The "Freeola Customer Forum" forum, which includes Retro Game Reviews, has been archived and is now read-only. You cannot post here or create a new thread or review on this forum.
His braided hair fell in clusters over his woad stained shoulders. His golden hair glinted against the midday sun and the light danced on the blade of his sword. He stood tall against the jutting tree line. The wood stood in the middle of the desolate plains, rolling expanses of scrubby wasteland stood out onto the horizon, the prominent feature of this desolate wasteland.
His band of armour-clad warriors stood proud on the hill, their drilled regiments in sections to the left and right of the warlord's figure. He began to recite the poem he had been "taught" by the wolves that raised him as a child.
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
his sanction, his downfall,
light flickers on his scarred face,
the demon of fate stands proud above him,
jagged bone unsheathed from fleshy scabbards,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
His lieutenant's scarred face stared proudly up at his leader while he recited his battle oath, his face deep in concentration. His leader, or "the warrior" as he was known by friend and foe alike, never showed the faintest trace of fear, and never would until that fatal blow struck, as one day it must always.
The lieutenant now stared wistfully across the plain, to the birds dancing and circling in the skies. What it must be like to fly, to stare at the clouds in contempt and never be harnessed, true freedom.
He looked now at his enemy, clad in chain mail and heavily armoured, they stood in ordered ranks and flags with the emblazoned figure of their master poked out through the sea of heads and the intricately woven threads shone in the light of the midday sun.
The lieutenant wiped his brow and loosened his tunic, as the day was warm and he had of yet to dink or feast, as there surely would be if...no when they won the battle. He must remind himself that they would win, but could they? A horde of barbarians against the ordered regiments of the "empire". He stepped backwards into the shelter of the fringe of trees where many of his comrades basked in the cool shade. He stepped onto the sharpened flint outcrop and began to hone the blade of his battle-axe, sharpening it and letting the smooth wood handle revolve in his hands. His long brown mane of hair and shaggy beard obstructed his view, so he had to constantly pause to sweep it from his view.
* * *
As the afternoon progressed, more and more of the regiment dropped off into the shade until there was a line of troops on the fringes of the wood, they must be vigilante for any enemy ambushes or a sudden charge.
The lieutenant looked up from the banner he was preparing and marvelled at how the enemy ranks could simply stand in their ordered formations without as much as twitching a whisker. "The warrior", resolutely faced the enemy, but he now stood alone, as the desert heat seared through the blue sky on to his hulking, sinewy form. His canteen was continually gulped down by its' owners parched and chapped lips.
He somehow knew that the oaths' continual recital was the only thing that had kept him standing tall, framed against the afternoon sun. He felt the longing, stinging urge to cringe back into the shade along with his horde, but he must resist that temptation as he was their leader, and they needed him to stand strong. The enemy would tear through their ranks if they became leaderless and disheartened. So he must stand strong.
The lieutenant’s tapestry was finally completed and he took his place by his leader's side. The tapestry caused a small stir at the enemy encampment, as he had meant it to. The banner showed a wolf tearing a lamb apart in his powerful jaws, the lamb being the enemies’ emblem.
As he took his place by "the warrior", he saw that the previously painted and intricate woad patterns had vanished in the heat, only to be replaced by a blue smudge. The lieutenant let the tartan draping of his Celtic banner drape over his torso, as a blanket against the overwhelming heat.
* * *
Darkness had quickly fallen as the afternoon fell into dusk. There was now a raging fire burning at the centre of the "wolf clan's" encampment. The fire cast shadows and patterns of heat over the surrounding Scots. The lieutenant listened to the aimless banter of his comrades, as he himself kept a position on the edge of the fire.
" Did yaw' get a load of the wee bairns", laughed a tall man, amid roars of laughter
" They were sheltering in their huddles", he spat out amongst his own laughter
" That wannie' cowering, at' un' ere' goot' tactics yaw' see", said a senior member of the fires congregation
" Ooh yeah?", mocked the speaker while his supporters cackled
" Aye' ", said the veteran
For some reason this enraged the first speaker and he got up amid cheers to that effect. His blood was pumping as he had just been given a sarcastic remark, nobody cheeked Angus Fletcher. The veteran, Hamish McCloud, was rigid, poised for action. He was seemingly relaxed and he remained on the floor. This made Angus angrier still and he screamed "Coome un' fight like a man, noot a wee lass'". He unsheathed his sword and darted forward in one complex manoeuvre. By this time the lieutenants' attention was rapt on the battle, but he decided to not break it up just yet, as Angus was a headstrong man.
Angus circled Hamish and spat contemptuously at him. He nicked the lower part of his left cheek with the sharp edge of his sword, but this still did not evoke a reaction from Hamish. Enraged he leapt forward but Hamish dodged him and thrust his dagger into Angus' left thigh. Angus howled in pain before frantically stabbing at Hamish, and missing.
The lieutenant was now in a close packed circle around the two fighters, he was ready to break up the fight, but he was keen for Angus to be put in his place by the slighter, and more agile, Hamish.
The two fighters circled like Buzzards above a fresh kill; locked in a deadly dance. Angus then let loose a flurry of slashes from his sword, on of which that caught Hamish hard across the knee. The crowd whooped. Hamish used the weight of Angus' next thrust to counteract his attack and stab his unprotected shoulder. The crowd booed and surged forward. Angus, now egged on, swivelled round, and then struck Hamish a hefty blow across the temple with that flat of his sword blade. A cheer went up from the crowd. Hamish was sent sprawling across the floor; his sword clattered across the floor towards the lieutenant.
As Angus stood ready to deliver his final blow, the battle's climax; Hamish kicked him square on in the teeth. Blow spurted from Angus' jaw and he staggered backwards. Hamish leapt onto his feet and pursued his fleeing quarry. The lieutenant chose that moment to intervene. He stood between Hamish and Angus, quickly disarming Angus; before grounding him in a tussle, dust spurted onto Angus' bloody face and clung like poison ivy, but he could not resist him any more, as he was tired. Angus crumpled to the floor and Hamish quietly went over to his furs and settled down.
