The Stand

[Gnarlitch]

The night was quiet as he walked through the army's encampment, at least as quiet as it can be when surrounded by thousands of armed men and horses. His breath seamed in the cool night air, a strange contrast to the oven-like heat generated in these hill at mid-day. Not a single guard challenged him as he walked, none dared. His face and sigil both were recognized by all here. Some still showed some faint friendliness in their recognition, as a nod in passing. Yet none broke the silence and none were too overt in their silent greetings, hoping to avoid the taint of treason, no doubt.

 

Treason. His entire adult life, and much of his teenage years also, had been spent in service to his king and country. He had forsaken all else in his service. He had no land to till, no wife to kiss, and no children to hold. If he died this day he had no son to carry on his family name, yet, none would regret the lack there of.

 

He gritted his teeth as he passed men he had trained with, fought with, might die with, and yet they did their utmost to pretend he was not there. He was already dead to these soldiers, no matter that he walked among them still with breath in his body and blood in his veins. If it weren't for his vows he would leave them to rot in Hell.

 

Upon reaching his own encampment the reception became somewhat less chilly although still strained. He found a paige and ordered a meeting of all senior officers in his tent immediately and was respectfully told that they were already there awaiting his pleasure. He grunted in response to this news, unsurprized yet oddly touched. Before entering the tent he paused to clear his mind and wipe away the unaccustomed dampness in his eyes.

 

Attention to order! All hail the General!

 

"At ease, men. *pauses to wait for the officers to return to their seats and pretends not to notice that more than two-thirds of those seats remain empty* As you know I have just met with Lord Talhert. The Iron Legion is ordered disbanded forth with, as rumored. Also, as rumored, those wishing to profess their loyalty to the crown are "encouraged" to swear the new oaths and join the regular army."

 

*pause for general grumbles*

 

"Lord Talhert gives his word that each and every man who swears the oaths will be treated cordially and without prejudice as long as he displays loyalty to the Council and its authority..."

 

"The Council's authority? The Council has stripped the Crown of almost all authority when it is most needed and now they demand we swear allegiance to them instead of the King?!"

 

"AT EASE, LIEUTENANT! We will have none of that here. We have a duty, whether or not the Council sees it as such or no. That duty is to the King and His heir. I would urge each of you to take the wiser course, swear the new oaths, and protect the Crown as best you may. I have not been allowed that option. DISMISSED!"

 

Many voices shout for further explanation as he walks back out of the tent, lost once again in his own thoughts. Stepping into his private chambers, he finds that his squire has also anticipated the needs of the moment. Quickly and wordlessly they strap him into his armor. It is not the usual ornate heavy plate his rank is entitled to. Instead he dons a plain and battered steel breastplate over unadorned chain and leather. The only ornamentation is his sigil emblazoned on his shield; a dark grey gauntleted fist on a forest green field with one silver star placed directly above the fist. Over his armor he straps a pair of longswords across his back and places a dagger at his belt. Then, hefting a heavy spear with his personal banner attached near the head, he walks from the tent.

 

The pre-dawn light finds him alone well in advance of so called "friendly" lines. He picks a spot near the center of the narrow canyon where some long ago cataclysm has deposited a jumble of large rocks. He plants the but of his spear into the ground so that it will stand on its own, leaving his banner to flutter slightly in the almost non-existent breeze. Here is where he will meet the enemy charge, and, hopefully, redeem his honor before he dies. Then, there in the swirling morning mist he kneels and prays to the God of his Fathers.

 

I will end the story here for now, as 1) it seems a fitting place to stop, and 2) distractions abound and I will not beable to give the story justice if I continue at this moment.

[Tanuchan]

Happy to see you applying, Gnarlitch! And I really like your story so far. Please, do finish it... I'm curious as to what's going to happen!!

 

Sits down chatting amiably with Gnarlitch, hoping to help time pass while Wyvern is somewhere else...

 

~Tanny

[purple_shadows]

I very much enjoyed this and hope that you choose to continue it. I also hope that you don't mind if my rat companion and I sit with you for a bit.

 

*PS sit gingerly atop her favorite pile of paper work and opens her knitting bag, out of which climbs a rather slender, white rat. She pulls out her knitting needles.*

 

"Would you like me to knit you something? A scarf peerhaps? maybe a cloak?Damnit," she frowns, "I don't seem to have enough yarn for a cloak....well, I guess a scarf will have to do. I hope you don't mind red, it's all I have left at the moment." Without waiting for a reply, she begins to knit.

 

Gnarlitch sighs and mutters to himself, something about "some people's children" and leans back against the wall to wait for his acceptence stamp, hoping it doesn't take too long. He sighs to himslef, realizing he could be her for a very long time.

[Gnarlitch]

You guys make me laugh. I'll write part two and post it hopefully tonite (friday). If not, by the end of the weekend.

