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7FEB15 - The short SHORT story contest!

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Topic: 7FEB15 - The short SHORT story contest!
Posted By: GM Rikoo
Subject: 7FEB15 - The short SHORT story contest!
Date Posted: 07 Feb 2015 at 16:42
Assignment: the King is bored. He wants a new story, but is so busy that he has no time for silly things like chapters.

He wants you to write one 500 word short SHORT story. 

He also wants the theme to be: ILLYRIAD BATTLE.

The prize? 100 Prestige and a custom medal (your choice and design, money is no object) to the winner. 1 entry per player.

I will pick out the winner, with the help of SC, TC and the King!

You have until 23:59 Server time on Sunday the 15th of February. 

You need to post your stories in this thread. If you know someone who cannot access or post on the forums for some weird reason, write me in game.

Get to work. You only have a few words, so choose them wisely!

GOOOooOOOOoo!


GM Rikoo

THE WINNERS:


Recently  http://forum.illyriad.co.uk/the-short-short-story-contest_topic6137.html" rel="nofollow - we hosted a quick (so we thought) contest  for the best short -- as in very short, under 500 words -- story that took the theme "Illyriad Battle." As we expected, we received a ton of great writing. A TON.

So, instead of picking a single winner, we went with three. Heck, we could have picked out 12 and would still need to give out more prizes.

Each winner gets 100 Prestige and a custom in-game medal.

Enjoy reading these. We know we did!

Rikoo


 

Hold the Line by Belegar Ironhammer

 

Steel rang upon steel beneath a blackened, storm-wrought sky. White forks of lightning flashed brilliantly, heralding deafening claps of thunder that roared across the muddy, blood-soaked battlefield. Guttural orc war-cries echoed in the night, a savage prayer to the gods of war, answered only by the roaring bellows of the dwarves, beseeching their comrades to greater efforts.

“Hold the line!” shouted Belegar, yelling with all his might. Clad in silversteel plate and surrounded by his elite bodyguards, the dwarf king stood like a rock against the orc tide, his warhammer gripped firmly in his gauntleted hands. The war axes of his chosen rose and fell in a steady rhythm, every stroke claiming the life of an orc, snapping bones like straw and pulping innards in crimson sprays of arterial blood. Crossbow bolts cut the air, hissing like vipers.

A snarling, yellow-toothed orc charged Belegar, brandishing gore-streaked scimitars in each of its meaty hands. Red, bloodthirsty eyes glowed like embers in the orc’s ugly, lopsided skull. A cloak of flayed skin wrapped about his brawny shoulders.

One of Belegar’s bodyguards leapt in front of the onrushing orc, an oath of hatred gushing from his lips. Quick as the lightning that rent the sky, the orc slashed his scimitar at the dwarf, piercing his armour and dealing a grievous wound to the dwarf’s shoulder. The dwarf sank to his knees, blood seeping from the sundered armour.

Before the orc could complete the kill, Belegar attacked, screaming a foul cry of his own in the harsh language of the dwarves. Blunt-nosed hammer and scythe-like scimitar met in a guttering sizzle of orange sparks. Pressing his assault, Belegar slammed his hammer downwards in a series of brutal, overhead strikes.

The orc parried the dwarf’s heavy-handed strokes, his every action accompanied by a savage grunt, his green face split by a feral, lipless sneer.

The mud sucked at Belegar’s boots, seeking to drag him down as he advanced. The silver-armoured dwarf pulled his hammer over his shoulder and swung it forwards just as the orc launched an attack of his own. Belegar ducked beneath the twin murder-weapons and completed his swing, his hammer crunching solidly into the orc’s left ankle, which shattered like a pane of glass in a hailstorm.

Swept off his feet, the orc landed heavily on his back, air whooshing from his lungs. The impact ripped the breath from his throat and a scimitar slipped from his hand.

Seizing the advantage, Belegar swung hard and smashed his hammer into the orc’s sternum. The force of the impact stung his hands and vibrated up his arms and into his shoulders. A column of thick black blood geysered into the air, drenching Belegar in a shower of warm, sticky rain. The dwarf’s next attack hit the orc’s skull, which exploded like rotten fruit. Bone chips ricocheted off his armour.

Belegar stood to his feet just as another wave of orcs attacked, a solid mass of muscle, sweat, and rage.

“Hold the line!”

 


 

 

A Beautiful Morning by Mauhaut


Jocelyn peered across the field towards the castle. Morning mist was hazing the ground, a small stream was gurgling nearby and the dawn light was flushing the castle towers with red and gold.

It was a beautiful morning.

‘Why isn't anything happening over there?’ he thought. ‘They can see us, and their scouts must have been reporting our movements for days.’

He looked back over his shoulder, the camp fires surrounded by archers and infantry, spearmen on the perimeter being handed plates of food. He noted approvingly that squads of cavalrymen and squires were passing out feed and water buckets to the horses picketed behind the tents. There was an appetising smell of bacon cooking in pans over camp fires.

A light breeze began to brush over the tops of the grasses and sighing he moved off to report to the commander.

Knight Commander Argenteous was not in the best of moods....

'Some nameless idiot has recalled most of the divisions from the other attack,' he stormed. ‘He wants them for a gala, or something equally asinine.’

'Before some other wet behind the ears royal brat gets ideas about birthday parades we'd best get this siege over and done with.'

'Sound the attack Jocelyn, plans are laid, let’s get on with it.'

The plans had indeed been laid. Jocelyn and his fellow commanders had honed and refined the battle plans over many weeks. Weeks in which their progress north had been apparently ignored.

The stream was larger here, flowing slower. Jocelyn could see fish in the water and swans were gliding majestically, outlined against the willows and reeds. So entrancing was the scene that it took a moment - a quiet, half asleep moment - before Jocelyn realised that this was no low lying dawn mist but smoke, the siege engines had done their work; this morning there were no red gold towers, just blackened beams and smoking debris. No smell of bacon this morning, another, far less appetising smell permeated everything.

It was very quiet, the quartermasters had moved everything necessary into the marginal safety of a partially still standing curtain wall and the camp was, apart from the sentries and scouts, mostly sleeping. The horses were picketed on the water meadows, the grass so long and lush that it hid the picket lines.

It was an idyllic spot. Idly Jocelyn wondered if Commander Argenteous was minded to be generous in rewarding his subordinate commanders.

‘Good land this,’ he thought. ‘Horse country, and I could grow good crops, soil looks fertile, river is wide enough and deep enough that I doubt it runs dry in summer.’

‘Miriam and the kids would love it here.’ Daydreaming, in the still of the dawn, he wandered slowly along the river bank.

Something glinted away in the distance.

Baffled, Jocelyn peered across the fields and forests, towards another castle, rising out of the mist in the distance; the dawn light flushing the castle towers with red and gold.

It was a beautiful morning.


Inspired by http://hoocher.com/Jasper_Francis_Cropsey/Chepstow_Castle_on_the_Wye_1854.jpg

And a real circumstance in the GA war.

 


 

 

A Militiaman Returns Home by Artefore

 

He had long dreamt of this moment. The sun brushed the distant hilltops, painting the clouds a deep crimson as the day made way for night. The last of the birds sung from the trees that lined the earthen path, and as he strode up it, the smell of roasted chicken rode on the light summer breeze. The top of the path led to a simple cottage, earth and thatch, but to him, the sight of a mighty keep could not be more comforting. At last, after all the years, of toil and battle, he had returned.

The woman who answered the door was older, greyer than he remembered, but the dimples in her cheeks shone just as they always had when she grinned at the sight of his face, and her arms around his neck and the kiss she pressed into his mouth felt just as good as he remembered. He looked deep into her almond eyes, and whispered,
“Maria, I love you more than anything.”
“Adam! Oh, Adam, you’re home!” she cried, and at that moment, she was as young as the day they were wed, and he found himself grinning ear to ear as he embraced her. As he stepped over the doorway, he nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I’m home.”

Adam found his sons whacking each other with wooden sticks in the back yard. They rushed up to him when they saw him, excitedly shouting “Dad! Dad!” and wrapping their arms around his midriff in a tight bearhug. He noticed the eldest, Rory, was wearing a pail over his head like a helmet, and took it off his head, laughing.


“Look at how you two have grown! What’s this for, Rory? Fighting off the Orcs?”
“Yeah Dad!” his son exclaimed, “I’m gonna be just like you!”

The pounding of boots shook the earth, filling his skull with noise and sound as the army marched, a living machine of leather and steel. Suddenly, further ahead in the column, someone screamed, “AMBUSH!!” and the sky seemed to fill with black feathered javelins. Adam barely had time to raise his shield before they fell upon him, the thud of spear tip against oak intermingling with the screams of those less fortunate. As the orcish hordes fell upon them, he felt something graze his right thigh, and when he looked down, he saw blood on his leather.

“Dad? Dad? Are you okay?” Adam felt tugging on his shirt as Harst, his youngest son, awoke him from his daydream.
“Yes, I’m alright. Come here,” he said, grabbing a stick. “Let me show you how to really swing a sword.”

Later that evening, as they sat down to roast chicken and fine apple cider, his wife pressed him with questions about his years away.


“Was the food good? Did you meet the Lord? Did you see the Bitter Sea?” He told them all he could, about the jungles of Kul Tar and the seas of Azura, about the gnomes and the fey and all the wondrous things he had seen.
“Where’s Donald?” she asked. “Did he come home to his wife too?”
“Donald? Oh, he-”

The battle swirled and leapt around him, a cacophony of screams and the ring of steel on steel. Adam held his ground, kneeling on his good leg and keeping his shield high. A wolf leapt at him, slaver dripping from its jaws as its orcish rider urged it forward. Adam bashed its nose with his shield, sending it veering away, yowling. He gripped his spear, and as the wolf turned for another attack, he drove the point between its eyes. The beast thrashed in pain, ripping the weapon from his grip, and throwing the orc out of his saddle. He drew his sword and rushed the greenskin, screaming curses as he raced forward. The orc only laughed, and brought his scimitar around in a sweep that knocked the sword from his hands. Adam fell to his knees, and the orc raised his cruel blade for the final strike. 

It was then that a spear tip poked through the green chest, and Donald’s familiar face grinned as it fell to the earth. “We’ve got to look after each other!” he cried, and held out his hand. Adam was about to take it, but another hand was faster. The fallen orc yanked Donald off his feet and crushed him in a deadly embrace with the last of its strength, cursing in a guttural language as he squeezed the life from the man’s body. Donald let out an unearthly howl, and the blood drained from his face. Adam grabbed a rock and drove it against the orc’s skull, but it was too late. Donald’s face was frozen into a deathly scream, pale white and unbreathing. His crushed body slumped against the orc’s, and Adam knelt in the dirt and wept.