The now silent crowd stared expectantly at the lieutenant. "Go to sleep, tomorrow’s' battle will be hard", he said simply. With some scattered murmuring they all filed off to their own sleeping spaces.
* * *
The morning dew clung to the trees like shimmering silk. The early morning frost glistened on the grass and crunched a low octive as a squirrel eagerly scampered across it and up into his welcoming oak tree. The morning was crisp and fresh as the lieutenant walked through the woods towards his adversary, collecting firewood for the horde's breakfast. He stopped and listened to the birds twittering in the trees and the rustle of dried leaves, where the songbirds scratched the ground for juicy insects. The gentle falling sound of acorns from the nearby tree was the only other sound that could be heard. He stacked his arms full of the wood before heading back to his encampment.
The regiment was woken sharply from their' sleep and fed a steaming bowl of crushed nettle soup. The concoction warmed the insides and took the hunger from the troops. They drank down their soup greatfully before going to the stream to cleanse themselves of all impure spirits that may have entered during the night. They were suppositious.
Hamish was to be already found at the far end of the burbling brook, by the iron coloured stream. He was gazing out at the clear water as he dressed his now clean wounds in leaf poultices. He strapped these on with nettles that he had strung together to form rope.
* * *
As the morning quickly became noon once more, the troops lined themselves up on the stony ridge again. They now stepped into their battle formations. The horses had been fetched from their' pasture and they now held the horsemen, who were near the front of the regiment, on the left and right flanks. In the foremost middle flank, were three rows of foot soldiers that contained "The warrior". Behind "the warrior" was a band of javelin throwers, encompassed by two rows of sling wielders and archers. There was then a rabble of axe holders, sword wielders and some crossbow operators. Some cavalry protected the rear, just behind another rank of infantry.
“The Empire” had many marching columns of foot soldiers, with a guard of cavalry to either side of them. The leader and his’ band of chariots were at the back of the force, protected by two rows of drilled infantry. There was a column of archers in the middle of the marching columns.
Armies now came to a stand still at the top of each ridge, all the troops were lost in concentration and “the warrior” recited his oath again, this time all the army took up the words, and they sung in a chorus:
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
“The Empire” shuddered at these words but quickly addressed into their drilling orders. Their’ drums sounded, quickly followed by “The Wolf Clan’s”, both drumming sections were now in a bid to drown each other out.
“Rap. Tap. Tap. Rap”. Boomed out from “The Wolf Clan’s” drums
“Tap. Tap. Rap. Rap.”. Echoed “The Empires’” drums
“RAP. TAP. TAP. RAP”, beat the drums
“TAP. TAP. RAP. RAP”, answered the other side’s drums.
Then, before they knew what was happening, the battle cries sounded and both armies were tearing down the slopes. It was now that “The Empires’” marching columns fanned out into flatter ranks. Both armies stopped just a hair’s breadth away from one another. The Celts bare skin was exposed whereas their’ enemies wore armour to protect their weaker flesh.
The cry went up and the charge continued, this time with the cavalry at the front. The charge was full pelt and the armies braced themselves for the impact of their foes. The cavalry had now collided amid screams and cries. A volley of arrows sailed from “The Empire’s” ranks and the lieutenant, who was packed into the elite troops at the rear, saw many felled. Angus was hit in the chest and he struggled to pull the shaft out of himself as the pace “picked up”. Angus had been shot in his heart, as he now saw, horrified. He closed his eyes and fell forward, into the seething mass of troops, he knew he would be trampled and his suffering over. “The Wolf Clan” now unleashed their own volley of arrows and the screams satisfied the archers that they had brought down their’ targets.
Arrows whooshed overhead and Hamish was surprised to see a cut on his left shoulder, he turned in time to see the man behind him fall, now a corpse.
The front row of “The Wolf Clan” collided with that of “The Empires’” and there was a terrible crash of armour on shield, arms on skin, and swords on armour. “The Warrior” held high his axe and decapitated the opponent facing him. “The Warrior” now entered his frenzy. He hacked off a limb here, a head there and cleaved someone in two.
The lieutenant, however, was a different story. He did not enter the soldier frame of mind and was conscious of every decision he made. He knew all you must do is to topple an opponent, as their own side or his would trample them. He now thrusted his sword into the skin beneath the chin of an opposing swordsman. He struck the jugular and a stream of blood spattered onto his face amid a violent scream.
Unfortunately “The Wolf Clan” was not able to continually aim for the areas of exposed skin on their opponents, and in the heat of battle this slowed them down. They started to rely on their low bong carriers, who decimated the front ranks of “The Empire”. The fighters began to get used to the continual volleys of arrows and the subsequent screams, except one man from “The Empire” who panicked and was mown down by one of “The Wolf Clan’s” cavalry.
The battle continued until eventually there was a small force left on each side. At about the time of late afternoon the numbers in the battle had dwindled and then been more than halved, with “The Wolf Clan” now taking the upper hand. The lieutenant now had a deep gash from a javelin launched from an opposing regiment. Hamish’s wound had now got gangrene and he and the lieutenant fought side by side towards the back flank of “The Wolf Clan”.
“How much longer will your’ wound last, before you “move on” ?”, inquired the lieutenant, his concentration on felling a slighter opponent. He knocked him to the floor and then stabbed him in the heart, his lifeblood gushed onto the floor.
“I…”, stammered Hamish before answering his friend with sad eyes. “Tell my family, I….I…love th-”, he said, and with that, died on the spot.
* * *
This is a story about life and a battle between two tribes. Set in the dark ages. Hope you read it and enjoyed it. I have even proof read it...
