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SKILORD
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Live free or Die
Mar 2002
time: 05:25
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NEVER POST WHEN YOU"RE SLEEPY!
Chapter on the way, a little shakesperean influence (big, fancy words).
All that's gotta be said.
Last edited by SKILORD on 20-05-2003 at 04:04
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SKILORD
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Live free or Die
Mar 2002
time: 05:25
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The slamming of the door revertabrated through the barracks, the cursing of the soldier who had slammed the door would follow.
His comrades rushed to his frenzied form, as he chanted, frightened until an officer arrived.
"What the hell is wrong?" There was no kindness in the demand, only a coldness
"Dear.... Dear Lord," his face was pale, and for the first time blood was noticed on his arms and neck, "We're surrounded."
"So soon? I didn't imagine that Gahndi could conceive a ccounter so soon.... unless...."
"They fight like no men I've seen before."
"How could he have known!" the officer was frustrated, pounding his fists to the table.
"He didn't," the soldier was finally oriented enough to look about and answer.
"What then? How is there an Indian army out there."
"The people."
A cockeyed glare was the only response
"We have, evidently, stumbled upon a city unique in the aspect that there be no man woman or infant unwilling to lay down their very lives for king and country."
"It is inconceivable."
"Look for yourself."
The door was opened, the proud repl of stones and arrows left little doubt that the conquerers were beseiged.
"May Odin perserve his followers."
-
"Is there no just God left to attend the lives of the pious?"
He was standoing before his son's grave, which was placed before the feilds which Judas had so loved as a boy.
"Calm yourself," his wife's voice was shattered by sorrow and oft presented tears, left a profound strength which only the dfeated may hope to acheive.
"Calm myself? No Man should ever bury his son. There is no justice when I loose both sons to the same mighty beast of a war."
"Antonious lives," her tone spoke of forlorn faith.
"He is dead to me now, and soon to the world, as are all his hopeful kind."
"At least he beleives in something. What is a man's life if it presents no faith to the world?"
"What life is it that death is a final mercy?"
He toyed with his daggar. Tossing it, hypnotised, from hand to hand before his barren heart.
"You know," his voice was softer now, leaving the spite behind, "Judas wished to be a farmer. What does it take for a man to turn warrior from that walk?"
"Judas was meant to be a warrior, so is Antonious."
"So we bred these men, we raised them and placved our own good effort into them that they may noblely kill themselves. I want no more of a life so cruel."
Though the daggar plunged into his heart he felt none of the mercy he had so wished for. Life's cruelty, it seemed, was no stranger to the realm of the dead.
Closing his eyes, with what tears remained seeping through her clenched lids she mused, the tears her only reply,
"Why must war be man's sole occupation?"
-
He wore the ancient armor of a Legionairre and a short sword to boot, but the leg plates were a new addition, being important for the mounted warriors which carried on the tradition of Rome, of true Rome, of Mars and Caeser.
He leaned on his lance as his horse performed an assortment of duties it couldn't perform while they moved.
"Hurry the hell up."
Antonious Victorissimus was a warrior, from his most ancient ancestor to his brother his lineage, his personal tradition was of war, not horse-tending. And yet it was doubtful that the Generals cared, even though they couldn;t spare a man at the front the Crusaders could still afford to leave him tending his horse while they went on.
"Done?" he asked the beast impatiently, it nodded to him and snorted in reply, "Damn thing."
Mounting it and lashing his lance on he rode it hard to catch up.
As he slowed the horse around his comrades he looked about to catch up on the lost conversation.
"You know what I love about war?" The speaker was older than Antonious, but still young enough to have said the utterance he had overheared.
"What?" the older, less idealistic men asked, their wanderings had brought them further and furthur from whatever veiw they were preparing to hear.
"If there is indeed, Peace in our times, then what do our children have to look forward to?"
"What of the present for those children if you are killed?" Antonius asked angrily.