“-he, uh, decided to stay in the army! He’s in some far off land right right now, I reckon.”
“Oh, that’s nice! I hope he enjoys the adventure!”


Adam said nothing. He knew that he was safe now, in the comfort of his home and family, but the horrors of war would find a way to stay with him until the day he died.

 


 

Thanks again to our excellent players!

 

GM Rikoo





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Illyriad Community Manager / Public Relations / community@illyriad.co.uk



Replies:
Posted By: Gul'Dan
Date Posted: 07 Feb 2015 at 18:38
Excellent challenge! Good luck to everyone that participates!


Posted By: ajqtrz
Date Posted: 07 Feb 2015 at 18:50

Illy's Last Dragon

 

The ride was hard across hot sands and he was late.  "Too late," he realized, as he stared at the orcish gore at his feet.  He sighed.  He looked up from the blood smeared rocks and sand, and in the distance he saw  the wisps of the dragons' breath rising into the azure sky.  She set his jaw, remounted and, after settling in his saddle, peered across the dry, barren landscape.  He could be there in minutes.  "The Last Dragon of Illy" they had said.  He and the orc had tracked for weeks.  Now it was just him.  "Orcs don't wait for the slow" he thought, He paused, looked at the trail of blood and made up his mind, "It's badly wounded.  Maybe that will be enough."

 

He urged his mount into a full gallop.  The horses' hooves thundered across the dry, sandy soil.  The dragon heard and turned. "Weakly," the knight observed.  An image of the brave orc flashed in his mind.  It gave him little comfort.

 

He drew near. The dragon sucked in the hot dessert air and a belched a long stream of blue flame.  Anticipating the Knight dodged.  It would take the dragon only a few seconds to re-charge so he kicked his stallion into a full run, lowered his long javelin and prayed.  The javelin pierced the thick scales of the monsters chest, but missed the beating heart.  The force that shattered the javelin slammed the knight to the side.  He fell and crashed to the stony earth, the sharp stab of broken ribs driving the breath from his lungs..  Looking over his shoulder he felt the white-hot heat of dragon flame singe his face.  He saw the flames engulf his horse and heard the scream of dying flesh.

 

He rolled to his feet, the pain of his injuries causing his sight to dim, as he stumbled.  Drawing his sword, as the dragon prepared what surely would be the flames of death, the knight knew he had but one chance.  The javelin had opened the way . The infernal beating heart of the dragon was exposed.  He gathered his courage, raised his sword and charged!

 

His feet were lead, his arm barely able to lift his blade.  He stumbled, caught his balance again, and pressed on.  His breath was short.  The dragon reared back, and sent the stream of the grave to engulf him.  But he had reached the open chest first and the flames shot over his head.  Thrusting his sword deep into the hot guts he found the beating heart and stopped it's infernal sound.  The dragon gave a might roar and toppled over crushing the knight beneath his massive weight.  The Knight cried out in anguish as his legs snapped.  He looked down.  He saw only blood flowing into sand.

 

Somewhere in the vast lands of Illy, a monument placed long ago still stands.  It reads: "Here Fell Illy's Last Dragon and the Knight Who Slew It."



Posted By: Lagavulin
Date Posted: 07 Feb 2015 at 19:43
                                                   CHAMPION OF THE ANCIENTS

The Dark Moon calls and Imhotep answers.   Though he fears his force too weak to take the enemies portal he knows his duty.  With 107 charioteers at his back and the desert sands before him he sets out on a journey that may well be his last.

 Imhotep drives his men and horses hard.  They have a date with destiny in Elijal and they do not want to be late.  In less than 2 and a half hours the enemy should be in sight.  League upon league of desert sand grinds beneath their wheels.  As chief architect he knows better than most how that can damage his chariots.  All he can do is hope they hold up to the abuse.  There is no time to stop for maintenance.  The Dark Moon has called and he obeys.

 Imhotep sights the enemy and orders the chariots into a full charge.  At the critical moment his left wheel comes off.   It has not survived the breakneck pace of the journey.  Imhotep is trampled under the wheels of the following chariots.  Without their captain the attack devolves into chaos.  Only 35 warriors survive to return home.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Though the forces sent by Brunel and lead by Imhotep failed to occupy the portal; the glory of Imhotep's last charge inspired the Great Engineer's generals.  More expeditions would be attempted.  One would succeed. 

 In Brunel's Great Hall hangs the medal commemorating their success.  Champion of the Ancients.  In the crypt bellow lies Imhotep's sarcophagus.  Emblazoned on it the same medal. 

It is enough.



Posted By: Jejune
Date Posted: 07 Feb 2015 at 22:50
See You In Hell


"Is that the last one?" Meldarion asked into the breeze, his elven eyes spotting a column of troops and catapults. He wasn't asking his comrades -- a wounded knight bearing the Templar cross on his shield, a war-grizzled dwarf, and a bewildered orc -- if this would be the last army to siege their alliance's last war-ready town, but rather if the quiver of arrows at his feet were indeed the last among them. 

"That's it, laddie," said Malgil, son of Malachi, leaning in towards a dying fire. "Glad I don't use them." Next to Malgil, his battle axes lay against a rock, sharpened for one final battle.

The man daubed a trickle of blood from his side and squinted into the creamy, overcast sky. "It isn't going to make a difference, Meldarion. This war is over."

For six months prior, unrelenting armies trekked across Elgea into the Broken Lands to erase these four commanders' alliance from the map, proving impossible to stop. "This army," the man muttered, "they killed 100,000 of my people in 24 hours. One hundred thousand souls lost -- for what? Because of me? Because of how I choose to rule?"

"Because of how we all choose to rule," intoned the Orc, a greenskin named Hogt'Ruz. Though he had been spawned to slaughter the races of men and elves, and had fought both Meldarion and the Templar, known as Tackford, in the last great war, he had come to deeply respect his adversaries and helped forge their alliance. 

Now the army was in plain view across the dewy moor -- even for non-elf eyes. But Meldarion noted the "GA" crests. He knew the elf in the lead. Meldarion managed a wry smile, "Millions dead, and he arrives last to claim the glory."

"If it be glory he seeks," said Malgil, his eyes growing wild, "what better glory than for he to die on the battlefield?"

Tackford rose to feet with the aid of his sword, testing the pain that standing brought. "Friends, let us lead our alliance's last army to a defeat that will resonate across these lands. And let that fell elf yonder see the four of us -- once foes and now the greatest of allies -- united in his death as we close ranks on him!"

The comrades took to their mounts and, after exhorting the remaining brave legion behind them, made for the enemy elven commander. Soon their faces came into his focus, and as fear gripped him he wondered, "how could these four have ever become friends?" 

The cowardly commander tried to break through ranks to the rear, but his forces were already on the move, pushing him onward to the front. The wall of rushing troops forced him to be at the front of the charge --  to be the brave commander he was not. 

Just before the Templar's sword was in reach of his head, the elven commander made out Tackford's final words before being swallowed by the enemy void: "See you in Hell!"



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https://elgea.illyriad.co.uk/a/p/394156" rel="nofollow">


Posted By: Dungshoveleux
Date Posted: 08 Feb 2015 at 00:51
Are you all sitting comfortably?
Then I'll begin.
Once apon a time....
....
The End

Is this short enough?

Wink


Posted By: Lwyllyn
Date Posted: 09 Feb 2015 at 19:11
Battle Haiku of the Republic

Too late to recall
Level ninety commander
Falls into Audrey


Posted By: Nokigon
Date Posted: 09 Feb 2015 at 19:13
The battle was over, and the enemy had won. They rejoiced, now, with the sound of feasting and laughter in the city that had so recently been threatened with death and destruction. But outside, as the carrion birds circled, the sound of the dying still echoed across the frozen plain.

The swordsman with soft unshaven cheeks slowly choked on the arrow that filled his lungs with blood. The cavalryman’s cries of pain had been reduced to a whimper as he was crushed beneath the weight of his dead horse, his eyes and mind filled with tears and the memory of his wife. Beside him, the burning embers of the siege engines gently creaked, ruined beyond all hope of repair. In the soft, cold light of the full moon, even the bloodstains seemed illuminated with an eerie beauty.

Some people, kind hearted souls who forego the feasting and entertainment in favour of the ice and cold, tend to the wounded with water, bandages and concern. They attempt to stop bleeding, remove arrows and soothe fears. Thanks to their efforts, perhaps the archer with the spear through his belly will live to see his family once again. But as for the spearman with his throat opened wide in a scarlet grin- will his family be waiting fearfully at home, for the news of his victory? Does he have a sweetheart who dreams at night of his face, and will cry once she hears the news? Will he leave a child with nothing but a tombstone to call his father?

Now he is nothing but a feast for the carrion birds. And as they descended to gorge themselves on the dead, other birds flew westwards. Ravens carrying news and mocking words from the victors, words of horror and destruction. They would reach commanders some miles west, and leave with them the bitter taste of defeat. For these commanders knew that the battle was over, and with it the war.

And still, in that castle of stone, the victors feasted on food, wine and laughter, whilst the carrion birds feasted on the bodies of the dead.

The siege of Ely was over.



Posted By: Emperor Nightning
Date Posted: 10 Feb 2015 at 05:16
No Hope

"Hold them back! They must not breach the Citadel!"
All around him were the cries of men, giving way to the endless steam of Swordsmen that attempted to take the last remains of their once glorious Empire.
Aavak raised his sword to cut down yet another 'Enemy'. His blade hit the man in the neck, snapping it. He saw the glint in his eyes, the life draining from his face. But it did not bother him, he had learned to accept the horrors of war, for his country.
His country? There was nothing left of his country. Fortigia was falling, and with it the last of his hopes.
A Spearman cried out as his shield and his body was shattered by a Knight's mace. They had cut a hole through the shield wall, and poured into the citadel.
"Stop them! They're through!! They're through!!" Aavak yelled, hacking into another Man-at-arms and blocking the sweep of a Cavalry sword with his Iron shield. He was pressed against a wall and the defensive line was split in two, the Invading army climbing the staircase, causing not long after the screams of Longbowmen and yelling of the Emperor.
His comrades were pushed up against him, being impaled on enemy spears like Shish kebabs.
A sudden force hit Aavak in the side of his helmet and launched him onto the ground.
His left ear was deaf, and his right pressed against the floor.
He could hear the thumping of Steel on rock, the dulled squishes of Metal into flesh.
This was it. The city had fallen.
All his life, seeing the grand Stone walls, the Sentries, not missing an hour of their Shift, he never thought anyone could ever take the city.
He didn't see the the armoured man standing over him with a mace in hand, his entire body covered in SilverSteel.
All of the people he had worked with, his family, his friends...
He didn't see the Commander grabbing a Pike.
His Andrenaline was fading out, and he began to drift into sleep...
He never felt the Steel pierce his heart.