His band of armour-clad warriors stood proud on the hill, their drilled regiments in sections to the left and right of the warlord's figure. He began to recite the poem he had been "taught" by the wolves that raised him as a child.
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
his sanction, his downfall,
light flickers on his scarred face,
the demon of fate stands proud above him,
jagged bone unsheathed from fleshy scabbards,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
His lieutenant's scarred face stared proudly up at his leader while he recited his battle oath, his face deep in concentration. His leader, or "the warrior" as he was known by friend and foe alike, never showed the faintest trace of fear, and never would until that fatal blow struck, as one day it must always.
The lieutenant now stared wistfully across the plain, to the birds dancing and circling in the skies. What it must be like to fly, to stare at the clouds in contempt and never be harnessed, true freedom.
He looked now at his enemy, clad in chain mail and heavily armoured, they stood in ordered ranks and flags with the emblazoned figure of their master poked out through the sea of heads and the intricately woven threads shone in the light of the midday sun.
The lieutenant wiped his brow and loosened his tunic, as the day was warm and he had of yet to dink or feast, as there surely would be if...no when they won the battle. He must remind himself that they would win, but could they? A horde of barbarians against the ordered regiments of the "empire". He stepped backwards into the shelter of the fringe of trees where many of his comrades basked in the cool shade. He stepped onto the sharpened flint outcrop and began to hone the blade of his battle-axe, sharpening it and letting the smooth wood handle revolve in his hands. His long brown mane of hair and shaggy beard obstructed his view, so he had to constantly pause to sweep it from his view.
* * *
As the afternoon progressed, more and more of the regiment dropped off into the shade until there was a line of troops on the fringes of the wood, they must be vigilante for any enemy ambushes or a sudden charge.
The lieutenant looked up from the banner he was preparing and marvelled at how the enemy ranks could simply stand in their ordered formations without as much as twitching a whisker. "The warrior", resolutely faced the enemy, but he now stood alone, as the desert heat seared through the blue sky on to his hulking, sinewy form. His canteen was continually gulped down by its' owners parched and chapped lips.
He somehow knew that the oaths' continual recital was the only thing that had kept him standing tall, framed against the afternoon sun. He felt the longing, stinging urge to cringe back into the shade along with his horde, but he must resist that temptation as he was their leader, and they needed him to stand strong. The enemy would tear through their ranks if they became leaderless and disheartened. So he must stand strong.
The lieutenant’s tapestry was finally completed and he took his place by his leader's side. The tapestry caused a small stir at the enemy encampment, as he had meant it to. The banner showed a wolf tearing a lamb apart in his powerful jaws, the lamb being the enemies’ emblem.
As he took his place by "the warrior", he saw that the previously painted and intricate woad patterns had vanished in the heat, only to be replaced by a blue smudge. The lieutenant let the tartan draping of his Celtic banner drape over his torso, as a blanket against the overwhelming heat.
* * *
Darkness had quickly fallen as the afternoon fell into dusk. There was now a raging fire burning at the centre of the "wolf clan's" encampment. The fire cast shadows and patterns of heat over the surrounding Scots. The lieutenant listened to the aimless banter of his comrades, as he himself kept a position on the edge of the fire.
" Did yaw' get a load of the wee bairns", laughed a tall man, amid roars of laughter
" They were sheltering in their huddles", he spat out amongst his own laughter
" That wannie' cowering, at' un' ere' goot' tactics yaw' see", said a senior member of the fires congregation
" Ooh yeah?", mocked the speaker while his supporters cackled
" Aye' ", said the veteran
For some reason this enraged the first speaker and he got up amid cheers to that effect. His blood was pumping as he had just been given a sarcastic remark, nobody cheeked Angus Fletcher. The veteran, Hamish McCloud, was rigid, poised for action. He was seemingly relaxed and he remained on the floor. This made Angus angrier still and he screamed "Coome un' fight like a man, noot a wee lass'". He unsheathed his sword and darted forward in one complex manoeuvre. By this time the lieutenants' attention was rapt on the battle, but he decided to not break it up just yet, as Angus was a headstrong man.
Angus circled Hamish and spat contemptuously at him. He nicked the lower part of his left cheek with the sharp edge of his sword, but this still did not evoke a reaction from Hamish. Enraged he leapt forward but Hamish dodged him and thrust his dagger into Angus' left thigh. Angus howled in pain before frantically stabbing at Hamish, and missing.
The lieutenant was now in a close packed circle around the two fighters, he was ready to break up the fight, but he was keen for Angus to be put in his place by the slighter, and more agile, Hamish.
The two fighters circled like Buzzards above a fresh kill; locked in a deadly dance. Angus then let loose a flurry of slashes from his sword, on of which that caught Hamish hard across the knee. The crowd whooped. Hamish used the weight of Angus' next thrust to counteract his attack and stab his unprotected shoulder. The crowd booed and surged forward. Angus, now egged on, swivelled round, and then struck Hamish a hefty blow across the temple with that flat of his sword blade. A cheer went up from the crowd. Hamish was sent sprawling across the floor; his sword clattered across the floor towards the lieutenant.
As Angus stood ready to deliver his final blow, the battle's climax; Hamish kicked him square on in the teeth. Blow spurted from Angus' jaw and he staggered backwards. Hamish leapt onto his feet and pursued his fleeing quarry. The lieutenant chose that moment to intervene. He stood between Hamish and Angus, quickly disarming Angus; before grounding him in a tussle, dust spurted onto Angus' bloody face and clung like poison ivy, but he could not resist him any more, as he was tired. Angus crumpled to the floor and Hamish quietly went over to his furs and settled down.
The now silent crowd stared expectantly at the lieutenant. "Go to sleep, tomorrow’s' battle will be hard", he said simply. With some scattered murmuring they all filed off to their own sleeping spaces.