An older soldier laughed," These men argue of children whom haven't got any of their own."
"I may not have fathered children, but I've certaintly made a better go at it than you could ever have been capable of," Antonious shot back.
Offended the older man lifted his riding lance, "You worthless flearidden..." his words were cut short by the sound of marching.
Lifting his hand in a plea for silence the officer wispered, "Revolutionaries."
The dreaded utterance spread through the hearts of the soldiers, likely the musketmen would outnumber them, and they could not strike at such a distance as the republicans.
"I say we make a dash for it, we can escape." The leuitenant who uttered this did not seem afraid, he had little concern for the lives of the men or himself, he only wished to perserve the forces of the King.
"I say reconnoiter," the officer cut in, "You," he pointed towards Antonious, "Find out how many we are faced with."
A trot to the top of a nearby hill found him a suitable location to witness the march of the armies.
A sea was spread out before him, their marvelous standards and standard weaponry made it duifficult to identify them as the revolutionaries, where were the disorganised peasant bands which had once roamed the nation, the massive force before him was no likeness of the disorganised peasants. They were warriors now.
He turned to report back, trotting away feircly.
"Likely a thousand, poissibly more." The Crusaders numbered maybe a hundred, likely fewer. The Commander nodded.
"WE retreat. Do not offer combat."
The horses turned, leaving an ominous echoe of hooves in their wake.
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SKILORD
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Live free or Die
Mar 2002
time: 05:25
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Yeah, I'll keep it up.
Last edited by SKILORD on 25-05-2003 at 23:23
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SKILORD
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Live free or Die
Mar 2002
time: 05:25
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Oars plowed the water, sowing a harvest of destruction to be reaped when the Vikings arrived at Dacca to reinforce, some said to reconqure.
"Land Ho!" the lookout cried. The torches of the rioters made themselves apparent with the mighty smoke that rose above the houses.
"Good lord," the captain murmured, watching the angry smoke rise in protest. He turned to his aid, a man more adept at ground strategy than himself, "We kill them all. Regardless of whet they who have been waiting may say, we have to kill enough to stop them. It's the only way to deal with people like that."
The aide nodded curtly, "It will give us a bad name."
"Certainty, but better to be victors than vanquished cowards."
Another nod replied, "We should start strong, I say bring the archers to clear a landing for us, then brutalize the mob."
It was the Captains turn to nod in agreement, "Bring the Archers," he commanded.
Bows were drawn tight, arrows cocked readily, prepared to let a mighty death into the crowd. The Gatekeepers of war stood to open their charge.
"Fire!" came the order, and off shot the arrows, troublesome though the peasants may be, they were only mortal, and soon cleared back from the arrows, leaving only the dead and their sobbing families behind.
"Prepare the charge!" dozens of axes held in dozens of hands were lifted as the determined Berserkers prepared their charge.
A thud, the boat slapped the dock.
"Charge!" the captain shouted, Vikings poured into the poorly armed masses, axes rended the flesh of the Indians, the common man no longer mighty, shrank back, the docile servant once more. Hundreds fled, turning as one and becoming so trapped in itself that it was laid to the mercy of the cold iron of the axes.
Pale-faced survivors would come to lust for death, but they held no envy for the dead in that frightened moment. In the hours of slaughter that followed each of those who would come to beg Shiva to lift their burden of life hid like children, for those who didn't soon perished.
-
"I rend, I tear, I conquer," Marcus spoke proudly at the front of the armies, marching on to conquer.
"But what have we before us? Who must we conquer?"
"The old ones, the monarch and his men."
"Caesar is dead."
"Yes, that is so, but Octavian carries his tradition."
Marcus Secundus held himself proudly now, where he had once advised that dimwitted Caesar he now ruled in his place, and for all his talk of fear and suspicion he knew that the Crusaders were mostly dead, dead or dying, if not in body then surely their souls shivered at the lives they were forced to. They were the revolutionaries now, and their cause was lost. Rome was a Republic.
