should be proud for knowing me, a young and brave warrior. He is a coward, does not have the courage for a close combat, so he does not understand. Anyway, I could not leave, how to live my life with such a dishonor and shame on my shoulders?

    Sun is melting all the colors in the landscape. The enemy is here! My heart is beating faster and my body is filled with cold; the head feels heavy and the feet are too light. The front lines are engaged in fight, we are losing the flanks, and I predict that soon we will be surrounded. What am I doing here? This is not my war, I am not a man of war! I retreat from the dead bodies and blood stains and take a look behind. I spot the archer I have talked with yesterday, he saw me too. He yell at me to run, makes a sign that he will cover me, and steps aside from his line, grabbing his bow. I start running. Behind, I hear the charge and I imagine the archers are killed, so I close my eyes and don't look back.


    Entrant4 Kip Bohannon
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Goatherd

    The sand is loose beneath my feet. Every step casts a plume of deathly dust twirling into the sky – its hollow blueness hangs above me, cloudless. Stagnant.

    I grip the leather binding of my spear so tightly, my knuckles are whiter than the milk of my flock. They are numb. I don’t know where the shaft of my weapon ends, and the aching bones of my hand begin. The shield I carry is wicker – but it may as well be made of lead. I cast it aside like a common rag.

    I dare not drop my spear.

    I am not fleet of foot by nature – today I could outpace the chariots. My legs pump furiously, mechanically. I am no longer a goatherd. I am no longer a Syrian.

    I am a machine. I am not powered by the falling of water. Neither am I powered by the burning of wood, like those strange Egyptian contraptions my father used to tell me of. My fuel is fear. My veins are filled with the chilled ice of terror – if it weren’t for the blood stinging my eyes, I would be unsure if there was any left flowing within me.

    They pounded on the door of my hovel, dressed in regal purple and gold. My home would be burned, they said. My flock would be slaughtered, they said. My life would be forfeit, they said. He fancied himself the false King of Asia. Darius, and Darius alone, was King of Asia. Would I serve in Darius’ army? Would I fight to defend my homeland? They asked the question, but the staves and blades gripped firmly in their bejeweled hands indicated that the answer was already given.

    Oh, how I ache for the clouds! The sun is a predatory beast. A dirty scavenger. He is worse than the vultures that already circle the carnage in the distance behind me. Worse than the hounds that stalk my flock. He’ll wait for me to die, and then burn the flesh right from my bones. The air is squalid and still; I hear hoofbeats and screams in the distance, muffled by the dense.

    Oh, how I ache for Syria! The deserts there are somehow greener. The comforting baying of my flock – my ears long for it.

    Oh, how I ache for home!

    I am on my knees. I don’t remember falling. My lungs are shriveled, my skin is bleached. My mouth is drier than this forsaken, foreign desert. My eyes are alight. I long to gouge them out – not because of the burning ache, but because of the horrors I’ve witnessed. This was no battle.

    I saw him, resplendent in gold and violet, atop winged chariot. I saw him, the great King of All Asia, run.

    So I ran too.

    I am on my back. The sun sneers at me. He is hungry.

    Entrant 5 Lupu
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    A Patriot's Sacrifice




    As the sand collapses under my feet for every step, I feel all my power, all I have worked for is wasting away into nothing. I remember that we stood in line, sure of victory and glory, it was what we wanted to achieve, and what now has been lost. The voice in my head grows overwhelming, "Where am I, and where do I go?" This one thought grows strong enough to defeat all the others. I loose the feeling of my feet, the ground, of the sand whipping my body, and rubbing up my skin. My sight though, is intact, and I see a big picture of the dunes, an unexplainable view. I see the landscape for what is is, without any point to focus on, I see the entire picture, and it is endless. Completely ignorant of what that means, it is a magnicifent view.

    It may be this thought, or just complete exhaustion. Nevertheless, I wake up from this dream and like awakening from a nightmare backwards I instantly feel an overpowering pain in my feet which leaves little thought before the fall. As I come crashing down into the sand, my mind reverts back into a dream. My skin feels as if it is to burn right into my bones, but that is all there is. Despite all this, I feel calmer than ever. As I ty to throw myself back up, all impressions vanish. My body is balanced out, it has the same burning feeling from my toes, and radiating even out to the tips of my hair. The clothing is no more there, it is the flames around me, those who no longer hurt me Those who are part of me and no longer matter.

    My eyelids slide open, and as the curtain of sand has fallen below them, I see a chaotic field of dots on the eternal sand. A world changing event, but as nothing compared to its background. It is now, as I am looking at my dead friends and countrymen that I see my reason clearer than ever. I have made a Patriot's sacrifice, though at home it would be treason. I know I have chosen the only sacrifice that allows me to fight on, my honor.

    Entrant 6 Celsius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Alone

    I walk through this desert, helpless and alone,
    The only thing I hope, is that someone finds my bones.

    I saw the Phalanx's as they slaughtered my friends,
    I doubt that I can ever think about making amends.

    There is only one thing I can do, and that is to run,
    I hope I may find an ally, but I can't imagine there is one.

    I will walk and walk until my legs give out.
    But the only thing that keeps me going is my certain doubt.

    I will die in this desert. A dry, parched place,
    Now it is only my shadow that I will race.

    It is has been only a few hours since I started to retreat,
    just now did I notice my bloody, blistered feet.

    Water is scarce, and I pray I will find some,
    Although when I reach a city, it is something I will abstain from.

    Hunger is settling in, and my stomach grows sore,
    It would not be so, if I had not joined this war.

    I can see shapes off in the distance,
    perhaps this is what will save my very existence.

    I now settle in this small town,
    and I will gladly watch, as the hot sun goes down.





    TotW 68a – The Distinction of Honor and Integrity
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – Mega Tortas De Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Distinction of Honor & Integrity

    The Hessian garrison at Trenton was taken swiftly and without struggle. The Germans there would later say that the dishonor was the Colonials for usurping a well known tradition that no arms were ever bourn on the day of the savior’s birth, out of respect and reverence to our lord and master. Irrespective of condition all but a hundred from Hesse-Kassel were snared by the American's audacity and enterprise.


    Lieutenant Krause led the foraging party that had eluded the noose, and now came the decision of what to do. Surrender or death thru honor. The Americans returned to their position across the river and settled down to celebrate Christmas. Abate a belated one, and unlike their German counterparts they would maintain high security even on this holiest of days… All would receive double rations and even the interned Hessians were invited to share in the festivities & celebration. With the Full moon at it’s brightest Krause’s men took up position and prepared for their unavoidable sacrafice. While awaiting the best moment to strike, divine providence brought a much more desirable alternative to the German commander’s mind…


    The last Colonial sentry post rang out the disposition of the hour…”tis 4am and all’s well.” With the dying of those word’s, the American commander felt the cold steel of a sharp blade on his throat and heard the words “Good morning Sir” spoken softly to him in a distinctly "Hessian" dialect. Swiftly the encampment was secured and thru discipline and skill no further lives were lost on either side. An assembly was formed, both American and Hessian in full count were present. The victorious strike force naturally took the place of honor and anticipated well earned accommodation for their overwhelming courage. Per tradition, the American commander General Washington prepared himself for execution. Dispatch was generally by the blade of a sword.


    Lieutenant Krause approached the condemned prisoner at blade point and commenced giving the judgment. “As you well know General Washington it is a long standing Hessian tradition for the losing commander to atone for the failure of his men by forfeiting his life. You have given the disgraced Hessian commander a reprieve thru your audacity and circumvention of tradition. You however shall receive no such reprieve. Since Hessians are treated with barbaric disdain by both their German Overlands and the British it is the responsibility of Hessian commanders to take the well being of the lives of their men as an overriding concern". With that the German commander flips his sword hilt and extends the handle to the shocked American commander. " In light of your treatment and overwhelming concern for my men it is my honor to indenture my command to your service"…..

    With the surrender of his sword the German commander takes a knee and bows his head in respect…In unison and profound dignity the entire Hessian contingent follows suit….That act it self, clearly shows..."The Distinction of Honor & Integrity"


    Entrant 1 RaZor HeaD
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Courage of the Grenadier.

    A withered sweat en-rounds me.
    The snow does blot mine eye.
    A bright retort betrays us, to our station in the line.
    Woolen coats swift softly, as the men clinch closer by.
    Kindred muskets jangle, in a bleak and quick scarred sky.
    My mortal sinew truly spent, upon this lethal lawn.
    But hearken still! I stand my ground!
    And strike upon the dawn.

    A graveyard oak of grayness.
    Our banner flights the sky.
    A hundred men or more of mob, of willowed mass entwine.
    Reasoned strength falls fallow, as a marching steel draws nie.
    Blackened comrades mangled, in the instant crushing cry.
    My future promise duly meant, of life and light to hold.
    But hearken still! I stand my ground!
    And strike upon the bold.

    A diamond blue commandment.
    Don't falter as you die.
    The enemy among us now, our unit straight and fine.
    Others wait and wonder, but no Grenadier asks why.
    But if the truth you wrangle, I will tell you with a sigh.
    My issued arm is newly bent, and yet I bid them come.
    But hearken still! I stand my ground!
    And strike upon the drum.
    Hearken now! I stand my ground!
    For I shall never run.

    Entrant 2 Sunbird Alkibijihad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Of Heinrich Lucius Lichtentropp, honor drummer of Lichtentropp family.

    It's so cold...So damn cold...
    Week ago, we were given orders to march from the Hamburg camp and reinforce the Osnabruck division.
    Even though it is late winter and the bad weather was expected, no man could ever have expected THIS to happen...Men freezing on the left, on the right, rolling over from the lines, half frozen bodies tumbling down the cliffs the hillsides and hungry forest beasts gnawing on them barely few dozen feet away from our column...

    Week ago...the spirits were so high, we were told Napoleon dreaded this part of our beloved mutterland. We were told we were the descendants of Arminius, and that beloved Teutoberg would halt the Roman boot once again, as it did two millenniums ago. For Napoleon is no less than Italian dog, like the Varrus once was. And it made my heart swell with pride, so much that I found it hard to breathe at times, SO much it swelled. Ah... Why the pride, why? Only in this freezing morbid hills and forest does the story of my Großvater comes back to my mind and lights my slumbering spirit ablaze. The drum I bear was the drum of Arminius's drummers. Of my ancestor two thousand years ago. And it shall beat once again. Soon...

    Vorwärts! Vorwärts! Vorwärts!

    My fingers and hands, frozen, bluish and purple in color, start moving slowly, not of my own accord, but by command of the heart and the blood that it pumps into the frozen limbs. Much like they did thousand times before, with and for each of my ancestors that bore the drumbeat of Arminius's descendants.
    The drum beat is in my blood. The wolves of Arminius shall roar once again baying for the Roman blood in the French veins - at the sound of my beat!
    As the thumping sound lashes out through the frozen forest and among the men of Germania, spirit rises once again, and the instinct of the old fools me not - those wolves, I have awaken!
    [/CENTER]

    Entrant 3 Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Empire total war presents Real Men of Genius...today we salute you Mr. Patriotic Drummer and Fifer guy!

    Mr Patriotic Drummer and Fifer guy!

    While everyone around you readys for combat, you ready your rhythm sticks. When the battle rages on around you, you rage on your drumset. You beat it so hard, you drown out the boom of the gunpowder! Or try anyway, because this war aint gonna hold you back!

    PLEASE turn down those cannons!

    You provide sweet music to the ears of your countrymen, even as they're being blown off. When the men march forward into a wall of buckshot, they have you to provide the cadence to die to. Who knew that war could be a hit so long as there was a good beat and you could dance to it? Even if once the shooting starts, you seem as relevant as the flagbearer.

    Get off me flagbearer, this is myyyyyyy time to shiiiiiine!

    And when the last of the your fellow soldiers have fallen and the last of the enemy fire is expended you understand you'll still be there because even the enemy knows, to you, its not about the fight its all about the music!

    Heres to you, Mr. Patroitic Drummer and Fifer guy!


    END

    Yeah silly but the more I stare, the more I cant get over how the light is on that guy....


    Entrant 4 Yojimbo
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    KNOW YOUR ENEMY

    How long had they been there in this forest amid the swirling white? All Remir had seen for what felt like hours were trees, bushes and other men just as tense as he was. All he had heard was distant muffled booms and cracks, as men slew each other, as metal surged though the air to find its target in warm bodies. His officer had ordered Remir’s unit to conceal themselves in woods and wait to ambush any retreating men after they had been broken by brave Prussian arms, but they had seen none and he wondered if Prussia was even winning or not.

    As he shifted his musket from his left shoulder to his right for what felt like the millionth time to his shoulder bones he heard his officer whisper “Augen vor!” softly.

    Remir relflexedly snapped to attention and his eyes swivelled forward and there he saw or at least thought he saw vague shadows amid the drifts and as he watched he saw maybe twenty men walk into view.

    They were covered in snow, unrecognizable clad in white as they were. As he stared at them he saw that some carried others on their shoulders and still others carried stretchers. Almost all of them limped and few still carried weapons.

    They were routers!

    Instantly Remirs heart hardened in the face of duty and his mind went blank trying to ignore the work that was to come. He became deaf to all but the commands of his officer. The officer hesitated as he watched the men walk slowly across their field of view. Remir wondered what the hesitation was for.

    After what felt like ages he heard his officer stay sternly but quietly “Voraus bei der Doppel!”

    HALT!” Barked his officer.

    The thudding noise stopped near instantly

    “VORLIEGENDEN!” barked his officer like a cannon shot.

    Remir raised his musket and aimed it at the men as they had not moved and as he did so he heard the clicking metallic sound of thirty two other muskets being raised as his rank, the front one levelled their muskets Remirs eyes were like ice as he waited for the inevitable order

    “FEUER!” barked his officer

    Instantly the cracking of muskets seemed to be all around Remir, as he too fired his weapon, all he could see was smoke and his ears rang with the sound

    As he crouched quickly he heard "FEUER!". A second deluge of deafening reports filled the air.

    “FEUER!”

    All Remir could see was smoke, he had no idea if anyone had hit as another blast of gunfire assaulted his ears.

    WAFFENSTILLSTAND!

    Remair relaxed a bit and waited for the smoke to clear. As it did he saw almost all the men had been slain, as guttural screaming filled the air, only two were fleeing, running for their lives.

    And as they did so they shouted “NEIN” “NEIN”!

    And as he heard the familiar words, Remir knew that he would not forget what he had done.

    Entrant 5 Lupu
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Long Nights

    Since yesterday, I no longer feel my uniform. I remember the first day at training, it was so stiff that after a single day, my skin was covered in blisters. The same light uniform that I have carried every day since, and for every day it has become softer. But this is different, as if it is not there anymore. Some times, I feel it again, and then it's gone before I can think of it.
    I reach for my bag of gunpowder, but I only feel the resistance it gives as I grip it. As I look down, I can see my shivering hands desperately trying to hold on to it. Noticing nothing of it myself, I take care to examine myself. My hands are on fire, and my feet feel like no more than the boots that surround them. Unable to feel my feet, I take careful looks at every step while trying to keep in line. The enemy must be nearby now, but the musket I carried, where is it?
    A man to my right looks down on me. I cannot recognize him, he is wearing a blue coat, who is he? He screams a name, all while looking at me "Johann!", it feels distant, but I remember this name, who is this Johann? His voice disappears in the myriad of other, higher, but drawn noises in the background. Has the battle begun without me? Suddenly I feel warm, what happened? I will never know, I feel good now. Where am I? "A better place" is my immediate ansver.
    Here I won't need anything, the pain is gone, but I still feel dizzy and I can't stand up. I will have to throw off some weight. Looking down on my warm coat, you have failed me for the last time...



    Entrant 6 Celsius
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Eiskalt in Preußen

    We stand here freezing on the front line,
    Hopefully we will get our chance to kill these filthy swine.

    The ground is covered with nothing but snow,
    My hands are numb, but my face can feel the cold wind blow.

    Sooner or later, they will charge us in here,
    although it seems it has already taken a year.

    King Frederick trots around on his horse,
    he should since he commands this mighty force.

    I feel sorry for the man to my left,
    because I cant help but notice he is freezing to death.

    I be damned if I will not live to see another day,
    so the only thing I can do is stand here and pray.

    Writing this poem passes the time for me
    but other men in the line may not really agree.

    The snow is has stopped falling,
    and now our enemy has resorted to forestalling.

    I finally see my feet, and they dont look pretty,
    hopefully one day they will take me to Vatican City.

    We never began that stupid charade,
    and to this day I can't believed I stayed.

    It really matters not since I am no longer there,
    but I cant still smell the cold crisp air.

    This is not how I wanted this poem to end,
    but now I suppose I will no longer have to defend that little hill around the bend.

    Entrant 7 Don’t Tread on Me
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Winter Drummer

    "Company, march!”

    I heard the colonel bark the order to move forward. We had been standing for hours, whipped by ice. After a moment to wake my frozen fingers, I gripped my sticks and drummed the standard roll.

    “Steady, even tempo,” I thought to myself. “Let’s get these boys marching.” I started the familiar beat - Rat, tat, rolllllll, rat, tat, rolllll ….

    The men stood, wobbling; they formed a ragged column and proceeded. The colonel brooked no excuses for their torpor. “It is far colder in hell than it is here, and you’ll soon see that if you don’t step lively!”

    I had to hit the drum harder than usual to overcome the muffling effects of the snow. I gritted my teeth, my hands aching and brittle. We reached the edge of the woods.

    Franz, my friend from back home in Magdeburg, marched in the front rank beside me, struggled to see through the swirling snow. “Looks like the field ahead is empty,” he said. “Maybe we’ll be back at the barracks for breakfast!”

    We stepped into the brush. I kept the beat steady while stepping over roots and shrubs. As we approached the field, the colonel shouted another order.

    “Beat double time, Steffen, double time!”

    Franz and I looked at each other with astonishment. “What are we supposed to run toward? An army of ghosts?” he asked. I called on my last bit of feeling to pound out the roll calling on the men to double their pace.

    Although some stumbled, most had revived themselves enough to keep up. Soon our company emerged like a vast shadow pouring out of the woods. “Double time! Double time!” the colonel kept shouting, and we ran forward into open space.

    I only heard the first shell, never saw it coming as it flew into my rank, to my right. The unearthly scream as the shell pierced the air deafened me for a moment, and a spout of blood, flesh and dirt blinded me. I pulled my face out of the ground and looked over, saw Franz, dazed, supine, then gazing with bewilderment at the gaping, shredded mess that lay where his right arm once was. I crawled over, amazed at my unhurt condition, and tried to tend to him. Franz saw me through murky eyes, grinned weakly, and collapsed, revealing a long laceration around the other half of his neck. He made a rattling, choking sound before going still.

    I was infuriated, and I sprang to my feet. Another shell flew by, devastating our left flank. I heard a horse shriek, and saw that our colonel had fallen.

    “What can I do?” I thought, my mind a whirlwind of hate and hopelessness. I saw confusion, fear and chaos around me. Then I knew the only thing I could do: Bring order to this catastrophe, and get these men out of here.

    I beat out the command for retreat.




    TotW 69a- Thru Stormy Seas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Ahead, Full.

    It was on a foggy night that the ship set sail. Her bow and stern slowly rising and falling with the crash of the waves against the hull. Her name was The Serenity. She was a magnificent ship, a true credit to human engineering and construction. She was the first and was to be the last of her kind, silently skimming through the water on her maiden voyage, never to return. Constructed of the stoutest wood, made with love and longevity. The hopes and dreams of a forgotten race rested aboard her. Her crew were unknown and unnamed, their destination; just a figment of the Captain's imagination. The night was dark and cold, there was no sound, no motion, only the endless waves and open sea. Dark night was all around, a silence of black. All that was and all that had come to pass now mattered not. The ship and crew had set sail for greener pastures, a new land. Away from war, grief and despair. Where dreams ran on clouds and imagination was reality. They seeketh a land untouched by human corruption, away from all others, isolated and alone. The moon shone bright, gently guiding and welcoming ship and crew into her warm embrace; bathing the stalwart sailors in her bright glow. There was not another soul for a thousand leagues in any direction. Peace had come to The Serenity at last. Her Captain and crew could finally rest easy and settle into a new home, there to live out the rest of their days in total comfort and isolation, chasing moonbeams and living their dreams forever more.