* * *
The morning dew clung to the trees like shimmering silk. The early morning frost glistened on the grass and crunched a low octive as a squirrel eagerly scampered across it and up into his welcoming oak tree. The morning was crisp and fresh as the lieutenant walked through the woods towards his adversary, collecting firewood for the horde's breakfast. He stopped and listened to the birds twittering in the trees and the rustle of dried leaves, where the songbirds scratched the ground for juicy insects. The gentle falling sound of acorns from the nearby tree was the only other sound that could be heard. He stacked his arms full of the wood before heading back to his encampment.
The regiment was woken sharply from their' sleep and fed a steaming bowl of crushed nettle soup. The concoction warmed the insides and took the hunger from the troops. They drank down their soup greatfully before going to the stream to cleanse themselves of all impure spirits that may have entered during the night. They were suppositious.
Hamish was to be already found at the far end of the burbling brook, by the iron coloured stream. He was gazing out at the clear water as he dressed his now clean wounds in leaf poultices. He strapped these on with nettles that he had strung together to form rope.
* * *
As the morning quickly became noon once more, the troops lined themselves up on the stony ridge again. They now stepped into their battle formations. The horses had been fetched from their' pasture and they now held the horsemen, who were near the front of the regiment, on the left and right flanks. In the foremost middle flank, were three rows of foot soldiers that contained "The warrior". Behind "the warrior" was a band of javelin throwers, encompassed by two rows of sling wielders and archers. There was then a rabble of axe holders, sword wielders and some crossbow operators. Some cavalry protected the rear, just behind another rank of infantry.
“The Empire” had many marching columns of foot soldiers, with a guard of cavalry to either side of them. The leader and his’ band of chariots were at the back of the force, protected by two rows of drilled infantry. There was a column of archers in the middle of the marching columns.
Armies now came to a stand still at the top of each ridge, all the troops were lost in concentration and “the warrior” recited his oath again, this time all the army took up the words, and they sung in a chorus:
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
“The Empire” shuddered at these words but quickly addressed into their drilling orders. Their’ drums sounded, quickly followed by “The Wolf Clan’s”, both drumming sections were now in a bid to drown each other out.
“Rap. Tap. Tap. Rap”. Boomed out from “The Wolf Clan’s” drums
“Tap. Tap. Rap. Rap.”. Echoed “The Empires’” drums
“RAP. TAP. TAP. RAP”, beat the drums
“TAP. TAP. RAP. RAP”, answered the other side’s drums.
Then, before they knew what was happening, the battle cries sounded and both armies were tearing down the slopes. It was now that “The Empires’” marching columns fanned out into flatter ranks. Both armies stopped just a hair’s breadth away from one another. The Celts bare skin was exposed whereas their’ enemies wore armour to protect their weaker flesh.
The cry went up and the charge continued, this time with the cavalry at the front. The charge was full pelt and the armies braced themselves for the impact of their foes. The cavalry had now collided amid screams and cries. A volley of arrows sailed from “The Empire’s” ranks and the lieutenant, who was packed into the elite troops at the rear, saw many felled. Angus was hit in the chest and he struggled to pull the shaft out of himself as the pace “picked up”. Angus had been shot in his heart, as he now saw, horrified. He closed his eyes and fell forward, into the seething mass of troops, he knew he would be trampled and his suffering over. “The Wolf Clan” now unleashed their own volley of arrows and the screams satisfied the archers that they had brought down their’ targets.
Arrows whooshed overhead and Hamish was surprised to see a cut on his left shoulder, he turned in time to see the man behind him fall, now a corpse.
The front row of “The Wolf Clan” collided with that of “The Empires’” and there was a terrible crash of armour on shield, arms on skin, and swords on armour. “The Warrior” held high his axe and decapitated the opponent facing him. “The Warrior” now entered his frenzy. He hacked off a limb here, a head there and cleaved someone in two.
The lieutenant, however, was a different story. He did not enter the soldier frame of mind and was conscious of every decision he made. He knew all you must do is to topple an opponent, as their own side or his would trample them. He now thrusted his sword into the skin beneath the chin of an opposing swordsman. He struck the jugular and a stream of blood spattered onto his face amid a violent scream.
Unfortunately “The Wolf Clan” was not able to continually aim for the areas of exposed skin on their opponents, and in the heat of battle this slowed them down. They started to rely on their low bong carriers, who decimated the front ranks of “The Empire”. The fighters began to get used to the continual volleys of arrows and the subsequent screams, except one man from “The Empire” who panicked and was mown down by one of “The Wolf Clan’s” cavalry.
The battle continued until eventually there was a small force left on each side. At about the time of late afternoon the numbers in the battle had dwindled and then been more than halved, with “The Wolf Clan” now taking the upper hand. The lieutenant now had a deep gash from a javelin launched from an opposing regiment. Hamish’s wound had now got gangrene and he and the lieutenant fought side by side towards the back flank of “The Wolf Clan”.
“How much longer will your’ wound last, before you “move on” ?”, inquired the lieutenant, his concentration on felling a slighter opponent. He knocked him to the floor and then stabbed him in the heart, his lifeblood gushed onto the floor.
“I…”, stammered Hamish before answering his friend with sad eyes. “Tell my family, I….I…love th-”, he said, and with that, died on the spot.
* * *
This is a story about life and a battle between two tribes. Set in the dark ages. Hope you read it and enjoyed it. I have even proof read it...
Page:
His braided hair fell in clusters over his woad stained shoulders. His golden hair glinted against the midday sun and the light danced on the blade of his sword. He stood tall against the jutting tree line. The wood stood in the middle of the desolate plains, rolling expanses of scrubby wasteland stood out onto the horizon, the prominent feature of this desolate wasteland.
His band of armour-clad warriors stood proud on the hill, their drilled regiments in sections to the left and right of the warlord's figure. He began to recite the poem he had been "taught" by the wolves that raised him as a child.