"First Council." a messenger addressed him, and receiving his acknowledgement proceeded to speak, "Cumae is fallen."
Marcus nodded wisely, "It is good. But the people tire of the war."
Any man who had not spent the days locked in the palace knew that for truth, times were hard in Rome, noone was to be trusted.
"Ask the Despot of India for a truce. Go, now."
"It is done, First Council."
-
Celtic forests are likely the most peaceful places in the world, which is why Brennus had insisted on the construction of one near his palace, rivers were diverted, trees planted, rather than moved, to keep a natural feel. The gardeners had complained that it would take too long, but Brennus loved his forest, and as the gardeners had withered and died he had watched Celtiae grow with the Forest, the forest was a monument to immortality, a temple to Cernunnuos and Brennus both in many ways.
Sitting, legs crossed, in the forest Brennus breathed deeply of the crisp air, the myriad smells of the artificial wild. His sword sat beside him, as curious animals watched from a distance.
"We must proceed," the unexpected voice of Cernunnuos opened his eyes, without shock he turned his head to the deity.
"I know," Brennus nodded, "I propose the Germans."
Cernunnuos shook his head, "Tiw is expecting something, he is slowly coming to understand what a dangerous world this is and he is forcing Bismark to arm the men."
"Everyone else," Brennus stood, "Is already prepared," Brennus walked over to find a deeper region of the forest, "Besides, he will soon be too storng to cope with."
Cernunnuos followed him, "I want Rome." It was with unexpected urgency that this escaped his lips, which was a mild shock to both Brennus and himself.
"Rome? Haven't the Indians killed them yet?"
"No. The Romans have faith."
"Faith? But no God. I am unsure that we wish to join the Indians if they have failed so far."
"You do not understand. The Romans have faith in themselves, they are rediscovering something lost to humanity long ago, and it will destroy all we hold dear if we don't strike them."
"What are they finding?" Brennusgrabbed at this, clenching for something he could use.
"It's of no use to you."
"But I want to know."
"It takes time to tell."
Brennus spread his arms, "We have time."
Cernunnuos sat down on a log, exhaling he began, sensing he would hear no end until he revealed what it was that the Romans had rediscovered, "The first man, when he sprung forth, was a God."
Brennus chuckled, "A lesser god to be sure."
"Yes, a lesser God, but in many ways also the greatest. Because of his faith. Faith feeds us Gods, and with the faith of Man we are capable of greatness. But this man had faith in himself. He beleived that he could do as he pleased, and he built cities monuments to make the very heavens shudder. And he begat children, and when he did that, we shivered in fear. Because mighty as he was, an Army of such men could shake the foundations of what we had created.
"But we were fortunate, the Gods who this man brought to teach his children taught them reverence, not simple respect, reverence. These men were without faith in themselves because they were taught from the start that they were lesser, that they didn't matter. And so we placed kings above them to be the culmination of all their faith, one true man in the sense of the first."
Brennus nodded eagerly.
Cernunnuos continued, "But In Rome this has gone awry, Man once again feels himself worthy, feels free. If we don;t stop this, all that we have built is for naught."
Brennus nodded, "To Rome."
And so the forces of reaction mounted their assault on the brave new world they saw in Rome.
-----
A bit short, but of Quality :
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SKILORD
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Live free or Die
Mar 2002
time: 05:25
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The trio of Galleons bobbed atop the pale blue waves as Brennus watched from the shore, his landing galley beached beside him.
"Sir, are you ready?" The General summoned all his courage for this simple question.
Brennus, woken from his daydream, looked up, startled, he turned to the General and grinned like a wolf.
"Yes. The Cannon?"
"Ready sir."
"As the Romans say; 'Tempus Fugit'" his prononciation was wrong, horrbly so. The General, who spoke the language fluently bit his tongue and hoped to hold back any words that might sully the King's opinion of him, an opinion based on his ability to keep quiet.
"Yes, indeed they do."
Brennus smiled, "I like you, you're a good man."
A weak man to be sure, the General noted to himself.
Brennus stood, the many grains of sand about him like tiny subjects, inconsequential besides this man's indomitable form. Brennus lifted his booted foot and began to march onwards, towards the Cannon.
-
"General Mendax?"
He turned, "Aye?"
Mendax was a new General, noone could explain where he came from, or from which god his skill founted from, noone knew anymore than his name, which many suspected was self styled. He wore a dark eyepatch, and bore scars across his cheek, his sole remaining eye peered out at the aide, chilling his blood.
"We have news of a foreign army in the area, the Musketmen of the XXII Legion are the only ones available to investigate, and so we need you to investigate, and possibly exterminate the threat."
Mendax picked up the paper, "Signed by Grand Concil Marcus himself. Yes, I suppose it would be best to investigate such suspicions."
"Indeed prudent sir."
"The Legion should be prepared to march by tonight."
"Are you proposing we march at night?"
"It's a night's journey from here, we will arrive tomorrow morning."
"True, sir, but the men will be exhausted."
Mendax frowned.
"To hell with them."
"But sir, we would be vulnerable."
"Yes, and if these bandits do attack and slaughter us they will enrage all of the Republic against them, we lack no arms with the Indian war completed."
"Yes. Sir."
"You cannot let emotion play into these things. Beleive me, my way is better in the long run."
"Yes sir."
As the aide left the room Mendax peered out his window, into the sky, lightly peppered with clouds, as he pondered his name and his destiny. What an appropriate alias he had chosen, he realised yet again, he could easily count himself a liar, a liar and a traitor, now a traitor twofold.
-
Tears fell near the grave of the dead brother and father, flowers and a dark military armor were placed upon the graves.
"Would that I were the man either of you were. Why have the fates elected me as the final heir to the family?"
The graves held no response for him.
He turned to his mother, looking for an answer, she had none either.
He would have to make his own answers now, he would have to fight his own battles.
"I will farm now."
His mother looked up at him, her downturned lips held a sorrow as she watched her son forsake the life he had yearned for since youth for the sake of the future, and yet her eyes betrayed her selfish joy, she would not loose both sons on the Altar of War.
"Antonious..." she trailed off.
He smiled at her token resistance, "It's ironic, Judas was to be the farmer, I the warrior. he died in battle, I shall live behind a plow."
He marched determined back to the house, unstrapping his armor and placing it alongside his sword in a crate, stuffing the crate beneath his bed. solid locks adorned the sides.
"And so we end my bid for Glory."
But fate will seldomn ignore those with potential.
-
The streets were quiet, for the first time in months, the revertabrating echoe of the few marching patrols searched endlessly for company as wispered conversation sparsely covered the air between those souls charged to enforce the curfew.
In that great city a single light made itself evident, all had been extinguished, by threat of arms, but for the single beakon of the Barracks.
Sitting around that lonly candle were the highest command of the occupation force, muttered schemes passed more freely here than between the gaurdsmen of the bitter night.
"We have yet to convert a soul."
The General was displeased by the situation, which he had been aware of for some time, though a shoddy Viking temple had been erected the Indians had yet to join the new religion.
"Yes, problematic."
"We are told by Ragnar that Odin prepares for Battle, we should bring as many to support him as possible by then."
The General frowned.
"Indeed."
Looking up a notice caught his eye, outside the glassless window, across the dusty street a notice sat, announcing curfew. A grin finally returned to the General.
"Place notice, all absent from service the day after tomorrow will be round up, and summarily executed for treason."
"Perhaps a bit harsh sire, I would reccomend..."
"All's fair, my freind, all's fair in love and war."
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17-05-2003 08:49
might help me keep my thoughts in place I suppose. 
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