    Entrant 1 RaZor HeaD
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Interlude.

    I often think of the first time I had sex.
    Actually, to be honest, the first time was the only time for me. She was a very old woman. Large and black, with a round plump head. Just the way I like them. My friends used to call me lazy for being with her. They said I should find a younger, prettier girl to be with, but I didn't care. I liked her a lot, and she was nice to me. Unfortunately, I'm far from home now. And there simply aren't any women out here. Maybe one day I'll meet her again. I sure hope so. And if I do, I hope we might have some more sex together.

    Other times I think about the stars.
    I know this sounds strange, me thinking about the stars. But I use them all the time to get around from place to place. They're kind of like a tool for me. Something I use. That's not why I like them however. They keep me company when I'm alone. They smile down on me with their silver light, and talk to me during the bitter nights. Yes. I do like to think about the stars.

    But most of the time, I like to think about eating.
    I like food a lot. I dream about it all the time. I really don't have a favorite food, because I like to eat just about anything. The only problem is, it's so hard to find enough to eat out here in the middle of the sea. Sure, I can always catch a few fish, or a sea turtle, but they're either unsavory or unsatisfying. Occasionally I can land something bigger, but usually the fight isn't worth the effort.

    Hold on!...What's that floating in the water nearby?
    It sure is big. I like its' pretty white wings flapping in the air. Is it some sort of a bird I've never seen before? Whatever it is, it's old, and its' shell looks like it's too hard to eat. I must admit, I do like the look of those soft, little, pink creatures running around on it so excitedly. They do look Yummy! But even if I did manage to eat all of them, it would still be little more than a snack for me.

    You know what?!
    I think I'll swim over there and see what they taste like anyway...

    Entrant 2 Buddhababe
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Myths and Monsters

    How dare you!! How dare you sail into my waters and wake me. I hear your ill crackles of my demise and destruction along with that ungodly ringing. Men are the counterfeiters of history, wearing their tall tales as armor against all that they do not want to see.


    Ah, there are but a few wise souls pleading with the rowdies and unbelievers to put down the bell. They feel me, warning the ignorant to look at the coming fog. Pagans, I love your fear and reverence, almost as much as the shock and terror of your Christian mates. Do they not see my pet in the moon light? Has drink numbed their nerves to the point they cannot even feel the hairs stand on the back of their necks? This will be so much fun.


    Soon I will take what is mine. Hysteria and madness are my mana. Horror and despair my feast. Blood and flesh a treat for my pets. Your gold, silver and wood will be mere decorations for my throne. And I will listen to the gurgle of a thousand dreams being swallowed by salt water with glee.


    A few of you will live by my mercy. I hear your prays and will answer. Good little pagans you are. And you will go forth and tell the tale. Ringing the bell will surely bring death and wake DUBH LACHA, the Goddess of the Celtic Sea, and her hungry pets.

    Entrant 3 Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Ships in the night

    Silence falls on the darkened sea…

    As the rising moon shines brightly in the night, visibility is near zero because of the mist. Watchmen keep vigil for the slightest movement on the water. Everything is silent and calm. Little could they know what was lurking beneath the waves. Dark murky waters provided cover as Nessie watched the ship above, wary of any signs that may point to danger.

    As she glides on undersea currents with the other sea life, she notices movement above. She takes notice as the other sea life move away from the ship. A whale’s spout is sighted from the crow’s nest and the call to action is automatic. “Thar she blows….to starboard, to oar, to oar!!! The ship’s bells sound and the whaling boat’s hit the water with harpooner’s Even with the moon bright and glowing, the guardsmen never see Nessie pop her head out of the water. She watches from a distance and yet, she can see everything perfectly. The ship changes course, but just slightly.
     
    Being a protector of the other sea life, Nessie springs into action to save the whale. She head for the first boat, which is heading to the east, to get on the other side of the whale. Getting up enough speed under the water, she shoots her body out of the sea and comes crashing down on the first boat. She starts towards the other boat as it changes direction to head back to the main ship. Nessie comes up under the big boat and tries to flip it. She puts a big hole in the bottom, causing the boat to fill with water. She keeps hitting the ship until it starts to sink from all the water. Nessie goes to check on the whale. All sea life is safe thanks to Nessie.
     
    NESSIE IS VICTORIOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




    TotW 70a- The Sunbird ascends to the Heavens on victorious wings
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    WINNER – Sunbird Alkibijihad
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Francisco's heart


    On a desolate, sun-scorched field, a shade of once glorious monastery of Sacra Madre de Luz extends its darkened spikes towards east, as the Sun offers it's last warmth before it sets somewhere far in the Western Ocean...The monastery is no more than a pile of stones surrounding only the last few standing walls of a once sacred temple for the Order of Calatrava...The silence is the only thing that fills the void and desolation of once thriving landscape - there is no more joyous shrieks of hapless orphans, no more singing to be heard beneath the olive tree shades...Not even the old iron bell to clamor every once in a while in the hottest and stillest moments of the day...

    Abdul's eyelids slide open abruptly, as his sleep is disturbed by a rhythmic klip-klop sound..."who could it be..." wincing at the thought it could be some grown ups again coming to loot and pillage what little is left of the inventory that monastery once had, he sits up, rubs his eyes with his six year old hands...And creeps closer to the cross shaped opening in the wall, hoping to catch a glimpse of the would-be-intruder...

    "Glory of Lord,
    Mighty and just,
    Comes through the word,
    of Love and of Trust...
    "

    "A Crusader!" just managing to shut his mouth before the over-excited shriek escaped his tongue, Abdul gazes at the large westerner and his enormous black steed. "Maybe I should..." The dark armor and the animal make the sight daunting more than child's heart should have to endure.

    "Where Thou sheep has wandered off to, I ask Thee, O, Mighty One? Have we not sworn our hearts to Your service, Your Cross? To see my brother, my cousin and my father fall one by one like that?"

    Little Abdul notices as man's voice seems to wither down to croaking and shivery stream of words as his body swings heavily left and right, forth and back, more and more with each hoof-clop hitting the stony path.

    "Francisco gave You his everything, even the heart that now bleeds, can't You see the crimson river of tears it cries for Your name? CAN'T YOU?! What has become of the little one? Would You at least dignify me with an answer?
    Curse You! Damned be Your wicked Cross and Your Holy land! Francisco says this, CAN YOU HEAR THAT??!
    "

    Abdul's little heart finally gets the better of his mind and launches the little boy into a wild, screeching run down the stairs and out in the yard of once-upon-a-time monastery...The man notices the sudden locomotion and slowly, dazedly turns to his left...

    "CI-SCO! CI-SCO-oooo..."

    Sobbing loudly, the little boy lunges in direction of unsuspecting Crusader and his steed, and the hands of a six year old orphan spread open before gripping hard to the armored boot...
    Francisco slowly slides down the horse's back, and grabs the child by it's arms, lifting it face to face. The child now lets a wide grin stretch out across his wet and reddish cheeks, wiping the tears slowly, and sniffing up the last of the snot under his tiny nose. The Crusader pushes the helm off the head, and presses the little boy to his chest as if his life depended on it...Words leave the Spaniards lips in a whispering tone as a lone tear of joy draws a line across his dusty cheek:

    "Francisco's little heart..."



    Entrant 1Mega Tortas De Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    One last day


    The young Saxon lord sits astride his mount for the last time surveying the remains of his family's once vast estates. Never again would he be able to call this place home. Piece by piece the Norman Overlords chipped away at his family's Royal standing through over taxation and land seizures. When his father stood defiant against King John's tyranny
    the wrath of Normandy fell upon his fiefdom, reducing the Earl's fortified estate to rubble and pressing the Saxson resistance against the cliffs of Dover. There en mass, they choose diving into the sea rather than
    further persecution by an unrighteous hand. With his father's death he became Earl to a small land grant of ashes, left alive only to serve as example of what awaits those who resist. Rather than serve as nothing more than a spitted roast on the end of a Norman bill hook, The valiant adventurer put his destiny into god's hands. He titled his remaining lands to the church and took up the cross.

    To his retainers and the common folks still loyal to his Family's name, he gave his last worldly possessions in equal measure. He then fell on bended knees and begged their forgiveness for having failed them. The only thing left he could offer them was to join him on Crusade or remain there and embrace certain death through unfiltered, hateful domination by Norman hands.

    Rising up to his feet mud caked, and looking more a serf than anyone else there; He invited them all to take in the sunrise, and together as a loving family they would cherish this.....One last day.

    Entrant 2 Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The walls of the castle stood thick and Grey. Made of the strongest stone, these walls had seen the passing of time and ages. Tattered and weathered were the walls, endless chips and imperfections running through the coarse rock. The fortress had been tested many a time in the history old. Masses of men, horse and fire had pitted their might against the fortress. But the walls had always stood firm, unchanging and contemptuously smirking at the floundering enemy below. Lords and Ladies had been the masters in times past, but now the castle was its own master. The endless wind and dusty sands always blew a gale, washing away and eroding the history of conflicts long lost time and time again. The story of the castle had never been told. To some it was legend, to others it was myth, to most, it was a fantasy. The Castle had always stood tall and defiant in the face of insurmountable odds. Not a single time were its walls breached or the keep laid siege. Many had tried and all had failed. Kings and Emperors had gathered the strength of their empires and still they did not succeed. No, this fortress of old refused to be taken. The desert itself rose up against invaders, blasting them with sun and sand and hiding precious water. For eons the castle had stood there, it would stand there for eons more. Always present and always serving as a reminder to those who happened to come across it. It is the impenetrable fortress and it will not be subdued.

    Entrant 3 Legio
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    It was a dark and stormy night. The thunder and the lightning were great. But my fear was greater. The dark and brooding forests of the Polish wilds closed around me. It seemed like the woodsmen would close around me at any minute. So I drew my sword and strapped on my shield, and thought of my aunt and uncle and they

    said your movin with your auntie and uncle in bel Air
    i pegged and pleaded with her day after day
    but she packed my suitcase and sent me on my way
    she gave me a kiss and then she gave me my ticket so i put my walkman on
    and said i might as well kick it
    well ah when the plain landed and i came out
    there was a dude that looked like a cop standin there with my name out
    i aint tryin to get arrested yet i just got here
    i sprang with the quickness of lightning and dissapeared
    I whistled for a cab
    And when it came near
    The license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror
    If anything i can say this cab is rare
    But i thought naw forget it yo homes to Bel Air
    I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8
    And i yelled to the cabyo homes smell ya later
    I looked at my kingdom
    I was finally there
    To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air

    ...treasure, pleasure, leisure, les yeux;
    It's all in your eyes.




  19. #19
    Boustrophedon's Avatar Grote Smurf
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Oct 2010
    Location
    Rome, Italy
    Posts
    3,158

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 71a – For the Empire
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 





    WINNER – Borissomeone
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The Song of War

    The song of war plays around me, the constant drone of weapon on weapon, the screams of man and beast as they are cut apart, ah how the song of war makes my heart sing. The wind adds its song to the one that roars around me, it moans and sweeps around us as we struggle. The pelting rain adds its own tune upon my armour as I stand waiting and watching, the banner of Sigmar snaps and cracks behind me adding another beat to the song.

    A new note is added to the song, a horn blares over us, almost drowning out the mantra of war; the remaining men surge forward adding their voices to the song.

    The rain comes in waves, driving sheets that threaten to drown out the song I so love to hear, I march in time with the beat of war, my hammer smashing down foe after foe ending their part in the chorus of death and despair that is this day. Knights of Chaos come to me; armoured forms take up the sky. I swing, crushing one foul head, dark blood adds fresh colour to the washed out shades that paint the battle field. With each blow I end one part of the song but it does not take long for another to join in the wailing, screaming and clash of weapon upon weapon that make the song of war.

    The sudden crash of cannons adds a deep and dangerous tone to the battle, Knights of Chaos explode in balls of fire, once part of the song and now part of the landscape, a wide grin claws its way over my face, ah how the song makes my soul dance to its wild rhythms as we of the Empire push this foul army back.

    A rumble and grumble, thunder overhead and then the sudden flash of lightning, an image is etched into my eyes from the sudden brilliant light, man against Chaos captured forever in one frozen moment, each combatant highlighted in radiant detail. A man of the Empire staggers past as my eyes clear, one arm missing his scream is loud in my ears as his wound pumps blood in time with the song of war, reaching new levels of madness we make it to the final chorus for today’s act.

    A great moan bubbles forth from the bloodied army of Chaos, is this the end of the song? I cast my eyes over the battle field, thick smoke billows here and there, pleas for help caress my ears. Ah but it seems the forces of Chaos no longer want to be part of this fine choir as they finally break and run, it does not matter for tomorrow I’m sure we will start to sing again as the rain continues to caress my skin washing away the stink of this day. Tomorrow we will start another melody, one that will rival today’s little refrain.

    WINNER – Jingles
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    The metric system

    A boom of thunder sounded overhead as the light grew dimmer, with more dark clouds forming on the horizon, and the first tentative waves of them skimming low over the tree line. The rain began to fall quite suddenly, as the first cloud ponderously hovered overhead. The Halberdiers began to grumble. The captain continued his speech.

    "Wonderful. I'm bored, and now we're gonna be soaked... I knew an outdoor tournament would end in disaster," groaned Hans, tapping his plastic halberd impatiently on his base. The squad stood about in their movement tray awkwardly as globs of water splashed onto the tabletop about them. Ulrich was standing next to Hans, looking up at the sky.
    "It's cool, bro. Our owner used acrylic paints - we're water proof", he mused.
    "No, it's water-resistant - there's a subtle difference, and besides, he painted me and some of the cavalry over there with the old oil ones. He ran out of acrylics, remember?"
    "Oh. Forgot about that..." He replied. "Though we should look on the bright side."
    "Really?".
    "Yeah, we could be wet, and look like the captain up there." Both their heads turned to their superior officer on the podium, who was as always striking that ridiculous pose with his hand on his chest, bellowing out some nonsense about a hundred furious flaming badgers of the emperor. Or was it banners? It was irrelevant in any case.
    "I don't know why he bothers..." said Hans, shaking his head."
    "Nobody ever listens to him, and it makes no difference to morale anyway. That's what those are for." Ulrich pointed at the towering jar of dice about ten inches away.
    "Exactly," replied Hans "and besides, with that absurd collar covering half his face, nobody can hear what he's saying properly. What is he saying?"
    Ulrich removed his helmet so he could hear a little better.
    "He's telling us to cast down the lemony badgers." Hans frowned and looked at the opposing army at the other end of the table top.
    "You sure he wasn't talking about the enemy banners?"
    "No - I definitely heard badgers."
    "Figures."

    Vince, the company sergeant pointed up at their leader.
    "Hey, you remember when the captain got knocked off the table with a measuring stick?" Hans chuckled and nodded.
    "Speaking of measuring sticks," said Hans, "You know what they use instead of inches in France?"
    "No." Replied Ulrich.
    "Tell him, Vincent."
    "Centimetres, right?" he replied.
    "Centimetres. Do you know why they use centimetres in France?"
    "The metric system?" replied Ulrich, tentatively. Having originally aimed the question at Vincent, Hans was a little surprised.
    "Check out the big brain on Ulrich! You're one smart motherf-" The conversation was cut short as a giant paw belonging to the family cat crashed down on top of them. Once the monstrous feline had thundered past, having made off with the gallant captain in its mouth, Hans was the only one of the squad left standing.

    He sighed. It was going to be a long day.

    WINNER – mrcrusty
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Lament in the Winter Rain

    There was to be more marching today. They had to traverse the now wet and muddy fields of Ostermark in order to meet an invading force of Greenskins that had amassed near the border. He still shook his head at the thought, he hardly believed it, neither did his men and none of them enjoyed having to wade through this backwater to come to the aid of idiot farmers. Nonetheless, it had to be done.

    As his men marched forward, Theodoric looked at them with doubt. He wondered whether he would be able to lead them to victory. He knew that the lives of all these men would be in his hands and his leadership. Theodoric only hoped that everything would turn out okay. And then there was the rain. How Theordoric hated the rain.

    His train of thought was interrupted by the sight of smoke on the horizon. It came from the nearby village of Elbing. He summoned Gunter, his most trusted scout and loyal friend.

    "Send out scouts and riders to investigate," he commanded, "and warn them to be careful, it may be an ambush."

    "Right away, sir."

    As the small group of scouts rode away into the distance, Theodoric ordered everybody else to continue forward.

    After hours of sludging through the mud, Theodoric saw that they were coming back. Gunter came to deliver the his findings personally.

    "The town's empty sir."

    "Was it the greenskins?"

    "Don't know sir, probably, but if you don't mind me saying sir, we should take a rest in the village."

    "Are you serious? It's probably a greenskin trap, besides, why rest now? We are making great tiaachoooo!"

    Theordoric sneezed the contents of his nose onto Gunter's now sticky face.

    "A simple cold, sir? The great and mighty Theodoric felled, by a cold." He paused to wipe his face, "However, that's the point. If we continue to march in the rain, many more men will get sick and become weak."

    Theodoric looked at Gunter. "So, you're saying that our options are," he began, "to walk right into what is probably a greenskin ambush or to continue and lose half my men due to sickness?"

    Gunter looked back at Theordoric sympathically, "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."

    Theodoric groaned. He knew that marching at such a fast pace would be necessary to save many of the outlying towns and villages of Ostermark, but he didn't think that the consequences of doing so, would be this bad.

    He walked back to the main force and found the standard bearing cart. He was going to address the men.

    The columns of men stopped simultaneously, waiting to hear what their leader had to say to them. Theodoric looked forward, into the crowd of his soldiers. He puffed out his chest, stood tall and proudly, then...

    Silence. The men looked around, wondering if he was going to say anything at all. Theodoric opened his mouth, and just loud enough for his men to hear, muttered:

    "Damn rain."

    Entrant 1 -Czone

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    I hang. I hang with my family, with all my brothers and sisters. Together we are one, but separated we will be when we fall. I see many men, thousands. They cannot compete with our numbers though, not nearly. We will fall, we will all fall and we will make some of them fall. They will curse us, or say we are a bad omen. But they don't know why we fall. Do we? I don't know. I only know that I see men, walking. Walking in steel and the skins of others, like they always do. They are ashamed of their real selves, so they hide behind the skins not meant for them, and their steel. I know that if they walk in steel, they will try to kill others. For that they cut down trees and make long sticks, tipped with steel. They make sticks of steel. Sometimes the steel will be sharp and pointy, other times blunt but big. Yes they're all big, but we will engulf them when we fall. Because we are one. They will put steel in others, trying to take their lives. These will do it for the bearer of the poleaxe. I think they call him "king". Yes, that was the word. They march, for their king. The king doesn't march. He just stands atop his wooden moving ground. He orders them forward, hoping to make himself mightier by killing others. He will succeed, the others will fall. But we will fall infinitely longer. We will engulf them and their enemies, then we will flow back together or drown. The time has come. Now I will fall with my family. We will separate and fall. We will fall hard and annoy them. We will sicken them. We will make the ground mud and we will make the slip. We will fall and we will ruin their banner. The time has come. We fall, I fall. I fall and I land on the king. He wipes his face and mutters curses to us, but we fall.