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
his sanction, his downfall,
light flickers on his scarred face,
the demon of fate stands proud above him,
jagged bone unsheathed from fleshy scabbards,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
His lieutenant's scarred face stared proudly up at his leader while he recited his battle oath, his face deep in concentration. His leader, or "the warrior" as he was known by friend and foe alike, never showed the faintest trace of fear, and never would until that fatal blow struck, as one day it must always.
The lieutenant now stared wistfully across the plain, to the birds dancing and circling in the skies. What it must be like to fly, to stare at the clouds in contempt and never be harnessed, true freedom.
He looked now at his enemy, clad in chain mail and heavily armoured, they stood in ordered ranks and flags with the emblazoned figure of their master poked out through the sea of heads and the intricately woven threads shone in the light of the midday sun.
The lieutenant wiped his brow and loosened his tunic, as the day was warm and he had of yet to dink or feast, as there surely would be if...no when they won the battle. He must remind himself that they would win, but could they? A horde of barbarians against the ordered regiments of the "empire". He stepped backwards into the shelter of the fringe of trees where many of his comrades basked in the cool shade. He stepped onto the sharpened flint outcrop and began to hone the blade of his battle-axe, sharpening it and letting the smooth wood handle revolve in his hands. His long brown mane of hair and shaggy beard obstructed his view, so he had to constantly pause to sweep it from his view.
* * *
As the afternoon progressed, more and more of the regiment dropped off into the shade until there was a line of troops on the fringes of the wood, they must be vigilante for any enemy ambushes or a sudden charge.
The lieutenant looked up from the banner he was preparing and marvelled at how the enemy ranks could simply stand in their ordered formations without as much as twitching a whisker. "The warrior", resolutely faced the enemy, but he now stood alone, as the desert heat seared through the blue sky on to his hulking, sinewy form. His canteen was continually gulped down by its' owners parched and chapped lips.
He somehow knew that the oaths' continual recital was the only thing that had kept him standing tall, framed against the afternoon sun. He felt the longing, stinging urge to cringe back into the shade along with his horde, but he must resist that temptation as he was their leader, and they needed him to stand strong. The enemy would tear through their ranks if they became leaderless and disheartened. So he must stand strong.
The lieutenant’s tapestry was finally completed and he took his place by his leader's side. The tapestry caused a small stir at the enemy encampment, as he had meant it to. The banner showed a wolf tearing a lamb apart in his powerful jaws, the lamb being the enemies’ emblem.
As he took his place by "the warrior", he saw that the previously painted and intricate woad patterns had vanished in the heat, only to be replaced by a blue smudge. The lieutenant let the tartan draping of his Celtic banner drape over his torso, as a blanket against the overwhelming heat.
* * *
Darkness had quickly fallen as the afternoon fell into dusk. There was now a raging fire burning at the centre of the "wolf clan's" encampment. The fire cast shadows and patterns of heat over the surrounding Scots. The lieutenant listened to the aimless banter of his comrades, as he himself kept a position on the edge of the fire.
" Did yaw' get a load of the wee bairns", laughed a tall man, amid roars of laughter
" They were sheltering in their huddles", he spat out amongst his own laughter
" That wannie' cowering, at' un' ere' goot' tactics yaw' see", said a senior member of the fires congregation
" Ooh yeah?", mocked the speaker while his supporters cackled
" Aye' ", said the veteran
For some reason this enraged the first speaker and he got up amid cheers to that effect. His blood was pumping as he had just been given a sarcastic remark, nobody cheeked Angus Fletcher. The veteran, Hamish McCloud, was rigid, poised for action. He was seemingly relaxed and he remained on the floor. This made Angus angrier still and he screamed "Coome un' fight like a man, noot a wee lass'". He unsheathed his sword and darted forward in one complex manoeuvre. By this time the lieutenants' attention was rapt on the battle, but he decided to not break it up just yet, as Angus was a headstrong man.
Angus circled Hamish and spat contemptuously at him. He nicked the lower part of his left cheek with the sharp edge of his sword, but this still did not evoke a reaction from Hamish. Enraged he leapt forward but Hamish dodged him and thrust his dagger into Angus' left thigh. Angus howled in pain before frantically stabbing at Hamish, and missing.
The lieutenant was now in a close packed circle around the two fighters, he was ready to break up the fight, but he was keen for Angus to be put in his place by the slighter, and more agile, Hamish.
The two fighters circled like Buzzards above a fresh kill; locked in a deadly dance. Angus then let loose a flurry of slashes from his sword, on of which that caught Hamish hard across the knee. The crowd whooped. Hamish used the weight of Angus' next thrust to counteract his attack and stab his unprotected shoulder. The crowd booed and surged forward. Angus, now egged on, swivelled round, and then struck Hamish a hefty blow across the temple with that flat of his sword blade. A cheer went up from the crowd. Hamish was sent sprawling across the floor; his sword clattered across the floor towards the lieutenant.
As Angus stood ready to deliver his final blow, the battle's climax; Hamish kicked him square on in the teeth. Blow spurted from Angus' jaw and he staggered backwards. Hamish leapt onto his feet and pursued his fleeing quarry. The lieutenant chose that moment to intervene. He stood between Hamish and Angus, quickly disarming Angus; before grounding him in a tussle, dust spurted onto Angus' bloody face and clung like poison ivy, but he could not resist him any more, as he was tired. Angus crumpled to the floor and Hamish quietly went over to his furs and settled down.
The now silent crowd stared expectantly at the lieutenant. "Go to sleep, tomorrow’s' battle will be hard", he said simply. With some scattered murmuring they all filed off to their own sleeping spaces.
