The Warrior Hold

[Balamir]

There has been a lot of good quality battle stories lately, so Im opening a thread so all of you with something to tell can come here freely. Taking inspiration of Lady Frog's awesome story, I decide I shall put one in the soup too . Enjoy



It was a chilly dawn, with no sun amongst all the overwhelming fog marched an army with the banner of the Mighty Turkish. They marched slowly, but formidably along with their two allied armies, the germans and english. It was not very long before they encountered a large group flickering in the wet fog, a faint shadow of the enemy.

The Turks, lead by Balamir, the King of Nomads, stood straight to face their enemy, the cursed italians. He ordered his futuwwas to form a front rank, his janissary infantry to form his second rank and unexpectedly he ordered his heavy jannissary infantry to take the closest rank to the enemy, thus being an easy target to enemy archers. But Balamir knew something, he knew fog haunted the archers's arrows like a beast. He had few cavalry which he demanded to protect the right flank of the army. He, himself waited in the safe distance. He ordered quick march until he reached a wide terrain was empty. He gazed towards the italians, and to his surprise, the enemy were marching towards him. So, relying on the fog, he ordered his quick janissary infantry and futuwwas to go left to form a quarter circle. And the enemy ignored the power of skirmishers and concentrated their attack on the jannissary heavy infantry. Balamir, once again was shocked, this was not a good way of attacking his army. He called his jannissary infantry to close the circle, and futuwwas to help them. And there the enemy was in a hopeless situation; circled just like they had been hundreds of years before, during the ottomans reign. The italians soon found out that routing didnt help too, there was nowhere to escape. And there Balamir grinned and his eyes cut through the Italian monarch sharply as he died under his sword.

There was still two armies ready to be faced. when balamir regrouped his army, he saw that not much of his allies were left. They had been crushed by the overwhelming tactics of the enemy. And so rushed Balamir his horse and his men to rescue. He did hit one of their armies but it was no use.He routed the second enemy too but wwhen the third one came, he bravely commanded his men, and when all else failed, he fleed the field in terror and boiling anger inside him, raging through the field, a thought eating his soul, the thought of having nothing else to do. So the turkish banner fell, maybe because the foe had overcome his allies, and maybe, because the Gods didnt favour him on that very day. A battle was fought, armies faced, swords clashed, but one thing still hadnt altered itself: The fog, still laying on the field gracefully, mourning the dead and waving goodbye to the warriors, who had just passed through the Bridge of Swords.

[Lehesu]

So much effort...so few results. Very good topic idea but I think the lack of responses stem from

A.) Lack of effort. Laziness is a powerful factor.
B.) Lack of skill. People are intimidated by prose.

However, I shall add one of my old very sucky stories from high school that I wrote. Sorta ties in with medieval...sorta.


The assassin wore black. Soundless cloth covered his entire body, the tight clothing terminating only to show black eyes, peering through with chilling directness. He tread silently through the forest, moving when the wind was high and stopping when it fell, his form indistingushable from the trees in the cold, moonless night. A small black pouch was on his back, bulging with the various tools of his profession. He was a master assassin, having killed many distinguished people, but this one was special. This kill was not for the money, or the notoriety. This was for revenge.
Years ago, when he was only a boy, this assassin lived in a small fiefdom, son of the castle lord. It was not a large castle, more like a ring of palisades and a small wooden keep, but it was still for the purpose of war. When cause for battle did occur, his father, who was a just and honorable man, chose the side of good. However, this angered powerful people. The young boy came home one day to witness a massacre. Coming from the forest, where he had been collecting wood for the nightly bonfire, he arrived to the screams of his people. A horde of black horseman, henchman of the Warlord Rakan, had stormed the small town and burned it, riding away as the flames and screams mingled together in the smoke-filled air. He heard those sounds for the rest of his life.
The assassin stopped. A small guard post was in the way, manned by a group of three men, clad in ill-fitting hauberks and wielding spears, keeping watch on the surrounding land. Opening his small pouch, the assassin picked up a small wooden staff. After careful manipulation, two wicked blades jumped out of both ends of the stick, coated black to dull any shine. The assassin took off his mask, revealing short cropped black hair and sharply chiseled features. He walked up to the guards, the black blades unseen in the equally black darkness. After hailing them with a jaunty wave, the assassin swung his arm and threw the stick at the guards. The blade whistled through the air, decapitating two of the guards and burying its point into the last guards neck. The assassin placed his mask on and walked up to the prostrate guards, internal screams vying for attention with his blood besotted mind. He kneeled down to the ground, clapping his hands to his ears, as the scraping screams surged with a crescendo, hammering his mind with forceful vengeance, then falling to a bare whisper. After cleaning the now red blades on the grass, the black man moved his hands and the blades snapped back into place, his internal battle won. He walked quickly now, knowing that only a certain amount of time remained before the dead guards were found.
The dark man found himself near the castle walls, which were high and straight, exuding a sense of granduer and strength. The assassin fished through his bag and this time dragged out a grapnel, the strong coils of rope folded neatly. He uncoiled this rope and placed it in his left hand; with his right hand he swung the grapnel head around in a circle high above his head, once, twice, three times and then released. The grapnel swung upwards and landed with a small metalic scratch on a parapet. After testing his weight against the rope, the assassin strapped on his pouch and slithered upwards, looking like a spider crawling toward a trapped fly. After reaching the top, the assassin observed the keep, a dark, ominous tower that stood crookedly, it seemed, more on its malevolent facade than any feat of engineering. After using the same grapnel to rappel down the other side of the wall, the assassin stood right up against the malificent structure, sizing it up and down with a critical eye. After comparing the length of the rope and the height of the keep, the assassin knew that his grapnel would not bring him to his destination, all the way at the top of the tower. Rather, he used the grapnel to get him to a lower level of the keep, wrenching open the rusty bars of a window and moved in. Moving with practiced speed and silence, the killer moved up flights of stairs, avoiding well lit and thus well traveled routes.
At last he reached his objective. The murderor of his family and life slept, two well equipped and doubtless well trained guards standing at his door. The assassin slid two knives out, one from each ankle sheath, and gazed at them. These blades, well weighted and sized for throwing, were painted black, but for a different reason than his double-bladed spear. These knives contained a virulent toxin. The assassin jumped around the corner and threw his blades, each catching a guard in his throat, their gurgling choking off as the poison took affect. Again, the screams enveloped his mind, but he shut them out with dark thoughts of his own. He unsheathed his short sword and opened the door. He walked in and stood next to the bed, the warlord sleeping peacefully. The assassin raised his sword above his head. And stopped. The screams were a cacophony now, ripping through his being, distorting his vision. Swords, riders, money, honor, hate, lust, greed, blood, laughter, fire, joy. Over and over again, shards of pure light and darkness drilled him, his mind at the mercy of this furious onslaught. He willed his arms to lower, to slake his thirst for death, his arm trembling with the effort. Suddenly, he stopped. He sheathed his sword, turned around, and walked back from whence he came, the screams in his head silent for the first time in his life.


I am rereading this now, and appalled at the very cliche subject matter and resolution, and the real lack of uniquness or inspiration. O well, my contribution has been submitted. Yes, this was copied and pasted, but is indeed

my work.

[frogbeastegg]

Thank you Balamir I'm glad you liked my (long) tale . When I saw the topic I thought I'd upset someone by including that small novel in the 'how bad were you' topic. Big relief to find otherwise. You've got a good story there and a good idea so I hope you don't mind me adding a tale to help get the ball rolling.
(Lady frog, I like that )

This is from Shogun: Total War at the end of my first campaign game. It's all true except I don't really know how Hojo died I just got a message and this seemed like as good an explaination as any. This is also the only battle I have fought in a thunderstorm, it was incredibly cool.