    Entrant 2 -Spartan262

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Today we got the word that me and my company of men were being assigned to gaurd
    the Emperor in his yearly travel across the Empire. I gave word to my men and we
    prepared for the march. We all though this would be a cake walk , but little did we know
    how wrong we were. Two days later we sat out on the journey along with the Emperor, our
    first destination a small town on the edge of the Empire, this was where we ran into
    trouble. We saw smoke sprawling over the horizon. Even though this sine did not bode well
    we continued on. An hour after we saw the first somke, we made it into the town. Fires
    were raging on things that could be set ablaze, in the center there were a pile of bodies,
    all the vilagers were murdered, but by who. No sooner than we began to march out of the
    village , a great noise roared on all sides , Orcs. Normally orcs aren't very smart
    people, but these were smart enough to ambush us. We were all taken by suprise. The brawl
    that followed was some of the worst I'd ever seen, Orcs decapitating anyone in site and us
    fearing the worst for our Emperor, were takin by suprise when we saw the Emperor take up
    his Great Hammer, His "War Hammer" if you will, and fought with all his might but still
    yet it was not enough. He was felled with one swing from an Orcish Sword. We fought to
    regain his body , but to no avail. We realized it was hopeless and finally retreated ,
    even though we knew that we'd be hung for our actions. We arrived in our Capital and told
    them of our misfortune, but mercy wasan't betaken on us. My men were executed and I am now
    serving a lifetime of pain and torture in the castle's dungeon amung lowlives and
    criminals.

    Entrant 3 -BemusedHorse

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    I see the great reign of the rain, hammering down, torturing their brutal eyelashes, their minds flecked with the blood of others and oh so much more. Yes, their halberds did the work, those vile points, surely crafted by a master craftsmen. They stand straight ahead, the rain, hammering down, every drop a lunge - a kill - a pointed piece of murder that would make their victims still. They nearly did it to me, as I sit in the bushes, at the side of the stage, a shaven man atop his wooden throne and his banner. Look at the hammer sir, oh what deeds, oh what things it does remind me of. Terrible, crawling blood, the spiteful crunch of bone, skulls to be exact. It will be done again, as the soldiers are clones of each other. In uniform. Lined up. Slaughter. Repeat. Whether they have a conscious I do not care to think and who will that dread commander command them to end. A king, a lord, a child!? A child is sometimes more than a lord, in importance to be exact. Then I hear such bellows and snorts that bellow forth from the hard face of the commander. His eyes set deep like dead chasms and the shining head of a marble, veined by highways. These unlucky worms will soon march along them, in mind and in the physical being. Their feet squelching along the newly sodden tracks and the shaven devil. Yes, that is what he is, spurs them onwards, forever onwards, with cries of blood and mutated glory. What made them like this, their weapons head high, hammers and feathers alike? I crouch here in nature's hovel whilst they cheer at the platitudes and false nationalism and inside I laugh for I too will fall into step and I too will murder and crunch their lives to dust/ Though it will be good. For they are the bad ones, the craven players of god and I am the one restoring the balance. I think of them vermin. Time to fall into secret step behind them and cull them all. It will save many.


    TotW 71b – For the Blood God
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 





    WINNER – Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Forty Horsemen

    Pestilence, War, Famine, Death. Those are but four of the names of those who ride amongst us. The list is long of these Gods of war who ride beside me. Immortals all. Summoned once more by the unholy to wreak vengeance on those who oppose our masters.

    The mortals who bear witness to our combined nightmare waste little time in praying to thier divinity. Their God who cannot be seen nor heard nor felt will not save them from the judgement of our forged steel. They scramble about before us helplessly and our visage envelops them in fear. The cries of babes fills our ears and the lust for battle begins to pass through our very being. My mount begins to buck underneath me, anticipating the carnage, eager to drown its hooves in the blood of the fallen.

    The sky above swirls with blood red clouds, a fine hot mist escapes from the bellows of the Earth - omens of the Hell we are to unleash this day. For a millennia we remained in our slumber but these pagans had dared desecrate these sacred grounds, failing to heed warning of their history...of their inglorious past.

    Over the sound of the howling wind, the crackling of fire that rises from the ground itself, the grunts of the war machines underneath us and as I lead the charge, I cry out to the townfolk in their barbaric tongue, "Let the Gods tremble at the sight of the cataclysm to be rightfully unleashed!"


    Entrant 1 -Borissomeone

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    'Death of a Salesmen'

    I can feel my heart pounding in my chest as I claw my way up the broken ground, my fingers are a bloody mess and my face streaked by my tears as I run for my life. I can still hear my sister’s screams as they impaled her with their swords and spilled her steaming insides across the ground. Such a sweet girl, I should have never convinced her to come along, but greed and the thoughts that she would be rich after this compelled her more than I ever could. I start to cry again, great sobs wreak my body as I again wish I had never thought to trade up into the border regions of the Empire, I had hope to make a quick profit selling cheap ale, foolish I am.

    The first few nights had gone well, my sister with her wide smile and big eyes had made an excellent sales person the men and women couldn’t resist her easy manner, as our purses grew heavy and plans were made to do this again. I dreamed of the day when we no longer needed to travel and could chose where we wanted to live. All was well until I lost our map.

    One wrong turn and our lives changed for the worst, we didn’t even realize what we had done. The night had started as any other night; the fire lit our little camp with its bright flickering light dancing across our faces as we spoke quietly about the next trip we would make, my sister looked beautiful, her eyes bright in the fire light, but not so beautiful now with her insides tangled in the grass. The first we knew of any trouble was the strange smell that wafted in the air, the next thing I knew Chaos knights came striding into our camp, their armour groaning with each dreadful step. My sister turned and screamed, her face twisted by fear and then they cut her down, now I run for my life.

    I have no idea where I am, everything looks the same, coming around stand of trees I stumble back into our camp, the stench of death thick in the air. The horses have been hacked apart and my poor sister’s head now sits roasting on the fire. Falling to my knees I claw at my face, pulling skin away, I sit and wish that this nightmare would end. A creak of armour and I look up see a chaos knight standing before me, a blow to my head and then blackness.

    I awake to find myself pinned to the ground, spread-eagle, a knight standing over me its hideous sword drawn the blade painted in blood. The first swing removes my left arm, next my right leg, screams echo into the night. The knight turns and walks away into the night leaving me there, a terrible laugh and it’s gone. I thought it would hurt more as I lay there crying waiting for the end.



    Entrant 2 -mrcrusty

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Deah and Destruction. It is all I know, it is all I remember. it is all I am. All who have opposed me have died. I am the herald of the end times and bringer of Chaos.

    Countless times have I sunk my sword into the flesh of men who opposed me. Women, and children too. How I remember their faces, their screams, their tears. How it pleases me so. Countless times too, have I done the deed without my weapon, using simply my hands to crush or choke away the last of human life and hope.

    The moment when their souls are laid bare and I expose everything they believe in, as a lie. That is what I live for.

    Corruption. Lust. Maniupation. Rage. No matter which world and which reality, these are ever-present and define life itself.

    They know this. They fear this. They fear the truth of Chaos. Their gods, their kings, their beliefs. All hypocrisy and lies. Corruption. Lust. Maniupation. Rage. They deny their true nature and hide from the truth, espousing their false gods and morality. That is why I must be. I live to show them the light, the salvation of Chaos.

    Today too, with my brothers, I will show many more men, women and children the way of Chaos. I will free them from their denial, but alas, I have no more time to reflect on the nature of my existence.

    Their tortured faces await me.

    Entrant 3 -BemusedHorse
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    DEATH, WHAT MORE?

    I sit alongside these good fellows with their wild and raging conurbations astride atop them. Etched metal entwined with flesh and eyes of blackness looking out to a gory horizon.

    Oh how this fabric annoys me, it's crimson omens and it gets in my eyes. I want to ride free but I cannot with the evil atop me, through the dales and the valleys and the plains with a clip and a clop, onwards to somewhere unknown. Oh how I dream, how I think and dwell on these things. They are not the now and they will not stand guard as my saviour.

    I am a vehicle of destruction as a walking stick is to an old man but with added ferocity and callousness. These things are instilled in me indirectly by the pure atmosphere of my situation. I ride to an unsure horizon, with the might of my lonely friends and their zealous enemies behind me. I do not plan to sit and neigh on my gory haunches by way of an explosion or a cruelly aimed weapon. I intend to be the best, the greatest. I do not want or have need to be the steed in the mist kicking in their death throes at the rider and the dirty air. No that is not me. What a damned dichotomy is this? My primal clothing is utterly beautiful yet encumbering and yet I surely ride to something that is of the complete opposite. I dash my dreams as I dash along the golden hill to a waiting army that will greet me with spitting looks and the thousand sharpened spears. I will not be the rearing silhouette. I realise that fact now. Nor the glorious individual. No. I will ride alongside these chosen few and I will wonder what will become of my flanks and my prized hooves. Death, what more?


    Entrant 4 -irwinesca
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Creation of a Champion

    Blood. It runs within me. It calls to me. The Blood God has always spoken to me, every passing moment and even in my dreams. I long for all things, for wrath, carnage, war and even death. I sit still, absorbing all of the madness within me. I gaze upon my armor, harnessed tightly upon a skeleton. My sword, bloodstained from the first time I drew blood in this world. Hymns of battle are sung all around me. Warcries of my brothers that would cripple any mortal who hear them are heard. The cries of humans being slaughtered for the Blood God resound. Wardrums are being bashed using human bones, all for the creation of a champion. I walk towards my armor. It is only a few steps away but it felt like I am on a journey... a journey of blood and death. Each step I take, my being comes closer to the Blood God, my sanity fading away as I become one with my armor. The last shred of humanity I have will be forever gone as I conceal my face from the world. Only an image of a monster will remain for the prying eyes of the world. I held my sword close to my heart and soul. It was gone, all of the old me.

    I leave my lair. My brothers screamed as if the Blood God himself had risen from the depths of hell. A frail mortal girl was offered to me. "For the Blood God" my brothers shouted. The Blood God desires to slaughter this girl. I feel the excitement of blood flowing out of her. I pierced my sword through her heart, shouting "My brothers! To madness!!". Truly, a new champion of Khorne has been unleashed.



    TotW 72a – Travel to exotic lands
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 





    WINNER – Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    They call me Jacques

    "Jacques!" my friend cried out to me. His French carried out over the cacophony of Arab yells and shrieks.

    "Yes, Jacques!" I replied as I parried the thrust of one of my adversaries. The cannon fire had long subsided and most of the cavalry had been spent. The fight would now be decided in a face-to-face death match.

    "Jacques," he continued, "Jacques tells me that our reinforcements have yet to arrive! Do not falter here! Our supremacy in this foreign land will be decided by the will we put forth ourselves! En garde!"

    It was a sobering thought. These Turks had proven to be more than capable of holding their own. We assumed if we brought them to stalemate the additional forces promised by General Chanzy would put them asunder but now that was not to be. "What of our cavalry?" I shouted. It was surprising I was able to remain calm in this melee. A would be murderer threw all of his weight behind a vicious swing of his rifle that barely missed my temple. A quick thrust with my bayonet in his now exposed side brought him to the ground but my triumph was short lived. A mirror image of my victim soon stood where he had fell.

    "I have already asked Jacques and he confirms they have been repelled twice with heavy casaulties on failed charges. We are alone mon ami!"

    "Jacques!" I called to our company commander. He was a good ten men from me but I could hear his swearing as if he were at my side. "Jacques reports we will have no reinforcement!"

    "Oh la la! Jacques, stiffen your resolve!" Our commander took my statement for worry. Between curses at the enemy he finished, "Follow the example of Jacques over there or you will most certainly end up like Jacques over here!" He motioned to my deceased comrade at his side.

    The losses on both sides mounted and despite numerous cuts and scrapes, I avoided a killing blow. Yet eventually my luck ran out. A Turk managed to wound me badly. The sharp pain doubled me over. However as the man came in to finish me off, one of my comrades from Bordeaux ran the man through with his sabre. My life was spared. "Thank you, Jacques!" I cried.

    Jacques, of course, was humble in his response. "You would have done the same for me, now pull yourself to the rear lest my work go in vain!"

    As I managed to retreat to the company medic, Jacques, I could see that my countrymen had risen to the occasion. The Turks started to break ranks and flee for the open desert. The field surgeon rushed to my side and supplied water and bandages to my wounds. "C'est manifique! You all performed admirably in battle! I will be certain to inform Jacques of your bravery!"

    "Merci, Jacques. I just hope it will be enough to win the war. I miss Paris."


    Entrant 1 -Saint Nicholas

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Duel

    There he was, standing there in front of me. The world around me was a blur, I barely noticed the hundreds of other soldiers charging forward, I had eyes only for the one. His musket was empty; he had used the single shot weapon to kill one of my friends. My musket was ready, lethal and eager for blood. I raised the weapon, aimed down the sight and fired. The bullet came out clean but my aim was not true. The bullet grazed my enemy’s arm, near the elbow. God damn blood in my eyes, I can’t see too well. It doesn’t matter, I prefer things this way. I attach the ring bayonet to the end of my gun, effectively turning it into a 5 foot spear. I look up, my enemy isn’t fazed by being shot, and I can see the resolve in his eyes, the determination. We slowly advance on each other, circling and weaving our weapons around, attempting to get the upper hand over the other. He suddenly thrusts low, going for leg or knee, I deftly sidestep and our muskets clash. My adversary sweeps his weapon around and takes a swing at my face, his bayonet grazes my cheek, and the blade tastes some blood. That hurt, I wasn’t ready for that, that bastard, sneaky sneaky, that’s OK. I fall back in pain and recoil, exaggerating my retreat. I see triumph on my opponents face; he thinks he’s coming in for the kill. I small smile creeps onto my face, I allow him to come close, to think he has won.

    Just as he prepares for the fatal thrust, I miraculously regain my strength and sweep my musket low, taking his legs out from under him. He falls hard, surprised and afraid at what he and I both know happens next. He is laying on the ground, staring up at me, I show no mercy. I lift my gun, reverse the point and thrust downward with all my strength. The bayonet plunges through his chest, directly into his heart. The blood flows like a river, soaking his uniform and coating the ground. I lift the musket now, thick red droplets fall through the air. He is vanquished, I am triumphant. The glory and victory are mine, I bellow a warcry and pound my chest, now to dispatch the rest of these miscreants...



    Entrant 2 -Comrade Chernov

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    God's Will shall be done

    We came here centuries ago to defend our Faith. Soon we would find ourselves defending our very lives. We
    were pushed out of this Cursed, yet Holy, Evil, yet Good, Satanic, yet Godly place. We are back to stake our
    claim, and it won't be a pretty sight.

    My name is Henri de Loup, or 'Henry the Wolf', as they call me. I am called this because, when I was a child,
    I killed a Wolf with my Bare Hands on my very first hunting trip. Little did I know then that there were worse
    in life than Wolves. Only have I recently found out what such a creature was; "Infidels," I said, approaching
    their lines with my Regiment, when loading my Rifle, and when charging with cold steel in front and brave men behind. "Infidels!"

    We originally had come to Egypt to protect our Trade routes from British and Ottoman forces, and General
    Bonaparte had come to reclaim his lost glory after his loss in Italy. But I have heard rumours circulating that we were here for a much more ambitious purpose; To launch a secret Crusade against the Ottoman Empire and once again establish the Kingdom of Heaven, under French rule.

    However, this is looking in doubt for now; Our army was just defeated a few months ago at The Battle of
    Canope, against the British, and now we have renewed our offensive and are moving to take the critical Port
    City of Alexandria, Egypt.

    As this battle starts, as the Anglo-Egyptian forces close with our men, as our very existence hangs in the balance, we French who believe this supposed rumour, although now the entire Regiment believes it, can only be thinking one thing; "God's will shall be done."

    Entrant 3 -Borissomeone

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    'Sand'

    Sand, oh how I hate sand, and this glaring sun baking me alive. The heat of this day hangs heavy on my shoulders, like an ancient set of armour it weighs down on me, and this sand it grates against my skin it’s everywhere, oh how I hate sand, did I mention that already? Never mind, it seems this cursed wilderness of rolling hills and swaying palms spew forth the enemy from the bowels of hell itself, screaming men charge and die as heads explode from a well placed shot, our cannons take a terrible toll, men disappear in bloody mist, once a man and now nothing more than parts spread across the sandy grave that is now the resting place for so many.

    This grit sits in my mouth, cloying and clotting, god how I crave just one sip of cool water, no time now as a new wave of the raving enemy charge, the crack and thunder of our weapons drop the front ranks, more men trample the fallen trying to impale us with their blades, this foreign dim they call language threatens to drive me mad, god is there sand in my ears, oh how I hate sand. Everywhere I look blades seek my blood, swinging my musket I knock one man back, a quick thrust and my bayonet plunges into his chest, jumping back I barely avoid another man as he stabs at me, moving backwards I stumble over a fallen comrade and find myself lying in this foul sand, a forest on moving legs surround me, sand is everywhere, trying to stand a boot connects with my face, down I go again.

    Now I lay in this sea of blood stained sand, struggling to stand, my life dripping, feeding the ground below me. Before I can stand a blade slices my neck, stunning pain and then blackness. I wake, sand is in my eyes, grating, the wound in my neck has stopped bleeding, its puckered smile caked with oh so hated sand, maybe it’s not so bad after all.

    Entrant 4 -Katsumoto

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Fever

    The scorching sun blazed high in the clear sky as the two sides slew each other mercilessly. The horrid stench of the dead and dying was made unbearable by the relentless heat, the putrid smells of wounds and sickness filling the nostrils of the worn men. Blood had no time to flow on the fiery sand, instead hardening as it gushed from bullet wounds and opened throats. Men were covered in gore as they pushed themselves onwards, their grubby hands clutching their muskets as they thrust them into their foe. The ball of fire continued to burn as the dishevelled forms fought on in the carnage.

    The clash of metal resonated throughout the humid air. Nobody could gain an advantage. It was a slaughter like no other. Both sides had no intention of retreating; it seemed as if one side was going to be completely obliterated before the butchery would stop. The sun continued to watch the chaos from its position in the Heavens; it would shine whether these mortals died or not.

    The French surged. Within moments the foe’s line crumpled and it became a rout. If the previous hours of battle were massacres, then this was annihilation. The French had paid too dearly to now let the Arabs get away. They would pay for every French soldier they had killed. Rounds exploded from muskets into the retreating enemy, their shattered bodies crashing into the sand below. Many even felt relief, embracing the stillness of death – the pain and exhaustion of combat was just too much.

    The cavalry mopped up the survivors, their sabres carving into the skulls of the foe. The battle was over. Dried blood covered the barren desert, the groans of injured men now the only thing audible. The French were victorious.

    The sun had seen enough. As it dipped below the horizon, the men collapsed in relief. The exhausted figures did not care if they lay in muck or blood; rest and recuperation was all that mattered. Several fell asleep. Others sat crouched, leaning on their rifles, tears streaming from their ashen faces; the aftershock of battle struck with the unexpectedness of lightning. The brutality they had just participated in was too much for some – one soldier began to punch the sand violently, the fine grains bloodying his already filthy hands. He cried as his comrades comforted him, wrapping their arms around his shoulder as he wept uncontrollably. It had been a long day, and it would be a long war.


    Entrant 5 -Czone

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Axe

    I hack away. It al goes so slow if Allah turns down the speed of life. Half the normal speed I hack away at my enemy. These infidels think they can take our lands, but we are many, and Allah is on our side. The great axe is my weapon, theirs is the bayonet. My axe will tear them apart. The goes another one, his head severed. In this slowness I can feel the blade piercing skin, then cutting through his artery. I feel muscle after muscle snap. A small bit of flesh ends when the blade pierces his trachea. After that it is exactly opposite. His head flies after the blow. Then someone clothed in white with their banner attacks me with his sword. I doubt not that my axe will win, but I do doubt if our army will win. I will kill many, and Allah will surely guide us, but they are many, and their muskets and training are superior to ours. We will wage the holy war, but doubt creeps through my body, faster then the axe rips through their necks. Then, I think now more, and attack the man with the sword. It is time. Time to smear that uniform with blood.


    TotW 72b – It will never happen to me
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    No picture



    WINNER – mrcrusty
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    I wish I had a horse.