* * *
The morning dew clung to the trees like shimmering silk. The early morning frost glistened on the grass and crunched a low octive as a squirrel eagerly scampered across it and up into his welcoming oak tree. The morning was crisp and fresh as the lieutenant walked through the woods towards his adversary, collecting firewood for the horde's breakfast. He stopped and listened to the birds twittering in the trees and the rustle of dried leaves, where the songbirds scratched the ground for juicy insects. The gentle falling sound of acorns from the nearby tree was the only other sound that could be heard. He stacked his arms full of the wood before heading back to his encampment.
The regiment was woken sharply from their' sleep and fed a steaming bowl of crushed nettle soup. The concoction warmed the insides and took the hunger from the troops. They drank down their soup greatfully before going to the stream to cleanse themselves of all impure spirits that may have entered during the night. They were suppositious.
Hamish was to be already found at the far end of the burbling brook, by the iron coloured stream. He was gazing out at the clear water as he dressed his now clean wounds in leaf poultices. He strapped these on with nettles that he had strung together to form rope.
* * *
As the morning quickly became noon once more, the troops lined themselves up on the stony ridge again. They now stepped into their battle formations. The horses had been fetched from their' pasture and they now held the horsemen, who were near the front of the regiment, on the left and right flanks. In the foremost middle flank, were three rows of foot soldiers that contained "The warrior". Behind "the warrior" was a band of javelin throwers, encompassed by two rows of sling wielders and archers. There was then a rabble of axe holders, sword wielders and some crossbow operators. Some cavalry protected the rear, just behind another rank of infantry.
“The Empire” had many marching columns of foot soldiers, with a guard of cavalry to either side of them. The leader and his’ band of chariots were at the back of the force, protected by two rows of drilled infantry. There was a column of archers in the middle of the marching columns.
Armies now came to a stand still at the top of each ridge, all the troops were lost in concentration and “the warrior” recited his oath again, this time all the army took up the words, and they sung in a chorus:
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
“The Empire” shuddered at these words but quickly addressed into their drilling orders. Their’ drums sounded, quickly followed by “The Wolf Clan’s”, both drumming sections were now in a bid to drown each other out.
“Rap. Tap. Tap. Rap”. Boomed out from “The Wolf Clan’s” drums
“Tap. Tap. Rap. Rap.”. Echoed “The Empires’” drums
“RAP. TAP. TAP. RAP”, beat the drums
“TAP. TAP. RAP. RAP”, answered the other side’s drums.
Then, before they knew what was happening, the battle cries sounded and both armies were tearing down the slopes. It was now that “The Empires’” marching columns fanned out into flatter ranks. Both armies stopped just a hair’s breadth away from one another. The Celts bare skin was exposed whereas their’ enemies wore armour to protect their weaker flesh.
The cry went up and the charge continued, this time with the cavalry at the front. The charge was full pelt and the armies braced themselves for the impact of their foes. The cavalry had now collided amid screams and cries. A volley of arrows sailed from “The Empire’s” ranks and the lieutenant, who was packed into the elite troops at the rear, saw many felled. Angus was hit in the chest and he struggled to pull the shaft out of himself as the pace “picked up”. Angus had been shot in his heart, as he now saw, horrified. He closed his eyes and fell forward, into the seething mass of troops, he knew he would be trampled and his suffering over. “The Wolf Clan” now unleashed their own volley of arrows and the screams satisfied the archers that they had brought down their’ targets.
Arrows whooshed overhead and Hamish was surprised to see a cut on his left shoulder, he turned in time to see the man behind him fall, now a corpse.
The front row of “The Wolf Clan” collided with that of “The Empires’” and there was a terrible crash of armour on shield, arms on skin, and swords on armour. “The Warrior” held high his axe and decapitated the opponent facing him. “The Warrior” now entered his frenzy. He hacked off a limb here, a head there and cleaved someone in two.
The lieutenant, however, was a different story. He did not enter the soldier frame of mind and was conscious of every decision he made. He knew all you must do is to topple an opponent, as their own side or his would trample them. He now thrusted his sword into the skin beneath the chin of an opposing swordsman. He struck the jugular and a stream of blood spattered onto his face amid a violent scream.
Unfortunately “The Wolf Clan” was not able to continually aim for the areas of exposed skin on their opponents, and in the heat of battle this slowed them down. They started to rely on their low bong carriers, who decimated the front ranks of “The Empire”. The fighters began to get used to the continual volleys of arrows and the subsequent screams, except one man from “The Empire” who panicked and was mown down by one of “The Wolf Clan’s” cavalry.
The battle continued until eventually there was a small force left on each side. At about the time of late afternoon the numbers in the battle had dwindled and then been more than halved, with “The Wolf Clan” now taking the upper hand. The lieutenant now had a deep gash from a javelin launched from an opposing regiment. Hamish’s wound had now got gangrene and he and the lieutenant fought side by side towards the back flank of “The Wolf Clan”.
“How much longer will your’ wound last, before you “move on” ?”, inquired the lieutenant, his concentration on felling a slighter opponent. He knocked him to the floor and then stabbed him in the heart, his lifeblood gushed onto the floor.
“I…”, stammered Hamish before answering his friend with sad eyes. “Tell my family, I….I…love th-”, he said, and with that, died on the spot.
* * *
This is a story about life and a battle between two tribes. Set in the dark ages. Hope you read it and enjoyed it. I have even proof read it...
His band of armour-clad warriors stood proud on the hill, their drilled regiments in sections to the left and right of the warlord's figure. He began to recite the poem he had been "taught" by the wolves that raised him as a child.
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
his sanction, his downfall,
light flickers on his scarred face,
the demon of fate stands proud above him,
jagged bone unsheathed from fleshy scabbards,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
His lieutenant's scarred face stared proudly up at his leader while he recited his battle oath, his face deep in concentration. His leader, or "the warrior" as he was known by friend and foe alike, never showed the faintest trace of fear, and never would until that fatal blow struck, as one day it must always.
The lieutenant now stared wistfully across the plain, to the birds dancing and circling in the skies. What it must be like to fly, to stare at the clouds in contempt and never be harnessed, true freedom.