On the slopes of a mighty mountain two great armies met to decide the fate of Japan. On one side were the Hojo resolved to find victory or to die with their clan. On the other were the all conquering Shimazu lead by Lady frog. The Gods themselves seemed to understand the importance of this battle as they sent a thunderstorm to rage over the field. Lord Hojo claimed this was a sign from the Christian God in answer to his prayers. Lady frog merely stated that someone was going to get wet.

The Hojo had mustered every samurai and Ronin left in Japan for this final battle, they numbered more than 9000. Taking up their positions on the top of the mountain the spears and polearms looked like a forest. On the plain below the Shimazu were assembling numbering only 3500. But this was an army that had swept through Japan defeating all that stood in their way. Grizzled veterans with the best equipment in Japan they feared nothing.

As thunder lit the sky the Hojo archers opened fire darkening the sky still further with the vast quantities of arrows fired. The Shimazu advanced slowly up the mountain their own archers useless as the bowstrings were so wet the arrows could not reach the enemy. The Hojo arrows found some targets and many a brave warrior died but the inexorable march of death continued.

As the weather grew even worse the Shimazu warrior monks reached their enemy and with a great cry began to kill those who had abandoned the Buddist faith. They were closely followed by a wave of heavy cavalry, which galloped around the flanks of the enemy and engaged the rain soaked gunners. The second wave of Shimazu warrior monks reinforced the tired men at the front of the battle who were beginning to be pushed down the mountain. In this fierce melee Lord Hojo's son was bravely cut down.

Lord Hojo charged into the Shimazu centre to encourage his men believing that he was beginning to win. The response was great and the Hojo broke the first units of warrior monks who had suffered massive casualties. Seeing that victory lay in the balance Lady frog joined the battle herself leading her unit of heavy cavalry and several units of yari samurai to battle Lord Hojo.

At this point the thunder grew so loud that the ground shook and the bolts seemed to be striking down the warriors in their metal armour. Lord Hojo once again prayed to his Christian God for a sign and was struck down by a bolt of lightning. Perhaps this was a sign of his Gods displeasure, or maybe his ancestors ended his heresy.

After Lord Hojo's death his men fought to the death with only a handful of survivors but without his leadership they stood no chance of victory. Over 10,000 brave warriors died on that day bathing the mountain in their blood. Their valour and adherence to the way of the Samurai will be remembered forever.

After the battle Japan was united under Lady frogs rule and many a peasant was heard to say how about a cut in taxes? shortly before they died from the terrible disease known as 'big mouth, small brain'

[Balamir]

2 great stories added I'd say its not really bad for a start, this will encourage others and this thread shall live, and maybe not. Thanks for the compliments about the story, and I'd like to mention the story really did happen in the MP. I was proud I could use my homeland's tactics. And Lehesu, seems like you had a really bright high school period pal Great job.

[Satyr]

Ok, so I was playing as the Vikings so I have overpowering force, but still I thought I was dead and gone so many times, I had a great time.

The year is around 840 or so. The Northumbrians had lost their king and gone all rebel about 20 years ago. I had taken some of their provinces and I was working on building enough troops to take out the remaining 3 stacks of rebels. Well, the Northumbrians re-emerge BIG time. They come back with 6 full stacks including some in a province I had conquered that turn. This of course puts me at war with them. Well, I already have a good war going with the Picts so I can't really afford another right now and so I withdraw all my troops.

A couple years later I finish off the Picts but now I am connected to the Northumbrian territory. While I was not watching, the Northumbrians had bribed the other 2 stacks of rebels and promptly marched 3 full stacks into my territory. I had a pretty full stack waiting with 8 companies of Huscarles, 2 of archers and 5 of fairly well upgraded Viking Cav. So I am feeling ok about defending, but once the battle started I forgot how many reinforcements were available to the enemy.

So I have attacked his initial troops and I am chasing them all over the map when here come about 6 companies of reinforcements onto the map. I think, ok I can handle them, but then 10 more pop over the edge and my guys are everywhere. I just manage to run all my troops back to form a line when they charge. I charge back I am soon routing this line as well and again I forget about reinforcements and start chasing and capturing routers.

Well, by now my troops are getting pretty sacked and I have had 2 very depleted companies of Huscarles rout. Well, here comes a few more enemy troops Darn I think (well not really darn, but this place is G rated so you get my drift) and I try to collect my guys on the top of a nearby hill. I manage to only get 4 companies of Huscarles (now down to about 40 men each) there and 2 companies of cav. This time fortunately the enemy charges some cav at me first and my guys easily smash and rout them. Pretty soon though, here come 12 more stacks of troops.

So all my troops are totally exhausted, once again spread all over the map and here come piles of spears and woodsmen and a few peasants. By now, everyone is SO TIRED the freaking peasants are evenly matched with my Huscarles and I am sure I am going down to defeat this time. On top of that, the enemy comes in and immediately goes to the top of a wooded hillside that some of my troops are trying to come over to meet the rest to reform some sort of line.

Troops clash, again My guys are starting to waver and it is only when I hit the enemy in the rear with some horses that I start to make a dent. Meanwhile, there are troops pouring over the hill and charging the 3 remaining companies of Huscarles I have managed to form a line with. About this time I also found a whole company of cav far, far away in another valley who had gotten lost chasing routers from the first wave and I start running them over to help my guys who were ambushed on the hill. Thank god for small miracles, if they hadn't been fresh I am not sure I ever would have routed that last wave. After this it was just mop up duty and routing the last 3 companies of peasants that tried to come on as reinforcements and I had won.

I am usually much better at keeping everyone together and just using cav to chase routers but it was about 1 in the morning and I was getting a little droopy from having fought many battles that night. But to snatch victory from defeat over and over was just too much fun. In the end, I had only lost about 300 men while I killed 1300 and captured and slaughtered 1600. Prince Cnut gained 4 new vices that day: No Mercy, Butcher, Skilled Last Stand Defender, and Skilled Defender. He also gained his 8th command star.

God, I love this game

[Monk]

The Sun fell behind the blood riden sand dunes of Egypt, the wind kicked up from the east and the sand was flung freely through the air. The battle for Egypt had just ended with the French Crusaders scoring themselves a victory in the eye's of the Church. Many troops had fallen on both sides and the defeated retreated within the Mighty Fortress. Having most of his army defeated the Sultan called for his closest son to come to him, badly wounded from an arrow the Sultan entrusted wis son the leadership of the great Egyptian armies.

It was a year before the Crusaders would strike again, this time they attacked the Strong Castle. as day broke upon the lands the French loaded their cannons and aimed them toward the Fortress. the men within looked out in fear as their walls would fall easily under the fire from such weapons. however they had hope on their side, still hoping that a releif force would come to their aid. However the battle started, the cannons thundered their great projectiles forward into the walls of stone,the defenders began to step backard for fear of the wall collapsing, then suddenly it happened. The wall came crashing down killing 25 spearmen.

Those still alive made a perimiter around the openng and prepared for the charge, The French Knights came rushing in completly destroying those that sxtood before them. Even when the last remaining Camel warriors attacked them, it was not enough to drive them back. The men of Egypt stood no chance under such skill and bravery, and it did not take long for the outer ring of defenders to be completly whiped out. The general with his small number of bady guards stood looking at the bodies of his fallen comrades through the gate, he wept for them a moment, but before he could mourn their loss the French crusaders attacked the verfy gate he looked through.

Only a small number of spearmen stood with the heir to the throne and his father. The gate came crashing in and the remaining Knights charged forth. The Ghulam Bodyguards went forth protecting their masters, the spearmen attacked on the flanks of the attackers but they were soon annihilated as they were so small in number, not one man was taken alive. althugh their army defeated the King and son fought on, they battled with the french knights for many hours, but when his own son fell under the sword, the Sultan and his 2 bodyguards still living fell back to the other side of the walls, there they fought to the last man and all died.