    Thomas knew that the fight would be tomorrow. Their army had been sieging Vienna for almost six months now. The city's supplies were surely depleted by now. We made sure of that.

    He also knew that the constant rain had made their cannons useless. With the weather finally clearing up, it was apparent to him that the besieged people of Vienna would have to strike now, lest their walls crumble under the might of cannon fire and well trained men.

    When he finally rested his head onto the damp rag that was his pillow, he found that the excitement of rushing into battle the next day made it extremely difficult for him to actually get any sleep. But after two, or perhaps three long hours, he was able to close his eyes, without them opening until the morning.

    ...

    Thomas awoke. The marching bands and flagbearers were already moving into position. The soldiers would soon be summoned too.

    Off in the distance, Thomas could see a large blob leaving from the city gates. It was their garrison. Vienna was to rally now, while there was still a chance to break the invaders. Else their city would be forever under siege.

    Thomas was smiling, his brigade had been chosen as among the first infantry troops to charge the enemy column. He felt confident, that alongside the cavalry, they would break through and win the day.

    ...

    BOOM!

    The noise! Everywhere!

    Men screaming!

    Dying!

    Cannons Exploding!

    Drums!

    Thomas was overwhelmed.

    Battle had been engaged and he was at the front. He could see the enemy. A horn was blown. The sound pierced through all of the others. His officers started yelling and he knew that this was it.

    Charge!

    The cavalry took off, Thomas never saw anything so beautiful, but he had no time to waste. He and the other infantrymen were running, desperate to keep up with the horsemen.

    As Thomas ran closer and closer to the melee, he cleansed his mind, thinking only of the battle.

    Suddenly, however, one of the riders lost control of his horse. The stallion reared up, on it's hind legs, increasing the size of it's presence twofold. As the rider struggled to regain control of his steed, he let forth a furious cry of anguish.

    The Vienesse stepped back, as if they heard the roar of a lion.

    Truly, it was as if they had unleashed such a beast onto the battlefield.

    Thomas knew that this was his chance, he rushed forward, into glory.

    But, his foot slid across the ground!

    Curses! The mud!

    It was all he thought as the forward momentum he had, propelled him into the air.

    Indeed, as soon as the thought came, he was struck by a bullet, piercing him in the chest. As he landed, dying, on the wet mud, he cocked his head over to one side, and looking at the rider and his horse, majestic as they were, he said to himself, "I wish I had a horse."

    Entrant 1 -Beer Money

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The flop.I never wanted to be in this war. This battle. This fight. Having been wrested from my home and my farm, leaving my wife and children to pestilence and dangers unknown. I had seen many of my countrymen eagerly follow our flag for glory and wealth promised but never realized. The number of widows in our town grew and grew and the remaining men's resolve to join ranks thinned to the point the army would actively conscript in the towns and villages to swell their numbers as they marched off to the front.

    Eventually they had given me an offer they would not let us refuse and we were quickly given uniform and rudimentary training before carted off. When we arrived I still knew less about our enemy than I did any form of military tactics. We were certain to be more cannon fodder. But I knew what I would do if I was so lucky as to survive the artillery...

    The battle came and once the exchange of ear shattering cannon had passed we were told to charge the enemy and its cavalry. Soon horse and man were upon one another in vicious combat. I was practically forced at gunpoint to advance by my sergeant. Soon the shot was flying all around us. Bullets whizzed by and struck many of my compatriots, poor farmers who had no idea what they were doing except running straight into a hail of deadly missiles. I cringed as the spray of their blood created a fine mist around me. I would wait for the second volley.

    The enemy however ran forward at us to fire at point blank range. The charge of horses and cavalry to greet them soon enveloped me. I needed to make my move. On the sharpe report of several rifles near me, I threw myself high in the air as if I had been struck, my arms flailing to my side. I fell to the underbrush, making several noises my deceased townsfolk had made when actually mortally wounded by the enemy. Would it be enough?

    The fight between horse and man went on for an eternity around me. I laid perfectly still praying that horses dancing around me would not come crashing down on my head. Several times the side of a hoof torn into my skin and uniform but I managed to stay prone. And in an instant the melee had passed. The overwhelming sound of battle was now far in the distance. I dared not get up until nightfall when the scavengers would come to search the dead.

    Finally, as I heard the chirping of crickets, I poked my head up out of the tall grass. The field was empty except for the lot of corpses. I broke out in a smile. My trick had worked! My wife and child would be see me again in exchange for the ignominy of my cowardice. A fair trade any day I said as I congradulated myself. I removed the uniform hastily and headed for home in only my farmer's rags.

    I arrived only to find our adversaries that day had taken my village. While I managed to sneak into my own home, soon the foreign commander was at my door. His request was seemingly a cruel trick. "You have been conscripted into our army! We expect you to fight with extra spirit against your former masters!"


    Entrant 2 -Saint Nicholas

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Horse and the Rider

    The man and the horse were a terrible sight to be hold. Men and women all over the world knew of the legend of the Horse and the Rider. Stories had been told of how the horse rode down countless men and the rider would run them through with his blade, both delighted in the bloodshed and took great pleasure in inflicting untold pain on all those who crossed their path. The Rider's black sword was stained dark red with the blood of countless foes slain, the horses hooves were whittled down to the bare husk, untold numbers of heads and bones had been broken beneath them. The horse and the rider left none alive whenever they were summoned, they could smell the scent a human miles away and like the Nazgul to the ring; were drawn towards the fresh meat and the kill. Everyone feared them, despised them and were mystified by them. Great General’s had tried to control the terrible pair, but none could bend them to their will. They were a law unto their own, existing outside the realm of normality and somewhere between this world and the next. They were slaves to know one, their will was their own. They had and would continue to roam through all the ages, never decaying or slowing, fearless, daunting and destructive, a great evil in the world that not even the strongest forces of light can stop.

    Entrant 3 -Czone

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Beam of light

    So it happened. What long was seen as pious stupidity was now truth. The beams of God scorched their unholy souls. A man falls.A horse rears because of his rider. They are sinners. Other men just feel a weird sensation. But they too are sinners. They may not hump everything they see, or have unsavoury thoughts about other men, but they wage war, and enjoy it. That is enough for the beams of light to scorch their souls, purify them. They will only feel a weird sensation for now, but it will grow worse and worse. Unless they pray. Prayer is a strong thing, it can heal your soul. But, alas! They will not pray, for they will only fight. Fight for land, for glory. Those French bastards will do everything to expand their wealth and prowess. Their Emperor is the worse. He crowned himself, denying the power of God's servant here on earth. And so, they will all pay. Everyone. It will be the end of the world as we know it, it will be Armageddon. Men will die if they don't pray. The beams of light are the doorway to Hell. Prayer is the key to lock it. I am Napoleon Ovidus, and I am Catholic!


    TotW 73a – Is victory at hand?
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 





    WINNER – Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Ilůvatar

    Oh hear me, Ilúvatar!
    Hear my cry; My mighty star!
    Today I ride, today I fight,
    I arrived to Gondor in its plight.
    Oh how mighty is the name,
    Gondor, for you we die
    For you we claim
    In your name, we cry.
    Today I set off, through the Pelennor,
    Today I march, I arrive with a tremor.

    My enemies fear me,
    My soldiers revere me,
    My lord has me in his grace,
    For my hand holds his mace.
    His mace of power,
    A mace that makes the bravest cower.
    Oh hear me, Ilúvatar!
    Hear my cry that echoes so far.
    Heed my plea, Ilúvatar.
    I urge you, my lord, for guidance, Ilúvatar.

    Tonight we fight, Ithilien our grounds,
    To battle we ride, sturdy folk,
    To combat we stride, with ominous sounds,
    With the sound of drums we march, on the drums we rock,
    We march in pace, we march with pride
    We march with grace, we march with you as our guide.
    We march with haste, by your side,
    We fight with determination, yet with no guide.
    Hear me, Ilúvatar!
    Heed my plea!
    Lead us to our foe's misery!
    Lead us to war,
    Lead us to victory,
    Lead us to gore
    Our enemy
    In the name of Gondor
    That we so adore.

    Entrant 1 -mrcrusty

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Smells like a dirty horse

    The Orcs are coming. I can see them, in the distance. There are so many... we'd be lucky to live, let alone defend Cair Andros.

    "Pelanir!"

    Samuel's hoarse voice interrupts my thoughts.

    "At the ready!"

    "Keep focused, we must win today." His voice was harsh and unnerving.

    "But there's so many Orcs." Self-doubt. Pitiful.

    "By day's end, I want you to be coated in blood red smelling like dead Orc. Not in brown smelling like a dirty horse, understand?"

    I nodded.

    .....................................

    The Orcs cross the bridge, this must be their first wave.

    I look at the Gondorian army. There were men of all kinds, of all sorts. It gave me confidence that more than a few of them, were also scared. Ithilien, Lossanarch, Minas Tirith, from all over the realm, men came to fight, for our homeland.

    We would risk our lives and our futures so that our people will have theirs. The fear inside me dissolves.

    How could I possibly be afraid now, I tell myself, there is too much at stake to be afraid.

    .....................................

    "ARGH!"

    I bring my sword down, revelling in my bloodlust. The Orc screeches in pain. I recoil for a moment, but I take my sword, raise it to one side, and I swing as hard as I can.

    The spray of blood catches me everywhere. I move back, behind my comrades and remove my helmet. The edges of my gauntlet scratch my face as I wipe it back and forth, desperately trying to get rid of all the blood.

    I look ahead, and see a Troll. A large one, and it rapidly approaches the Gondorian battle line, knocking aside both man and Orc. It comes fiercely at us, it's torso already riddled with arrows, my God, is it immortal?!?

    I start charging towards it, losing sight of everything else, and it spots me too. It runs towards me. If we collide, I'm a dead man. I instinctively roll, he swings, but it works and I roll under his blow. I look up and see his arm, unguarded.

    I grab it, and it throws me into the air. It prepares to swat me away, I have to act. I loosen the straps holding my shield, and without hesitation, I throw the shield at the Troll. The cold steel resonates with it's flesh, it recoils, crying in anguish.

    I grip onto my sword tightly with both hands, and I drive my sword into it's skull. It flicks me off it with a swipe of it's massive hands...

    ... did I kill it?

    ...

    .....................................

    ...

    Soft, wet, "am I in the mud?"

    "You're in the infirmary. You'll be fine, goob job with the Troll, Pelanir."

    "Battle's over?"

    "For now."

    "So... how'd I do?"

    Samuel looked at me and grinned, "Well, you were drenched in Orc blood when they brought you back, but..."

    "But?"

    He hesitated, "You smell like a dirty horse."

    I gulped, I guess it wasn't mud I was sitting in after all.



    Entrant 2 -Thokran
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Just Another Day

    The enemy were upon them once again.

    Today was no different than any other day. The same sun rose over the east and set in the west. The same River Anduin flowed downstream before them. The same bridge crossing into the Emyn Muil still remained intact. And the same foolish Orcs massed again in a pitiful attempt to capture the river crossing.

    For years they had massed together time and again to try and establish a foothold in Gondorian lands. They ran amok like headless chickens in an unorganized mob, hoping that sheer numbers would prevail over the disciplined might of Gondorian steel. At this river crossing, their numbers were neutralized. And yet still they came in hordes, like waves crashing upon a rock that refuses to erode away into the washout of time.

    The Gondorian commander raised his sword and rallied his troops with simple words.

    "Show these mongrels the error of their ways! No doubt they will come again tomorrow, but perhaps one day they'll learn their lesson! CRUSH THEM!" His troops hurrahed in return and braced themselves for impact. They were veterans at this type of dirty work. The breaking of orcs upon their wall of shields and spears had become routine for them.

    And so they came, throwing themselves to their deaths against the Gondorian Bulwark. Same as any other day, the orcs fled upon losing hundreds in their futile attempt to break the Gondorian front line. Same as any other day, the River Anduin was polluted with the corpses of orc blood that ran down from the shoreline. Same as any other day, the Gondorians stood resolute in their defense.

    Just another day.


    Entrant 3 -Mega Tortas de Bodemloze

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Victory is at hand

    "Victory is at hand!!!!"...Now how do I tell them it is Pyrrhic? How do I tell them to savor this shining gem, for with nightfall comes their doom?

    The scouts have reported that a pinning force comes behind the one we're smashing against the river, while all of Isenguard renewed comes as an anvil against our back to which Gondor's finest units will be hammered into oblivion. There is no means by which to escape, if we do not buy Minas Tirith time, the White Tower will fall. If we do not take most of them with us to Valhalla, then all Gondor will die. Once this repugnant scum from Mordor is dispatched and the men have celebrated with food and recreation, I will tell them of the sacrifice that we shall have to endure...

    In another time and dimension, overzealous Crusaders rode forth from Jerusalem onto the "Horns of Hattan". Those lives were wasted and sent to needless slaughter. We shall be different and this sacrifice shall be Noble and ensure the prosperity of this generation and those to come.

    After the gluttony of victory was sated, the Captain-General walked among his men and told them of what was to come. The twenty or so commander's horses were brought to the center and offered to those with many children, who would loose loving parents. "Go noble warriors and carry word of what will happen here, there is no dishonor in your departure." Of those that qualified, not one would budge. In the end, five riders were forcibly mounted by sword point, and were sent in all different directions to ensure history would record what was to come, and what was to pass.
    When the Father's were asked why they had refused to leave they all answered with the same essence....

    What? Why leave when sure enough, "Victory is at hand" !!!


    Entrant 4 -Friedrich Barbarossa

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Downfall

    The day was cold... I remember it was midday, and when our men had reached Osgiliath we knew, we were on the brink of Victory, for as what lied ahead was the Capital of our mighty enemy. The Battle was on a mid summers day. Here Nazgul's commenced a 'bombardment on the city' once a Cultural center of middle earth. They threw stones, and tore down buildings. They threw people around, soldiers or civilians. It was dreadful to see your own companions do such horrible things. Summer turned to fall and fall turned to winter. It got outrageously cold for us, and our blood just froze. Our faces began to gain human form and appeal, and we started actually acting like men. We were under siege. The Gondorian's were fighting us everyday, and though we were among the most powerful army in the world, we could only find a little more than 1000 soldiers stationed in the city outskirts. We commenced as quick as possible to secure the river banks, but we saw an opposing army on the other side. We were shocked to find such an organized force ahead of us, but still went on with overconfidence. We were protecting the right flank of the river dividing the city in two. So much violence, and cruelty I witnessed here on that day. The winter cold smacked us out of the field, and made sure we would not win that day. The Gondorian's coming first in 1's, 2's, 5's, 10's, 50's and then eventually by the thousands, we found ourselves hopeless. Our commander issued a last stand in the hopes of winning. A charge across the river which would be aimed to dissorganize them and at least give Sectz Army a chance to overrun the city by complete. Our soldiers commenced sharpening their swords, and marching towards the bridge. The commanders of Gondor could see us, and announced orders to exchange fire. Arrows flew in the air, and hit a lot of us, but still we went on. Our commander eventually said 'Double pace!' and immediately it seemed as if every soldiers face had change dramatically. Now they were warriors, with grim faces and were about to charge towards gondor.

    The Gondorian Commander said 'This is a mistake they make, Archers and catapults! FIRE!'

    And as the tension grew so did the Gondorian rate of fire. As the Orc soldiers approached the enemy army at the river banks, they began to yell and say 'FOR SAURON!' Little did they know, that day, that as soon as they made it across the river, the Gondorian's unleashed a trap. A mudpit infront of the bridge, filled with Spikes. The battle was over... and the casualties to the Orc's seemed appauling.

    As the Gondorian troops began to counter attack and cross the river, a squad of Orcs, having surrendered were pushed into the pit, mercilessly. So, with the right flank gone, Sectz Army was encircled, the soldiers all either dieing of starvation, surrender, or being killed. The war had turned, and Mordor, would have to think of a new strategy to turn it back.

    TotW 73b – Justifiable Vengeance
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    No picture



    WINNER – Spartan262
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Fall of Man


    This, this is where we make our final stand. Every man, left on Middle-Earth gathered in this one spot, this one city, Osgiliath. Osgiliath was a city split into two sides , East and West, by a mighty river. We were surrounded on both sides, by armies and armies of Orcs, sprouted from the firey, mountainous land they call Mordor. The battle would soon begin, and so we the last men from all over Middle-Earth, men from Dale, Gondor, and Rohan prepare for battle.

    The next morning we arose to a foggy sunless, sunrise. Surely they would attack now, but no. They would not attack until we least suspect it. Soon it 'twas noon, and the assault still had yet to begin. Then , a horrible ear bursting screech , one screech that could only be a product of THE NAZGUL.

    This was the begining move, the Orcs knew all to well that we could do little to stop these creatures of death. Almost immediatly after the first screech of the Nazgul the horrible, terrifying screems of men, some of them my own bretheren, being captured by the massive, sharp claws of the Nazgul and brought high into the skies, only to be dropped from thousands of miles into the air , came to our ears. As they normally do the Nazgul fall back after a few minuets, soon to be followed by ground support.

    The ground shook as if the whole of Middle-Earth were quaking, this surely signaled the Orcs were on the march. Scouts atop the walls could be heard with shouts of, "Here they come", and "The end is near". We all readied and assumed defesive positions. The Orcs used their enslaved Trolls to push up mighty battering rams. The clanging sound of wood and stone against each other ment that we were soon to be engaged in combat unlike any human could prepare for, besides facing an enemy as savage as this before. The gates were down and battle ensued. We sliced and diced through enemy ranks but all was worthless as more and more just piled in. I felt the sting of a laceration from an Orcish sword. Metal on metal, wood on wood, warcry against warcry, any thing we could do they could do better. We were simply and utterly outmatched. The battle continued to rage on, but alas we all fell victim to the forces of Evil, man had failed, and this time there was no more hope.....


    Entrant 1 -Saint Nicholas

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    History

    I stand here at the wall, waiting on the battlements. The crenelations of the walls protecting me and my men. I state out across over the wall, to the far sunset and horizon. A beautiful landscape is laid out before me but it is besmirched by the masses of enemies I see below. Howling, dark and totally evil, they have come to destroy this most peaceful land. But it cannot be, that is why we are here to stop them. Our brave garrison of Glenvale Castle stands in their way, the hardiest and strongest of men. We must prevail here, defeat would mean the beginning of the end. A full half of our standing army was committed to the defence of this Castle. The day had to be won, no matter the cost. We stood poised now on the wall, ready for the storm that was surely to come. Our enemy was cunning and cruel, they were ready. They began to advance towards the walls, slowly and inexorably, like the sun sets each day, so to does the enemy bring war and death to our people. The first flaming boulders sailed over the walls destroying homes and crushing innocent citizens, It had now begun. This would be the greatest battle of our time, stories would be told by the survivors and the history of the empire would forever be changed.


    Entrant 2 -Nazgul Killer

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Sound

    Clank clank...
    My boots complained against the rough, stone pavement.
    Clank clank...
    Oh the sound was there, ever so prominent.
    Clank clank...
    The aggravating sound hastened as did my pace.
    Clank clank-Clank clank...
    Faster I went, faster. My heart began to race.
    Clank...
    I came to a halt, here it stood, the might of Númenor, valiantly defiant walls towering over the city, watching over its peoples. The art of Númenor it was, in stone crafting the men of Númenor were ever so skilled and it was evident, oh such beauty.

    My heart missed a beat as I saw a flaw in the wall, but that flaw was not by the hands of the men of Númenor, it was our fault. Our own. We could not protect the walls. The walls were smashed, shattered, destroyed. Even the sections that remained intact were riddled with cracks, how could this be?
    Upon the walls blood ran like rivers as Orcs and Men lay slain one beside another - Black mixed with red to create a river of disgusting gore that gushed down from the walls.