He looked now at his enemy, clad in chain mail and heavily armoured, they stood in ordered ranks and flags with the emblazoned figure of their master poked out through the sea of heads and the intricately woven threads shone in the light of the midday sun.
The lieutenant wiped his brow and loosened his tunic, as the day was warm and he had of yet to dink or feast, as there surely would be if...no when they won the battle. He must remind himself that they would win, but could they? A horde of barbarians against the ordered regiments of the "empire". He stepped backwards into the shelter of the fringe of trees where many of his comrades basked in the cool shade. He stepped onto the sharpened flint outcrop and began to hone the blade of his battle-axe, sharpening it and letting the smooth wood handle revolve in his hands. His long brown mane of hair and shaggy beard obstructed his view, so he had to constantly pause to sweep it from his view.
* * *
As the afternoon progressed, more and more of the regiment dropped off into the shade until there was a line of troops on the fringes of the wood, they must be vigilante for any enemy ambushes or a sudden charge.
The lieutenant looked up from the banner he was preparing and marvelled at how the enemy ranks could simply stand in their ordered formations without as much as twitching a whisker. "The warrior", resolutely faced the enemy, but he now stood alone, as the desert heat seared through the blue sky on to his hulking, sinewy form. His canteen was continually gulped down by its' owners parched and chapped lips.
He somehow knew that the oaths' continual recital was the only thing that had kept him standing tall, framed against the afternoon sun. He felt the longing, stinging urge to cringe back into the shade along with his horde, but he must resist that temptation as he was their leader, and they needed him to stand strong. The enemy would tear through their ranks if they became leaderless and disheartened. So he must stand strong.
The lieutenant’s tapestry was finally completed and he took his place by his leader's side. The tapestry caused a small stir at the enemy encampment, as he had meant it to. The banner showed a wolf tearing a lamb apart in his powerful jaws, the lamb being the enemies’ emblem.
As he took his place by "the warrior", he saw that the previously painted and intricate woad patterns had vanished in the heat, only to be replaced by a blue smudge. The lieutenant let the tartan draping of his Celtic banner drape over his torso, as a blanket against the overwhelming heat.
* * *
Darkness had quickly fallen as the afternoon fell into dusk. There was now a raging fire burning at the centre of the "wolf clan's" encampment. The fire cast shadows and patterns of heat over the surrounding Scots. The lieutenant listened to the aimless banter of his comrades, as he himself kept a position on the edge of the fire.
" Did yaw' get a load of the wee bairns", laughed a tall man, amid roars of laughter
" They were sheltering in their huddles", he spat out amongst his own laughter
" That wannie' cowering, at' un' ere' goot' tactics yaw' see", said a senior member of the fires congregation
" Ooh yeah?", mocked the speaker while his supporters cackled
" Aye' ", said the veteran
For some reason this enraged the first speaker and he got up amid cheers to that effect. His blood was pumping as he had just been given a sarcastic remark, nobody cheeked Angus Fletcher. The veteran, Hamish McCloud, was rigid, poised for action. He was seemingly relaxed and he remained on the floor. This made Angus angrier still and he screamed "Coome un' fight like a man, noot a wee lass'". He unsheathed his sword and darted forward in one complex manoeuvre. By this time the lieutenants' attention was rapt on the battle, but he decided to not break it up just yet, as Angus was a headstrong man.
Angus circled Hamish and spat contemptuously at him. He nicked the lower part of his left cheek with the sharp edge of his sword, but this still did not evoke a reaction from Hamish. Enraged he leapt forward but Hamish dodged him and thrust his dagger into Angus' left thigh. Angus howled in pain before frantically stabbing at Hamish, and missing.
The lieutenant was now in a close packed circle around the two fighters, he was ready to break up the fight, but he was keen for Angus to be put in his place by the slighter, and more agile, Hamish.
The two fighters circled like Buzzards above a fresh kill; locked in a deadly dance. Angus then let loose a flurry of slashes from his sword, on of which that caught Hamish hard across the knee. The crowd whooped. Hamish used the weight of Angus' next thrust to counteract his attack and stab his unprotected shoulder. The crowd booed and surged forward. Angus, now egged on, swivelled round, and then struck Hamish a hefty blow across the temple with that flat of his sword blade. A cheer went up from the crowd. Hamish was sent sprawling across the floor; his sword clattered across the floor towards the lieutenant.
As Angus stood ready to deliver his final blow, the battle's climax; Hamish kicked him square on in the teeth. Blow spurted from Angus' jaw and he staggered backwards. Hamish leapt onto his feet and pursued his fleeing quarry. The lieutenant chose that moment to intervene. He stood between Hamish and Angus, quickly disarming Angus; before grounding him in a tussle, dust spurted onto Angus' bloody face and clung like poison ivy, but he could not resist him any more, as he was tired. Angus crumpled to the floor and Hamish quietly went over to his furs and settled down.
The now silent crowd stared expectantly at the lieutenant. "Go to sleep, tomorrow’s' battle will be hard", he said simply. With some scattered murmuring they all filed off to their own sleeping spaces.
* * *
The morning dew clung to the trees like shimmering silk. The early morning frost glistened on the grass and crunched a low octive as a squirrel eagerly scampered across it and up into his welcoming oak tree. The morning was crisp and fresh as the lieutenant walked through the woods towards his adversary, collecting firewood for the horde's breakfast. He stopped and listened to the birds twittering in the trees and the rustle of dried leaves, where the songbirds scratched the ground for juicy insects. The gentle falling sound of acorns from the nearby tree was the only other sound that could be heard. He stacked his arms full of the wood before heading back to his encampment.
The regiment was woken sharply from their' sleep and fed a steaming bowl of crushed nettle soup. The concoction warmed the insides and took the hunger from the troops. They drank down their soup greatfully before going to the stream to cleanse themselves of all impure spirits that may have entered during the night. They were suppositious.