//Not really much of a writer, but I tried to write something for this


Posted By: GM Rikoo
Date Posted: 10 Feb 2015 at 16:33
A few players cannot get the forums to work for them, so I told them I would post their stories for them.

If you know someone who needs me to post the story, let me know!

We have one from Tigervetren: 

The battale of rats.

day 1: we have been send out on a hunting mission to kill some rats for our king and we have arived at our destination and killed the rats we are going to camp for the night and go back in the morning.

day 2: during the night a fog over took our camp and all these rats came out of no where we were taken by suprise but we menaged to fend them off we lost a lot of good men they did not deserve there fate.


day 3: They just seem to keep coming more and more of them every time and they are getting bigger will this ever stop. No man diserves this all you hear is the screaching i dont know where they are this acerced fog is to thick.

day 4: we sent some scouts out to try and make it through the fog after they dissapeared from our sight screams eruper in the directions they went and after about half a hour they stoped, may they rest in pease. we dicided to put up a perimiter and some deffences on it hopfully it will stop those acerced things from making it through.


day 5: the rats have smashed our fortifications hard over night i dont think anyone slept through all the screatching they made if i had to guess we would have killed about 1000 rats so far but more keep coming and coming it is drriving us mad day in day ut its just fighting to survive i just keep praying that one of our scouts made it out and reinforcments will come soon to save use well what is left of use.

day 7: we are running low on everthing the rats just seem to be getting smarter they are starting to ear our food on each wave and the waves are coming more and more frequent with more and more rats. im scared of what might happen.

day 9: our food and our hope has almost vanished there are only a hand full of use left i dont think we can make it through the night if they breach the perimiters.

day 10: im the only one left i think its time to get out oh god what was that noise...





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Illyriad Community Manager / Public Relations / community@illyriad.co.uk


Posted By: Berde
Date Posted: 10 Feb 2015 at 18:08

The Misadventures of Mel’ven Meritha on the Orders of his Madcap Monarch


Gather ‘round boys and girls, for a tale of woe and misery. Loyalty is grand my friends, but blind loyalty without question is another thing entirely.


I bring you the tale of an elf named Mel’ven Meritha, a skinner in the employ of Her Highness Berde, whose territories stretch from the far northeast to the far southwest of our world. Our Monarch is, well… let us be kind and say she simply isn’t all there.


Mel’ven had wanted to be a skinner for the longest of times. He’d worked as a cotter with his father but wanted more than the meager cottage and life of solitude that that allowed. He had plans! He wanted to be more! He trained with the army but didn’t quite make the grade, and so back to his roots he went. He studied long and hard, apprenticed to a senior skinner. Finally the day came that he was sent out to lead a harvesting missions into the woods.


Of Chulbran! Why, what was his Monarch THINKING? She desired him to go from Laoshin to Chulbran for wolf furs? Surely the ones just a mile down the road were fine! He opened his mouth to protest, and thought better of it. Off he and his men went.


Word came as they crossed the lands. What is taking so long, his Monarch wished to know. Hurry up! And so he and his men raced full-tilt across the stretch of plains and scrambled over mountains. Their chests burned with lack of air and their muscles screamed with the burn of overuse.


Suddenly, out of nowhere, just as they approached their destination at break-neck speeds, a vast legions of rats appeared! The men fought as best they could. Skinning knives flashed in the sunlight. They hacked and slashed. Blood flew in ruby droplets to be cast over the grass. The squeaks of the tiny beasts was shrill and ear piercing. The stink of fear and death clawed its way into nostrils, overwhelming even the most staunch and experienced of the men.


Sadly, Mel’ven Meritha and his men were no match for this ocean of fur and teeth. Down they went to their last, having blindly followed the orders of the Madcap Monarch only to run full speed ahead to their deaths.



Posted By: abstractdream
Date Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 03:22
TRAVAILS


In the 25th year of the reign of King Sigurd, self proclaimed King of Illyriad, the world itself doubled in size, opening vast, undeveloped lands to the far south for new settlement. Once inhabited, now empty of all but the hardiest of Factions and the wildest of animals, this new frontier, rumored as haunted by monstrous creatures straight from the depths of Hell, invites only those willing to give up all of that keeps them safe around their hearthstones.

Having been virtually decimated by brigands with eagles wings and crows beaks, the remaining family members, those sorrowful survivors of the most devastating war in Elgea's pockmarked history, now with ties to their homelands severed and having no obstacles barring their way, Exodus every last one of their beaten cities away from the overbearing lands of Elgea.

Every last man, woman and child, horses and cows in tow, wagons filled with gold and goods and leaving behind the foundations of their cities, cities once shining from the hills of Ursor and those other regions whence they grew, adventured, shed blood and sweat, all follow overland, onto ships, over uncharted waters to set foot on the new frontier, to start again.

Take heed, O ye weary and worrisome, for this land will provide the future of a select few, those hearty, plucky souls never truly defeated.

Be ye one of us, or be ye one against?


-------------
Bonfyr Verboo


Posted By: auel
Date Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 13:51
The first crack in the wall.

The elf stood quietly on the mountain peak, gazing intently on the mighty orc fortress in the predawn gloom.  There was the legendary keep on its mound and the city within the multi towered curtain wall. Around it the rolling plain was alive with marching armies.

“Looks like he’s taken the bait” said his companion.

“Yes, he knows now that the attacks on his other cities were not feints he can’t take the risk” he replied as he scanned the orc legions streaming in.  “I doubt he will have any troops left”

“Nor arms to equip new recruits” his companion smiled.

Between the foe orc columns could now be seen the shapes of mighty wains, each carrying a siege engine escorted by tightly disciplined columns of stalwarts and men at arms. Still farther away, behind the orcs a subtle mist spread across the land, as much felt as seen.

The watchers admired the orc captains as they whipped and cajoled the massed ranks of Kobolds and Fangs into position, they smiled grimly as the enemy danced to the tune they had played him and the orcs thronged the vale below.

“It is time” the elf King whispered as he raised his bow and fired a single arrow into the gloom and sent the unspoken command which transformed it into a dazzling blood red comet casting a deathly hue over the massed ranks of the defenders.  At this the advancing mists resolved to reveal a vast force of trueshots who loosed as one, rippling the sky with their shafts, even from the mountain, the groan of the orcs could be heard in the moment before they were struck down in thousands and tens of thousands.

Dwarves could then be seen advancing behind wheeled shields and the watchers knew that these were brave and skilled engineers clearing the field for what followed as the ranks of trueshots opened and divisions of marshals and armoured cavalry thundered through and formed charging wedges, the timing was not quite perfect so that the thunder of each impact was heard as a deafening crash above the rolling storm of battle.

The orcs resisted viciously as was only to be expected but gradually the great clamour faded as the siege engines reached the walls unopposed …. they did not pitch camps, the many armies each fired a devastating volley and turned away, walls withered and fell and the mighty keep was battered into chaos.  The orc city was ruined but did not fall as the sun finally rose to a bronze and bloodied day.

When the dust had cleared Deimo and his personal guard came out to the elf and the man who stood alone on the gory field under the banner of the Charging Tiger.

“So you did me then” he said, “you never wanted the city!”

“No Lord Deimo, we came for your armies ……. and for you.”

Holding their gaze, the orc Lord silently cast down his sword.   

 

Josiah - VICX



Posted By: auel
Date Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 14:01
For the curious.  Yes it is a highly fictionalised account of an actual Illy battle and yes Deimo has given his permission for me to use his name.

Josiah


Posted By: Mahaut
Date Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 17:03
                       A Beautiful Morning

Jocelyn peered across the field towards the castle. Morning mist was hazing the ground, a small stream was gurgling nearby and the dawn light was flushing the castle towers with red and gold.

It was a beautiful morning.

‘Why isn't anything happening over there?’ he thought. ‘They can see us, and their scouts must have been reporting our movements for days.’

He looked back over his shoulder, the camp fires surrounded by archers and infantry, spearmen on the perimeter being handed plates of food. He noted approvingly that squads of cavalrymen and squires were passing out feed and water buckets to the horses picketed behind the tents. There was an appetising smell of bacon cooking in pans over camp fires.

A light breeze began to brush over the tops of the grasses and sighing he moved off to report to the commander.

 

Knight Commander Argenteous was not in the best of moods....

'Some nameless idiot has recalled most of the divisions from the other attack,' he stormed. ‘He wants them for a gala, or something equally asinine.’

'Before some other wet behind the ears royal brat gets ideas about birthday parades we'd best get this siege over and done with.'

'Sound the attack Jocelyn, plans are laid, let’s get on with it.'

The plans had indeed been laid. Jocelyn and his fellow commanders had honed and refined the battle plans over many weeks. Weeks in which their progress north had been apparently ignored.

 

The stream was larger here, flowing slower. Jocelyn could see fish in the water and swans were gliding majestically, outlined against the willows and reeds. So entrancing was the scene that it took a moment - a quiet, half asleep moment - before Jocelyn realised that this was no low lying dawn mist but smoke, the siege engines had done their work; this morning there were no red gold towers, just blackened beams and smoking debris. No smell of bacon this morning, another, far less appetising smell permeated everything.

It was very quiet, the quartermasters had moved everything necessary into the marginal safety of a partially still standing curtain wall and the camp was, apart from the sentries and scouts, mostly sleeping. The horses were picketed on the water meadows, the grass so long and lush that it hid the picket lines.

It was an idyllic spot. Idly Jocelyn wondered if Commander Argenteous was minded to be generous in rewarding his subordinate commanders.

‘Good land this,’ he thought. ‘Horse country, and I could grow good crops, soil looks fertile, river is wide enough and deep enough that I doubt it runs dry in summer.’

‘Miriam and the kids would love it here.’ Daydreaming, in the still of the dawn, he wandered slowly along the river bank.

Something glinted away in the distance.

Baffled, Jocelyn peered across the fields and forests, towards another castle, rising out of the mist in the distance; the dawn light flushing the castle towers with red and gold.

 

It was a beautiful morning.

----------

Inspired by http://hoocher.com/Jasper_Francis_Cropsey/Chepstow_Castle_on_the_Wye_1854.jpg" rel="nofollow - http://hoocher.com/Jasper_Francis_Cropsey/Chepstow_Castle_on_the_Wye_1854.jpg

And a real circumstance in the GA war.


-------------


Posted By: Luffster
Date Posted: 11 Feb 2015 at 20:19
Excession and Luffster argue on which to drink first, Wine or Beer - they decide the only way to settle this argument is to go to war.  Each send their best drinkers to do battle in the only way they know how! Drinking Contest! They meet in the only place they can - The World’s End Pub, already there are Mahaut, XMCo and Boru - Judges for this Duel to the passout.  Beer is brought from the Distant Land of GuernZ, Wine is brought from the other end of the world Eklles – Luffster goes with the Beer then Wine is Fine Excession goes with Wine then Beer makes you Queer – Both get very drunk – it goes to a judges decision – all three have passed out waiting for Excession and Luffster to finish – both Excession and Luffster decide that they are the absolute winners and agree to do the same next week! The End!