    Clank clank...
    I ran up the tower of the wall, the stairs never-ending.
    Clank clank...
    The steel upon my legs complained once more.
    Clank clank...
    My shield bashed against my side, eager for combat.
    Clank clank...
    The hilt of my sword swirled and rattled in its belt, eager to fight. I drew my sword and prepared for battle.
    Clank clank...
    I reached the top of the wall and saw my foe, I slashed and gashed, he fell dead.
    I slashed and stabbed, another died.
    Clank clank...
    I heard the ominous sound behind me...
    Clank clank...
    So many questions appeared in my mind as I felt the ever so sharp pain in the back of my head. All I could concentrate on was the sound... Clank... Clank...

    Entrant 3 -mrcrusty

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    At the walls.

    "This just isn't possible..." Melanar shook his head.

    Unbelievable. Rohan had fallen. The Rohirrim, proud horsemen and allies, had been crushed under the heel of Saruman and his Uruk-Hai, not 2 months ago, at Helm's Deep. Their King Theoden, among the victims.

    Now, their armies, were marching (forcibly, Melanar hoped), with Uruk-Hai and all manner of abominations, through Eastfold and the Anorien, into the heart of Gondor.

    What fools we were! Thinking that only Mordor would march against us, and that the Rohirrim would always be there to help.

    "Bah, it's too late for that," Melanar told himself angrily, "They are already at the gates. I don't have the time for this."

    Indeed, he did have no time, for at that very moment, a horn was sounded and a loud cry came from the approaching horde of Uruk-Hai and Rohirrim.

    It wasn't by chance they were under attack. A well defended beacon outpost it was, and if the beacon were to be extinguished here, it may not reach Minas Tirith in time to warn them of their impending doom.

    Melanar could see them massing, the Rohirrim were all at the front of the army, carrying siege ladders. They were to be the first to climb the ladders and the first to crash into Gondorian Steel. Like fodder. Melanar shook his head in disgust. Another horn blew.

    Melanar turned around. There were more of them, and they had found a section of wall undefended. Realising that no one else could be spared, he ran off alone. A few other men saw it too, and talked amongst themselves, hoping to reinforce Melanar when they got the chance.

    As he arrived at the walls, exhausted, ladders were already setup and several Rohirrim were almost at the top. He drew his sword and prepared to fight, but when the first of the Rohirrim climbed onto the wall, he merely looked at Melanar.

    ... "We will stand with you Gondorian."

    Melanar was shocked, but relieved. The Rohirrim were still on their side.

    Slowly but surely, more and more Rohirrim pledged to fight against the Uruk-Hai. Their solidarity filled Melanar's heart.

    However, before long, the Uruk-Hai too climbed the ladders and the battle ensued.

    .........

    The ferocious fighting that happened afterwards was all but a blur to Melanar, he remembers swinging his sword and screaming, but little more.

    Before he knew it, the Uruk-Hai were regrouping, reorganising and retreating. The wall was littered with dead Uruk-Hai and Rohirrim alike. Melanar's face, his clothes, his body, all smeared in blood.

    As the reinforcements finally arrived, they saw the piles of bodies heaped infront of them. Many looked away in disgust.

    Melanar, who was in tears by that point, walked towards the ramparts. He looked down at the retreating Uruk-Hai and lamented.

    "Rohirrim,

    You are our brothers, our one true friend,
    The bond between us, will never end.

    And though your people are all but slain,
    Our love for you shall never wane..."

    Entrant 4 -Mega Tortas de Bodemloze

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Not any more

    "We're thru dying for him, and we won't do it any more." The desperate carnage was repugnant, visceral, and violated the senses. This time the orc incursion had almost breached the northwestern defenses, who knows if the garrison could even width stand another assault?
    Ad mist it all, there stood Arragon, Lord and Master. The men cringed at the mere sight of him, beaming he was with satanic glee. Massive devastation was what he alone had wrought. His skill at killing was unsurpassed, leaving many to consider him a reaper in earthly form. The ample mound of orc entrails that surrounded him was quite frankly his most redeeming feature.

    Many were those that witnessed his atrocities against his own kind. Spurn his lustful overtures, and pay the price. Male, female, no matter, the price was always high. Evisceration by bare hands then to the stew pot with them and a week's worth of grewl.

    "the opportunity"...

    One of the remaining guardsman spotted the garrison's deliverance thru means of an inadvertent glance. On Arragon's left side slightly above the belt line was a deep,crimson, flowing gash. There lay heaven's gate. You see the orcs had a long standing bounty and pledge of neutrality if Arragon's head were ever delivered as payment for injustices suffered by them. With the nudge and brush of hand the would be hero's became aware of the opportunity, and now was the time to act...

    "My Lord, once again we honor thee for delivering us from oblivion." With spears raised in salute they approached their master..."Alas, exist in the living hell that is your rule?" "Not any more"....

    Entrant 5 -Friedrich Barbarossa
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Mein Herz ist treue (My heart is true)

    In mid summers eve in middle earth, one plot was carried out to assassinate the leader of Gondor, Denethor II, also the father of Boromir and Faramir. It is usually called the July 6 Plot, and this is how it worked. Colonel Argorn Haupsberg of the Gondorian army would first initiate plan Minaskurie, and in the process the reserve armies at Minas Tirith would be mobilized. You may be asking how this would affect leadership? We´ll with the plan initiated, the reserve armies would be thinking that a group of Royal guard radicals would be initiating a coup against the reich. With this Haupsberg and the rebellious Generals would be able to issue their arrests, because the Army would be thinking that they were saving the kingdom, when in reality they were doing the opposite. The only problem is that they would need Denethor II dead.

    So a thorough plan was made revolving around the fact, that they could get close to Denethor and armed at the Mountain Lair, a high peak secret lair where Denethor and his General´s planned strategies against Sauron. Here they would plant a sort of bomb made from olive oil, lanterns, and magic.

    That clock was ticking, and Haupsberg was entering the lair with his assistance, Leutnant Argomir. He softly asked if he could change to the greeting major, and the man showed him to a nearby hut. When they entered they commenced to arm the bombs in a hurry. In minutes the major began to ask them to hurry up since Denethor was waiting. He tried to get in, but Argomir closed the door saying `Were almost done.´ Time was out, and they could only make 1 charge. They commenced to walk with the major to the lair, but they realized they weren´t going there. The colonel asked, `Where is the briefing?´ The major responded `It is too hot today, so we are making it in the conference hut.´ Haupsberg entered alone, he placed his bag under the table. Meanwhile Denethor was in a rage at the fact that Osgiliath was being lost. Time was ticking, and the colonel was nervous. Finally, a soldier told him that someone was calling him outside, and so he followed the soldier outside. It was Argomir. Immediately a large explosion was heard from the inside of the hut. The colonel went on horseback with his assitant back to Minas Tirith. When they got there nobody had initiated Minaskurie and he was angry. Immediately he called the order, and troops began arresting members of the royal guard, and taking controll of districts. Finally an order came from the Mountain lair for an arrest warrant on Haupsberg, and one for Propoganda Advisor Yogels. They sent them both through, and troops began arriving at the Propoganda hut. Inside the adviser was waiting to take his own life, but he managed to convince the Commander that the leader was alive. And so he was. The operation was a failure, and the arrested had been released. Districts were unoccupied and now troops were aiming at arresting Haupsberg.

    They had arrived at his office in the top wall of Minas Tirith, and found him and his assistances, and his friends. The leader wanted them alive, but still the local commander thought it wouldn´t be neccessary. As one by one was killed by a flinging Javelin, Haupsberg was the only one alive. With his rangers tunic and covered in blood he yelled `Long Live Sacred Gondor!´and was killed at an instant. Who ever knew due to this war, so many more would die. Where was the peace Denethor promised us? The hope for a better tommorrow...


  20. #20
    Boustrophedon's Avatar Grote Smurf
    Citizen

    Join Date
    Oct 2010
    Location
    Rome, Italy
    Posts
    3,158

    Default Re: TotW Story Index

    TotW 74a – In to the Jaws of destiny
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    no picture

    Winner - Kip Specter
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    We fight as one

    “Onward, mighty Greeks! Syrians! Cilicians! We fight as one! We fight as one!”

    My voice is hoarse. I can barely hear my own words above the chatter of iron and bronze; I suppose my Stentorian chant is for my own benefit more than it is for my men.

    For a captain of the Seleukids, a commander of Alexander’s chosen heirs, I certainly am humble. I feel neither fear, nor bravery. I feel nothing but inevitability.

    We fight as one? I nearly laugh at my own lies. My company contains Ionians, Syrians, and the odd man that has no clearer a descent than the bastard horses of our antiquated cataphracts. Their dress? Colorful as the mist beneath a bubbling cataract. Their skin? The palest white to the burnished browns of the desert, all are among my company. These men are different, down to their very bones. The only uniform they wear is the silver of their blades.

    The Medes, the tragic sheep that were shorn by Seleukos himself – they fought as one. The Thousand Nations suffered their defeats, but they also conquered the world. We inherited the world. We are coming to learn that inheritances are hard to hold. Just as the Persians fell to unified Greeks at Plataea, and to the Greek host of Alexander, we will now surely lose to our own unified enemy.

    Our phalanx carries heavy shields. I carry a heavy heart.

    “Steady!” I cry, my lungs sore, my tongue burning. A shaft whistles overhead – I hear a metallic pang as it strikes a nameless shield in the rear ranks. Another whistle. Another. The sky erupts in high-pitched screaming, like the refrain of song birds. I would mistake it for a spring day in my native Antioch if it weren’t for the human screams that accompanied the melody. “Quicken the pace!”

    The rumble of our footsteps drowns out the screeching arrows. I see them take shape in the distance, beneath the shedding trees. Forms. Shadows. Faceless creatures dealing in death and conquest.

    My banner bearer falls, a shaft buried in his chest. I glance behind me. I will it to raise back up. Syrians! Armenians! Fight as one! It doesn’t fly again.
    I turn my head back forwards. Lions. Bears. I am confronted by beasts.

    I see the javelins take flight, loosed from the skilled hands of Roman skirmishers. They are ravenous falcons. We are but meat.

    Entrant 1 - Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Greeks eat breakfast

    The Greeks were a hardy people, fun loving and full of life. Their culture was rich and soaked in wine and grapes. The women were beautiful, Princesses of their own villa's and homes that Greek men love. The uniting of the Greek City States had not been easy. Many battles had been fought and many men, innocent women and children had died, all in the same of a united Greek empire. But peace had come to the lands of the Greek since then, their gods were many and kind, watching over and protecting them, providing bountiful harvests and plenty of rain to water crops. That was until the Romans came. A sea of red expanded out East from Rome. The tyrannical Pope was bent on conquest and the conversion of the Greek people to Catholicism. At once the Greek army was assembled to meet this new threat, rank upon rank of Hoplites, Archers, Horsemen and siege engines with even a few Spartan platoons scattered throughout the ranks. The Greeks had the might of many nations behind them, conquering all of the Balkans and much of Asia Minor, they brought diverse warriors and skilled fighters to war with them. The Romans marched proudly and confidently onto Greek lands, their arrogance will be their downfall. They underestimate the Greeks, they think they are stupid and nothing but drunk barbarians, animals that need to be put out to slaughter. But they are wrong, the Greek army had become the finest in the world, the Romans would be crushed in a defeat that would leave them paralysed for years. It was only the beginning, the Greeks intended to knock on the doors of Rome itself, depose the Holy Father and install a Greek governor, one who would lead the people in the worship of the Greek gods and end the Roman threat forever.

    Entrant 2 - Frederich Barbarossa
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    What if?

    It was morning on a cool autumn day. The forest where the Greek army was stationed at was misty, and many of the soldiers seemed tense at the gruesome scenery. Who thought a Greek army would come to Germania? It just seems so unlikely, but they were there! It may seem as an invasion, but it might have been a call to arms by a local tribe. What if. What if the battle of Teutoberg actually happened to the Greek's? What if, what if, they were not ambushed and met face to face. What if, they were led by a tall muscular commander that could be compared to Herecles himself? What if, that man had the best skills in the land? What if his soldiers and he had the best armor in the land? What if, a cloud of javelins were thrown at them in that land? It is all unlikely. But what I do know is that we'll just have to find out for ourselves. We will march to the enemy with full might and pride with our heads up high. What if nothing! What if nothing... I say no more, nor less. There in the woodlands a hailstorm of Javelins pierced the phalanx of this supposed commander, but they continued on, still questioning 'what if?'.

    Entrant 3 - Katsumoto
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    Fortes fortuna adiuva


    They had marched through fields of endless green; traversed rolling hills and shallow valleys. They had pushed on and persevered against anything Mother Nature could hurl at them: ferocious storms, soaring heat waves - even the occasional tremor. The worst of the elements could not break the resolve of these brave men - these soldiers of Hellas.

    Now here they stood, these courageous souls, in this barren woodland. A hawk soared high above the tree line, waiting patiently for the coming bloodshed. The barbarians called out again, taunting the golden hoplites. They continued to jeer until the order rang out across the Greek line.

    "Company! Forward!"

    The mass of spears and steel began to advance. Shields locked and together in step, the company was one. Together they would push through this rabble. Their spears would pierce the hearts of their foe from behind the wall of steel and bronze. They would be impenetrable.

    The first group of enemy skirmishers sallied out from their lines. Their javelins slammed into the hardened shields and panoply of the Greeks - few struck flesh. The Greeks continued onwards.

    As the peltasts retreated, the barbarian infantry moved to face the oncoming threat. The Greek line halted and braced. Feet dug firlmy into the dirt, shields raised high, the unit was solid. Not even the Gods of Olympus could move them now. The barbarians did not know what fate was about to befall them, but the Greeks were sure of it - the jaws of destiny only favoured the brave.

    Entrant 4 - Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Into the face of death.

    A pox on our enemy! They invade our territories and hire Romani mercenaries to guard their front line? The cowards! My friend Aetios says that the Makedonians have tried desperately to enlist the help of the Eperios and Rome itself in the fight against us but have only managed to rouse the interest of these men of coin. The sons of Alexandros will tremble at our display of retribution this day!

    For weeks our two armies have played a deadly game of cat and mouse in these marshlands. We tried desperately to discern if the enemy truly boasted the numbers that some members in our party feared but they were less than half that. Their army, already decimated by a crushing defeat last season, now relied on these foreign fighters to accomplish what they could not.

    But it has come to this. The enemy skirmishers formed a line that ran through this lowland like a thicket but we knew that if we were to break this human barrier, the thick of the Makedon forces would be there to receive the Gods' wrath delivered from the tips of our spears.

    We anxiously formed up our units, Aetios at my side, marching slowly until the enemy was in sight. Our commander then gave the charge and we break into a light step. We see the Romani skirmishers ready their javelins and now break into a full charge! They unleash their weapons with all their might, the sound is like a tempest!

    But we carry the might of Mars himself into this battle! We are hoplitai! Into the face of death brothers and let us claim our victory!

    Entrant 5 - chaplain 118
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Oh dear

    Oh dear, oh dear, I’m running terribly late.
    The rooms are lit, the tables are set
    Oh why oh why must I be running late?
    I hear Polydurus is bringing tea
    Or was it forgetful Symache?
    But that shan’t matter now, for I’m running late.

    Oh where or where is that bottle of wine?
    I could’ve swore I packed it with the bread
    Did you drink it, Sisyphus? Or was it you?
    Oh no, oh no, I cannot find the wine.

    Hey, boy, have you seen where the party is?
    Yes, you, the one running without shoes.
    It’s in the forest you say? Well tarry not boys!
    For already we’re running terribly late!

    Oh where, oh where could that party be?
    It seems we’re lost in this forest!
    Why is the sky suddenly gray?
    Why are the trees so seemingly scary?
    Oh where oh where could we be?
    Oh my, this isn’t good, now we’re REALLY late

    Excuse me, good sirs, yes you with wolf skin hats
    Perchance you can tell us all,
    Just where oh where we really are?
    You see, good sirs, we were late
    To a party held at king’s palace gate
    Now we’re kind of running lost
    In these woods filled with fog.

    Hey, what is that in your hand?
    Is that the wine from our fair land?
    How did you get our wine?
    Why aren’t you responding back?

    Oh dear, oh dear, please don’t
    Don’t throw our wine!
    They’re rather expensive you see
    And I had hoped to save some for me

    Oh dear oh dear, now the wine is smashed
    And we’re still running terribly late.
    Wait, where did you get those sticks?
    Why are you throwing those at me?


    TotW 74b – The Splendour of Persia
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Winner - chaplain118
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Diaries of a soldier

    a.d. III Ides of Iunius, 701AUC

    We had been marching nonstop for days, no weeks. The general insists upon chasing the Parthians through this blasted desert. It seems that he has gone mad in his quest for glory in the east. He promised us gold, silver, and endless riches that lie just at the heart of the Parthian lands. All I see are sand and scrubs. There is no gold in these lands, there is no silver, and there are no riches. We are hungry, thirsty, but the general will not stop his mad march. Perhaps we’ll find a town tomorrow that we can raid. The rest of the army is growing restless. Talks of rebellion and mutiny are heard in the tents at night. I don’t blame them. Building camp is becoming harder and harder now. The sand is maddening. It gets into everything. Food, water, even in the crevices of our clothes. I wish I were back in Rome, but word is it’s not safe to go back now.

    Ides of Iunius, 701AUC
    The talks of mutiny is growing stronger and stronger among the men. Just last night, Aventinus pulled me aside and asked that if the officers rose up to kill Crassus, would I join them. I had no answer for him. I just want to leave this cursed place. The days are unbearably hot and the nights are freezing. I can see vultures circling the sky. Battle is coming. I can feel it. But I’m afraid. We’re all exhausted from our marches and we haven’t even seen a single Parthian. Crassus still promises of glory and riches, but right now I just want a place to lie down comfortably and sleep. I wonder how Festinia is doing back home. Late at night, when the stars dot the infinite blackness of the skies, I can see her smiling at me among them. I’ll make it back home to see that smile for myself. I swear on it by these stars. A meteor just went by. Maybe this campaign may not be doomed after all.

    a.d. XII Kalend of Sextilis, 701AUC
    A messenger rode into camp today. He was a Parthian. These people dress so oddly. He was covered in strange, light robes. How could anyone wear so much clothing in this heat is beyond me, but the man did not sweat. Maybe he was used to it. He spoke alone with the general. We waited eagerly in our tents. The talks of mutiny were dying down. Now talks of battle are coming again. When the messenger left, Crassus spoke to us. He told us that the Parthian army is marching close to us now and that we should prepare ourselves. I’m excited. I’ve heard of my brother’s deeds in Gaul with Gaius Julius, maybe I can repeat them here, in the east. I think this will be my last entry for quite a while now. I hope to show this to my children one day.

    Entrant 1 - Frederich Barbarossa
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A glory in the mist

    The might of the Roman empire was shattered around 350-400 aD after the rule of mighty Constantine the Christian emperor. Now in 476 Ad the empire has coronated a new young emperor, of Roman Blood. Romulus Augustus. His father a Roman General had kept at bay his enemies to help his son rule the empire. For the first few months, people felt safe, and secure at the fact that by having this boy with elite around him, he would increase morale through the empire. However they were wrong. Installed by his father, Orestes, the boy was merely a child and did not know how to rule. Odoacer, a Roman barbarian General was in a fury out of this, and wanted to take advantage of the situation. After weeks of negotiating the pay of Odoacer's men, Orestes refused to pay such sums, and so Odoacer commenced to raid local villages in the Roman border. The Romans grew doubtful, and so Odoacer came to Rome, besieged it, captured it, sacked it, humilated it, since 300 BC when the Gauls took it, and so the Royal family fled. They fled with all their might to Ravenna. The Western Roman, I mean, the true Roman empire had fallen...

    Entrant 2 - Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Might of the Romans

    The Western Roman Empire and the Eastern Roman Empire had been at war for decades. Both sides were equally matched in cunning and ferocity. The people had been so divided, their had been a massive upheaval in Rome. The Church and Senate were in a state of war. The Westerners stood to defend the honour of the holy city and protect it's people, the barbarous Easterners looked only to pillage and plunder, they were quickly expanding their empire and now threatened Rome itself. Like a river that had washed over all opposition on the path to Rome, the Greeks, Macedonians, Bulgarians, Croatians, all had fallen by the sword of the Eastern Roman Empire and their lands subjugated and absorbed. The Roman war machine was in full swing now, all efforts were on the sacking of Rome and the destruction of the Church. The Holy father could not let this happen, he had summoned the legions to defend his Holy See, God will protect you he had told the soldiers. What they didn't know was that God had forsaken them, the Roman gods had grown tired of this rebellion, of their children slaughtering in each in human conquest, they had turned their backs and deserted them. No these soldiers were all forsaken by their God's, even the Holy Father himself, though he would not admit it. Today no one man was afforded the protection of god, he would stand as a mortal human on the battlefield, ready to meet the tide that was about to come and hoping against hope that the Western Roman Empire had the strength to repel this invasion.

    Entrant 3 - mrcrusty
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Fighting Blind.

    I am proud to have my position. A commander of Cappadocian Cavalry.

    Our Roman allies call us "Cataphracts". I guess the Romans do not have the intelligence to tell the difference. We take no pride in being compared to the fools of Seleukos or Parthia.

    I guess they cannot be blamed, our steeds were weighed down by all the armour, it even covered their faces and eyes. Must be close enough to them.

    Today, we fight a vital battle against the warmonger Mithridates.

    Our leader, Ariobarzanes, just wants peace for our land and our people. To let us live our own lives without fear of war. Is that really so incomphresenible to the Pontic butchers?

    In any case, the battle lines have been drawn, and we will yet draw blood by nightfall. I can only hope our Roman allies do their part.

    ...............

    We are told of the Roman strategy. Using one of their famed "legions", they will invite battle from the Pontic army and we are to spring a trap, launching an assualt on both sides of the Pontic army with our heavy cavalry. I ask whether such a plan would work, citing many flaws, they laugh at me, dismissing my opinion.

    "We have taken care of their scouts. When they reach the battlefield, they will be fighting blind. When you fight blind, things go horribly wrong." He said smugly.

    ...............

    To my surprise, it goes exactly as the Romans say.

    I can seen the Pontos off in the distance, numbering in the thousands. Ever willing to follow by their king's example. Straightforward, without any real thought.

    Soon, the Roman infantry will pin them down, and our cavalry forces shall strike.

    ...............

    A horn blows, that's the signal. I gallop ahead of the men and towards the battle. It has already been engaged. All that's left is to complete the trap.

    Victory is assured.

    ...............

    My men and I gallop and charge ever forward. The Pontos are taken off guard, some even try to flee... what cowards, I shall enjoy ridding the earth of such scum.

    As I ride towards them however, my steed comes to an abrupt halt. It rears back on it's hind legs, almost throwing me off.

    My men look at me in bewilderment, I don't think they know what's going on either. Suddenly, my steed once again takes off. But this time, towards the Roman battle line. The horses of my men do the same, all of us confounded and confused.

    Our horses pick up speed, signaling the end. I can see the petrified faces of the Roman soldiers. Gods! We are about to collide. We're all dead men!

    I look around, searching for anything that may explain why our horses are leading us to our doom. As I do, the words of the Romans rush back to me.

    “When you fight blind, things go horribly wrong.”

    Turning my attention to the terrified Roman infantry line, I couldn't help but smirk.

    Oh, the irony.

    Entrant 4 - Beer Money
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The speech

    "Roman!" I call out to the soldier in front of me. "Sheath your blade! Your men are lost, your forces routed!" The young boy that cowers before me is no fearless legionnaire. Yet he holds his dagger firmly in defiance of the Persian cavalry assembled before him.

    He makes no response, even though I have addressed him in his native Latin. Perhaps he is deaf or mute or some other castoff that the Roman dogs have put in armor, desperately trying to stave off our march. A fellow noble who rides besides me remarks, "You expect these snakes to speak Zabinas?" Muted laughter surrounds me. But it puts the footman at ease enough to challenge us.

    "Come, fight me then!" He proffers. Again, more laughter. The boy can barely keep his eyes open, he is squinting terribly through the reflection of sunlight off of our armor.

    "Son," I continue, "we shall not. The might you see before you is but a fraction of what Antiochus will bring down upon your armies! I need the fear you show in your eyes, the cowering sniveling fear hiden behind that quivering hand of yours to spread like disease and pestilence through your people, your kingdom, to the very spine of your emperor himself! Our spears strong. Our horses stronger! Bear witness to our imperial splendour and report back to your defeated countrymen that the might and wealth of our empire is unmatched! Run to your senators and legions, to their homes, to their altars and recount stories of the nightmare the descendants of Seleukos brought them this day! A mighty sea that will drown every living soul that dares to combat it!"

    Everyone fell silent. A rousing speech to match the sight the hapless soldier now beheld. Even my men seemed in awe. Still, the man held his ground. An eternity seemed to pass as the only sound that surrounded us was the wind whipping through the tall grass, the reeds sounding like waves crashing gently against the sands of the Agean.

    Finally, my second command broke the silence. He reached for his purse and threw a coin at the boys feet. "Go on, take it. Report the battle lost. Burn this defeat into the minds of all of Rome." And with that the boy slowly reached down for the silver, snatched it from the ground and took off running. I turned to my friend with a look of disbelief and irritation. The other men were desperately trying to contain their amusement. He looked at me genuinely and offered, "Well, it was a fine speech, I'll give you that."

    Camp would be intolerable.


    TotW 75a – The Last Stand
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    Winner - Julius Barca the Great
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    One Final Charge

    The desperation was evident in the young captain's voice.
    "Sir, if we mount another attack, we will be routed! The men are exhausted, hungry, and demoralized!"
    His superior, the commander of the Byzantine army, Aemilianus Nikiforos, looked on impassively while the captain of the cavalry pleaded for the lives of his men.
    "Finish them," ordered Nikiforos, adamant in taking the hill, a hill that, as of this morning, held a large pocket of Islamic resistance to Imperial interest.
    The Byzantine Emperor had sent a large contingent of men to capture cities of the Holy Land, in an attempt to gain favor with the Christians of Europe. To avoid becoming encircled, dozens of cities and strongholds were taken along the way. Now, halfway between Antioch and Jerusalem, in the mountainous region of the Lebanon, a comparatively small force of Muslims stood their ground.
    The men, with their large, thick shields and sturdy spears, formed a block and held against Byzantine advance for hours. The Captain of the cavalry, a man by the name of Pavlos, had been appalled when he had been ordered to charge his heavily-armored horsemen directly into this wall. It had been a massacre. Yet the charge was ordered a second time. And a third. Until now, only one in ten men sat on a horse. The Arabs were still strong, still energetic, full of life, it seemed.
    "Mount up, men. We ride once more. Show these followers of false prophets how a Christian man does battle!"
    The lancers gave a halfhearted cheer, praying, hoping against hope the Muslims would flee, knowing with certainty they would not. Pavlos led his men on one final charge, up a hill, into the snarling teeth of the enemy. One last charge, for honor, for the Empire, for Faith.

    Entrant 1 - Frederich Barbarossa
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    ALMEIDA (of the Plateau)

    It is tough to say how I got my last name, Almeida. Only someone like me, Frederich Barbarossa could tell of such a thing in TOTW but I still will. It all started in the moorish conquest of Spain in the 8th century. A young man named Ali was in a cavalry unit for the occupiers in the grim city of Cordoba. He was very charming with women and his friends, though he merely maintained pack mules and donkeys for the soldiers and was just the peasant boy. He would tell of tales and entertain fellow soldiers every time he could, with the usually happily ever after story. One day however, Ali rode across a distant and saw a a beautiful white horse in a rage at the distance. The village behind him was abandoned, and the horse was frightened by the silence and isolation. He quickly looked to see if no one was looking, and got near the horse, while the other soldiers marched. He silently walked in front of the horse and places the palm of his hand on the horse neck. He stroked the timid animal until it began to grow silent. He began speaking to it as if it were human. The young man also prayed to Allah and sang to the horse. The horse's pupils grew large and wide. For the young man got on the horse, and had tamed it as not a prize, but as a brother. He rode the horse triumphantly through the columns of troops in which he would from now on ride on this horse through the plateaus and prairies of Iberia. He would ride it to his destiny, and now became a soldier in which he would be a Liason and a guide into battle. From now on his name was Ali of the Plateau, and ever since my family has carried on the tradition of annually riding through the prairies of the world in his honor...

    Entrant 2 - Nanny de Bodemloze

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Praise The Great Maker that someone should find this. We are all that is left of our great army. We are surrounded, we have not had water for two days, and our enemy, curse them all, are cowards who will wait for thirst and the ravens to kill us rather than risk their own lives...they will not even give us the honour of a battle death, picking us off one by blessed one with their cowardly arrows. They mock us from the distant heights, and make noises with their shields to keep us from our rest at night. They are a cursed race, and I pray The Great Maker will punish their dishonourable ways.

    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    Our dead are at our feet...my brothers...my comrades. Praise The Great Maker, but they are better off than we. But let it be written that in the end, we did not die like dogs...that we charged the enemy for the glory of our great King...for the honour of our families...and for the Maker's Prophet. I soon will make ready my spear, and say my last prayers. We will surely not live to see the setting sun, but Praise the Great Maker I will soon be with my Good Father and my brothers fallen before me.

    If you reading this and are one of the godless rabble who refused to honour us with a proper death, I will bring vengeance upon your kind in the next life.

    Capt. S. Al-Haddad


    Entrant 3 - Lysimachus
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Last Stand

    How was it possible...

    ...we had them on the run. We had destroyed them at Manzikert. Their emperor had been captured, their army had been destroyed, and their economy was in ruins. Then how could they have done this? We thought we had won, but it seems they were able to recover far sooner than we thought they would have, and now they had counterattacked. The Sultan's army had been defeated and scattered. Several bands of soldiers, too far away from home had simply gone roaming and I was part of one of them.

    Out of nowhere, our group of a few hundred was attacked and we have been pushed in to the desert and pursued. We formed ourselves in to a shieldwall. Spears and shields all pointing towards the Romans. I took a ready stance. A few of the men, their nerves failing simply dropped on to their knees and yelled to Allah to save them, others committed suicide. There was no point stopping them, the cruelties of war had already took control of their minds. I shifted nervously. My armour shook slightly. The desert wind blew in to my eyes. Suddenly, after a brief period of banter, a huge yelling was heard on the horizon as the Romans charged. Screaming anything that could come out of their mouths, like a rabble simply stormed towards us. I uncomfortably braced myself, looking at specific individuals who would be my next target, and as they drew closer I was able to make out faces. Suddenly, our lines clashed. A man pushed himself on to me, I immediately thrusted my spear in to him, ripped it out and then deflected a blow from the sword of another soldier. I aimed my spear in to his heart, but he sliced the point right off so I kicked him in the groin, dropped my spear and punched him in the face as he fell to the floor and he collapsed in a pool of blood. Just as I turn around to face my next foe, his sword scrapes right next to my cheek, ripping the skin off. Reacting quickly I go to kick him but he deflects with his shield. Clutching the shield with my foot I kick it upwards, and just as he looks up I beat him over the head with my own shield. Suddenly, they start to flee. As I regain my composure, I take a brief look around and look at the pile of bodies along the width of our line. A hundred? Two hundred? Irrelevant. We had won. But our hopes were soon tarnished as after what seemed an eternity, a fresh new wave of more experienced and armoured looking soldiers walked up on the horizon.

    I must return back to the men now, to face this new threat. I sincerely hope that I make this out alive, but in case I don't, I have left this diary just behind us so that at the end of this battle, people will know of my experiences and know of how I felt at this moment in time. Now to arms once more!

    Asil

    Entrant 4 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    By Allah's Breath...

    Richard the Lion they called him, more beast than man he certainly was. The Sultan told us that this monster had sex with men, ate small children and drank the blood of those killed by his hand after each battle. Mahout shot six arrows in the Devil and he brushed them from his tunic as easily as my Arabian swats flys with his tale. We survived the Devils lustful prick this time however paradise awaits if he returns with swelled numbers to his scouting party. Devil or not, how can you not admire him and the zealous ferocity that he instills in his servants. Outnumbered three to one and at disadvantage of terrain they charged to their deaths as if they were indestructible and promised a thousand virgins for every spear & shield they laid silent.

    Our captain was a fool to lead us here without cavalry support and rightfully so he died a fool's death. He challenged the Lion to single combat, and left this earth when the Lions axe split his skull as if it were a ripe melon. After his victorious challenge the Barbarous Frank turned to us and asked if any one else wished to see paradise this day. In unison by Divine revaluation we all took a knee and bowed our heads in tribute to this overpowering soul. The Devil's aura was so strong it took all my will & spirit not to fall down before him and pledge my remaining troops to his unholy cause.

    The Sultan's will has brought us here to Ascalon from Sudan, But it will be Allah's Devine Breath that decides our fate.


    TotW 75b – Ambush and survival
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 




    Winner - Don't Tread on Me
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A Sharpshooter’s Tale

    "Ain’t there one Pennsylvania man who can shoot straight?”

    General Morgan’s Virginia riflemen taunted us like we were redcoats, not their allies. They were in my regiment’s camp to recruit sharpshooters for Morgan’s new special corps, but so far a lot of laughs was all they’d gotten for their trouble. When they called us lily-livered Quakers who’d apologize to a stag after shooting him, I’d had enough.


    I stepped up to the line that marked 250 yards from the target, a tiny glass jar on a tree stump. I glared at the Virginians and walked back another 50 yards, prompting a chorus of hoots and guffaws.


    I shouldered my rifle, aimed at the jar, and fired. The crack of the rifle was followed by the burst of shattered glass.


    From that moment, I was one of Morgan’s chosen men.


    I don’t know why I joined. My enlistment was due to expire at year’s end; now I was obliged to hang on till the war was over. I had broken my promise to Peggy.


    It was dangerous work, too. A regular infantryman who got captured might be exchanged after a while. But the Brits saw riflemen as assassins, hiding in trees, picking off the King’s officers like we were hunting partridges. To them, we deserved the bayonet or the noose.


    I didn’t have time to ponder my reasons for joining. Saratoga was our first big action.


    We were skirmishing at Bemis Heights when General Morgan saw the redcoat light infantry trying to turn our flank. We darted through some woods and caught them from behind. We had them in a crossfire. We could see them waver.


    Then up rode one of Burgoyne’s commanders to rally the redcoats. General Morgan hurried over and said, “Sergeant Murphy, that gallant officer is General Fraser. I admire him, but it is necessary that he should die. Do your duty."


    But Fraser had just galloped back about 300 yards from our lines. I climbed a tree to get a better shot.


    I wrapped my legs around a bough, its bark scraping my skin through my worn stockings and breeches. I shouldered the rifle, cocked the hammer, and looked for the enemy general. He had stopped, so I angled the rifle and prepared to fire. But just then, the infantrymen below me loosed a volley. I used my hat to wave off the acrid smoke, which had sparked a coughing fit that nearly lost me my balance. When it cleared, I saw the fool hadn’t moved, fatuously gazing at his steadying infantrymen.


    I knew I would get only one shot, and that was all I needed. Fraser tumbled out of his saddle, and the redcoats closest to him started running. Soon it was a great red wave, fleeing the field.


    The redcoats will call me a murderer. Peggy could call me a liar. My fellow soldiers might call me a hero. I want only to be known as a man who did his duty.

    Entrant 1 - Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Ambushed

    There we were, out on the open plain. Slowly trudging through the wet grass. Thick mist obscured our vision, stained our faces and moistened our uniforms. It was like walking through water, only freely, encountering no resistance from the force of the element of life. Our senses were befuddled, the cold sank in to the bone, freezing our flesh and making us stiff. We were moving blind, there was no indication of where we were, what we were walking into. We marched on, slowly and quietly. Suddenly, a loud crack was heard. A burst of orange light was seen. Something heavy fell against me, leaving a dark stain as it hit the ground. I looked down, one of our men, a black bleeding hole in his head, his open eyes were lifeless and staring up at me. Another load bang, and then a few more. The air is filled with smoke now, orange light can be seen all around. The sound is deafening, we had walked right into a trap. Concealed in the thick scrub, enemies waiting for us. We had no chance, we could not see our enemy, we could only see our mounting pile of dead and dying. I close my eyes, this is the end I thought. I raise my hands to the heavens, crying out for mother. A bullet pierces my arm, sending shocks of pain and fear, almost over now. A distant soldier takes aim, he fires, signalling the end for me.

    Entrant 2 - Frederich Barbarossa
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Soldier

    Sunset was approaching and the battle column was approaching the opposing French force. Who would have known the French would cross the river at Brussels so fast? For there I had to leave my lover to anticipate for my return and grow nervous as the fall leaves began to fade and fall on the cold ground. For when I arrived on the battlefield, I could not answer the meager question of being able to outlive this moment. The French cannons have scrapped us my love. The birds in the horizon do not chirp as they used to, and so all Is like a war song... The sky is only gray from the devastation of war, and the hills ravaged and thirst for water. The wind mills abandoned, and the towns evacuated. Either dead soldiers or dead people is all I could see. The only thing that can make me happy in this moment is our love and that is what pushes me on to survive such a conflict. My arms are sore, and my feet filled with blisters... I am not sure If I can truely go on, for Waterloo may lie near, but my death lies nearer.

    -Private. Daniel Thatcher 'British army under Wellington, Waterloo' June 18, 1815

    Entrant 3 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Autumn...the best time to ...

    03 Sep 1780 Falls Church, Virginia, Brooks meadow, four miles from town. "If we don't stop them here, they'll run free range all the way to Georgia." The British 103rd foot, fresh from garrison in Charlestown, was indeed an impressive sight. To the mere "Farmboy" county militia they faced, the 103rd seemed like incomprehensible Titans descended from Olympus to bring death, fire, and retribution for all their colonial mis-deeds and crimes. These "Country boys" would run and hide if they could but there was no where to go. All their life's work was tied up in these fields. Tobacco was king in this part of the country and harvest time was now at hand.

    Guerrilla warfare and sniper fire were colonial trademarks. This was due to the militia's youth, inexperience, lack of standard military training, and the disparity in numbers between the two sides. Admittedly the Americans had become experts at this new, unsavory and dishonorable type of warfare. However, today their only hope of stopping the oncoming British juggernaut was to present a "solid front", so their usual hit and run tactics would be of no use here.

    These brave souls gave thanks to the "Great Maker" for all they had and then made ready to bring their guns to bear.

    Autumn... it was certainly the best time to...."Die".


    TotW 76a – What's left is all that remains
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    Winner - Katsumoto
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Passing Smell

    Death has a very peculiar smell. There is of course the stench of putrid corpses, horrifying scents emanating from bloody gashes and severed heads. The horrid smell tugs on one’s nose hairs, almost ripping them from the sensitive skin. But there is another smell, a stench so ghastly that it fills the whole body with disgust, not only entering through the nose but by every perceivable orifice, from the eye to the ear. It is the smell of souls.

    Thousands of them lay scattered now across the arid sand. They were preparing themselves. Preparing themselves for the journey to the Heavens above. Most, however, would not reach its Golden Gates. Instead, they would be cast down into the inferno of the Underworld.

    A sudden gust blew across the plain, scattering sand across a heap of stacked bodies. They lay lifeless, spears and swords stuck in their torsos, dead eyes rolled back. The battle had lasted several hours, both sides unable for a while to hold the advantage. One side would push hard and gain a footing against its opponent, until the other side decided to counterattack fiercely to regain its position. These counterattacks caused much of the bloodshed, the attacking side throwing themselves into the carnage, while the other valiantly defended their hard-earned place.

    Now, the desert lives up to its name. Gone are the clashes of cold steel. The grunts and screams of men have also vanished with death. Only the wind blows, its hollow whistle perforating the still air.