Hamish was to be already found at the far end of the burbling brook, by the iron coloured stream. He was gazing out at the clear water as he dressed his now clean wounds in leaf poultices. He strapped these on with nettles that he had strung together to form rope.
* * *
As the morning quickly became noon once more, the troops lined themselves up on the stony ridge again. They now stepped into their battle formations. The horses had been fetched from their' pasture and they now held the horsemen, who were near the front of the regiment, on the left and right flanks. In the foremost middle flank, were three rows of foot soldiers that contained "The warrior". Behind "the warrior" was a band of javelin throwers, encompassed by two rows of sling wielders and archers. There was then a rabble of axe holders, sword wielders and some crossbow operators. Some cavalry protected the rear, just behind another rank of infantry.
“The Empire” had many marching columns of foot soldiers, with a guard of cavalry to either side of them. The leader and his’ band of chariots were at the back of the force, protected by two rows of drilled infantry. There was a column of archers in the middle of the marching columns.
Armies now came to a stand still at the top of each ridge, all the troops were lost in concentration and “the warrior” recited his oath again, this time all the army took up the words, and they sung in a chorus:
" The enemy doth sleepeth,
and thine claw of fate, doth wildly slash thy face of foe,
so let be that demon,
or that man,
who doth not fake sleep,
but stands proud against the odds,
onwards my comrades,
to victory, or to fate "
“The Empire” shuddered at these words but quickly addressed into their drilling orders. Their’ drums sounded, quickly followed by “The Wolf Clan’s”, both drumming sections were now in a bid to drown each other out.
“Rap. Tap. Tap. Rap”. Boomed out from “The Wolf Clan’s” drums
“Tap. Tap. Rap. Rap.”. Echoed “The Empires’” drums
“RAP. TAP. TAP. RAP”, beat the drums
“TAP. TAP. RAP. RAP”, answered the other side’s drums.
Then, before they knew what was happening, the battle cries sounded and both armies were tearing down the slopes. It was now that “The Empires’” marching columns fanned out into flatter ranks. Both armies stopped just a hair’s breadth away from one another. The Celts bare skin was exposed whereas their’ enemies wore armour to protect their weaker flesh.
The cry went up and the charge continued, this time with the cavalry at the front. The charge was full pelt and the armies braced themselves for the impact of their foes. The cavalry had now collided amid screams and cries. A volley of arrows sailed from “The Empire’s” ranks and the lieutenant, who was packed into the elite troops at the rear, saw many felled. Angus was hit in the chest and he struggled to pull the shaft out of himself as the pace “picked up”. Angus had been shot in his heart, as he now saw, horrified. He closed his eyes and fell forward, into the seething mass of troops, he knew he would be trampled and his suffering over. “The Wolf Clan” now unleashed their own volley of arrows and the screams satisfied the archers that they had brought down their’ targets.
Arrows whooshed overhead and Hamish was surprised to see a cut on his left shoulder, he turned in time to see the man behind him fall, now a corpse.
The front row of “The Wolf Clan” collided with that of “The Empires’” and there was a terrible crash of armour on shield, arms on skin, and swords on armour. “The Warrior” held high his axe and decapitated the opponent facing him. “The Warrior” now entered his frenzy. He hacked off a limb here, a head there and cleaved someone in two.
The lieutenant, however, was a different story. He did not enter the soldier frame of mind and was conscious of every decision he made. He knew all you must do is to topple an opponent, as their own side or his would trample them. He now thrusted his sword into the skin beneath the chin of an opposing swordsman. He struck the jugular and a stream of blood spattered onto his face amid a violent scream.
Unfortunately “The Wolf Clan” was not able to continually aim for the areas of exposed skin on their opponents, and in the heat of battle this slowed them down. They started to rely on their low bong carriers, who decimated the front ranks of “The Empire”. The fighters began to get used to the continual volleys of arrows and the subsequent screams, except one man from “The Empire” who panicked and was mown down by one of “The Wolf Clan’s” cavalry.
The battle continued until eventually there was a small force left on each side. At about the time of late afternoon the numbers in the battle had dwindled and then been more than halved, with “The Wolf Clan” now taking the upper hand. The lieutenant now had a deep gash from a javelin launched from an opposing regiment. Hamish’s wound had now got gangrene and he and the lieutenant fought side by side towards the back flank of “The Wolf Clan”.
“How much longer will your’ wound last, before you “move on” ?”, inquired the lieutenant, his concentration on felling a slighter opponent. He knocked him to the floor and then stabbed him in the heart, his lifeblood gushed onto the floor.
“I…”, stammered Hamish before answering his friend with sad eyes. “Tell my family, I….I…love th-”, he said, and with that, died on the spot.
* * *
This is a story about life and a battle between two tribes. Set in the dark ages. Hope you read it and enjoyed it. I have even proof read it...
I'll read it tomorrow - 'tis a bit late for all that.
But the first sentance is very. I'll look forward to it.
But the first sentance is very. I'll look forward to it.
Thanks.
** But the first sentance is very atmospheric.
See how tired I am. I just miss long words out - too hard. Must sleep.
See how tired I am. I just miss long words out - too hard. Must sleep.
Ok, save it for tommorrow...
I agree, tis a lot of text to absorb in one sitting especially at this time of nigh. I shall return to read it tomorrow with a weeks supply of food and water :D
Cool, so thats two orders of tommorrow...
*Three orders for tomorrow.
My eyes are sore and the useless 80 watt bulb in my room does nothing to aid the eyes.
My eyes are sore and the useless 80 watt bulb in my room does nothing to aid the eyes.
...Anybody want to read it now, today?
You must be getting pretty annoyed.
I know I do when no-one reads my stuff.
Dum-de-dum
I know I do when no-one reads my stuff.
Dum-de-dum
Page: