Just something I wrote one afternoon...

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Jon
Amrod Rhandir
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Just something I wrote one afternoon...

Post by Jon »

Well the other day I had a bit of free time and didn't know what so I just sat down imagined up a little story. I don't do much writing and I'm naught that good in it either, so I'd really love some advice from the more experienced of you (thinking Mirimaran). Brace yourselves, here it is:



A green and golden flag, picturing a spear adorned with three stars, fluttered in the gentle breeze. It rose tall above the city of Fordhall under the darkening clouds, mounted upon the highest tower of the palace. Beyond it were the vast rolling hills of Greenshire; lustrous grassy fields dotted here and there with patches of trees.
Yonder the hills, a black line disturbed the peace. Thousands upon thousands of men were marching towards the city. They had come from an unknown land somewhere past the mountains, and now with all the panoply of war they were coming to attack his home.

Ralph donned his hauberk, the cold steel rings biting against the bare flesh of his arms. He slipped his belt and frog around his waist. He stopped for a moment. The fear for what was about to happen grew in his mind. His stomach ached with anxiety. He could feel the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, preparing him for fight or flight.

He resumed arming himself, putting on his arming cap and helmet, fastening the sword to his belt and sheathing the small hunting knife given to him by Ulrich. He then grabbed his shield from the other side of the room, sliding the guige strap over his shoulder.
Finally he took his spear in his hands and walked out of the cold dark room that he had once called home. He knew he would never come back. There was no way he would survive this battle, let alone the war.

Stepping out onto the street, Ralph joined the flow of warriors heading towards the outer defences. The city was built on three levels each encircled by a massive wall. The first level grouped together all the lower class citizens, as well as most of the military buildings. The second, higher up on the hill, housed the richer citizens. The third level at the very top of the city, and by far the most heavily fortified, encased the king’s palace in an array of towers and battlements.

Ralph was headed in the direction of the outermost wall which would be their first line of defence. That would surely be destroyed within the first day of fighting; that was, if there was even going to be a second.

After it was captured, the majority of the soldiers were to retreat to the second level and continue the fighting from there. Ralph, however, was not in that majority; he was to be in the minority that had been given the order to stay behind and ambush the enemy soldiers in the city streets. There was of course no plan for them afterwards, as everyone knew that the men in his group would be killed.

Frustration welled up within him. Why was he selected to be in that minority? It could have been anyone. Why was he chosen for certain death when the other soldiers were allowed to live?

The reality was that he stood absolutely no chance against the enemy’s professional soldiers; he was just a common man, levied into the local militia to defend his home. Defend his home. At least he had something to fight for, to die for. Also, he realised that he was not at such a disadvantage than he thought. They had distributed armour and weapons to the militia. His maille was not of the best quality, his was spear rusty, his helmet dented.
Yet he had his father’s sword by his side, his hurriedly made his shield that he had put together when he had heard of the approaching army. He wished he could have made the rest of his gear too; that was something he intended to remedy in the future. If there was going to be a future.
But over all it was not as futile as he had first thought, he would just try to avoid any direct confrontations.

Continuing down the road, he saw all the last minute preparations, someone repairing some links in his hauberk, another sharpening his axe, and more men hurrying about doing this and that. But what really caught Ralph’s attention were all the women and their children fleeing from the edge of the city, trying to get away from all the chaos and find shelter within the palace. He thought about them, the ‘innocent’ people, all going to be killed or abused mercilessly. They couldn’t do anything to defend themselves or prevent the inevitable. But he could. He could try. He had to focus on the small positive things; what could keep him going. He did have a chance. A small chance nevertheless, but still a chance.

He came to the end of the street into a square where a captain was directing troops. He was sent to the eastern wall section next to the gatehouse. Marching up the steps of the rampart, he continued along the wall for some hundred feet, and then took his place among the warriors.

He saw, through their ranks, over the huts and fields below the walls, some three miles away still, were the enemy; a black mass of troops stretching for thousands of feet in every direction. Standing out from the thick of troops were huge war machines accompanied by beasts of the like he had never seen.
His palms began to sweat, and the knot in his stomach grew tighter.

Why was he doing this? It was horrible. He had no choice but to risk his live. Then the thought occurred to him: if he had had a choice would he have done so? Why did he fight? Defending his home of course. But the thought didn’t drive him. He’d never really enjoyed living here, nor had he accomplished much in his life. And now it was all going to end. None of that mattered now. The fight had been brought to them and he had to concentrate upon the task ahead. He would worry about that later. For now, he simply listened to the quiet before the storm.

Life before Death.
Strength before Weakness.
Journey before Destination.
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Mirimaran
Thangailhir
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Re: Just something I wrote one afternoon...

Post by Mirimaran »

Very good! I am looking forward to the next installment, I liked how you really got into Ralph's mindset, and I can tell that you used your own experiences with armor and weapons to flesh out his character. Keep it up!

BTW, nice tag line, just rewatched Robin Hood this morning lol

Ken
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
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Ringulf
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Re: Just something I wrote one afternoon...

Post by Ringulf »

I was just reading as Ken was! This is good stuff.
What will happen to Ralph next?
I intend to find out!! :mrgreen:
I am Ringulf the Dwarven Woodsman, I craft leather, wood, metal, and clay,
I throw axes, seaxes, and pointy sticks, And I fire my bow through the day.
Come be my ally, lift up your mead! We'll search out our foes and the Eagles we'll feed! :mrgreen:
Jon
Amrod Rhandir
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Joined: Mon Jun 21, 2010 11:52 am
Location: Cumbria

Re: Just something I wrote one afternoon...

Post by Jon »

Thanks guys! and what tag line?

Life before Death.
Strength before Weakness.
Journey before Destination.
kaelln

Re: Just something I wrote one afternoon...

Post by kaelln »

Not bad at all, and who knows? Maybe Ralph will live! Keep going!
Jon
Amrod Rhandir
Posts: 646
Joined: Mon Jun 21, 2010 11:52 am
Location: Cumbria

Re: Just something I wrote one afternoon...

Post by Jon »

‘Ralph! Ralph! Get up!’ It was Ulrich’s voice.

He stirred in his dreamless sleep and managed to mutter, ‘what?’

‘It’s time! They’re beginning the assault! They need every able man on the walls straight away. Get up you portly idiot!’

Ralph could hear what seemed to be the low boom boom of war drums. He opened his eyes. Where was he? He seemed to be some sort of dimly lit room, in one of its four corners, nestled deep in a thick woollen blanket. He tried to remember. Then it all came back to him; the enemy had eventually reached the city, and had started to set up their siege camp, they had stayed there for the rest of the day, but showing no signs of any immediate attack, the men of Fordhall were sent to bed. As he remembered, dread once again filled his mind and hopelessness assailed him.

He yanked his weary body up off the floor, and getting his weapons, followed Ulrich out of the room. He was in a barracks built into the wall, so he did not have far to go before he reached his station. It pleased him to find out that Ulrich was stationed atop the section of wall just to the right of his, not three hundred feet away. Ulrich was one of the few friends he had, and he felt honoured to be able to die by his side.

Looking out towards the enemy’s encampment, he was horrified to see them forming into dozens of different battalions, and then heading straight for the city, dust rising behind them. They paused about half a mile away from the walls, preparing their siege engines and stringing their bows. Among them, Ralph could now see more clearly what the beasts were: gigantic distorted shapes of apes towering thirty feet high, covered in knobbly dull-brown skin, wearing random bits of armour supposedly scavenged off the battlefield and strapped onto their obese bodies. Some of them pushed war machines, while others wielded gigantic axes or clubs. Horns sprouted from their thick heads, which seemed to contain more bone than brain. Ralph heard a man next to him utter ‘trolls!’

And then even more hopelessness washed through him. He had heard of trolls in stories told to him by his father when he was a boy. They were apparently capable of ripping apart men and buildings alike with their bare hands, taking no heed in injuries inflicted upon them. Their berserk attitude meant that they were practically invulnerable, and it took hundreds of men to slay them. There were about fifty of them among the thousands of soldiers lined up before the walls. And here were three thousand of the men of Fordhall. Ralph did the maths. It did not add up. Not to forget what he estimated to be around ten thousand enemy foot soldiers, along with countless more cavalrymen. But at the very least, they had the advantage of defence.

He grew nauseous and gripped his slippery spear tighter. He waited, standing there, feeling the grey morning breeze on his skin, the slow intake of air into his lungs, the soft speaking of the men next to him, the warmth emanating from the brazier. And then the ranks of the opposing army started to move.
Row after row after row of soldiers advanced towards them, never stopping, never hesitating. The belfries, catapults and battering rams also began to inch slowly forward.

The section of wall on which Ralph was standing was wide enough for five rows off men and long enough for about sixty to stand abreast. To his left was the gatehouse, standing tall and firm above the portcullis and the foot-thick oak door below. On his right rose a broad stone tower, housing archers and small ballistae.

The enemy continued to advance, and then halted about six hundred feet away. The bowmen forming the two lines of men in front of him began to shoot their arrows, sending them whistling off into the enemy. The trebuchets and onagers returned fire, as well as some of the assailant’s missile troops hiding behind pavises.

Their own archers did shoot at the trolls, but soon gave up, as their armour was too thick for Fordhall’s small bows, and when they managed to hit flesh, the arrows did not penetrate more than an inch into the troll’s hide, seeming like more of an annoyance than a danger to the massive brutes.

Racing through the air faster than a horse could gallop, stone projectiles ranging from the size of a head to that of a whole body pounded the wall beneath Ralph’s feet, making the whole structure shake as if it were just an autumn leaf in the wind.

Ralph went into a trance as the bombardment continued, awaiting his death as a pig taken to the slaughterhouse might. But he was lucky enough, if indeed it was luck, to survive until the barrage fire stopped. He came back to his senses. Maybe a two dozen men in his vicinity were lying dead on the now devastated wall, either crushed by stone or pierced by arrow.

Then he saw the people with ladders running towards the walls; but accompanying them, a hundred times more terrifying the trolls started bounding forwards, and shook the very ground as if it were stricken by an earthquake. He saw a young man next to him wet himself, on his other side an older man trembled uncontrollably. These were no trained soldiers, thought Ralph; they would be massacred as soon as the enemy breached the walls. His own hands began to tremble and he lost his spear for a second it was becoming so slick. Hope was gone.

Massive bolts from the ballistae in the towers stuck in the trolls, but the brutes just ripped them out and kept running. Reaching the walls, they proceeded to hit them with their clubs, in an attempt to beat them to smithereens. At the same time, the ladders, eighty feet tall and wide enough for two men to climb together, slapped against the battlements.
As the first wild man climbed over the top just in front of him, Ralph’s face grew white with fear.

Life before Death.
Strength before Weakness.
Journey before Destination.
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Mirimaran
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Re: Just something I wrote one afternoon...

Post by Mirimaran »

Poor Ralph! You're doing great!

Ken
"Well, what are you waiting for? I am an old man, and have no time for your falter! Come at me, if you will, for I do not sing songs of dastards!"
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