    With a whisper the smell of souls disappears. They are gone, left to fulfil whatever fate chosen for them. Even the wind has died down now, the sandy dunes calm and ready, patiently awaiting the next struggle and the passing souls that inevitably follow it.

    Entrant 1 - Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Cruel Sands

    Greetings Sadiq, I'm here to tell you a tale of the desert. A legend that should be told. A great battle between two rival desert tribes took place here, many years ago. This conflict, like all others came about with the escalation of tensions and lack of water and other previous resources. Times were tough and the desert was unforgiving sadiq. The people that made their lives here were desperate. Always on the edge of dehydration and starvation. It was no surprise that things got out of hand. The desert does strange things to those that live here long enough sadiq. Honourable men have been turned into scum, powerful people have been overthrown from unlikely places. This desert is evil and so are the people that infest it. The war raged for years between the two tribes. Many casualties there were on both sides. The resources kept changing hands each day it seemed. All this took place under the unforgiving gaze of the hot red sun. It burnt those below, scarring their flesh and inflicting pain. Yet it remained high above, ever watchful and out of reach. Battle after battle took place on these hot sands, the desert swallowed the remains after each encounter, leaving no trace of the dead and dying. People could be mistaken for having a case of deja vu, battle after battle took place and they were all the same. One side would have the upper hand and win decisively but then be defeated convincingly the next day. For ages it went on, until finally one side grew overly powerful and managed to destroy the other. Uniting the many desert nomads and other tribes under the one banner, did this warlord destroy his enemy. The tale of the desert war is now stored in local legend sadiq. People such as I exist to spread the word and to warn travellers. This legend musn't be forgotten. What happened here cannot happen again. The desert is at peace, war must not return to this place, lest these cruel sands of fate claim us all. Be well Sadiq, safe journey.

    Entrant 2 - midterm360
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Battle All Around Me
    An excerpt from a piece of writing found on the body of one of the dead, scrawled on the papyrus in a seeming rush; it reads

    The battle is all round me, I don't know what to do,
    The battle is all round me, to such horror I am new.
    I am lost and I am scared and running out of will
    As I wait desperately for an enemy to come in for my kill
    For of this life i'm weary and I cannot seem to take
    The strife of war around me, of it I don't know what to make
    My band of brothers in arms, have all fought and died
    To save them, just to save them! Forgive me brothers I tried
    Twilight is upon, and I fear I am now spent
    But looking at my life, I know am I content
    Before I go to see my grave I have one final warning
    Of the ferryman to take the dead, for all us he's coming...

    Sergeant Huxley finished reading the poem. They had been fighting the warriors of Islam for days in the forsaken deserts. He briefly pondered why god had made the Holy Land such an inhospitable place, then his mind wandered to the man who's body he'd just taken this from.

    "Poor ole sap wasn't ready for a war...what a waste of talent"

    He mounted his horse and went back to mopping up the remaining Muslim forces pushing all thoughts of remorse from his mind, and all thoughts about what was going through that particular Muslim's mind before death. All in a days work for a soldier he thought grimly, and continued on his bloody business.

    Entrant 3 - Borissomeone
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The fire burns dully before us as the wind whispers over the sand; the stars shine down on us the cold light etching our young brave faces in hard detail.
    ‘So tomorrow we will push the enemy back to the coast.’ The men or more boys than men, around me nod their heads, as the cries of the men grow loud as they shout agreement. Soon the men fall quiet, the sound of our horses drift in the wind, this is the time before battle, the time when we the young and brave boast about how many of the enemy they will slay. This is a time of peace and bravado; I nod to each man, who in turn smile, wide grins showing white teeth in the dying light. As the fire slowly dies and the ash crumbles into the glowing coals men drift into sleep dreams of glory surely feed their mind with images of the fallen enemy. Tomorrow will be a good day.

    Morning comes; dark clouds hang above heavy and pregnant with rain, strange for this land but that does not matter I think for this is a day of glory for everyone involved. The sand stretches off into a never ending sea of gold, only a single palm stands guard over this part of the sea as we ready for the charge, our mounts eager to run.

    Soon the horn wails a mournful note, should it not sound proud, it matters not; our young faces are fierce as we start the charge towards the waiting enemy.

    A wild mass of raging men and horses ride straight for the waiting foes, who take careful aim and fire.

    Men are ripped from their steeds, screams and curses sound out over the battle field, I see a friend who I have know for many a year, his young face ruined and twisted by pain lying in the red sand, another his head almost taken off, his horse slain as well deadly bolts gracing its once powerful chest. This is not a day of glory, today is a day of terror.


    TotW 77a – Da Goofy's
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 



    Winner - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Death comes for us all

    So you would take Grim's hand in friendship and in trust? What's that you say?, "forever and til dust is dust". That may be and even so, but perhaps you've not noticed what he does professionally and for a living. No, Grim Death is my friend and has promised me to the end that he would never seek to harm me. Why since we were school mates and adolescent chums he has forever been by my side, and stuck with me through thick and thin. He is comical and has a cleaver sharp wit. In addition he is also blunt and forthwith to a fault.

    I have gone with him to work several times, when he would get the call. Why once we were even shooting darts in the local beer hall, whence came the call. A job no simpler could be found, and it did not even require a sound. A simple touch and the deed was done, why sometimes I'll admit it was even fun. Old and young, thin and fat, in good health and in bad. Some popular, some poor, why even once there was this ole bore who frankly reassembled a.....

    His job's a job and the pay is fair, why I would say that he even does it with flair. And yes, he does share. I receive two pounds, a shilling, and a sixth pence per job, so by no means am I to be considered a derelict slob. We were fishing this day when the job come through, and Grim said to me, I certainly will be needing you. On the way he said we had one stop to make, even though we had to make sure that we weren't running late. Stopped by Grim's house we did. In through the kitchen and living room, whisked hastily into the study as though by a broom. There sat Grim Sr. behind his desk, busily attending to what he knew best. "Aaahh yes boys please do come in, for as you know todays cold as sin." " Here if you please take this package and deliver it with ease".With that he gave the package to Grim and commented on how fine I was looking that day. Admiring my jacket he brushed a snowflake off and then gently ran his hand through my hair commenting on how it was so fair.

    With Grim Sr's touch came my swift end, but I bare him nor Grim any mails for doing what had to be done. Death comes for us all when the time is right, and I my case a bump in pay....to add to the fray, for now Grim is but my assistant.

    Now how do you like that.....

    Entrant 1 - Frederich Barbarossa
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The dawn was approaching...

    A gloomy dark figure roamed through the streets in a hurry.
    He turned right... he turned left still in a total hurry.

    The sun silently rose from the horizon, and all he could do was turn back to watch it.

    People were starting to wake up, and walking through the city...

    He noticed them and gasped in astonishment. He did not realize it was so late.
    He crept through an alleyway and reached the end. The thick brickwall in front of him was blocking his path, and he was trying to think of what to do next. He saw a barel to the side. He grabbed it and neared it to the wall hoping to hop over it. Still...the wall was too high. He grew desperate and tried to get over it. The sheer sight of another figure a few meters behind him after tormented him. He slowly turned his hood to the side of his shoulder and glanced back. When he saw this demonic figure he just fell over and stumbled to the floor. What could this be? The man started to crawl to a corner of the wall and got into a featle position. The figure approached...silently... The figure reached for his pocket under a dense hood, he loosened his belt. It was still very early and the city was not fully lit.

    A block away a boy was walking very early to school. He had his hat and scarf over his neck because it was cold. He was trotting smiling through the street. He passed the alley and glanced in curiosity. He was suprised and turned back to glance again to make sure of what he had seen... The dark figure was taking out was seemed...a wand? a sword? No! Thats all children's stories. No such thing as Voldemort. No such thing as the grim reaper. No such thing as death itself.

    The figure continued pointing at the man. Both were so hooded that the boy couldn't even tell if they were men, but just assumed. A loud noise was heard. A flock of pigins overhead had scattered.

    BANG!

    The man stops moving and lays there. The dark figure then approached the motionless body and removed the hood. The Child continued to watch. It was a women? With bright red lipstick and red cheeks. The figure opened the barrel next to her, and commenced to hide the body. Time was ticking, and he had to hurry. The hooded thing threw the body in the barrel as if it were garbage and closed the lid. It had suddenly gone out of the alley way and into the narrow street. He passed the child just looking at him. The Child could only look at his dark covered hooded face. There was no face at all! The child asked...

    "Whats your name sir?"

    The dark figure started to laugh...and placed his hands over his hood.

    He slowly took the hood off and approached the child, and softly spoke.

    "Im Jack..."

    He then immediately placed the hood back on and walked away.

    Never did that boy know, of what he saw. Never did that boy speak of it...again.

    Entrant 2 - Major Darling
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The darkness in the graveyard covered the ground.. Lit only by the moonlight, the day had ended and the night had began. The local children had always dared each other go into the graveyard as late into the night as they could.. Tonight, there would be no children, except there was one person roaming the graveyard. Through the cut grass it glided, not laying a foot on the ground as it moved. It passed dug and empty graves waiting for the victim to arrive from the embalmers but this person was not after the dead, it was after the living.

    It crossed over the Gravyeard threshold and into the High Street, it followed the dimly lit avenue. It passed the dark buildings, the dark pubs and the dark gardens. It entered the front garden of one of these dark houses and passed through the garden's gate, a low creak piercing the otherwise silent air. The ethereal thing entered the house without the need to knock, it crossed the drawing room only lit by a dying fire and its orange embers. It climbed the creaking mahogany stairs to a landing with no light, as dark as the graveyard... It passed across the landing into a bedroom, in the bedroom there was an antique mahogany bed and in that bed lay an ancient fellow. The thing crossed and it touched the ancient gentleman and the man went cold.. The thing looked in the mirror and what it saw was, death..

    Entrant 3 - Elzabar
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    A floorboard creaked. He peaked around the corner, to see what had made the sound. Behold, nothing. The wind howled. He wrapped his arms around his shivering body. Like a blanket. A dog barked.

    He waited for the sound again. There was no dog. He was the only one here. He glanced behind his back, then slowly shifted into the shadows. He was safe. The shadows were his home. Nobody could find him there. He continued to creep through the old building, looking for a chest.

    A candle flickered. He slowly looked around the corner. A staircase wound down into the darkness, shadows again. Safety. He moved quickly past the candle, and once again into the shadows. Down the staircase. Excitement building.

    The walls left him. A room. At the end, surely a chest. He fumbled across the floor, unable to see. Darkness had betrayed him. A wall. A chest! He felt for his pocket, and pulled out a key. He opened the chest, awaiting the gleaming beauty of treasure that lay within.

    No beauty. No treasure. But pain. He fell, the old building the only witness to his cries of agony. Darkness, the only mourner of his death. Darkness, and those who lay dead around him. Those who sought treasure before him. But found death.

    Entrant 4 - Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Foolish hero
    "Come out, come out, where-ever you are..." Our hero said mockingly, pushing the doors of the monastery open.

    "I won't hurt you... I Just want to talk..." Our hero said with intrigue, holding an iron sword in his hand.

    "Do not fear me, come and see me, oh great mystery" Our hero said calmly, moving between the benches in the monastery.

    Our hero opened his mouth to speak once more, only to stop upon witnessing the hooded figure, shivering. Its eyes red.

    "Thank you." Our hero said, flinging his sword forward, only to have it stopped in mid air by the same hooded figure, holding the blade of his sword in its steel-coated hands.

    "W... Wh... What are you?" Our hero said with fright.

    No reply came but the shaky sound of someone breathing, someone who appears to be ill.

    "Be gone, spawn of darkness!" Our hero screamed with helplessness as the figure moved closer.

    Our hero could not be more surprised as the hooded figure did nothing to him, it just stood there.

    "Wh... What do you want from me?" Our hero hesitantly asked.

    "Companionship..." The forced reply came.

    "Companionship?" Our hero asked, regaining some confidence.

    "But I need you to say yes..." The reply came once more.

    "No, never!" Our hero answered, ever so noble.

    "Have you come here to kill me?" Asked the hooded figure.

    "Yes" Our hero replied, regaining his full confidence, elevating his chest.

    "You said yes" The hooded figure said, grabbing our hero by the neck and ripping out its soul. Our hero suddenly found himself chained to a chair in a very dark room, he could feel the presence of many people around him.

    "Heroes you all are, but fools you are too" The hooded figure spoke once more. "The fools become heroes, the clever control them" Said the figure, mocking, laughing.

    Entrant 5 - Nanny de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Death comes, a pale shadow
    in deliverance of nature's claim
    blind to glory and bestial sin alike.

    Mocking the proud, gliding
    it is her domain
    despite what proud temples
    and their carpenters say.

    Row, upon row, the witnesses stand
    mute testimony to the hubris
    of those who etch pithy scribbles
    on granite stone.

    Upon mudded fields, and in shallow creek
    the wheat to be sowed
    tin men with brass lungs bellow
    but the night devours such song.

    Grace in the darkest hue
    nature's wise sister
    takes only what we willingly give
    and we give so very, very much.


    TotW 78a – They were on us in an instant
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 




    Winner - Katsumoto
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Together We Stand

    "Brace brothers! For the Emperor! For Rome! Brace!"

    We huddled ever closer as the thunder of hooves neared. We could see the sun glinting off the horsemen's lowered lances, the deadly tips pointed directly towards us. Shield overlapped shield in a feeble attempt to create a wall to halt the charging steel wave that would inevitably impact our position, men so close to each other they could hear one another's desperate breaths. We braced.

    We knew we stood no chance. We knew it. But we would stand, regardless. Our flimsy wooden shields would be crushed by the Venediger's mighty lances and powerful mounts. We knew it. But we would stand. Together.

    The Venetian cavalry was moments away. They would be upon us in an instant. Men began to whisper prayers, begging God for strength and salvation. We steeled ourselves, spears clutched firmly within white knuckles, shields dug deep into the turf. We stood together.

    "Stand firm men! Together we have fought and together we will die! Stand firm!"

    No longer could we hear our hearts beating within our breasts, so loud was the rumble of hooves. The multitude of Venetian riders continued to bore down on us, so eager for their weapons to taste our blood.

    Here they came. My back foot sank into the dirt, immovable. I pushed my shoulder into my shield and thrust my spear over the rim. I braced. Together, we braced. Our dry throats cried out in unison:

    "For the Empire!"

    Entrant 1 - Saint Nicholas
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Fall of a Dynasty

    Our empire was doomed, just like her soldiers. For centuries we had been a world power, our territory had been vast, our armies many and strong. We had ruled the known world! From one corner to the other, every tribe, backwater, nomad or rival felt our influence in some way. Whether it was conquest, diplomacy, trade or discovery. But it had all changed... A few years ago a small band of people united behind one leader. They came to power and were a threat to our dominion. Our emperor ordered them destroyed and the glorious armies of our empire marched onto their lands, at first unchallenged. The men were in high spirits, no doubt this new rising power would be crushed like all those who had come before them. Our armies were unmatched in skill, experience and equipment. But there was something about this new enemy. We knew little about them, where they had come from, what they wanted or how they fought. In time the victories grew less, the battles harder and a greater burden was placed on the empire. It wasn't long before the first city. I was there that day, 50,000 people slaughtered at the hands of this foe. The garrison stood no chance at defending, their hordes of warriors could not be stopped. What happened that day was the start of a chain of events which has now come to its ultimate conclusion. We stand now, united and ready to defend the Capital. The emperor has sought sanctuary in one of the far colonies, we make our stand here. For the empire, for freedom, for the futur of our children, let us take the field here this day!

    Entrant 2 - Leonidas The Lion
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    The Charge

    “Charge forth men! Run down what remains of the enemy!” Commanded the Knight Captain, I as his lieutenant passed the order on to the other knights, within moments of the command leaving my mouth I began to think. “Why must we finish off an enemy who no longer poses a threat to us?” “Why must we kill men ready to surrender?” “What is less chivalrous? To kill men ready to surrender? Or to disobey the orders of my Brother-Captain?”At that moment as if operating on impulse alone I clinched my lance and charged forth with the rest of my Brother-Knights. Upon reaching the group of broken men that were about to retreat, we tore through them as a blade tears through cloth, many where run through within the first moments, whilst others died a slow and painful death at the our hands. Whilst I charged through I refused to look beneath me at the carnage that was taking place until I turned my head down for a moment. It was there that I saw another man impaled by my lance, the lance had penetrated through the man’s stomach and exited out through his lower back. The man was still alive and groaning agonisingly as his eyes and mine made contact. I refused to let go of my lance just as he refused to let go of life, moments later the lance broke throwing the man under my horse and to his grave. It was then that I thought to myself “It has all been for naught”.

    Entrant 3 - Vespasian92
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Fog. I cursed the fog. Why must it come now, today? Alas, what little hope we had left to us. Shrouded by the mist, I struggled along with my brothers in arms, hoping to find a safe place of refuge, refuge from the vile Venetians pursuing us. If I was even to escape alive from this, my outlook on life would be changed forever. I had always thought war wonderful, all the rich nobles riding atop majestic steeds, marching out victoriously to expand our great Holy Roman Empire. Yet I suddenly found it strange how back as civilians we never saw the peasant militias, the lowliest of the grunts on the field, a field already reddened by the royal blood of our commander, the crown prince and prized son of our holy Kaiser. How could they fight with such cowardice, murdering our general at a distance in a hail of iron bolts. I stomped my boot into the swampy mud angrily. Why had our Lord frowned upon us so, that defeat was inevitable, and all due to those cursed crossbows of the Venetian swine? I listened to the clashing of the battle behind us, the victorious cheers rising up in Italian. Seeing my peasant brothers around me clutching their spears and poorly hiding the fear they were also feeling, I gave up hope as the Italian chanting came nearer. Danke, Holy Father! A monastery suddenly grew out of the mist in front of us. Breathlessly urging each other on, we rushed towards the safe haven of God, given to us for our protection and blessing. Eager as we were, we never saw them coming. The Italian swine came charging down on us, ready to swallow us up in their charge of chainmail and lances. We joined together into a defensive circle and prepared to meet our blessed Lord.
    “War is delightful to those who have had no experience of it.” - Erasmus

    Entrant 4 - Nazgul Killer
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Bravery

    What is it that compels us so
    To stand in front of our death
    And defend that we sow?
    Is it the stench of grief,
    Is it the sound of mischief,
    Or maybe it is the deed itself?
    Oh how noble the deed,
    To stand before the doom seed
    And relish in its defeat,
    As death, once again, we cheat.

    Fearless some call us
    Stupid others name us
    Courageous our sons say,
    Foolish our daughters say.
    But if not for them we fight, than who?
    We march, our shadows grew
    We fight, our blood spew
    Courageous?
    Fearless?
    Foolish?
    Stupid?
    No, we relish,
    When our foes bleed.

    For you we fight, my son
    For you we die, my daughter
    Ask not why we are gone,
    Ask not why these burdens we bear,
    Bring joy and pride,
    Rather than misery and shade.
    Blossom in our sanctuary,
    That others may call bravery.

    Entrant 5 - Longstreet
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Training: the mind wanders.

    Rudolf of Hesse was taken back to a time where life seemed so less complicated. He was a proud apprentice of the best silversmith in all the Empire. Looking back he rather enjoyed listening to his father’s tales of his family lineage fighting with Charlemagne. Suddenly with the sound of the thunderous line of horse announcing his impending doom, he remembered the glorious speech given by the Count of Katzenelnbogen on the future glory and riches sure to overflow from our cups as we took up the sword.

    Scrambling, Scrambling…Why did our Captain send us out here ? What did he hope to accomplish ? Were we duped ? Was he paid to send us out here, so we could be used as training dummies ? Doesn’t it always come down to money. Stop.

    Ahhhh, Anna. Sweet Anna. Why did I leave her ? Her skin so soft, lips as moist as the morning dew, her hair whipping my face. She said I would be a hero. Maybe I can RUN for it ! GO ! NOW !

    Stop.

    The Captain said I had earned the right to lead this scout company. “Earned” !?! The Captain, I hate him. Stop.

    Rudolf turned around, not wanting to watch death approach. Anna said I would be a hero. Doesn’t it always come down to women.

    Entrant 6 - GeorgeL
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Together we ride on, over the fields of nations not yet in existence. The ‘Steppe’ they called it back home in Venezia.

    I wonder whether it is this continual, vast nothingness that makes me forget. My Mother and Father, my brothers and sisters; all now blank faces associated with vague memories. They were all there though, when I was unceremoniously ripped from everything I knew and held dear. That much I remember.


    All that seems a lifetime apart and between my existence now and then there could be no greater contrast. Here we live like animals; we eat, sleep and hunt. Our prey is the Russian and he is not hard to find. In truth, he is not hard to kill either. After three long, gruelling years of it we have become masters at dealing out death to those we hunt. We could not be less alike with our enemy, who is often a young man who has never before held a spear and shield, or looked into the eyes of someone who would enjoy nothing more than to disembowel him with a single thrust.

    Ah, at last, it has been too long. A gaggle of Rus’ soldiers seem to shuffle across the Steppe, directionless and leaderless. As one; as brothers-in-arms, we spur our mounts on. I allow the steady thundering of my steed’s hoofs, her deep breathing and the beat of my own quickening heart to consume me. An alarmed cry signifies that we’ve been discovered and the enemy halts, panicked by our dazzling and fearsome appearance. We are lions to them and they flee as one in the direction of perceived sanctuary, which comes in this instance in the form of an isolated monastery which gradually emerges from the all-pervading fog. We demand even further exertions of our faithful partners, and we swiftly begin to close the gap to our prey. The tension rises to an unbearable pitch until finally the hunted realise that to flee is futile. The tension turns to excitement as the enemy gradually form a defensive structure, but there are too few, and it must dawn on them that their death here today is inevitable. I revel in it. I am close enough now to see the face of the man I have my lance levelled at and it depicts only one emotion: Fear. Mere seconds separate us now and the mortal climax is imminent. This is my ecstasy.



    There you see, I do not hide or adorn what I feel on the battlefield. But do not judge me stranger, for I am only what I have been made by the life thrust upon me.

    Entrant 7 - Nanny de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    "What in hell's blazes are you doing on the King's land!! Quick now, or we run you through by God!"
    "The King's land? The King's land you say? I di'n't know that I di'n't. Lads, did any of you know this was the King's land?"
    "Oh no, sir. Not at all."
    "No no. Didn't know that."
    "You see, good knights? We didn't know. Honest mistake, that. No need for hostility now."
    "YOU DIDN'T KNOW? Are you all bleedin' blind? Can you not see his castle walls there, across the field? Where in the bleedin' Christus did you think you were?!?"
    "What? That castle? That's not a castle."
    "WHAT?!? Are you tugging at my codpiece?!"
    "Not at all! We wouldn't tug at your codpiece, sir, would we lads."
    "No-"
    "Not at all-"
    "Nossir-"
    "See? No tuggin' sir. Not unless, you think that would help us here-"
    "SOD OFF! Do I look like a gullible nun to you?!?"
    "No sir!"
    "Not you sir - well, not unless you like that sort of thing-"
    "ENOUGH! We ought to hang you lot where you stand!"
    "Please now, let's not be hasty good knight...we was just...lookin' around."
    "Looking around? For what may I ask?"
    "We was looking around for...our friend."
    "Yes - our friend."
    "Your friend? Bloody hell! And what does your friend look like?"
    "Well..."
    "Well? Get on with it, or I'll run you through!"
    "Well...he is she. A strumpet, if you muss know."
    "Yes - a strumpet!"
    "Ya - a proper wench."
    "Bloody tap-dancing Christ. A strumpet? Why in the name of all that is holy are you fully armed, with colours, searching for a strumpet in the middle of the King's field?"
    "Well...she took our money."
    "Took our money, she did!"
    "And you think she is hiding here?"
    "Well, we've looked everywhere else. You never know. Could be hiding in the field."
    (sigh) "And how is it that a single whore took your money?"
    "Well...you see, we had paid her to, you know, do her business, wiff all of us-"
    "Ya, an she wasn't even bleedin' good! I paid her 2 coppers to show me her-"
    "Yes yes, we get the picture. Get on with it."
    "Well, when we was asleep, after-like, she was gone, and so was our gold."
    "And how much gold was that?"
    "About 300 pieces."
    "BLOODY HELL! That is a fortune!! Where in Barbara Streisand did you get that kind of money?"
    "Well, we robbed it from King's exchequer-"
    "Jesus Alec Baldwin Joseph, would you shut up!"
    "Robbed it? So you are the bleedin' thieves we've been lookin' for?"
    "..."
    "We could pull your codpieces if you forget you saw us?"
    "Right lads. Kill 'em".

    TotW 79a - “Shoot Them”
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    This contest only received one entry and was never voted on. The one entry was reused as an entry for TotW 82a.


    TotW 80c – Freestyle Writing
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    No Picture.
    Winner - Solid Snake
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 




    The people of the bad-herb


    I was there; I was there right beside my Uey Tlatoani on the most glorious day of all our history. I was a member of his personal guard; I was a Tlamahuichihuani Cuaútlic, a Champion of the Order of the Eagle. The night before I had ordered my house´s servants to polish the golden claws of my armor, I had told them to take out any loose strands of the shield that proclaimed my name and my rank, I told them to make sure that my helmet, made after an eagle´s skull that covered my head between it´s beak functioned properly, and then I myself flattened out the feathers that covered the cotton that composed the armor in both chest and arms. And early on the morning I had risen at the chant of the bird Papapiqui and had put my armor, my helmet, and also adorned my face with many gold jewels that were carved into representations of animals or just forged into a beautiful shape by the talented artist that made them.

    Finally I put on a mantle to endure the cold of the early hours, the mantle was made of pure cotton white as snow but the brooch that fastened it upon my shoulder was carved out of jade, our most sacred stone. My sandals were made of deer skin and it had golden sutures all over it.

    I set out of my house in the neighborhood of Iztacalco north of the city, on firm land and set out south to cross the northern Bridge-Roads that joined the great Mexica´s capital to the ground.

    The lake of Texcoco glistened like a blue emerald under the growing rays of sunlight, Tonatiu, the Sun was joyous upon seeing his beloved city, even though the hour was still early, the Bridge was already full with regular macehualtin and proud pipiltin carried in high chairs by their tlacotli, the smell of the flowers, of many Xochitl´s the smell came. Of course everyone had to make way for me at once, even the pipiltin had to order their slaves to move them away of the path of an Eagle Champion.

    When I finally entered the City in the middle of Texcoco´s lake I took a breath of fresh air, even though I was still afar of the Main Square I could smell the copali that the priest´s burned in the teocalli, temples. The houses, all painted with bright colors, some with banners made out of feathers of many colors gliding away in the wind.

    Tonatiu was rising in the sky and the population of the Great City was converging in one place, it´s center: Cem Anahuac Yolotli, the Heart of the Only World. In the fringes of the gigantic square, many vendors were making good business selling beverages and food, even some were selling snow, yes, snow brought down from either Popocatepetl or Iztaccihuatl and then flavored with the nectar of many fruits to refresh the throat of the many citizens that poured into the square. Many cacao seeds and gold powder changed hands on that day.


    And there dominating the scene, there was it, the biggest teocalli in the whole world. The Great Pyramid. Taller than 200 men set atop of one another, covered in a white mineral that we extracted from the island of Xaltocan, it glistened under Tonatiu with the force of a thousand suns, blinding anybody that looked at it directly. On the high top of the Pyramid two smaller teocallis dominated the landscape from above: two small rooms that contained images of our most revered Gods: Tlaloc and Huitzilopochtli. The God of the Rain and Water, and the God of War, Tlaloc ruled over the times of peace, caring for our crops and making sure the water supply of the city was never shortened, and Huitzilopochtli gave us strength and fury in the many wars we had undertaken, making sure that we were victorious, in return they only asked for a small sacrifice: the beating hearts of prisoners of war or of voluntary xochimique that wanted to spend the after life in the Golden World of those who gave their hearts to the Gods. Our religion demanded at least one sacrifice a day for Tonatiu the God Sun, the Sun was everything it gave life to our plants and crops, it gave us hope and happiness, the Sun was life, so it was only fair to repay him with the same coin, with life.

    But today, today was special, today was a great victory, today we had more than 5 thousand Texcalan prisoners to sacrifice in our recently completed teocalli, Nezahualpilli, Uey-Tlatoani of Texcoco and son of the great Nezahualcoyotl had won us a great victory a couple days back. In a single day he had completely destroyed the Texcallan army, our hated rivals that lived East of our domains, if only Tenochtitlan and Tlacopan ahd sent real armies we could have conquered the hateful Texcala. But aiya, it had not been that way, and only a hundred Mexica warriors were sent, under my command to support Nezahualpilli and his thousands of Acolhua warriors. The battle had been glorious, Nezahualpilli´s tactics were perfect and in a deadly ambush he had obliterated the pride of the Tezcallan army, but his people also suffered great losses while us Mexica only stood on the sidelines watching how the Acolhua took all the glory. We had captured a few that were trying to escape, but the army from Texcoco had procured the vast majority of the prisoners including the most dreaded Texcalan warrior: Tlaui Colotl, Armed Scorpion, Champion of the Order of the Jaguar, he had killed more than ten Champions on the battle, but rest assured that in his list there were hundreds of Mexicas, Acolhuas and Tecpanecas victims. Now the powerful Tlaui Colotl, who had lost both legs in the battle, was at the head of the row of prisoners that was entering the Square at the moment I gained the side of the Great Pyramid.

    My thoughts drifted to the past while I gazed upon the heights of the Pyramid. Mexica that’s how we called ourselves and our name was feared throughout the world and was enough to put entire nations to tremble. The might of our undefeated armies had put fear in the hearts of many enemies, no one dared to challenge our power. But we didn’t named ourselves Mexica, that name was given to us by the people that lived in the valley long before we arrived from the North, reluctantly they had given our ancestors a patch of land in the middle of a lake that no one cared about and had let us to die in the wild. We didn’t have proper lands to grow corn and even though we invented the chinampas it was few food that it gave us, the main aliment in our ancestor´s diet was a rough herb that was called Mexixin, mocking us, our neighbors called us Mexica, the people of the rotten herb.

    And even so, through many generations, the Mexica rose from their humble beginnings, building their city in the middle of the lake and taken lands ashore as payment by acting as mercenaries to other nations we slowly became a nation of our own, a powerful nation. With time we begun to expand, always on the move, always defeating a more powerful enemy on each battle….

    Today, today us Mexicas take pride in our name, in the beginning it was a mock to us, well we decided to play along the joke, and now our name is feared throughout the Only World, and after our recent victory we had cemented our domain with an obsidian fist. No one can match our power. That´s what I thought as I looked upon the many feathered banners that adorned the Pyramid´s stairway. And In my heart I was sure that they would remain there forever and that nothing and none could possibly ever overthrow us of our place as Cem Anahuac´s Uey Tlatoanis.

    Entrant 1 - Vespasian92
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    “God’s grace shall pour down on us if we do His will! It shall pour down like the rain, soaking and penetrating everything in His overwhelming might and power! If we fight for our Holy Lord honourably, all will be ours! Now march onward, to glory and eternal salvation!” We let out a great cheer, a cheer that seemed to shake the ground. We knew that together, we would be a mighty rock and fortress, unshaken by the storm raging around us. I shivered as a blast of icy wind seemed to freeze my mail tunic against my very body. The icy sensation of the frosty steel shook me awake as I turned to my general, Grandmaster Theodericus. Sitting calmly on his trusty steed, leaning forward in an attitude of prayer, I knew he was an inspiration to us all, and also an inspiration to Christendom as a whole. The noble master had seen my selfless sacrifice and bravery in battle and had added me into his cadre of loyal bodyguards; an elite of the order. Brother knights loyal to the cross and to the Grandmaster, always ready to fearlessly rush upon the infidels, leading the battle lines into fatal combat. I turned from my thought to the rich deep voice of Theodericus, now muttering his prayers aloud, barely audible enough for the closest of his cadre to hear. “Blessed be the Lord my strength, which teacheth my hands to war, and my fingers to fight…” Mail shirts jingled behind me as our Hospitaller allies formed behind Theodericus, impetuous to charge. With just one bodyguard between myself and Theodericus, I had a perfect unobstructed view of the Grandmaster. Shining in my red and black mail, my black and yellow shield braced against my left arm, and strong in the might of the Lord, I felt invincible at that moment. Letting out a great battle cry with the whole of the crusader army, I gazed eagerly as Theodericus raised both his head and his blade. “Men of our Holy Lord, this day will be given to us! Victory will be ours! Crusaders, attack!” Although his last words were drowned out by a great peal of thunder, none of us questioned what his commands were. We charged forwards mightily, following a magnificently bright flash of lightning blistering the field between ourselved and the Fatamids. We knew the Lord himself was here with us, leading the way and inspiring us through the mighty electric light from heaven.

    Entrant 2 - Borissomeone
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

    'Taxes'

    Hatred, rage and a certain darkness coursed through Anton Von Carstein, he stood upon the brink of his sprawling, if dilapidated estate, the moon cast it cold gaze over him, its weak light painting the land around him in washed out colours, which suited his current mood as he clutched a piece of parchment in one hand. The Haunted hills rolled off into the distance as Anton now found himself in an unusual situation; the tax man was coming and soon, taxes how he hated taxes and the foul Empire that was coming for them. Did they not know he was to be feared? Was he not part of the dread Von Carstein family, a lesser member but that did not matter, another scream of rage echoed over the hills, the word taxes bounced off the hills.

    ‘Master, what shall we do?’ asked Alfred his loyal and ghoulish servant, Anton turned and faced his servant, Anton’s face twisted through several emotions before he answered.
    ‘What shall we do…what shall I do’ a pause as Anton struggled to speak below a scream ‘why Alfred this is what I shall do, I will unleash an army of undead upon this Imperial Tax collector. That is what I shall do, now which direction do they approach from?’
    ‘Master, they travel along the Hilltop road and I believe they will turn before reaching Vanhalhenschlosse ruins.’
    ‘Good this is where we shall take them.’ An evil smile now rode on Anton’s face as he turned and strode back to the main building of his estate, visions in his head of undead ripping apart the Imperial Tax collector.

    Bruno Platter rode at the head of the column, new to the job he had found old records that showed this Anton Von Carstein had not paid his taxes in a long time, he had sent word ahead so the man could ready what was owned and now he rode to collect and hopefully gain recognition from his superiors for a job well done. With him rode twenty of his most trusted and burly men, each man armed with sword or axe and clad in heavy mail armour their tabards showing the crest of the Imperial Tax collectors. A rather drab land, he thought to himself, as they rode through the so called Haunted hills, the only sound made was the creaking of the wagons wheels and the men talking quietly amongst themselves as the cold moon shone down.

    ‘Master it will only be a few hours before they come, should you not start the rising of the dead?’ asked Alfred, wringing his hands together, causing dead flesh to rain down around his feet.
    ‘Enough with the wringing of your foul hands, I hate finding bits of you everywhere. And yes I’m well aware it is time for the dead to rise, watch my stinking servant and behold my power.’ Anton flung his arms into the air as waves of dark power rolled from him and off into the hills.

    Bruno felt a sudden chill flow past him, he felt as if someone had just drawn ice down his spine, his hand reaching for his sword as each man suddenly went quite, shields were raised and weapons gripped as the men searched for the sudden feeling of danger. At first nothing and then the dead started to struggle from the very ground they stood upon, curses were shouted as swords and axes crushed skulls and sent dead limbs spinning into the night. The hills now filled with the sounds of battle and the moaning of the dead. Grinning skeletons and reeking ghouls attacked as the men fought off the undead, the battle went well only two men down, one man pulled from his horse and quickly set upon by hungry ghouls, his blood soon covered their faces as they feasted on his flesh. The other took a rusted spear in the side, he had stumbled out from the protective ring of his fellow warriors taking more blows as he finally fell to the ground, Bruno thought to himself he would need to remember to collect the death tax from the fallen men’s families, ah work never ceases.

    The sounds of fighting drew closer to Anton’s estate, a worried frown now on his face.
    ‘Master, shall I sally forth and meet the enemy at the gates?’ Alfred asked a pot on his head and a large rusty knife clutched in one flaky hand.
    ‘Why not my diseased servant, off with you.’ Anton said giving the ghoul a shove in the direction of the sounds of battle. Alfred shambled out the gate, shortly after his head rolled back through, a sorrowful expression on his face. Armed men covered in blood rushed in spreading out as the man he presumed to be the tax collector walked in sword drawn.
    ‘Ah, you must be Anton Von Carstein. I believe we have many things to discuss, one being your outstanding taxes. Mr Von Carstein you of all people should know there is one thing more constant than death in life’ a broad smile on his face ‘its taxes good sir.’ Anton’s scream of rage rose to the heavens.

    It is said that if you listen carefully when travelling through the Haunted hills you’ll still hear whispered on the wind the mutterings and ravings of Anton and hatred of taxes.




    Entrant 3 - Mega Tortas de Bodemloze
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 


    Sheila & Christine



    Well then, I suppose that a little background's in order don't you? We'll let's get to it then.



    Sheila: Hell on wheels, a nuclear dynamo and supernova of endless enthusiasm and energy. A smile from her lights up your life. The sound of her voice makes you think you've died and gone to heaven. I prefer blonde's personally but her brunette flowing locks are so captivating that when other girls see them, blonde's become brunettes and redheads curse the fact that the corner beauty salon's supply of dark shaded dyes are all sold out. Oh yeah....she'll talk your head off and never shuts up, not even for a second throughout the waking hours of the day. But you know what...Who ing cares. Oh ya I bought a pair of ear plugs long ago and always keep them on my person, just in case.




    Christine: One quick overwhelming glance from her can make you curl up in to a little ball and wish that you were never born. When she enters a room all audible conversations instantly cease, and even the birds in a nearby wooded alcove, succumb to the deadly silence. Men flock to her, drawn like instinctively driven lemmings to the sea. Non verbal communication is her credo and I sometimes think that perhaps I might hear her speak nary 10 words upon a fortnight. When Webster's sought a definition for the word "intense", they sent a company representative to her parent's home to study this dark manifestation in her cradle. To meet and hold her gaze is and was the life's ambition of many a suitor. What of her smile? I frankly don't think that's even a genetic possibility. I know that she has teeth though because I often hear her crunching away on sunflower seeds and for the fact that she has left teeth mark scars permanently embedded in both my shoulders.




    How does this work? Envy, jealousy, greed, rage and hatred. I'm not really sure to be honest. All I can say is that it just is, and has been for as long as I can remember. No I have never seen them fight, but can attest to the fact that when angered or enraged they merge and become villainous beyond comprehension. My seven committals, errr I mean brief getaways to the Paramatta Psychiatric Research Institute is irrefutable prove of this. Given the uniqueness of my case parameters, those seeking doctorate study subjects instantly flock to my room upon hearing each of my renewed requests for domestic political asylum. Yes the accommodations are ornate and the daily room rates so extravagant that they would even keep Donald Trump at bay. Luckily my is naturally forever free, and I am the apple of every would be physiologist's eye, on both this culturally desolate island Continent plus the Ilse of Kiwi's as well.

    Yes, I'm fruit loops for Fridays and twice on Sundays. Certifiably insane with all the requisite credentials to prove it.




    You know what? it! You'll never hear me complain. Any other guy should be so lucky...

    Last edited by Caillagh de Bodemloze; April 20, 2017 at 11:18 AM.

Page 1 of 4 1234 LastLast

Posting Permissions

  • You may not post new threads
  • You may not post replies
  • You may not post attachments
  • You may not edit your posts
  •