The French took Egypt that day and the Armies of Egypt were severly weakened, they never recovered enough to mount a succesul attack on the Crusaders and Egypt became a stronghold of Christianity in the midst of the Muslim world, many attempts were made to reclaim the lost land but none Triumphed. 20 years later the Egyptian Sultan died of a illness, having no heir his forces turned rebel.

In his dieing word the Suntan said oh my father i have failed his name was Monk the VII and his kingdom had fallen

[Mechstra]

I wrote this story a year ago, and I've improved since, but I quite like this one. Enjoy, everyone.

~

For the glory of the King. A phrase often heard in the ranks of Charlemagne’s armies. Or at least from the officers. The soldiers were to fight for ‘the glory of the King’. They’d never seen the King. The men-at-arms fought and died in the muddy fields, battling the Germanic tribes, the Saxons.

Saxons. The word meant ‘invaders’. The armies of King Charlemagne went deep into Germania and battled the ‘invaders’, the once-peaceful farmers and herders that had, at one time, lived in idyllic villages by the Rhine, living off the fat of the land. And now they were desperately defending their farmsteads. The invaders being invaded.

Jacques Heuland though that the ‘invaders’ concept had been made up to persuade the soldiers to fight harder, more efficiently. Jacques was an archer in the Royal Army, of low rank, but experienced. He had fought many battles against the Saxons, seen his friends cut down by the enemy, fresh-faced and naïve swordsmen, little more than teenagers, going to their first battle and never coming back.

His life was a cycle of horror, that would end only when he was killed or grew too old. The latter seemed very far away.

The army was at present camped in a valley, green and fertile, deep in Saxon territory. Or what had once been Saxon territory. Only two days ago, they had come across a Saxon outpost. The outpost was now little more than charred stockades and foundations, with a fresh mound of corpses a little way away.

Beside Jacques was his friend, Reynauld. He gave no surname, only his Christian name. No-one minded. Reynauld was a good shot with a bow, and was always ready to share a joke or a drink with his fellows. Jacques turned to him, and said:

‘Do you think we’re going home soon?’

Reynauld laughed from deep inside him. From such a grizzled man, it was a surprisingly hearty laugh. ‘My friend, all you think of is home No, I don’t think we’ll see the sweet fields of France for many a day. Something’s in the air, I can almost taste it. We’re going to face some tougher opposition than those poor wretches at the outpost.’

Just then, Guillaume, the King’s trusted commander, strode up towards them. They were closest to his tent.

‘You two, pack your things. The king has sent a messenger to tell us to go home. He is pleased with our progress, and he wants us to come back to France.’ With that, he powered off to the next group, to inform them of the same.

Soon the whole camp was a hive of activity. The soldiers, overjoyed by the news that they were to return home, set to the clearing of the valley with a will. But then, the unthinkable happened.

A cry went up from the wooded sides of the valley. Hundreds upon hundreds of Saxon soldiers came into view, and a large part of them swarmed down the valley sides to surround the Franks. Trapped and disorganized, the army desperately abandoned what they were doing, and drew their weapons

Each Saxon was armed with a spear, and had a round leather buckler for limited protection. They made a fearsome sight, each one yelling and waving his weapon.

Reynauld held his bow high, and shouted, ‘Rally to me, archers’ Guillaume complemented this with a cry of, ‘For the glory of the King’

Jacques unslung his bow, and pulled a barbed shaft from his quiver. He drew back the string, closed one eye, sighted, and fired. A Saxon, charging down the valley slope fell dead, transfixed by an arrow. About twenty others followed his example.

And the Saxons still charged.

The ranks of swordsmen clashed with the Saxon spearmen, soldiers of both sides screaming as they went down. Saxon archers came into view now, firing off volleys of arrows at the beleaguered Franks. Jacques saw Reynauld go down with an arrow in his throat.

The Saxons charged on.

They cut through the French lines, and reached the archers, who were desperately reaching for their belt knives. Jacques loosed an arrow, and took out another one. His last arrow, his quiver empty. A Saxon stopped about four yards away, and angled his spear for a throw. Jacques’ bowstring tensed. The spearman threw, a look of satisfaction on his face, as he sank to the ground with Jacques’ last arrow in his chest.

Jacques’ breathing came with difficulty, and he dropped his bow. A spear was protruding from his body. He sank to his knees, thinking about what his death was achieving. The glory of the King, a man he’d never seen. He opened his mouth to laugh at the sheer pointlessness of it all, and died, a bitter smile on his face.

[Balamir]

Wow A bunch of nice replies we have here I havent been idle enough to read the last ones, but Im sure I'll have a good time when I do. Congrats to those who spent their times for the thread, and thanks

[hrvojej]

Ok, let's give this topic another boost.

One of the final battles in my Egyptian campaign, from couple of days ago. I was defending against the Sicilians who were attempting to lift the siege in Naples. My main army in that region moved off to invade Malta and Sicilian king, so only 2 stacks of second-hand units under 4 star general were present to sit out the siege, since I had no siege engines available. The enemy invades with 3 stacks, plus the castle garrison, led by a six star general. The general was also very honest (+1 morale), and since it was siege lifting, they had morale bonus to no retreat possible. Their opening army consists mainly of feudal and militia sergeants, 3 units of arbalests, feudal kights valour 5, and 3 units of high royal knights, one particularly dangerous one with valour 8, the other 2 with valour 5, and a general with late royal knights. I choose to defend with infantry, since cavalry would be outclassed and lack the impact in the opening stages. So, I fielded 4 units of nizaris, 4 units of ghazis, 3 units of abyssinians, 2 saracens, 1 muwahids, mamluk HA, and my general with his camels. The army camps on the hill, and braces for impact. As soon as they arrive, his arbalests open fire, as well as my nizaris. I'm trying to shoot down the genral, as well as those killer knights, but only a volley or two are released before they charge my right flank. Several units of FS, MS and spearmen lead the charge and are greeted by 2 ghazis and 2 abbysinians, while the royals stay behind further on the flank. I manage to stop them, but as soon as I do, the royals charge as well, and I'm forced to stop them with mamlukes, muwahids, and I throw in another unit of ghazis. Meanwhile, the general with other units charges the center, where my saracens manage to stop him suffering terrible casualties. On the left flank, one unit of ghazis and one of abyssinians make a short work of his halberdiers, but just as they are finishing them off, one unit of arbalests charges them downhill in the rear, so they cannot help the rest of the army. All units fight valiantly, but suffer severe losses due to the low defence. Nevertheless, they take down many of his infantrymen with them. The royals are having a great time slaughtering on the right flank, and muwahids that were trying to hold them rout since they are reduced to 20 men in seconds, and ghazis are in no better shape. His feudal knights charge through his infantry as well, and the right flank is in a really bad shape, so I run two nizaris to help them, while the other two run down to help with the surprisingly resilient arbalests, in order to free up those units for flank attacks in the center. Before nizaris arrived to the right flank, ghazis rout, and only thing that is holding the royals to crash into the back of my lines are 3 surviving mamluks. They die just as the first nizari unit arrives. They get slaughtered by a short charge, and rout in no time. My other units holding his infantry nearby also rout, and all that is holding the main body of his infantry are the 18 remaining abyssinians. The floor is covered with bodies, but his surviving numbers are far greater. I wheel my general to the right flank for morale support, but I was too afraid to commit him since he would die pretty soon against those royals. In the meantime, feudal knights disengaged from the center, and rear attacked those unlucky units still struggling with the now two units of charging arbalests, routing them all, except for the two nizaris that just arrived, and they are not doing well either. The last nizari unit on the right flank engages the royals in a desperate attempt to keep them away from my rear and my general, but achieves little, and routs. Just as they broke, my general started waivering, and the royals enveloped the abyssinians and saracens, my first reinforcements arrive. They are cavalry (no surprise there, huh? ), and furthermore these are my own killers: 20 ghulam bodyguards led by a prince who sucked as a commander, but had valour vices, so they have valour 7. Due to the fortunate position of reinforcements flag, they arrive just behind the charging royals, who routed the last remaining abyssinians, and slam into them downhill. Several royals fall immediately, and at that same moment the Sicilian general is killed by my saracens, something I definitely didn't expect to see. His first unit routs, and my second reinforcement unit, armenians, arrive and smash into his infantry below the royals. They break, taking the rest of the units with them, including the feudal knights that reduced those two nizari units on the left flank to 15 men each, and the mopup begins. The 3 remaining royals from that killer unit remain to fight for some time regardless, but are finally driven away with my camels. As all my reinforcements are cavalry (I really hate this bug... ), the routers are caught and executed. His subsequent waves didn't pose much of a problem, and the day is won.
Maybe not the top battle in any sense that I ever played, but certainly a very very tense one. And after all this time spent playing this game, I still feel the same enthusiasm when watching the replays of battles like this one that I felt when I was first discovering the game...