Posted By: Altrix
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 00:30

The location that this story takes place is here; http://elgea.illyriad.co.uk/#/World/Map/-296/-399/10" rel="nofollow -

The Battle for Lan Larosh (Story from the Chronicles of Elgea written by Altrix)

The human army had been marching for the best part of a month, tracking down a group of orcs that had been raiding those that lived in Lan Larosh, before they reached the western bank of the river Emn, the river the divides Lan Larosh and Tor Carrock. Intel had suggested that this was the largest gathering of orcs that had ever been sighted and hence General Ilirra had been given 200,000 men, and the order to kill every single orc upon site, to deal with this threat.

As the army approached the western bank fear started to work its way through the soldiers as they caught site of the forest that awaited them on the other side. After all, this was the best spot for the orcs to turn around and ambush them as the army tried to cross the river and form up on the other side. The men managed to put this fear aside as they knew this was the only way to rid the new world of the devilish orcs that marauded the countryside preying on the weak.

After a few hours rest, enough time to give small number of men, 50,000, time to cross south of their position and to start circling back, the command was given to start the crossing. The plan was to get as many companies across as fast as possible and then to form up in a defensive formation on the eastern bank to allow others to follow safely. The plan went smoothly for the first quarter of the army but then a shout rose up from those on the eastern bank. The orcs had been spotted! They came out of the trees like a whirlwind causing destruction as they went, ripping through the army as they clambered about in a feeble attempt to stop the orcs. Just as the last remnants of those on the eastern bank were cut down the flanking army arrived from the south and boxed the orcs against the bank of the river. As the orcs turned to face this new threat General Ilirra fronted the charge, with the rest of the army following, across the river to fall on the rear of the orcish army. This was too much for the orcs and confusion spread throughout their ranks as they tried in vain to combat the double sided attack that they now found themselves under. From there it only took a few short hours before the last orcish head fell at the feet of General Ilirra, there was no mercy for these devilish creatures and hence no chance of survival.

This tale has been told around fires ever since as it marks the last time that any orc was seen in Lan Larosh until the great peace treaty that bound the four races of Elgea together.



Posted By: Belegar Ironhammer
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 02:13
Hold the Line

      Steel rang upon steel beneath a blackened, storm-wrought sky. White forks of lightning flashed brilliantly, heralding deafening claps of thunder that roared across the muddy, blood-soaked battlefield. Guttural orc war cries echoed in the night, a savage prayer to the gods of war, answered only by the roaring bellows of the dwarves, beseeching their comrades to greater efforts.

            “Hold the line!” shouted Belegar, yelling with all his might. Clad in silversteel plate and surrounded by his elite bodyguards, the dwarf king stood like a rock against the orc tide, his warhammer gripped firmly in his gauntleted hands. The war axes of his chosen rose and fell in a steady rhythm, every stroke claiming the life of an orc, snapping bones like straw and pulping innards in crimson sprays of arterial blood. Crossbow bolts cut the air, hissing like vipers.

            A snarling, yellow-toothed orc charged Belegar, brandishing gore-streaked scimitars in each of its meaty hands. Red, bloodthirsty eyes glowed like embers in the orc’s ugly, lopsided skull. A cloak of flayed skin wrapped about his brawny shoulders.

            One of Belegar’s bodyguards leapt in front of the onrushing orc, an oath of hatred gushing from his lips. Quick as the lightning that rent the sky, the orc slashed his scimitar at the dwarf, piercing his armour and dealing a grievous wound to the dwarf’s shoulder. The dwarf sank to his knees, blood seeping from the sundered armour.

            Before the orc could complete the kill, Belegar attacked, screaming a foul cry of his own in the harsh language of the dwarves.  Blunt-nosed hammer and scythe-like scimitar met in a guttering sizzle of orange sparks. Pressing his assault, Belegar slammed his hammer downwards in a series of brutal, overhead strikes.

            The orc parried the dwarf’s heavy-handed strokes, his every action accompanied by a savage grunt, his green face split by a feral, lipless sneer.

            The mud sucked at Belegar’s boots, seeking to drag him down as he advanced. The silver-armoured dwarf pulled his hammer over his shoulder and swung it forwards just as the orc launched an attack of his own. Belegar ducked beneath the twin murder-weapons and completed his swing, his hammer crunching solidly into the orc’s left ankle, which shattered like a pane of glass in a hailstorm.

            Swept off his feet, the orc landed heavily on his back, air whooshing from his lungs. The impact ripped the breath from his throat and a scimitar slipped from his hand.

            Seizing the advantage, Belegar swung hard and smashed his hammer into the orc’s sternum. The force of the impact stung his hands and vibrated up his arms and into his shoulders. A column of thick black blood geysered into the air, drenching Belegar in a shower of warm, sticky rain. The dwarf’s next attack hit the orc’s skull, which exploded like rotten fruit. Bone chips ricocheted off his armour.

            Belegar stood to his feet just as another wave of orcs attacked, a solid mass of muscle, sweat, and rage.

            “Hold the line!”   



Posted By: jcx
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 10:53
Unleashing the Chained Beast 
(Mist vs NS Selection)

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful warrior named Mist, she'd conquered few lands in Fremorn and loved by thousands of soldiers.

In a gloomy day of February she'd decided to unleash the beast sleeping inside her. She calls all the brave warriors in the land of Elgea to fight against her. 

Brave warriors of ~Night Squires~ responded, enlisting the finest heroes within. 

They rallied against Mist!

Mist unleashed her cavalry in an attempt to kill her enemies in no time. But 1 of 2 attacks failed.

While her known ally jcx was confident enough that they will win the contest and conquer their enemies, Tink XX proved him wrong.

Tink XX sent massive wave of scouts to know the whereabouts of jcx siege engines, 3 out 500+ waves went in and give her the right intel. Then Larious Saleed commanded her cavalry and destroyed jcx engines losing his upper hand against the NS troopers.

jcx became desparate, he commanded several attacks against Tink XX, Larious Saleed, Artahm, killing some of their troops, but still that didn't turn the table back to his favor. 

Siege Landing Day - all engines from NS troopers landed in Mist backyard to start pulverizing his walls bearing 300K mix troops with equivalent numbers of weapons, Mist was surprised!

She unleashed her 40K brave elven trueshots to clear Stangs' siege square 1 and she was successful. while she went to Boomerex siege square 2 (bearing most of the armies & engines), she met her fate all 40K brave ET's had fallen in the hands of boom. 

BitterSweet, Sally - a 15 hours firefight....

Mist called her 1st sally forth to clear boom's siege square but failed. After 6 long hours again she called her 2nd sally forth, this time she was victorious. Killing most of the commanders and some engines was a relief. But still having 3 attacking squares outside her city was worrisome.

She changes her strategy. She'd recall all wardancers & elven true shots back to its respective cities - and goes back to attack each square and succeed. 

Unfortunately, Mist lost all of her troops in the effort of clearing those 3 siege squares.

NS Trooper are relentless! after their first attempt of destroying Mist, they came back! 

King Korr unleashed his final blow that defeated Mist (Dead). 

"The lovely warrior has fallen, along with her brave of soldiers." 

~NS~ win the contest!

Credits to: Tink XX, Boomerex, Larious Saleed, Stang, Artahm, Mist of the Abyss


-------------
Disclaimer: The above is jcx|orcboy's personal opinion and is not the opinion or policy of Harmless? [H?] or of the little green men that have been following him all day.

jcx in H? | orcboy in H?


Posted By: Shûl-nak
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 13:15

Azurrok inhaled deeply. The cloying air was thick with smoke, ash, fear and death - the raw scent of war. In his heart he could feel the primal spirit of the Always-Chiefs raging and roaring, exulting in the bloody madness. His teeth ached for more flesh to tear, and his hands longed for more soft elven necks from which he could wring the pitiful life forever.


The last of El'tirisel's defenders sent a volley of humming death from the keep's final spire; a swathe of kobolds collapsed squealing in the courtyard. Azurrok snarled and grabbed a dying runt to hold aloft. His newfound shield quivered with caught arrows as he sprinted towards the stairs.


Many Elven wardens blocked the winding ascent, but their fluid fighting style suffered in such cramped quarters. The stocky orc used his bullish momentum to barge, grab and hack, pushing and shoving them to fall to the tower floor below, dealing bone-rending blows with his cruel scimitar.


The thrumming of loosed bowstrings filled his ears as he reached the summit. He discarded the kobold, now bristling with arrows, and leapt into the ranks of the unwitting archers with vicious glee. Wielding his blade with both hands, their soft leather armour could not save them as he split limb from limb in great cleaving arcs.


His savage laughter was cut short when a blade scored a deep slash across his shoulder. Azurrok's eyes flashed as he recognised the wielder; a wardancer captain, a fellow death-walker he had fought before. A worthy opponent.


They circled, carefully stepping over the bodies of the fallen, the floor slick with blood. The elf's blade sang as he gracefully adjusted his stance; the orc snarled and growled impatiently. Then the first clash came. The orc swung; sparks flew, his scimitar deflected with ease.


Azurrok saw the counter-attack too late. His left hand sailed over the edge of the tower as it was severed by a deft swing, but he was already ducking to avoid the blade sweeping for his neck. Yet the elf had overcommitted to his strike. The orc screamed, surging forwards to grapple his unbalanced opponent. They collided in a blur, sent sprawling over the balcony and into the air.


As the wind howled around them, the orc bit, clawed and struck the captain in savage fury. With fist and fang he battered the life from his adversary; by the time they hit the waters of the lake below it was over.


Winded and wounded, Azurrok unceremoniously dragged himself to shore, finding his severed hand already on the banks. He seized a passing orc: “Take this... to the chief. Tell him... the city... is ours.”

He raised his black warhorn and sounded the growling victory call. He bellowed and stomped as the howling roars of his horde erupted from the streets below, their celebrations beginning in earnest.


But even as he claimed victory, his eyes were already fixed upon the gleaming cities of the horizon...


Posted By: John Louis
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 14:03
Although the following may be called pure heresy by some (and I know heresy), I nevertheless have it from a very good source! Here is a story that is whispered along the corridors of the Council of Five (I hope they do not use their sorcery to remove my fingers):

                                                           Battle of The Gods

Primordial Illyriad was an age of mystery and loneliness. The gods were initially only suspicious of one another but then the rivalry started and, eventually, animosity and hatred were created.

