EB Monthly Writing Contest Submissions (May)

[Zaknafien]

I presume it can be from all points of view, besieger and besieged?

I originally said:

Remember, any type of piece you've written, be it prose, poetry, a historical narrative, can be submitted as long as it is about the title subject in some way, and pertaining to the EB time frame.

[Warmaster Horus]

Right. Thanks Zaknafien.

[shlin28]

A short story I wrote yesterday, based on my campaign as Epirus.

The Siege of Rome

Pyrrichos Aiakides, King of Epirus, looked at the massive city walls of Rome, the capital city of the Epirotes’ most hated enemy. Pyrrichos still remembered the day when the message came to his grand-father, the fearless Pyrrhus, from Italy, where his youngest son, Helenos, died defending their stronghold of Taras against the Romans, even though its more than twenty years ago, Pyrrichos still remembered his grand-father’s grief. Pyrrichos also remembered when his father, Ptolemais, led a mighty army to retake Taras and avenge his younger brother, only to be stuck down by a loose javelin from the Romans. When Pyrrichos ascended to the throne, he swore he would defeat the Romans and wipe them of the face of the world. Now, his chance is finally here.

The Samnites, who had eagerly joined their cause, manned the siege towers, whilst the more trustworthy Illyrians were to man the ladders. The rest of the army stood behind them, many of them not Epirotes, from the north came the barbarians wielding fearsome falxes, from the south were the hoplites provided by the allied city of Athens, from the plains of Thessaly, there were a large contingent of expert cavalrymen. And from distant India, the pride of their army, twenty armoured elephants, whose mere footsteps put Romans to flight.

Pyrrichos rode amongst his soldiers, giving them encouragements for the coming fight and giving last minute orders. As he rode amongst his men, he couldn’t help but wonder if Alexandros, his uncle who had fought here and died here last year did the same thing. Last year, it looked like the war would end soon, they had crushed endless number of armies and the way to Rome was clear, Alexandros had been ordered the siege Rome whilst Pyrrichos attacked the only city still loyal to Rome, the city of Capua. Unknown to both of them however, another Roman army abandoned its position in Segesta and raced back south, taking Alexandros by surprise, only a few survivors reached Pyrrichos.

Stopping his reminiscing, Pyrrichos looked once again at the bland city walls; soon they would be drenched in blood, Roman blood.

Looking one more time at his men, he ordered he advance, within seconds, the mighty siege towers and ladders began to move towards the city. The Romans began firing their arrows and shot down scores of men, but the soldiers kept on. Soon, the ladders touched the walls and the finest of the Illyrians began to stream up the ladders. Not soon after that, the Samnites also began clambering up the siege tower, ready to kill the Romans who had oppressed them for so long.

The Romans fought with determination, for they know that if they lost, their city, their nation would be destroyed forever, but experienced blades soon ended their short moment of defiance. With the walls taken, Pyrrichos ordered forward the Chaeonian Guard, although they normally fought in the phalanx formation, they were more than capable swordsmen. The Guards quickly reached the opened gate and streamed through, smashing everyone in their way, but they almost immediately stopped, for Pyrrichos had ordered them to do so. At first the Romans could not understand why their enemy had stopped, but soon they knew, for they heard the characteristic thundering of massive feet, and they fled. Their officers ordered them to stand and fight, but they still fled, for who would stand against the might elephants? The elephants charged through the main street, crushing the few who still resisted, the rest of the army soon followed, prepared to unleash the final blow against the Romans.

A large group of Roman soldiers had gathered around the Capitoline Hill, prepared to make a last stand around their most sacred temple. Pyrrichos, who had by now reached the front ranks, eyed them with scrutiny, the Romans there could resist to the last man and cause heavy casualties amongst his men, but knowing they can’t be left alone, Pyrrichos held his sword high, and shouted “For Epirus!” The soldiers around him charged, faced with so many, some of the Romans faltered, yet most of them held their ground.

The army crashed onto the Romans, killing most of the Romans in the front, but still the Romans fought on, first with their sword or whatever weapon they had found, but as the weapons became damaged and lost, they fought with their bare hands and teeth, until they all died. Pyrrichos grudgingly admired the Romans for their bravery, but what can brave men do if no have no sharp man to lead them?

Although the part of the city where the army had went past were nearly destroyed, a large portion of it still survived, remembering his promise he made when he became King, Pyrrichos shouted to his assembled men, “Raze the city, burn this city to the ground, let no man remember this was Rome!” The men roared with bloodlust, overwhelmed by the thoughts of loot and plunder.

[Aoinois]

The story and its setting is diliberatly ambiguous. Are we able to edit the story slightly after submission?

Levied

Time flows oh so slowly. Every moment an age. The sweat; sliding, slipping down your brow. Seeping, creeping into your eyes, but within the mass of surging bodies you cant bring your hands up to wipe it. The smell! Its nauseating , it crawls its way up your nostrils like a viscous soup. Its a familiar scent to you, fear. A distinctly human scent has weaved its way through the ranks, penetrating and gnawing at your resolve. The rain, it doesnt cleanse, it doesnt wash! Instead it creates a sickening humidity, when combined with the mud and fluids that churned about the courtyard.

Beyond! Again! Again! Beyond the gates you hear the screaming of men possesed, it rips through your ears with, sets itself in your head like a tumour growing ever larger. The fear. The men, you've heard tales of what they do to their captives. You pray to your gods; 'send me a swift death, carry me away on wings of steel so clean and sharp'. For the alternative is worse, much worse. They are wild men. Demons, their screams are demonic. Demons. You dont know whats behind those gates, you dont want to, they never told you who you were fighting. A spear, a shield and an order in the form of an outstretched arm. Thats all you know.

You take some comfort, the mass that surrounds you. Its stench is overpowering, but it blankets you. Like the arms of a loving mother, but they didnt tell you they could cut your mothers arms off. So many faces surround you, so many eyes. All unique, some of fear, some eager, some down right insane. Men, hair of brown, shining blonde, jet black, firey red. Others, the fortunate ones, helmets that gleamed fresh as the faces that wore them. Battered helmets, weathered by years of warfare, bearing similary marked owners. Armour of chains that rung. Spears and blades, both vorpal and battered. Diversity. This is your blanket, your armour are the men standing next to you, your weapon the men standing infront of you. A full five ranks in front of you.

It all seems a dream, the rain, sweat, fear, screams. You're so ditatched.

Suddenly, without warning, it all becomes real again. A thunderous crash resounds throughout the stronghold! More are to come. More! The sky brings not water, but boulders! The comforting mass is swept away as if being casually pushed aside! Bodies from all directions given the curse of flight by the infernal rains! Screams of panic and terror as whole chunks of the line are scythed apart. Your blanket being torn to shreds by some wild animal! Overcomming the shock you raise your shield, kneeling in the sodden mud. With the puny hope that it'll will provide some kind of meaningful resistance. The mind ticks away, each tick signalling deaths in scores.

It stops.

Not for long.

A familliar sound meets you ears, among all the screaming, the shouting, a rythmic crash can be heard, almost a melodic baseline to the carnage. Splintering wood.

They are at the gates.

With a few more heaves, and a couple more ho's the gates burst open! As if a weakened dam giving way to a wave. You try to gance over your comrades shoulder, but the rain and sweat cloud your vision, a blur is the best you'll get. But there is a wave, only this one carries long swords, shields, battle axes of all kinds. Each adorned with an intricate, beautiful pattern. The glinting metals are a sharp herald to the end many will soon meet, you know this. The wild, possesed men surge forward, sceaming their infernal battle cries in an effort to be the first to carve into your ranks.

"hold the line!"

The general cries from his comfortable position, far behind it is but a distant whisper in the wind.

"hold!"

Your heart is racing, racing. Faster and faster your chest feels as if it will explode! You loose all feeling in your hands, gripping your aspis so tightly, you forget its there. It has become a part of you, an extension of your body to break the wave of demons.

"Charge!"

The counter charge order is screamed, not a whisper this time. Not from a distant commander. Everyone screams this order.

The mass sweeps you onwards, an unstoppable swarm, you are dragged through the mud more than anything else. The wave breaks on the breaker! Two masses turn into a swirling melee of churning bodies that smash against one another. Spears shatter, swords smash! The mud drinks a new fluid, blood of thousands wash it red! The mind keeps ticking, all you witness, all you can make out is the crimson mist in what is nothing more than a meat grinder five ranks ahead!

Four

Three

Two

ONE!

In a flash, an instant your at the front, the spear head. You vision filled with the writhing faces of those being speared, rended, cut and cloven. Your eyes meet with what could only be discribed as a monster. Just a glance, you can feel the aura of his power surge through you, mixing with the fear. A quintessential concoction of pure terror. You must keep fighting, thats all your here to do! The beast is naked! He swings wildly at you. Blow after blow after blow crash upon your shield as a hammer striks a bell. You jab wildly with prayer. Your thrusts are near futile, save for one! It meets flesh! Slipping into the beasts comrade with a sickening mix of showering crimson and torn tissue. He screams, dropping to the floor. The beast is enraged now.

You dont hear anything.

Resounding crunch at your skull silences everything. You fall, time oh so slowly. Every moment an age. The blood slipping, sliding down your brow. Seeping, creeping into your eyes, you have not the strength to wipe it clean. The feathery embrace of the sodden ground is calming, it drinks away your fear, your pain. The faces, the hair once unique, they are all the same now. All of them red.

Its all so quiet.

All so red.

You don't know who your fighting.

All so red.

It's been so long.

You want to go home.



The gods protect.


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Critacism appreciated.