[Mamushi]

There I was,up to my butt in hand grenade pins,surrounded by the enemy,thought I was gonna die...

(oops,sorry,wrong war story... )

[Satyr]

Darn I need to start making replays of my good battles. I always forget to do that.

Thanks all. There used to be a player 'Morble' who posted at another site. He, more than once, wrote up an entire campaign in pretty good style. Unfortunately that site is gone and so are his great tales. I would love to read some of those again.

[Mamushi]

Same here,I need to make more replays...of course I have never been one touched by the Muse of the written word. Mayhaps I could forward them to Froggy or Mary,and one of these fair maidens could put pen to paper and commit my blunderings to words? (Just kidding Froggy and Mary,I am a bit in my cups,and am prone to babbling )

[hrvojej]

I particularly like that part where Monk is telling the tale in a very pictoresque manner, the reader gets all involved imagining the scene, and then out of nowhere he says that the wall killed 25 spearmen, at which point you suddenly realise that he's still talking about the game.
Best read since the tale of the Umarian mushrooms.

[frogbeastegg]

Yay Loads of new stories Looks like my advertising paid off What a nice suprise to wake up to

To all the new authors thanks for some entertaining reads Very good work.

Mamushi-If you want I could have a look at your replays and try to write them up. I could use the practise. If you are interested post again saying so and I will put up my email. I get tons of spam so I don't want to post it unnecessarily. Oh yes, I have VI so your replays need to be from v2.0 or they wouldn't work.

[The_Emperor]

The one who would be later known as The Crusading Emperor of Spain looked out over his newly inherited lands, his forefathers had driven the Moors into the dust and had conquered all their previous territories into North Africa.

But he was young and inexperienced with no name for himself, and that was reflected in his lack of political influence abroad. (rank 3) He felt insulted that he ruled so many lands and was regarded with such disrespect. So he planned to do something about it, he started with annexing the Rebels in Navarre. That didn't do much for his standing abroad so he decided that only war against another power would help him... and that came soon when the English invaded the Aragonese and were excommunicated by the Pope.

The good and Christian Emperor decided that he should make an example of these upstarts who attacked and eliminated his friendly neighbours, and launched a Crusade from Leon, Home of the Knights of Santiago. Towards the Province North of Navarre. The Crusade gathered pace as the Pious Spanish people rallied to the call. When the Crusade came to Navarre The_Emperor's army joined the Crusade and he Took command personally, and then they marched on the Target province. Faced with the Unstoppable horde of Spanish troops led by the Ruler himself, the defenders did flee the Province... Mostly to Aragon where the King himself was now trapped and cut off with my Forces on three sides and the French to the North.

A second Crusade was quickly mobilised with all the wealth of Spain to crush the English ruler, King John I in Aragon. The General placed in chage of the Crusade was an expert attacker with great prowess, his family line was directly descended from El Cid himself

The Crusade Army was massive, a thousand well-trained troops and volunteers, and they faced off against the Rag-Tag English army which was made up of a few Peasants and mainly Light Cavalry.

When Battle began King John showed his arrogant and impetuous nature and charged our lines with his entire Cavalry force, we met them in the woods... It didn't take long for the English to be put into full retreat, and the King was surrounded on all sides with Spearmen. He fought on Alone when most of his army was either Killed or Captured, or routed back to the Fort. The Kings death would have dire consequences for the English crown, which would suffer a bitter civil war as a direct result.

The following year the Rebel English Survivors in the Aragon fort sent a message saying that they unconditionally surrender the province to the Holy Crusade. For this act The_Emperor spared their lives. The same year, the French came in from the North and the Italians landed with a naval strike... they wanted to crush the rebels themselves and take the province, however they were too late as the handover was already done. But they stood in the way of the Crusade gaining the province. The French quickly withdrew before the battle and left their Italian allies on the field with no retreat. The Crusaders took up a strong defensive position on a hill at the far end of the province, forcing the Italians to march a long way across land and uphill before the battle. The Spanish archers let loose a constant hail of Arrows and that in itself was enough to rout the Italian army before contact was made. The Knights of Santiago and the General then Charged forth to hunt down the Italian dogs as they ran. They had nowhere to run and were captured, but the Ever Chivalrous Emperor allowed their ransom, soon after the Italians sued for peace and we accepted.

The_Emperor was pleased within a few short years he had gone from being considered one of the most uninfluencial rulers in all of Europe to being one of the most respected. And his Piety was considered second only to the Pope himself

His task was not over as he soon turned his attention towards the glittering prize of Egypt and the Holy Land, with another Crusade being mobilised. But his victorious war in the Middle East, is another story...

[Balamir]

He woke up, with a quivering shudder in his shoulders. He gazed up at his tents cloth, raptured by conditions of war. He grimaced, his tent was leaking and it was raining. He raised, armed himself with his recently forged breastplate, mail armor and strapped himself into a sight of cold metal. He seized his helmet with both hands, observed it for new dents, pieces off rust but it was still as clean and beautiful as the day his dying friend Mercius had given him soaked with blood. He found his sword amongst the useless pieces of linen and strapped it on tight. Outside was a world full of pitiful men, young men with no hope of survival, men shivering in the combination of the bitter cold and knowledge of never seeing their beloved ones ever, again in their lives.

The dirt was cold, mud frozen by the chill in the dawn, he proceeded through the tents towards a bigger, more spacious one than any other, guarded by 2 praetorians at the entrance. It was warm inside, in the warmness of the tent there sat a man with a glorious demanour, eyes full of pride of what he had achieved all through his life. His pale face was shadowed by his grey hair, yet his stood still giving a quick glance at the incomer. The man paused, as if trying to recall an occasion. Then his peeked at the man standing respectfully, willing to say something. It is you, my friend Aelius. What is it, that has brought you to the tent of mine?

Aelius replied It is time general, time for us to face our fate. The men are wary, their eyes fearful, winter is striking and thus we cannot stay here anymore.

The man paused again, his eyes glowing with rage So be it We shall march into the enemy and give them something they have never faced before.



Aelius mounted on his horse, he marched through the camp, gathering his company of knights and yet, again he saw the eyes of the young ones, this time, feeling that his eyes were not different from theirs. He knew their time had come, he pitied himself for the situation he was in, he shook his head and tried to push back the thoughts of fear which were so close to reality.

And so they marched, they marched onwards until the sight thick columns of smoke covered their sight. The war had begun. The general, held the counsil of his army, and we hear that the armies of Rome has been cut through and hammered to a retreat. We must be swift yet cautious to reach our allies.

the first sign of danger came three days later, a small block of scouts. They were dark as the evening sky their horses fierce and young. 30 men Aelius thought, or maybe 40.

The two armies met in the march to the north. The terrain was wet, a bleak tone of brown that reminded Aelius of Mercius covered with blood lieing on the ground with his despair wide in his eyes. Yet again he pushed back the thought and glanced up to see the black cloud of marching enemy, maybe 2-3 times larger than their army. He looked at his company, they were grinning to their death, somewhat brave and loyal to the Ceasar to the end. He drew his sword. Nearby was a forest of oaks its branches crowned by ice. It was snowing.

Aelius heard a familiar voice cry Company, Haalt The army stopped. The enemy, irritatingly stopped as well. The legions formed the tortoise formation, and set march slowly while archers drew and loosed. The land and the sky echoed with the faint sound of men falling dead and cold, to meet the ground. The enemy charged with a deafening noise, their feet battering the ground. The legions also charged, this time creating a line only 4 men deep to meet the ends of the thick figure of enemy raging. Aelius ordered his company which were still back enough to avoid glazing eyes, to march into the woods. The galloping of the horses shook the formidable silhouettes of the trees, the cold was almost palpable in the air. When aelius looked to his right, he saw the armies clash, with such a tremendous sound that challenged the might of the thunder god itself. He ducked his head to avoid a dark branch and pointed his sword to the right, towards the enemy cavalry trying to outflank the lines of the Legion. And so they charged into the battle, their rage on their blows shimmering and tearing the enemy apart. Men falling on the blood soaked ground which now was a white texture which reminded him of his tent, cold and leaking. He shuddered as he parried away a swing from his right and thrust forward as his sword penetrated into the enemy's armor and worked through his lungs. The man fell, and his helmet shook, revealing his eyes for an instant, they were dull and black.

It was then that the lines of the legion filled with youthful but fearful farmers broke. He saw that his commander itself was fighting the enemy that pursued their shouting and pleading infantry. To deaath he shouted, knowing there was no return as he entered into the shadow of shouting men. His eyes filled with hate, and his body swarming with heat which felt like it was hell inside him, he thrusted his sword again and again which now was dark with blood. His helmet also covered with blood of his foes, he swung his sword one more time.

His hand released the sword, and twisted into the snow as he too, twisted with the agony that cut through his liver, the sword felt as cold as the fear itself, he fell onto the ground as the sword was pulled back by the owner of his death. His eyes faded and caught the sight of a running crowd coming from the mountains. Was it the enemy? No, it was the ally, the Emperor itself, riding his horse with such a gracefulness and thousands following his lead. Aelius blinked, seeing nothing, he blinked again and he looked next to him, stood Mercius, barefoot and barehanded, holding his sword. Aelius made a move towards his sword, the vision of Mercius faded and disappeared, it seemed to Aelius that he was grinning, and so he too, smiled under the sky which now was glowing under the Victory of Rome.

[frogbeastegg]

Hands clasped in silent prayer Ferdinand knelt on the cold stone floor before the alter. He heard footsteps approach him from behind, they stopped and a quiet cough attempted to catch his attention. Ferdinand ignored this, nothing was so important that it could interrupt his communion with God. Again came the cough, this time louder and more insistent. Ferdinand continued to pray adding in an extra Hail Mary to reinforce his point before he turned and spoke to the messenger. What do you want, why do you disturb my prayers. Holding out a royal badge so Ferdinand could see he was a kings messenger the man said His Royal Highness, King Alfonso the VI wishes the inquisitor Ferdinand Pedro to come before him. He said that it was a matter of urgency and you were to come immediately. Very well replied Ferdinand as he stalked out of the cathedral.

An hour later Ferdinand was ushered into the throne room. Bowing low he asked Your Majesty called for me? Yes I did. I have need of your skills, you are the best Inquisitor in Spain and this matter is too important for anyone of lesser ability. replied the king. You may be aware the new Pope, Innocent the VIII is using his powers to stop warfare in Europe and cause all to live in harmony. He appears to be a most excellent Pope, but sadly this is not the case. Evidence has reached my ears that his acts of piety are nothing more than a facade. Innocent is very devoted to worldly pleasures. He spends most nights so drunk he must be dragged to bed by his cardinals. He eats to the point of gluttony and enjoys the company of women of dubious reputation. Worse still he does not truly believe, we have a Pope who does not believe in God What do you wish me to do my Lord? The inquisition cannot try the Pope - he is Gods representative on earth Ferdinand asked sounding shocked to his very core. It is true that the Pope is elected to office for life, given special protection and privileges and anointed the representative of God. However Innocent is not fit for the job, he is a heretic There is one hope though, the proclamation that authorises the Inquisition states that no one is above suspicion, no one can refuse to be tried. God has provided a way to remove this unfit creature from this most holy office. Will you leave for Rome immediately to end this charade? Ferdinand thought for several long minutes before answering It is Gods will that I go. He has provided the evidence and blessed the inquisition with the intention of safeguarding Christianity from heresy, no matter who commits it. Excellent proclaimed the king, rubbing his hands together There is a ship waiting for you in the port, it will take you to Rome. When your work is complete return here and come before me. May God bless your mission.

Several weeks later Ferdinand landed in Rome and went to the Vatican. I am Ferdinand Pedro of the Spanish Inquisition. I am here to see the Pope on a matter of utmost urgency. You will let me pass. Forcing his way passed the guards followed by the armed escort that King Alfonso had provided Ferdinand found his own way to the Pope. Bursting in unexpectedly Ferdinand was able to see that the King had not lied. Innocent was surrounded by food, more than enough for a banquet even though there were only a handful of men present. The walls and floor were covered in the most expensive looking tapestries and carpets Ferdinand had seen in his life. The Pope himself was dressed so gaudily that it made your eyes hurt to look at him. What is the meaning of this protested the Pope weakly, trying to stand and knocking a roast chicken onto the floor. I am Grand Inquisitor Ferdinand Pedro from Spain. I am here to try you on the charges of heresy. You will submit peacefully or I will use force barked Ferdinand beckoning forward his guards. Do not protest that you are above accusation, I have here the warrant signed by your predecesser stating that no one is above suspicion. The soldiers barged forward, seized the Pope and dragged him from the room.

Several days later after hours of torture Pope Innocent the VII signed a confession and preparations were made for his burning. when the designated day dawned the square outside the Vatican was full of people, straining to witness this historical moment. The condemned man was brought out, chained at hand and foot, and tied to the post amidst a pile of brushwood and kindling. Ferdinand read out the victims crimes I, the Grand Inquisitor Ferdinand Pedro, have found this man, Pope Innocent VII, to be guilty of heresy. He has signed this confession and has been sentenced to be burned at the stake. May God have mercy on his soul. Throughout this speech Innocent was screaming incoherently that he was not guilty, it was all a mistake. He was still shouting as the fire was started. It took nearly 15 minutes for Innocent to burn to death. During this time he alternatively pleaded for aid and cursed the audience. The audience themselves were strangely quiet, usually a burning prompted cat calls and shouts at the very least.

With his job done Ferdinand returned to Spain. As instructed he requested an audience with the king. When he entered the throne room he saw a council of war was taking place, something that surprised him. When he got close enough to see the map he saw that the king was planning an invasion of Aragon. Ah Ferdinand, welcome back. Excellent work, the new Pope, Pious X is much better suited to the responsibilities of the position. said the king vaguely, looking over his shoulder. Sire Ferdinand demanded why are you planning to invade Aragon? They are fellow Catholics, the Pope will not authorise it - you will be excommunicated and all Spain along with you Turning round to look fully at the inquisitor Alfonso replied Pious will not be bothering us, as I said he is well suited to the job. You may go. With this dismissal Ferdinand stormed out of the room.

Angry at how he was used Ferdinand put Alfonso on trial for heresy. It was not difficult to secure a conviction, after all who would argue with the man who had burned a Pope? The next king of Spain was not stupid enough to repeat his father's mistake.