Each wanted to be recognised as the most powerful, the King of gods, if you will. They became angry with one another but none wanted to leave Illyriad or its mysterious lands, for they knew a strong magic had been imbued into the very fabric of its creation.

One god and goddess felt very differently, however, and tried to live together in harmony. It is said that the god was Death and the goddess was Life (the embodiment of Illyriad's natural cycle). Only they had control of both life and death over Illyriad's creatures.

They dreamt of Illyrian, their future child, a new god more powerful than all the others that came before – and a natural King to guide and lead them. He would also be the first god to be born since time began.

Life and Death tried to keep this secret, but gods have ways and soon the others discovered what would happen. The gods and goddesses united, there would be no new King of gods to rule over them.

Life and Death would not give Illyrian up, and war broke out among them. The gods and goddesses started creating terrible creatures to try and weaken Life and Death, but Death cursed all these creatures with mortality, and Life shortened their lifespans.

The rival gods became infected with a darkness not seen before, they were creating a new energy and feeding off it, it was a type of blood-lust. The dark gods fed off the destructive energy and decided Life and Death would be destroyed.

The only way to do this was to cut them up into innumerable pieces and spread these around the cosmos, away from Illyriad. Death was successfully neutralised and so was Life, Life's still unborn child was taken from her.

Illyrian was also meant to be destroyed, but he used his powers to prevent being cut up into more than four pieces and, in doing so, created Illyriad's four seasons. He also made it impossible for his remains to be removed from the world, the only way to do this would be by destroying Illyriad itself and even the dark gods did not want this.

The four pieces of Illyrian eventually became the four races, each depicting an aspect of him. The dark gods lied to and misguided them. They turned the races against one another in the hope that they would destroy themselves.

This brings us to a little known prophecy; that there must be a final great battle between Illyriad's races and the gods. When the gods are all destroyed Illyrian will return, once this happens Life and Death can also be restored.

When this finally comes to pass, our new gods will bestow the gift of immortality upon us all and we will join them in a new Illyriad pantheon!


Posted By: Larious Saleed
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 14:32
The Unexpected


The din of the distant drums sounded, a cacophony of pending battle. The fog of war drifted slowly crossed the battlefield, sulking like a silk laden dancer from the orcian fires. Standing atop the walls of the battlements, Adanedhel looked down on the encroaching forces.

“Ready the bowmen and prepare our mounts to engage these troglodytes”, he shouted to his commanders as he continued to scan the plains below.

“Sire, we have word that Gul'dak has received reinforcements from an ally and he is amassing his troops to the south of our walls”, said Finrod the head of his scouts.

“Then so be it. We shall divide our forces and attack the treasonous Shul-Nak with our strongest Calvary”, said Adanedhel.

He stood atop the battlement his hair blowing wisps in the wind his gait suggested agitation and dismay. His Second in command trailed him and was barking orders at the other near by commanders. The sound of battle drew closer and the elves from Ramdal were scurrying like ants from a kicked anthill. The murder-slits of the towers and battlements grew horns as the elven archers readied their weapons for the approaching horde. Below the mighty elven Calvary was pawing at the gate of the sally-port. Taut as a pulled bowstring, the elven commander was astride his mighty warhorse, spear and amour gleaming as brightly as the rising sun. The remaining  archers took their places on the wall setting arrows in pots and woven baskets whilst the porters shuffled extra bows and arrows to other vantage points on the wall.

Like an angry swarm the mass of troops to the east of Gul'dak's surged towards the walls. The beating of the drums seemed to grow louder and more intense the closer they came. There were at least fifty thousand orc troops from the vile lord Gul'dak and the forces of Ramdal numbered a mere five thousand.

The tide of orc Guardsman, fangs and fists encroached on the walls like a wildfire consuming a pasture. The first shots from the bows thrummed as the elf sentinels launched a massed volley of arrows at the orcs. The arrows hissed as they arced thru the morning sky, landing softly in the putrid flesh of the orcs with a distinctive thud. Falling in the droves the orcs pushed on the hail of arrows barley putting a dent in their numbers.

From the south, Adanedhel could see the forces of Shul-Nak preforming a wheel with his forces. He was leading them in a circuitous route behind Gul'dak's host. What was this orc doing, he thought to himself. As he thought this another volley from his Trueshot archers let loose their shots raked down the frontline forces of the orc horde, yet they continued to press on. Shul-nak's forces engaged the forces of Gul'dak on their flank and rear. His mounted units tore thru Gul'dak's commander tents and rear guard with ease, rending flesh with their barbaric weapons.

“There we have it, release the Cavalry to engage Gul'dak, send every thing we have at him, and have the bowmen fire towards the edge of his forces. We shall crush the army between us.”

Shul-nak's forces played the part of the anvil, while the elven Cavarly cut a swath thru the center of the orc horde and the bow men picked away at the edges. When the clash and clang of battle ended the orc horde of Gul'dak was no more. Shul-nak stood in the center of the battlefield holding his grotesque weapon in the air to signal victory.



Posted By: Toks
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 17:06

A Good Pair Of Boots


A grizzled old warrior spits on the floor and takes a long, slow drink of ale. He bangs the tankard down on the old worn table. The few tavern patrons go silent and turn towards him.


“His majesty is looking for tales of bravery and heroism, is he. Well he won’t get one from me. I don’t deal in fairy tales. Battle ain’t nothin’ to glorify. Kings and wanna be lords sittin’ on their arse behind stone walls sendin’ us out with little more than a rusty ole sword and an ill fittin’ suit o’ chainmail.


Most of us diein’ just to kill some critters outside the gates of town, just so’s he can have a nice new rug on his floor. The worst is those damn elves with their bows and arrows, flittin’ in an out so fast that you barely see ‘em. Give me an orc any day; savage bastards, they are, but at least they knows how ‘ter stand and fight. And don’t get me started on the dwarves -- just seem to stand there grinnin’ as yer sword bounces of a their armour ... cursed dwarven smiths.


Battle and glory -- bah, I say; more like mud and blood; blisters and infections; death .... “ He goes silent for a moment.   “Best you can hope to do is survive. Maybe some day be promoted to commander. Then at least you might be given some nifty magical equipment that’ll keep you alive just a little longer. And I hear that there is secret magic that can bring them back to life if’n they go and get themselves killed. Again, I say, bah. If the commander’s dead then he must a’ lead all his troops to their deaths. Who needs a commander that gets all his troops killed?


The worst thing, I says is all the walking. Seems like I’ve spent years walkin’ the length and breadth of Elgea and only a few actual minutes with sword in hand. Chainmail, bah, give me a good pair o’ boots any day.”


The man goes quiet. No one moves or talks. He stands up, takes a last swallow of ale, sets the tankard on the table, and limps out the door -- his cloak torn, his scabbard battered and dirty, but the leather seems to glow from his polished boots.




Posted By: Agalloch
Date Posted: 12 Feb 2015 at 18:11

                               The General

There we find him, leaning against his now blood stained spear (was that his tenth? twentieth spear of the day? He had lost count how many he had shattered against the knights armor.) He just stood there all alone now and wondered.

The only sounds the feint calls and cries of the dying for company, the scavengers had already shown up and were already removing anything of value from the dead bodies, finishing off the few remaining once proud Knights.

Oh, how pretty they all had looked this morning against his troops all lined up as if on a parade ground, astride their magnificent steeds, their silver steel armor glimmering in the morning sun.

 There as well stood their camp followers and the whole court. You see they all had come out to witness this battle, what they thought would be the final one against the barbarian Orcs, in their last stronghold in the hills. The same hills he had grown up as young unbloodied Orc, carefree and eager to prove his worth. Back then you see they fought amongst themselves one tribe against another.

That had all changed of course on that fateful day. They still talked of that they probably always would there was already songs made about it, none of them came close to what really happened that day not even near but then if it did  then no one would want to sing and dance to that song. No they would not!

Who would want to do that? Not even the bravest bards talked about what the true events were. Who would buy them a mug of beer? Invite them to spend their evening by their fires and relate events such as this? They would be called liars rumor mongers kicked out and spend the night in the cold and unfriendly hills surrounded by all sorts of predators.

 Oh how sometimes he wished he had never been born! Never had to witness that black event that had marked him for the rest of his days.

Little had they known that while they had drunk and celebrated all throughout the night as if the battle was already decided that their brethren had come to support them from their distant mountains .They might be small in stature the Goblins but they were quite ingenious.

They had worked throughout the night, digging holes, installing stakes and some things he had never come across. Orcs were a simple people, warlike yes but this was different it took it to a new level. He wasn’t sure if he liked it, even if it had given them a decisive victory today at least for his generation, he had no doubt this will all happen again.

There he stood still, looking over the piles of stinking horseflesh and the unmistakable stench of burning human flesh.

He stood there and wondered what could have been …



Posted By: Tink XX
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 04:38

Beast Inside

Little queen frowned. A beastly task: a challenge to Union from Elvish Princess. Her mountain citadel in Fremorn is impregnable and well-guarded. Union has but a gaggle of boys dreaming themselves warlords, and it's a seven day march through the woods and mountains. Will they find their way through the unfamiliar terrain and arrive on time? Can little queen's castle withstand the assault of Knight Joy, Princess' faithful and bloodthirsty ally? She stared at the map and kept redrawing battle plans until daybreak. In the morning, orders were given and armies marched out the gate. The long wait began.

Watchers returned with good news. Knight Joy's camps spotted in the hills. War machines, lightly guarded! Little queen summoned commanders: “Whose troops are stationed nearby? We have to hit these machines before the camps move.” The youngest of the knights, a child-faced elf, spoke up:

“My swiftsteeds can get there before nightfall, your grace.”

“Ride like hell boy. No, faster!”

A black pigeon flew into the study. Little queen unwrapped and read the message:

“Princess attacked with 10 legions. Arrows raining day and night. Commander Rune blundered in the woods and his battering rams never made it to our camp. Orken spears held out but all our war machines destroyed.”

At dawn, the child-faced elf stormed into the bed chamber with a beaming grin, to the fury of the chambermaid finishing queen's braids. “Your grace, we've attacked the camp at night, killed all his guards, burnt the war machines, and none of my men got so much as a scratch!” Hmm, so the rumors about Knight Joy's commanders' debaucherous ways were not exaggerated...

“Dayna, sweetling, pay the dwarven dancers from Prancing Dolly twice their asking price.” The maid nodded with a quiet smile.

Union armies trickled in through the castle gate. By the dusk you could not fit another elven archer on the battlement, no matter how strict his diet of vistrok flowers and dew has been. Knight Joy stood no chance. Yet the battle in faraway Fremorn weighed heavily on queen's mind. She met her knights in the study.

“We need war machines before Princess turns our siege to dust. Any word from allies in Fremorn?”

A velvety baritone from the dark corner of the room broke the awkward silence:

“Why, queenie, I can send my rams out even as we speak. 'Tis only a day's ride.”

“Then do it, whoever you are kind sir!”

“A mere king passing through.”

“Your grace. We shall ride there ourselves.”

Another pigeon sent. Change after change of elven steeds expired. At last, they arrived at the corpse-littered beach in the citadel's shadow. Piles of rubble around the castle was all that remained of the wall.

“Victory,” little queen's voice turned hoarse. The king nodded and passed the flask.

The castle door opened and slammed shut as soon as little queen stepped inside. Empty hallways of green marble rang with her every step. A silver-haired elf emerged in front of her. “Princess awaits your grace.” Queen followed the elf on a winding staircase to a chamber at the top of the tower. Inside, a huge shadow moved in the dim window light.

“Victory is yours, little queen,” came a husky orcish voice. “Come - the revellers' mugs are already filling.”



Posted By: Kafka
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 07:42
Suddenly, orcs on mammoths, probably Jane DarkMagic's guardians of the Secret Sacred Orclands, crashed down the mountainside and shattered trees. The elven scholars scattered, except for Spoudogelos. He stared. The second to last thing Spoudogelos thought, as he stared up at the mammoth's foot, was, “No! Now I'll never get to sneak in there and study those paintings!” Then, “Hmm, is that toe-jam?”

As his bones popped and his elf-life ended, he wished a worse death on the evil Queenie the Elve. “With vibrant colors and dynamic forms, orcs render cave painting apparitions that seem to live and breath,” he had written, and as punishment she had sent him to this doom.

Then, cold wind slithered around his bones as he slouched inside something that rocked. He opened his eyes and looked out at water rippled by icy wind. In the back of the boat, a cloaked being poled across the river. Spoudogelos glimpsed a skull under the cowl. The skeleton spoke.

“Don't ask me why, I don't know or care, but you've a choice. Go there,” and he pointed phalanges at the opposite shore, “you'll join the dead. There,” he pointed at an island, “and you can have revenge.”

In the land of the dead, he would have no chance to study the paintings, but revenge might offer an opportunity.

“Revenge!”

So the skeleton left Spoudogelos on the island shore. Nemesis, goddess of revenge, floated out of the mist, strode onto the shore and towered over him. She studied him as if he were odd or something.

“Vengeance will only be as glorious as your death, Fool!”

“Um,” he nodded.

She held up her hands and a wiggling orb of light floated between them. “Do you know what this is?”

Putrid waves of stench wafted from it. “No?”

“It will be you, soon. It is a thing called an amoeba that sometimes infests the corpses of elves, and if an orc eats it, that orc will die a gruesome death.” As she spoke the orb drifted toward Spoudogelos. He backed away, but the amoeba pounced and enveloped him, and as Nemesis faded away, she gave final instructions. “You will be a mystically powered amoeba, able to travel throughout the body of your victim. Go directly to his stomach where you will explode and kill him.”

Spoudogelos woke up again on a piece of meat that had probably once been part of himself, and a giant mouth with towering tusks and rotten teeth as tall as cliffs grew larger as it opened up to chomp. Behind the orc, Spoudogelos glimpsed a cave painting in the fire light. He tried to scurry to the side for a better glimpse, but the giant mouth darkened his world.

Spoudogelos dodged the teeth, slithered across the roof of the mouth, darted up into the nasal passages and into the tear ducts. As he swam toward the light to crawl out into the eye, he began to feel bloated and a bit queasy. He tried to squeeze out into the light, but he was too bloated. Through the blur of tears, he glimpsed vibrant lines that danced and glowed in the firelight.

Then, he popped.

On the rocking boat, the skeleton chuckled. “Weren't you supposed to have brought along a friend?”




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One day I awoke from unsettling dreams to find myself transformed into a medium-sized Illyriad player


Posted By: Kafka
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 07:44
Thanks to Queenie the Elve and Jane DarkMagic for letting me use them as characters and to Mistery for help with plotting. 

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One day I awoke from unsettling dreams to find myself transformed into a medium-sized Illyriad player


Posted By: TheBillPN
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 12:09
The Whirly Swirly Purple Portal Saga (The Short Short Version)

It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon. The rain came down in buckets, and many an orc suffered grievous head wounds from said buckets. The wolves and bears howled and roared along the mountainsides, and the mammoths plodded along. All of a sudden lightning forked through the air, rending the fields in two, forming a great blackened wasteland.

 If an observer were to have been there, they would have seen a whirly swirly purple portal coalesce in the centre of the blackened monstrosity. They would also have noticed a small purple creature, and a small not quite purple creature tumble out of said whirly swirly purple portal, engaged in quite a terrible and horrific brawl.

As the purple and not quite purple creatures were ten times the size of the largest orc, this was one hell of a battle. The very elements themselves were called into play, the earth rising into gigantic spears, the wind tumbling and twisting, destroying everything in its path, fire raining down from the heavens, and tsunamis and tidal waves rolling in from the coast.

If one were to pull the eye back, back, and back again, till the fight was but a speck, and the world was in full view, one would see many things gravitating towards the previously observed location. Vast dustclouds concealing uncountable numbers of troops can be seen marching unwaveringly towards the site of the whirly swirly purple portal.

Moving the eye back to the battle site, one would now see a vast War taking place, with over one hundred separate forces engaging in every kind of warfare, legal and illegal, chemical and biological, physical and mental. What they are fighting for, many will wonder, but none will know for sure. For in the centre of this legendary battle, a lone fight is being fought, between the purple and not quite purple creatures. Still it is not clear who is winning, or if any damage is being done. The surrounding armies are quite oblivious to their presences, and vice versa. Each party only understands that they must fight, and are filled with an insurmountable bloodlust.

As the battle draws to a close, and enemies are vanquished, orcs turn upon orcs, elves upon elves, dwarves upon dwarves, humans upon humans, brother upon brother, sister upon sister, son and daughters  fighting parents, old men fighting mere children. This may very well turn out to be an extinction level event. In split second, the world turns purple, and a large whirly swirly portal appears once more, and the purple and not quite purple creatures disappear though it. The decimated armies turn in mid stroke, and lay down their weapons, suddenly exhausted. Families reunite, races make peace with each other, the dead are buried, burned and sent out to sea. The world turns, and the sea reclaims this desolate piece of land, taking it deep into the Bitter sea.

It was a dark and stormy mid-afternoon.



Posted By: TheBillPN
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 12:10
Title included in 500 words, hope you like the story


Posted By: Dempshi
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 20:22

The days were hot and muggy as the horde fought. Soldiers bled and died beside me and I could do nothing to help them except push on. I wondered, and not for the first time, when it would end. Sweat poured off of my face and soaked my shirt. We had fought this hoard now for four days with only minutes here and there to regain some of the strength we had lost. I was beginning to think that I was at my limit when a new beast stepped up in front of me; its head looked like a dogs and it reeked like a garbage heap, it leaped at my throat and I found just enough strength to swing my ax again and cleave its head down to its shoulders. I gained enough breathing room at that moment to look at the battle around me. Blood ran like rivers over the field and the horde stretched as far as the eye could see. In that moment I knew that my kingdom was lost.

I had sent messengers to all of the surrounding lands with one last plea for help but none had returned and in my heart I knew that either the other lands had stuck to their plan to let the horde plunder the south or the messengers were dead. As I looked at the sea of beast men before me I could only see the ruin of the land that I loved so much and the destruction of its people. I had defied the supreme council by leading my men here, but I was not about to stand by and do nothing while there was breath in my lungs. When I had told my men what I planned every one of them volunteered to come with me. I had warned them in graphic terms that even if we won, which was doubtful, we would not be welcomed back as heroes but as those that had defied the law of the land. No one backed out, not a man turned away from the road that was laid out before them.

And here we were fighting a lost battle with only the hope of lessening the numbers. When we had looked upon the horde covering this valley, we knew that it would be the death of us all, but we raised our weapons, chanted our war call and marched into the battle. I was proud of my men, we had lasted longer than any of us had hoped or thought possible, four long and grueling days we had held the horde here in this valley, we neither gave nor gained any ground, until now. This day we had been pushed hard and lost a lot of ground. Our backs were to a river now, leaving us no choice but to fight and die.

I hefted my ax, feeling every muscle in my body cry out, and prepared to enter the fray again. I took one step and suddenly a white light burst out in front of me and the earth exploded. I felt myself lifted off of my feet and hurled back. I hit the ground hard and lost my breath. When I regained my breath and the stars ceased to dance in my eyes I struggled to my feet. The only thought going through my head at that moment was “What kind of devilry has the horde come up with now?" However, studying the scene in front of me I began to have hope once more.

A figure stepped in front of me, my first reaction was to heft my ax, but I was so weak that I could only swing it a little. "You will not need that right now," the figure in front of me said. The voice was soft and gentle like a spring breeze. Through the fog in my head came one thought, I know that voice. "You have fought well my friend now it is time for us to fight."

"Galena," I managed to croak out.

"Yes, it is I. A messenger arrived in my capital a day gone and reported all that had transpired, had we only known sooner..." The statement did not need to be finished. I should have trusted that my dear friend would not have let me down if she had known. The elves were a standoffish lot to some people, but when they let you in it was not with half measures. I knew them better than any other human, but still did not think they would show when I had sent the messenger to them. Now here they were, dressed in battle gear and mowing through the horde like it was a wheat harvest. I turned back to Galena with a question on my lips but a whispered word from her sent me into the arms of sleep.

 



Posted By: Veneke
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 21:29

Duty, and other errors

Thorim Ironshield raised a gauntleted hand, bringing the mounted company to a halt atop the crest of a hill. Thorim glanced across at the rider beside him, pointedly ignoring the snapping match that had started between their mounts.

"How many did your report say were down there, Master Watcher?"

The grizzled veteran shrugged impassively. "Several hundred at least."

Thorim gestured at the valley before them. "There are rather more now, I would say."

The rider said nothing but nodded once, slowly.

The moonlight glistened off the fell host arrayed beneath them. The whole valley was covered in a shifting mass of rats. Unlucky creatures, some no doubt their own kind, were torn asunder and devoured in its midst, while particularly large rats trundled through the mass like churning sticks. Screeches and squeals rose up into the night sky like a prayer to some deranged god. But the worst was the smell. The stink of droppings, and decay, and the sheer stench of so many foul creatures gathered in one place made even the hardiest of the assembled company cough and splutter.

Thorim swore quietly and fluently to himself before beckoning the company drummer closer. "Signal the company to arms lad."

The dull thud of the drums went out over the cacophony, and sixty stout dwarfs dismounted. The dour Coanhara mountain mules were left to graze on the rear slope of the hill, hopefully to be recovered. The drums began once more and the company advanced at a walking pace - shields interlocked and spears held steadily out in front.