(I don't think this one is very good, it's too hard to concentrate when your neighbor is drilling and hammering so loudly your house is shaking )

[The_Emperor]

It was Dusk when he arrived at the Tavern. He stared out from underneath his travelling cloak at the other patrons. They all had a story to tell, and a past that haunts them...

Here they were, the Dregs of Northern England. Some of them seemd to be rattled when he walked in. He had a reputation that preceded him, and it was very well earned. He walked over to the bartender and got a tankered of mead and then sat down in a darkened corner facing everyone else in the room. Suddenly he noticed a stranger walk in, he was smartly dressed and well mannered in appearance. Must be an Emissarry he thought watching him... The Emissary scoured the room until his gaze fixed upon him. And then he walked over and sat himself down.

Are you the one they call, Guy of Gisbourne? The Emissary asked. Maybe... Who wants to know? he replied. I am a messenger from the King, I bring word that he seeks your services for a very dangerous and lucrative job., Just as long as I am paid in advance. The Emissary then handed a sealed Writ across the table. As Guy opened the document and studied it, the Emissary continued... As I am sure your aware our great and Noble King has been having some trouble with the French, We have always had troube with the French, so whats new?, The King of France has been trying to seal an Alliance with the Holy Roman Empire, He has sent a messenger into the German lands, to try and get their Princess Charlotte to Marry him and secure the future of his line, we cannot allow this to happen, Guy reached the end of the Writ and read the name of the targets. say nothing more, there are spies everywhere these days, tell the King that I will do asks Guy immediately left for Paris, he knew that this was going to be no easy task.

After arriving in Paris he looked over the Palace... he knew that Both the King and the German Princess were inside, and that security would be tight. Guy watched the Rotation of the Guards and followed one on his way back to barracks... Ambushing him in a deserted alley he took his Uniform, this was his ticket inside the outer gates of the palace when the guard changed again.

The King was getting ready for the days events... First he was going to have breakfast and then the wedding ceremony would begin and he would Marry the daughter of the Emperor of Germany. By this marrage a strong alliance would be born and the Germans would join the war against the English.

As he sat down for his breakfast meal, he took solace that somewhere in the palace his bride to be was getting ready for the ceremony... Soon, it will be done he thought, and he clasped his Gobblet, ready to take a sip of wine. He didn't notice the dark shadowed shape in the corner of his eye that moved past his window... He called for the servent to come in so he could have some more wine.

The servent hurried down the corridor as fast as he could the King of France was not to be kept waiting... after being admitted by the Bodyguards he was allowed in and then he dropped what he was holding in utter shock, there in front of him lay the King, bent forwards over his meal his hand still clasping his cup, with a shining dagger in his neck...

When the Alarm was raised the Royal attendents rushed to check on the Princess, but found her laying on her bed in a pool of blood. A bloodstained dagger was sitting beside her on the floor.

A year later Guy was back in England after laying low for a while, but France was embroiled in a bitter civil war since the death as there was no clear heir to the throne... The King of England Decided to re-assert his claim on the French throne by invading. The Germans didn't intervene, they blamed French incompetence for the death of their Princess. A great war had begun...

[Balamir]

All nice stories too I did like the place where the pope was burnt, har har kill him kill him I guess the thread reached its estimation, we have a nice story line moving up. I suggest we can be generals/ assasins/ emissaries that serve the same faction and maybe continue eachother's story? If you guys want we can vote out a king/queen, and the king/queen should be changed once two weeks or more. Let me know all your ideas and we can make this thing a whole conquer the medieval world campaign

[Mamushi]

Since my writing skills are a bit off, I do have ideas... How about a running story? Each person write a paragraph,and then another person adds to it (obviously keeping the plot going) who knows,perhaps I can add a bit to this might epic Any takers? I was thinking of starting a different thread for this,ot avoid contaminating our current crop of stories. Sound good?

PS sorry balimar,I did not see you had mentioned the same thing..

[frogbeastegg]

A continuous story would probably work better in it's own topic, a bit like the 'one word story' in the tavern (only less full of spam and the word 'buttcheeks) The hold can continue to house stories like it is now, they are very good reads.

If we can decide on a faction we can have a continuing story of it's attempt to conquer the world. I vote English - the names are easier Plus they are in a good position, have been used by most players and is popular with newbies. If we based it on actual campaign strategies it would serve as an interesting beginners guide.

I'm working on one more. It's a comedy of the funniest battle I ever fought. To give you a taster heres an taster:

Sky blue uniforms, why do we have to have sky blue uniforms? The Welsh get a cool forest green, the Saxons blood red and here we are stuck with sky blue We look as tough as a novice monk

This could be the last one for a while.

It should be finished today, my foul neighbors noisy DIY permitting. (I really hate that horrible man, stupid moron making load noise day and night with his stupid drills,. Hope he drills through a power cord, then he won't be making so much noise my house sounds like a building site. Might be able to have the windows open too if he were fried, wouldn't have the stench of his cigarrettes drifting over endlessly. The whole area smells like a fire in a cigar factory with a large quantitiy of burning tar thrown in. End Rant )

[Balamir]

I agree on England since they have a good variety value, you can go south or east and maybe overseas. We can keep the warrior hold still as Lady Frog mentioned, because its getting more attraction than I thought it would. If someone is kind enough to shoot the beginning I'll go on with pleasure.

[The_Emperor]

Well if England will be your choice maybe someone should continue my story... The French Royal line has been broken and their faction has turned to rebels and infighting, and the English have invaded. Sounds like something that could be continued.

[DemonArchangel]

well, i'm working on one right now, it should be done by tommorow

[Dîn-Heru]

In the year of our Lord 838 the heathens invaded Dal Riada, seeking plunder and our treasures. Our noble King, Kenneth III, prepared to face the pagans led by their King, Hrafn I. Our proud Scotsmen numbered 241 men, the Vikings numbered 61. But even though numerical superiority was ours, our king and his counsel knew that this would not be an easy battle. The Viking force consisted of seasoned warriors and their leader was a formidable leader and a skilled attacker. Our forces on the other hand, were mere recruits, and our King had only tasted battle a few times.

It was a fine day, too fine a day for the bloodshed that was to come. Our army assembled on a relatively steep slope, overlooking the long narrow valley below. The highlanders waited impetuously for the Vikings to advance, whilst our King prayed that his numbers would be sufficient to win the day.

The Vikings advanced slowly towards our line as the rain began pouring down. Our archers released their deadly hail of arrows. The arrows hailed down on the enemy killing many. As the Vikings approached the archers, our King moved to the right flank, in order to hit the Vikings huscarls on their left flank and rear, whilst 40 horsemen moved to the left flank to charge into the Vikings’ right.

Just before the heathens reached the archers, the brave highlanders charged. A brutal hand-to-hand fight ensued, as our noble King raised his sword and charged into the fray. But then as the horsemen charged into the Vikings’ rear, tragedy struck. Our beloved king fell at the hands of the barbarians. With our Lord’s death, the highlanders turned to flight. The rest of the dead king’s bodyguards, and the horsemen followed shortly after. Our entire army that had stood so valiantly in the face of our foe fled the field. This grim day ended in sorrow for our people.

41 pagans lay dead on the field, at the cost of 121 of our brave soldiers’ souls.

A sad day but with God’s help we shall prevail.

--

Bishop Dub Macarthgail


(footnote: after this Scotland suffered a civil war, and the capital was moved to Brega in Ireland. The Irish re-emerged, but was soon destroyed. Most of Scottish lands that had rebbeled during the civi war returned to their rightful lord a few years later, during a loyalist revolt. The Vikings kept terrorizing Scotland, and still does, but now they have also began pestering us here in Ireland.
But with the aid of our Almighty Lord we shall force the heathens back to Sea from whence they came.
--

Abbott Alexander Macgoulchane of Brega, 860)

[frogbeastegg]

Sky blues the limit

Sky blue uniforms, why do we have to have sky blue uniforms? The Welsh get a cool forest green, the Saxons blood red and here we are stuck with sky blue We look as tough as a novice monk complained Cedric. When king Utha called us to battle I thought we'd get a cool uniform, but no, we get sky blue How lame is that? Shut up Cedric answered his friend Athelraed already tired of Cedrics moaning. There are 3,572 other men in this army and I don't hear any of them complaining so just shut up It's just that I thought we'd look good, I wanted to impress my girlfriend with a uniform but I wouldn't be seen dead in this whined Cedric. Oh I don't think that'll be a problem Cedric, we are going to fight the Vikings you know. They are the best warriors on this earth - being dead will be very easy. said Athelraed nastily. They're only tough because they get to wear silver, now that's a uniform to be proud of muttered Cedric under his breath I'd be tough if I didn't have to wear sky blue

Alright you peasants, listen up shouted a loud, unpleasant voice from nearby. Sergeant Edward was addressing his troops Today we are going to crush the Vikings There are only a handful of them - 160 archers, 76 huscarles and 154 carls. Nothing we can't handle if you follow orders and don't run away I will be leading you so do what I say or else, the king himself has given me this command so don't mess up We will advance with the other peasant units with the spearmen behind us. The urban militia groups will take the flanks. The king and his personal guard will bring up the rear ready to reinforce where needed. Understood? there was an unenthusiastic chorus of yeses right, form up

The peasants formed up as ordered and the advance began. By some misfortune Cedric and Ethelraed found themselves next to sergeant Edward who kept offering cheerful advice If the bloke next to you drops dead just keep going and try not to get too badly splattered with blood, it's a pain to wash out. The Viking archers opened fire as soon as the peasants got in range causing heavy losses. Now that's just not cricket yelled Cedric shooting at us from all this distance, real men fight hand to hand. I'll show um a thing or two Unfortunately his speech was cut off in the middle as an arrow whipped past hitting the man behind him. Eeeww Blood, that's really not nice whinged Cedric. Shut up Cedric replied a tired sounding Athelraed. Bad luck old chap offered sergeant Edward It'll take a lot of washing to get those stains out

Minutes later the peasants reached the Vikings and the melee began. Sergeant Edward charged bravely ahead but was cut in two by a huscarl. Eeeekkk shrilled Cedric I think we should get out of here Athelraed, I really can't fight in this stupid uniform. And I just remembered I took an oath against fighting. And I left the soup on back at camp. And..Ok, Ok lets go agreed Athelraed I don't want to die either At this moment the Viking huscarl took a swing at the unhappy pair while screaming something nasty sounding in Norse. Fortunately Cedric and Athelraed were running away so fast the axe missed.

Gasping for breath the two friends stopped in a wood some distance from the fighting. I think we'll be safe here. Lets watch the rest of the battle, then we can pretend we were in it. suggested Athelraed. Good idea agreed Cedric. And so the pair settled down to watch. The other peasants are getting slaughtered I'm glad we left you know. commented Cedric. Yes Athelraed replied. Look, there go the militia coming round the Vikings flanks. Oh no They're being slaughtered too This is unbelievable There's the king - he's charging into the Viking huscarles, not a very good tactic is it? Oh and he's down, knocked off his horse by a carl. Yes, that's got to hurt Cedric said eagerly He can't come back from that No wait Yes he has I don't believe it the king is back in the action What an incredible man Yes he really is, you don't see much action like that now a days said Athelraed in a strangely annoying voice. Now back to the action. The peasants are really taking the strain, but they are not the top seeds for this battle. That honour goes to the Huscarles, who are making a fantastic effort by the way. They must be exhausted by now and yet they keep on going Spectacular Cedric joined in speaking in an equally annoying voice Yes it really is. However those peasants have got guts coming here today when they can't win, you do have to admire the effort. Oh, and look, there are some of those guts now Lets get a close up of that, yep, they are spilling all over the place. Poor chap didn't stand a chance against that sword Breaking news interrupted Athelraed The Mercian army is running away It's all over now. Well that concluded today's battle, we hope you enjoyed watching. So it's goodbye from me and goodby...No wait they are rallying It's not over We will continue our report after this break

Ok and we're back, welcome to the live coverage of the Big Battle - Mercia V The Vikings. The winner of today's battle will get the handsome province of Lindissi, featuring a fort with added spearmaker, swordsmith and musterfield, also the picturesque abbey on the coast. The looser gets free burial. Anyway back to the coverage Thank you Athelraed. Now the Mercians are back for a second go. Once again the peasants are going in first, great team effort there folks. The Viking archers are out of arrows and are joining the fight this time instead of hanging back. And there's the huscarles cutting a bloody swath through the peasants who are running away once more. There's king Utha, can you see what he's doing Athelraed? Well yes Cedric, I can. The king is charging straight at the enemy general on a borrowed horse Now that tactic has failed once before, I wonder what will happen this time? He's down The king is down again Athelraed is right folks, the king is down His head got in the way of an axe and split open like a melon And once again the Mercians are running away It's all over, the fat lady has sung We will now go to the after battle analysis. Athelraed what did you think to today's battle? Well Cedric I thought it was very brave of the Mercians to enter, no one thought they could win but they still turned up, which is brave any day of the week. But in the end the favourites won, and we must remember the fantastic prize they have won, the province of Lindissi complete with accessories. Personally Athelraed I thought the use of peasants in large quantities was particularly striking, after all they are hardly the standard unit for a large battle. I wonder what prompted that? Anyway I'm getting reports that we are out of time so we will leave you now. It's good bye from me And goodbye from me added Athelraed Until next time. Congratulations to today's victors. We hope you enjoyed watching

That evening Cedric and Athelraed were walking off into the sunset. Athelraed? Why did we start saying all those strange things back in the forest? I've no idea Cedric replied Athelraed, his voice returned to its normal tiredness. And what's a melon? I don't know Cedric Who's the fat lady and why would she sing? I don't KNOW Cedric What about.. Just shut up I don't know either Cedric Just SHUT UP The pair walked in silence for a while until.. I bet they could have won if they weren't wearing sky blue you know. I bet they would have SHUT UP CEDRIC




NB: This battle did actually happen. I was the Vikings (of course ) and events happened as described. The Mercian king did appear to die twice but I guess this was actually the guy next to him rather than the king himself. A unit of peasants camped out in the forest for most of the battle. Cedric and Athelraed are meant to sound like the annoying sports commentators on TV. Hope you enjoyed it

[DemonArchangel]

gimme one more day, mine's gonna be good./

[Mamushi]

No, you cannot have another day...times Up

[JohnCee]

This story ended up so long I'm going to have to split it over two posts, sorry

Its (sort of) based on a battle I had when I first started playing MTW but my memory isn't great so I've taken some artistic (yeah right) licence.

Dawn broke and was overcast but for the first time in days there was no rain. Those who were wise in these matters said that the day would remain clear and I hoped they were right. His Lordship, Henry Plantagenet had decided that today we fight and I hate fighting in the rain.

There were those who said this decision had been forced upon him, and truly after three days of waiting for the sky to clear the army was growing restless. Don’t believe these rumblings, I had marched with his lordship through most of Northern France and I have never known him to be shy of a battle nor to accept any decision enforced from below.

So today we went to war, and with God’s help by the end of the battle Lorraine would return to the embrace of its true masters. Be assured God was with us, I admit that the last Pope excommunicated His Majesty, but it is surely a sign that less than two years later God saw fit to remove this wrong-thinking man from office. Have no doubt that it was God, I too have heard the rumours and more sinister explanations; such people are fools with no eye for the works of the Almighty.

Not long after the Sun had cleared the horizon I was sat on my horse surrounded by my brother knights. His Lordship had chosen to muster his forces on the crest of a hill whose slopes were almost entirely covered by a forest, despite its crest being entirely clear (according to my squire, this caused it to resemble the shaven tonsure of a monk). Aside from the hill itself and an occasional copse of trees on the valley below he had chosen a horseman’s perfect killing ground, open and smooth. In the very centre of the hill his Lordship stood with his bodyguard the heavy cloth of his standard moving sluggishly in the wind. My knights were drawn up some yards to his right with a unit of hobliars further still to our right. The hobliars were a new, and strangely weak, addition to an army that had turned an English foothold surrounded by French holdings into a powerful bastion of civilisation in continental Europe. Those brave, or foolhardy, enough to risk his Lordship’s legendary temper and question such an addition were curtly told to “leave strategy to those with the wit to think.” To his Lordship’s left was the perfect mirror of the formation on his right.

There was the moment of stillness that precedes every conflict, like an early pause for breath, then rows of Frenchmen appeared across the horizon, distant enough that their ranks appeared as a blue-grey stain against the overcast sky. Time seemed to crawl as they drew closer but eventually they stopped, several hundred yards out of range for any archer. I could now count standards. It would be wrong to suggest that the initial sight of so many of the enemy did not disquiet me, but such feelings notwithstanding, what happened next was stunning. With a great shout the hobliars wheeled ninety degrees and set off in opposite directions.

At first I thought the cowards had decided to run before even engaging the enemy. The French seem to think the same thing, I could hear faint cheering as the hobby horsemen started running away from the centre of the hill. What the French did not seem to notice was that his Lordship (normally so vocal when a single peasant even wavers in the line) remained perfectly calm.

I soon forgot about the strangeness to my left and right, more urgent matters were taking place in front of me. Without any great fanfare an entire company of Welsh longbowmen had appeared from the treeline and strolled forwards. Clearly Lord Henry realised that with time against us the French would force us to make the first move, and had decided to oblige. Spreading out to form a loose skirmish line the longbowmen started their unhurried advance. While they walked I used my high vantage point to take stock of the French force.
The central mass was formed of infantry; two or three companies of feudal men-at-arms supported by what looked like groups of conscripted peasantry. Four companies of heavy cavalry flanked this mass, two to each side – all feudal knights like myself. Behind these men were several companies of archers and crossbowmen. At the rear was the French commander, although I had not yet learnt his name he was clearly an important man, I recognised some of his mounted bodyguard as French noblemen and minor royalty.

The Welshmen halted at the extreme edge of their range and were loosing a barrage of arrows into the centremost company of men-at-arms. The range had clearly taken its toll on the bowmens’ accuracy but Frenchmen soon began falling under the deadly hail. Mere seconds passed before the French commander, hoping to minimise losses, ordered the infantry into skirmish lines of their own. At the same time a company of knights were ordered to clear the bowmen away.

The French knights began the slow, ordered advance I know so well. First they would walk, closing the distance and conserving energy before the final crushing charge and the inevitable butchery.

Knowing they were no match for knights the Welshmen loosed a final barrage, turned and started running towards the treeline. Impetuously the knights started to charge, far to early but maybe they feared loosing the kill. As the knights raced the bowmen towards the treeline another two companies of longbowmen appeared from the forest and poured concentrated fire into the charging knights.

Bodies of the Frenchmen and their horses started to form a trail behind the oncoming knights, no doubt the losses were more than the French commander would have liked but nowhere near enough to stop the charge. As the knights closed on the first group of Welshmen all of the longbowmen retreated, to be replaced by two companies of billmen. Although the billmen had barely enough time to form up they still stopped the hammer-blow from the tiring Frenchmen.

I was so absorbed in watching the drama I had failed to notice the entire mass of French foot advancing towards the hill. My company was ordered to move further right and prepare to flank the enemy. As I concentrated on relocating my men I lost sight of the conflict below me. From what I could hear initial forays had escalated into full blown conflict.

It took mere moments to move and organise my men but when I looked back the face of the battle had changed completely. The English infantry, a mixed group of billmen and feudal men at arms, had appeared from the forest and was marching determinedly towards the French foot soldiers. The archers on both sides were not standing idle either. French crossbows were working with slow efficiency turning English footsoldiers into so much metal and carrion; in turn arrows from an enormous mass of Welsh longbows were blackening the sky and inflicting massive losses on the French. One set of longbows seemed to be concentrating on the French commander, although the range was very long and none had found their mark yet.

[JohnCee]

And today's lesson is: when cutting and pasting from word don't use the fancy ' or otherwise you end up with words like don’t alternatively I could just preview my posts (serves me right for being lazy )

Anyway part 2
A company of highlanders had charged hard against the flanks of the French knights that had chased our longbowmen and were currently fighting billmen. I had been present at court the day the then-king explained to his son (the present king - long may he reign) why we allowed these men into the ranks.
This is a race ill suited to peace. Since they insist on fighting let them fight for us rather than sit in their highlands dreaming of insurrection.

He was right, the highlanders were fighting like savages. While the billmen had fought the knights to a standstill, the highlanders were turning a fight into a massacre. French men-at-arms were charging in to support the knights but the longbows had found their range and were with for every yard gained five men fell.

With a great roar the mass of foot soldiers from both sides met with a colossal crash of metal on metal. After the briefest of moments men on both sides started to die. As I watched I saw a company of the French knights charged towards a group of English men-at-arms who were already desperately fighting with their French counterparts. The order finally came for us to act and my unit was told to prevent the French knights from striking home. We formed a wedge and started at a walk down the hill, it would be desperately close but as I urged my horse forward I realised that we would either force them to turn or strike their flank. All formation was lost as we passed through the forest but it was swiftly regained at the base of the hill and we were soon close enough to charge. From that moment I lost track of the battle, all I could concentrate on was what I was about to do.

As I anticipated we struck their flank and struck hard. Eight of the enemy fell to our first strike. From there it was the meat-grinder of strike and recover, parry and counterstrike. The surprise of our attack and the force of the charge served us well, within a few minutes we decimated our enemy, having suffered only minimal losses. Suddenly all fight left the French, it seems just as the battle grew thickest the French commander fell to a shot from the Welshmen (surely guided by the Lord God himself) had found its mark. The effect on the French was immediate, groups started to flee the field and before long the only Frenchmen not running were those who were trapped in combat, taken prisoner or already dead. As ever the peasantry had been the first to run, some were halfway to the horizon already, waiting for them was a line that looked like reinforcements. As I charged after the fleeing French knights I glanced around, trying to see whether we were in any shape to encounter a fresh enemy. The situation looked grave, in the centre where the fighting had been fiercest bodies littered the field. Of the English forces the two companies of highlanders had been worst hit I would be surprised if fifteen lived to see the evening, and the company of longbows who had killed the French commander had suffered massive losses, when the Royal knights had charged them in revenge. Even Lord Henry's bodyguard had not escaped unscathed.

Nevertheless we charged, as His Lordship had said early this morning:
The more we kill on the field today the fewer we must face behind castle walls tomorrow.

As we gained ground on the fleeing Frenchmen I realised that Lord Plantagenet truly did not want to rout the French today, he wanted to crush them utterly. The men I had mistaken for reinforcements were in fact our own hobliars. Although weak on the modern battle-line hobby horsemen are fast and his lordship had sent them to sweep up and leftovers hoping to flee the field. I doubt even His Lordship had expected so many runners this day especially, as I later learnt, with the heir to the throne of France having taken the field.

Although a few Frenchmen slipped past us, and many hobilars were lost trying to stop men-at-arms or knights from leaving the field by the end of the day we held the field and every Englishman who died had sent three Frenchmen on ahead of him.

Anyone who got through that lot deserves a medal