It was slow at first, following the sure and steady beat. Then, as the sight and sound of the foul beasts lay before them the pace quickened, the ever present beat of the drums leading the company onwards into an enemy that squirmed and slithered before them.

The spearwall crashed into the side of the swirling black mass, and again and again spear pierced hide. As the company was engulfed the flanks and rear closed with shield and spear until the square became a circle. Thick black hide and tough dwarf steel were showered in blood and gore. The circle of steel grew smaller and smaller, and still the drummer played on. His steady beat the only constant in the maelstrom of death and chaos erupting around them until it, too, was lost beneath the screams.

In the pink light of the morning a lone survivor dared open a solitary working eye. Death surrounded him, but the fell horde of nightmarish beasts did not. He struggled to his feet, and made for the nearby hill. A few of the stubborn mules were grazing thoughtlessly in the tall grass. He clambered up the nearest beast, ignoring its shriek of protest, and looked east to the mountain fortress in the distance. Only the call of birdsong broke the serenity of the dawn. The torn watchdwarf's cloak fluttered briefly in the breeze as he began the slow journey home.



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"May have been the losing side, still not convinced it was the wrong one." - Captain Malcolm Reynolds


Posted By: Marty
Date Posted: 13 Feb 2015 at 21:38
Wow there is some great writing in this competition.  I am glad I am not on the judging panel!  


Posted By: Ozymandius
Date Posted: 14 Feb 2015 at 15:37
The Lost Lannigold

Now, we all know the tales of the Arakvar that Kheldon Runestaff published, based on the account of a Clan Reashag dwarf. What he barely mentioned, however, was that we Lannigolds had our own  run-in with those beasts. And one of our soldiers came out of it unscathed, without the need for luck that the silly dwarf had. This is his story, his tale of Lannigold strength and prowess...

Rene Galdstrom was just a man-at-arms. He wasn't even given a horse, resigned to slogging along on the ground with the other infantry. Still, he had it better off than others; he was a veteran sergeant, head of his own squad, and answered directly to his lord. The lord in question was a minor Lannigold noble, generally charged with talks with dwarven emissaries. As such, both Rene and his lord had spent much time in the halls of Clan Reashag. Rene himself had taken an interest in dwarven history, even going so far as to learn ancient dwarven. He'd even invested in an antique dwarven blade, one of the few things the Lannigold lords would admit to be better than their own smiths' work.

On that day, over five years ago last solstice, Rene was serving with his lord's personal guard as they traveled to meet up with a group of dwarven surveyors. The party had been directed there from the mountainhome, due to the dwarf they had traveled to find being among the surveyors. They were dangerously near known Arakvar territory, inside it in fact, but they had faith in their strength of arms. The Lannigolds had long stood as the bulwark against monstrous beasts; a few spiders wouldn't stop them.

Of course, that was before our men actually encountered them. Twelve feet tall with venom that would put a basilisk to shame, the battle was a lost cause from the start. Rene led the guard in a valiant effort to save his lord's life, but they were cut down in minutes. It was, inevitably, numbers that led to their downfall. For every one that our men cut down, a dozen more flowed in. The guards fell first, leaving just Rene and his lord, fighting back-to-back. Then the lord too fell, tripping over a dead man's leg and being trampled by the horde of spiders and their knifelike legs. Rene was all that was left.

Surrounded and outnumbered, our brave man-at-arms didn't give up hope. The creatures had retreated from his blade all throughout the battle, seeming to hiss at the ancient weapon. As he recounted, he seemed to hear bits of ancient dwarven in the hisses. So he told them to stop through the dead language.

What happened then? Well, we can't tell you all of our secrets. Kheldon Runestaff's story is what we'd rather people know...he escaped and died fighting later. But here among friends and Lannigolds? Let's just say the Citadels are coming along nicely. Now off with you. Back to class, young princeling.



Posted By: Artefore
Date Posted: 15 Feb 2015 at 13:54
A Militiaman Returns Home

He had long dreamt of this moment.  The sun brushed the distant hilltops, painting the clouds a deep crimson as the day made way for night.  The last of the birds sung from the trees that lined the earthen path, and as he strode up it, the smell of roasted chicken rode on the light summer breeze.  The top of the path led to a simple cottage, earth and thatch, but to him, the sight of a mighty keep could not be more comforting.  At last, after all the years, of toil and battle, he had returned.  

The woman who answered the door was older, greyer than he remembered, but the dimples in her cheeks shone just as they always had when she grinned at the sight of his face, and her arms around his neck and the kiss she pressed into his mouth felt just as good as he remembered.  He looked deep into her almond eyes, and whispered,

“Maria, I love you more than anything.”

“Adam!  Oh, Adam, you’re home!” she cried, and at that moment, she was as young as the day they were wed, and he found himself grinning ear to ear as he embraced her.  As he stepped over the doorway, he nodded.  “Yes,” he said, “I’m home.”


Adam found his sons whacking each other with wooden sticks in the back yard.  They rushed up to him when they saw him, excitedly shouting “Dad!  Dad!” and wrapping their arms around his midriff in a tight bearhug.  He noticed the eldest, Rory, was wearing a pail over his head like a helmet, and took it off his head, laughing.  

“Look at how you two have grown!  What’s this for, Rory?  Fighting off the Orcs?”  

“Yeah Dad!”  his son exclaimed, “I’m gonna be just like you!”


The pounding of boots shook the earth, filling his skull with noise and sound as the army marched, a living machine of leather and steel.  Suddenly, further ahead in the column, someone screamed, “AMBUSH!!” and the sky seemed to fill with black feathered javelins.  Adam barely had time to raise his shield before they fell upon him, the thud of spear tip against oak intermingling with the screams of those less fortunate.  As the orcish hordes fell upon them, he felt something graze his right thigh, and when he looked down, he saw blood on his leather.  


“Dad?  Dad?  Are you okay?”  Adam felt tugging on his shirt as Harst, his youngest son, awoke him from his daydream.  

“Yes, I’m alright.  Come here,” he said, grabbing a stick.  “Let me show you how to really swing a sword.”


Later that evening, as they sat down to roast chicken and fine apple cider, his wife pressed him with questions about his years away.  

“Was the food good?  Did you meet the Lord?  Did you see the Bitter Sea?”  He told them all he could, about the jungles of Kul Tar and the seas of Azura, about the gnomes and the fey and all the wondrous things he had seen.  

“Where’s Donald?”  she asked.  “Did he come home to his wife too?”

“Donald?  Oh, he-”


The battle swirled and leapt around him, a cacophony of screams and the ring of steel on steel. Adam held his ground, kneeling on his good leg and keeping his shield high.  A wolf leapt at him, slaver dripping from its jaws as its orcish rider urged it forward.  Adam bashed its nose with his shield, sending it veering away, yowling.  He gripped his spear, and as the wolf turned for another attack, he drove the point between its eyes.  The beast thrashed in pain, ripping the weapon from his grip, and throwing the orc out of his saddle.  He drew his sword and rushed the greenskin, screaming curses as he raced forward.  The orc only laughed, and brought his scimitar around in a sweep that knocked the sword from his hands.  Adam fell to his knees, and the orc raised his cruel blade for the final strike.  It was then that a spear tip poked through the green chest, and Donald’s familiar face grinned as it fell to the earth.  “We’ve got to look after each other!” he cried, and held out his hand.  Adam was about to take it, but another hand was faster.  The fallen orc yanked Donald off his feet and crushed him in a deadly embrace with the last of its strength, cursing in a guttural language as he squeezed the life from the man’s body.  Donald let out an unearthly howl, and the blood drained from his face.  Adam grabbed a rock and drove it against the orc’s skull, but it was too late.  Donald’s face was frozen into a deathly scream, pale white and unbreathing.  His crushed body slumped against the orc’s, and Adam knelt in the dirt and wept.  


“-he, uh, decided to stay in the army!  He’s in some far off land right right now, I reckon.”

“Oh, that’s nice!  I hope he enjoys the adventure!”

Adam said nothing.  He knew that he was safe now, in the comfort of his home and family, but the horrors of war would find a way to stay with him until the day he died.


-------------
"don't quote me on that" -Artefore


Posted By: Captain Kindly
Date Posted: 15 Feb 2015 at 15:42
"What are we doing here, Captain?" Ox asked. "This place stinks."

"Of course it stinks here, you idiot. There's a few thousands of dead bodies out there. And you should be glad you are able to smell that stink". Corporal Blunt lived up to his name.

"Again you prove why you are a bad corporal, Blunt. You lack any thinking capacity", Smiles said. "Ox wasn't commenting on the current atmosphere here, but on the landscape outside. I would make a better corporal than you are. Maybe I should work on a promotion".

"Bring it, Smiles. I would win either way, because I would be rid of your constant whining. So please give it a shot and try to kill me"

Captain Kindly sighed. This campaign wasn't going as planned. The Eagle Battle Leader had planned it so well. "Get to this tournament spot all at the same time", he had said. Most did. Most were dead now, slaughtered by casual big hits by Knight armies. Cavalry loves plains. Now all that was here to keep up Eagle Honour were his small army of bows, Nordic's army of swords, and Belle's Vale army of bows.
On plains. With hordes of DARK troops coming in.

"Shut up, Blunt, Smiles", Kindly commented, "Instead of biting each other, you should start committing on covering each others' asses. This whole thing isn't going as planned, but what battle does? We are here now, so we might as well go out in a bang. There is your answer, Ox. This place does stink, and we will work on making it stink some more."

"Ok Sir!"

"Troops approaching, Captain! It's Infantry! And only about 5000 of them." 

"Thanks, Blunt. That is still as much as we have here though. Great"

"They are lining up, Captain. Their first rank is showing their backs at us. Oh, they are pulling their breeches down...", Blunt said.

Smiles grinned. "Captain, does that look like they will be doing the defecating thing at us?"

"Yes Smiles, it does. Why are you grinning like that?"

Smiles showed an ever bigger grin. "Maybe being in the DARK makes it hard to measure distances, Captain. But I am very sure those white butts are 50 metres within firing range, and we have Longbowmen. Shouldn't they have dark asses anyway?"

"You are sergeant material, Smiles. Longbowmen, Please do me a favour and hit those buttocks!" This stand might make a difference after all. It would be a fun way to start a battle in any case...

(EE won the battle of Wolgast by occupying the spot for a 4 days time. This battle gave 4 hours there)


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http://elgea.illyriad.co.uk/a/p/60249" rel="nofollow">


Posted By: GM Rikoo
Date Posted: 16 Feb 2015 at 01:06
Contest over! I will announce the winner soon!

Rikoo




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Illyriad Community Manager / Public Relations / community@illyriad.co.uk


Posted By: GM Rikoo
Date Posted: 18 Feb 2015 at 17:14
Recently  http://forum.illyriad.co.uk/the-short-short-story-contest_topic6137.html" rel="nofollow - we hosted a quick (so we thought) contest  for the best short -- as in very short, under 500 words -- story that took the theme "Illyriad Battle." As we expected, we received a ton of great writing. A TON.

So, instead of picking a single winner, we went with three. Heck, we could have picked out 12 and would still need to give out more prizes.

Each winner gets 100 Prestige and a custom in-game medal.

Enjoy reading these. We know we did!

Rikoo


 

Hold the Line by Belegar Ironhammer

 

Steel rang upon steel beneath a blackened, storm-wrought sky. White forks of lightning flashed brilliantly, heralding deafening claps of thunder that roared across the muddy, blood-soaked battlefield. Guttural orc war-cries echoed in the night, a savage prayer to the gods of war, answered only by the roaring bellows of the dwarves, beseeching their comrades to greater efforts.

“Hold the line!” shouted Belegar, yelling with all his might. Clad in silversteel plate and surrounded by his elite bodyguards, the dwarf king stood like a rock against the orc tide, his warhammer gripped firmly in his gauntleted hands. The war axes of his chosen rose and fell in a steady rhythm, every stroke claiming the life of an orc, snapping bones like straw and pulping innards in crimson sprays of arterial blood. Crossbow bolts cut the air, hissing like vipers.

A snarling, yellow-toothed orc charged Belegar, brandishing gore-streaked scimitars in each of its meaty hands. Red, bloodthirsty eyes glowed like embers in the orc’s ugly, lopsided skull. A cloak of flayed skin wrapped about his brawny shoulders.

One of Belegar’s bodyguards leapt in front of the onrushing orc, an oath of hatred gushing from his lips. Quick as the lightning that rent the sky, the orc slashed his scimitar at the dwarf, piercing his armour and dealing a grievous wound to the dwarf’s shoulder. The dwarf sank to his knees, blood seeping from the sundered armour.

Before the orc could complete the kill, Belegar attacked, screaming a foul cry of his own in the harsh language of the dwarves. Blunt-nosed hammer and scythe-like scimitar met in a guttering sizzle of orange sparks. Pressing his assault, Belegar slammed his hammer downwards in a series of brutal, overhead strikes.

The orc parried the dwarf’s heavy-handed strokes, his every action accompanied by a savage grunt, his green face split by a feral, lipless sneer.

The mud sucked at Belegar’s boots, seeking to drag him down as he advanced. The silver-armoured dwarf pulled his hammer over his shoulder and swung it forwards just as the orc launched an attack of his own. Belegar ducked beneath the twin murder-weapons and completed his swing, his hammer crunching solidly into the orc’s left ankle, which shattered like a pane of glass in a hailstorm.

Swept off his feet, the orc landed heavily on his back, air whooshing from his lungs. The impact ripped the breath from his throat and a scimitar slipped from his hand.

Seizing the advantage, Belegar swung hard and smashed his hammer into the orc’s sternum. The force of the impact stung his hands and vibrated up his arms and into his shoulders. A column of thick black blood geysered into the air, drenching Belegar in a shower of warm, sticky rain. The dwarf’s next attack hit the orc’s skull, which exploded like rotten fruit. Bone chips ricocheted off his armour.

Belegar stood to his feet just as another wave of orcs attacked, a solid mass of muscle, sweat, and rage.

“Hold the line!”

 



 

A Beautiful Morning by Mauhaut


Jocelyn peered across the field towards the castle. Morning mist was hazing the ground, a small stream was gurgling nearby and the dawn light was flushing the castle towers with red and gold.

It was a beautiful morning.

‘Why isn't anything happening over there?’ he thought. ‘They can see us, and their scouts must have been reporting our movements for days.’

He looked back over his shoulder, the camp fires surrounded by archers and infantry, spearmen on the perimeter being handed plates of food. He noted approvingly that squads of cavalrymen and squires were passing out feed and water buckets to the horses picketed behind the tents. There was an appetising smell of bacon cooking in pans over camp fires.

A light breeze began to brush over the tops of the grasses and sighing he moved off to report to the commander.

Knight Commander Argenteous was not in the best of moods....

'Some nameless idiot has recalled most of the divisions from the other attack,' he stormed. ‘He wants them for a gala, or something equally asinine.’

'Before some other wet behind the ears royal brat gets ideas about birthday parades we'd best get this siege over and done with.'

'Sound the attack Jocelyn, plans are laid, let’s get on with it.'

The plans had indeed been laid. Jocelyn and his fellow commanders had honed and refined the battle plans over many weeks. Weeks in which their progress north had been apparently ignored.

The stream was larger here, flowing slower. Jocelyn could see fish in the water and swans were gliding majestically, outlined against the willows and reeds. So entrancing was the scene that it took a moment - a quiet, half asleep moment - before Jocelyn realised that this was no low lying dawn mist but smoke, the siege engines had done their work; this morning there were no red gold towers, just blackened beams and smoking debris. No smell of bacon this morning, another, far less appetising smell permeated everything.

It was very quiet, the quartermasters had moved everything necessary into the marginal safety of a partially still standing curtain wall and the camp was, apart from the sentries and scouts, mostly sleeping. The horses were picketed on the water meadows, the grass so long and lush that it hid the picket lines.

It was an idyllic spot. Idly Jocelyn wondered if Commander Argenteous was minded to be generous in rewarding his subordinate commanders.

‘Good land this,’ he thought. ‘Horse country, and I could grow good crops, soil looks fertile, river is wide enough and deep enough that I doubt it runs dry in summer.’

‘Miriam and the kids would love it here.’ Daydreaming, in the still of the dawn, he wandered slowly along the river bank.

Something glinted away in the distance.

Baffled, Jocelyn peered across the fields and forests, towards another castle, rising out of the mist in the distance; the dawn light flushing the castle towers with red and gold.

It was a beautiful morning.


Inspired by http://hoocher.com/Jasper_Francis_Cropsey/Chepstow_Castle_on_the_Wye_1854.jpg

And a real circumstance in the GA war.

 


 

 

A Militiaman Returns Home by Artefore

 

He had long dreamt of this moment. The sun brushed the distant hilltops, painting the clouds a deep crimson as the day made way for night. The last of the birds sung from the trees that lined the earthen path, and as he strode up it, the smell of roasted chicken rode on the light summer breeze. The top of the path led to a simple cottage, earth and thatch, but to him, the sight of a mighty keep could not be more comforting. At last, after all the years, of toil and battle, he had returned.

The woman who answered the door was older, greyer than he remembered, but the dimples in her cheeks shone just as they always had when she grinned at the sight of his face, and her arms around his neck and the kiss she pressed into his mouth felt just as good as he remembered. He looked deep into her almond eyes, and whispered,
“Maria, I love you more than anything.”
“Adam! Oh, Adam, you’re home!” she cried, and at that moment, she was as young as the day they were wed, and he found himself grinning ear to ear as he embraced her. As he stepped over the doorway, he nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I’m home.”

Adam found his sons whacking each other with wooden sticks in the back yard. They rushed up to him when they saw him, excitedly shouting “Dad! Dad!” and wrapping their arms around his midriff in a tight bearhug. He noticed the eldest, Rory, was wearing a pail over his head like a helmet, and took it off his head, laughing.


“Look at how you two have grown! What’s this for, Rory? Fighting off the Orcs?”
“Yeah Dad!” his son exclaimed, “I’m gonna be just like you!”

The pounding of boots shook the earth, filling his skull with noise and sound as the army marched, a living machine of leather and steel. Suddenly, further ahead in the column, someone screamed, “AMBUSH!!” and the sky seemed to fill with black feathered javelins. Adam barely had time to raise his shield before they fell upon him, the thud of spear tip against oak intermingling with the screams of those less fortunate. As the orcish hordes fell upon them, he felt something graze his right thigh, and when he looked down, he saw blood on his leather.

“Dad? Dad? Are you okay?” Adam felt tugging on his shirt as Harst, his youngest son, awoke him from his daydream.
“Yes, I’m alright. Come here,” he said, grabbing a stick. “Let me show you how to really swing a sword.”

Later that evening, as they sat down to roast chicken and fine apple cider, his wife pressed him with questions about his years away.


“Was the food good? Did you meet the Lord? Did you see the Bitter Sea?” He told them all he could, about the jungles of Kul Tar and the seas of Azura, about the gnomes and the fey and all the wondrous things he had seen.
“Where’s Donald?” she asked. “Did he come home to his wife too?”
“Donald? Oh, he-”

The battle swirled and leapt around him, a cacophony of screams and the ring of steel on steel. Adam held his ground, kneeling on his good leg and keeping his shield high. A wolf leapt at him, slaver dripping from its jaws as its orcish rider urged it forward. Adam bashed its nose with his shield, sending it veering away, yowling. He gripped his spear, and as the wolf turned for another attack, he drove the point between its eyes. The beast thrashed in pain, ripping the weapon from his grip, and throwing the orc out of his saddle. He drew his sword and rushed the greenskin, screaming curses as he raced forward. The orc only laughed, and brought his scimitar around in a sweep that knocked the sword from his hands. Adam fell to his knees, and the orc raised his cruel blade for the final strike. 

It was then that a spear tip poked through the green chest, and Donald’s familiar face grinned as it fell to the earth. “We’ve got to look after each other!” he cried, and held out his hand. Adam was about to take it, but another hand was faster. The fallen orc yanked Donald off his feet and crushed him in a deadly embrace with the last of its strength, cursing in a guttural language as he squeezed the life from the man’s body. Donald let out an unearthly howl, and the blood drained from his face. Adam grabbed a rock and drove it against the orc’s skull, but it was too late. Donald’s face was frozen into a deathly scream, pale white and unbreathing. His crushed body slumped against the orc’s, and Adam knelt in the dirt and wept.

“-he, uh, decided to stay in the army! He’s in some far off land right right now, I reckon.”
“Oh, that’s nice! I hope he enjoys the adventure!”


Adam said nothing. He knew that he was safe now, in the comfort of his home and family, but the horrors of war would find a way to stay with him until the day he died.

 


 

Thanks again to our excellent players!

 

GM Rikoo



-------------
Illyriad Community Manager / Public Relations / community@illyriad.co.uk


Posted By: GM Stormcrow
Date Posted: 18 Feb 2015 at 19:53
As GM Rikoo has said, it was extremely difficult coming up with a shortlist, let alone the winners.  Some really astonishingly good writing on display in this thread, and all the participants get mad props from the team here.

Many thanks!

SC


Posted By: Rill
Date Posted: 19 Feb 2015 at 02:12
Congratulations to the winners and all the great writers.  Well done!



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