[Gnarlitch]

The sounds of tramping feet and the clink of armor awakens him from his meditative state and alerts him to the approaching dawn. He gets to his feet and makes a final check of his gear and weapons.

 

Unsurprizingly, the sounds of soldiers starts to come closer to his position...but it is coming from the wrong direction! he looks back the way he came, trying to see through the dark and the swirling mist. Soon he is able to discern the outline of a battle standard he recognizes, that of the Iron Legion.

 

Never the pride of the kingdom, the approaching troops were even more ragged looking than normal. The Iron Legion historically was not a unit full of pride and esprit de corps. Instead it contained the dregs of humanity. In exchange for a commitment to two years of enlisted service, any mans previous crimes were forgiven, no questions asked. Discipline had been overly harsh and as such morlae horribly low. Men joined the Legion only as a last resort, know full well that it might not be a death sentence, but almost. But that was before.

 

In the little over a year that he had held command things had changed. Instead of the men spending their days in mainly hard labor, he had instituted a training regimen/ One that actually prepared the enlisted soldiers for actual battle. They now spent the majority of their time training and preparing for the role for which they were used, as shock troops.

 

In time of war the dungeons would always be cleard and the prisoners added to the ranks of the Legion, willing or not. Even those taken for petty thievery would be forced into the Legion. Then, where ever the battle raged the hottest, when ever the need was desperate, the Legion was sent in. the intent was not for them to defeat the enemy, simply to either slow them down or stop them by sheer weight of numbers. Casualties would usually be between eighty and ninety percent of the unit sent. At least that is how it had been. Now these men, having a hope of survival, fought more willingly and with greater enthusiasm. Now, instead of merely being meat thrown into the grinder they did some grinding of their own. He was proud of how well they had acquitted themselves in the war thus far.

 

The approach of the senior sergeant broke him from hs reverie. "Your orders, sir?"

 

"Return to your defensive positions, Sergeant, this spot is mine alone."

 

"Begging your pardon, sir, but the men would refuse to turn back sir." Just then, the units remaining officers rode up as a group.

 

"Captain Gormonth, what is the meaning of this?"

 

"Sergeant, see to the positioning of the men, on the double. Defensive ring centered on the standard. The standard shall not fall!"

 

"The standard shall not fall, aye sir!" The sergeant walked off, leaving the captain and lieutenants to deal with the general.

 

"Captain?"

 

"Well, sir, it's like this. When we explained to the men what was happening, they wanted to stand by you, sir. All of the loyal men are here with us. We have just over two fists, plus officers."

 

"I can't allow you men to do this. You were given the opportunity to start over. I order you to take it!"

 

"Excuse me, sir. But we can't do that. You see, when the men began striking camp this 'ere major comes storming up and orders us to fall in with his unit. Says we are ordered to follow him now. Well, sir, the lieutenant got a might upset at some o' the things he said and how he said 'em. When the major demanded that I take the Lieutenant itno custody to be tried as a traitor we told him he could go bugger himself. He didn't take that very well. I ordered the lads to stop what they were doing and form up. We marched them out that very moment, leaving behind everything but weapons and armor. Figured we didn't need any o' the rest anymore."

 

"We're here to make a stand with you, sir. The Standard has been planted, the Legion will live or die on this spot, sir!"

 

Moved by this response, the general aquiesced and began overseeing troop placement and hasty defensive positions. Much too soon the sound of pipes and drums came from farther down the canyon, rapidly followed by the sound of many marching feet. Just as the sun was cresting the ridge to their left the enemy charged.

 

The Legion did not try to block the entire width of the canyoun, their numbers were too few for such tactics. Instead they formed a ring of interlocking shields with pikes sticking out in all directions. The enemy cavalry charge crashed over their formation, with a mighty crash and a great rending of metal accompanied by the screams of both men and horses. Again and again they came, like great waves washing over a rock in the surf, wearing it down.

 

Soon, the cavalry was called back as the foot had arrived. The men of the Legion, having started the morning with 237 men and officers, now numbered less than one hundred and fifty. Surrounding them was an army so vast as it was not numbered. The enemy soldiers moved past the embattled position much like a river flowing around an island. But, like an island is often flooded over in the spring rains, so it appeared that the Legion was drowned in that tide of onrushing steel and flesh.

 

Two days later when the enemy commander rode through that same canyon he paused on seeing the Legion's position. He questioned a sub-officer as to why this unit was here so far in advance of the main defensve positions. As the officer did not know he was ordered to find out. the commander then moved on, more pressing issues of the ongoing campaign on his troubled mind. Behind him a tattered blue standard fluttered in the slight breeze, revealing the sigil of a clenched iron fist. Around this standard were the bodies of some two hundred men, and around those bodies was a veritable wall of more than a fifteen hundred dead stacked like cordwood. At the end they had had to climb over the bodies of their fallen comrades to reach their foe. Years later a monument was erected on that spot, comemorating the last stand of some dedicated men.

 

 

This story is an excerpt from a story I have been trying to assemble in my head. I see the scenery and hear the clash of arms...in my head. Yet, when it comes to putting it all into words and thence into a coherent and cohesive story, the task overwhelms me. I hope that this is at least satisfactory for the application however.

[Katzaniel]

Loved it, Gnarlitch. Immersive.

 

I did want to point out a line or two near the beginning where you're using asterisks for actions. They felt out of place.

 

The rest was good! I'm very glad you posted the second part.

 

It'll be good to see you accepted when Wyvern gets the time.

[Gnarlitch]

Yeah, I started off as if I were writing it for a game thread and not as a "normal" piece of writing. Most of the writing I do anymore is in the werewolf games where it is a bit more free form. I forget to use the proper rules, etc. outside of the gmaes. *shrugs*

[purple_shadows]

"Excuse me, but would you mind handing me my specs?" PS requests without pausing her work on the scarf. Gnarlitch stands upabruptly, relizing she is talking to him, and bumps into a pile of paper. PS points to a stack just to the left of her, and her rat companion runs to retrieve them. They are the thickest glasses he has ever seen, and the rat is not having an easy timeof carrying them. Gnalitch takes them from the mouse and holds thm out to PS. She gropes the air and finnally grabs his wrist, pulling him to the floor. She feels her way down until she finds his hand, holding the glasses she requested. He realizes she is blind.

 

She puts them on, blinks a few times, and squints up at him. "I much enjoy your story telling blities. I've never been good with stories. Thank you for telling your tale, I'm sure Wyvern will be along shortly."

[Wyvern]

"What makes you say that?" comes a muffled voice from underneath a huge pile of paperwork, causing Gnarlitch to abruptly jump and purple shadows' rat to immediatly scurry under the beginnings of her scarf. The mass of paperwork surrounding the Recruiter's desk suddenly begins to shift and sway as two scaly claws dig their way out of the top of it, followed by a scaly head wearing a mining helmet. Searching around the room and suddenly noticing Gnarlitch seated next to purple shadows, Katzaniel, and Tanuchan, Wyvern tosses off the helmet and exclaims:

 

"My apologies, I was searching for the latest issue of 'Naughty Elves - Drow Ritual Edition' amidst this Office clutter..."

 

Wyvern hops out of the paper stack and bows to Gnarlitch before immediatly turning to his desk and pressing a purple button labeled "Emit Dwarven Ale Fumes" located there.

 

"Sorry for the wait..." hisses Wyvern to Gnarlitch as the button begins flashing on and off. "The Elder Recruiter Dwarves should be here shortly to look over your application. I figure that, being a dwarf yourself, fellow dwarves will be able to better judge your writing..."

 

After a short moment of waiting, the familiar "hi ho, hi ho" chants of the dwarves are heard approaching the Office. A few moments later, the main entrance of the Office swings open and the Elder Recruiter Dwarves enter in a single file line. They immediatly pause to sniff at the air, however, and then promptly turn around and march back out in the direction they came from. Wyvern raises a brow, his scaly complexion a mixture of curiousity and confusion.

 

"Strange..." hisses the lizard, peering out the Office door as the Dwarves turn a bend and march out of sight. "That's the first time I've ever seen that happen... they usually respond without so much as a quirk."

 

Shrugging to himself, the overgrown lizard stamps Gnarlitch's application story ACCEPTED as the chants of the dwarves faintly chime in the distance:

 

Hi ho,

Hi ho,

That's quite some stink you know!

While we're impressed, it's quite a pest,

Hi ho,

Hi ho hi ho hi ho...

 

;-)

 

OOC: An ACCEPTED application, Gnarlitch... welcome to the Mighty Pen! I look forward to reading more of your writing, and participating with you in future roleplaying threads.

[Tanuchan]

Congratulations Itchy!!

 

*hugs*

 

~Tanny

[Valdar and Astralis]

Far away, Valdar capers happily along the lost paths, with a magazine tucked under his arm. A purple ear sticks out seductiveley on the cover before the Planewalker strides along to his next destination. . .

 

>>>o_-<<<

[Gnarlitch]

gee...uh...did someone mention that Ihave the strange body odor flaw? I mean, really now...*shrugs*

 

 

:wizzie: :woot: :dragon4:

[Tanuchan]

*shrugs*

 

Suppose I've got a cold... can't smell anything...

[Gnarlitch]

lol

[purple_shadows]

PS finishes the remaining stitches of the lumpy tangled, knotted mess in her lap reffered to as a scarf, and hands it to Gnarlitch. "Welcome to the Pen my friend, enjoy your stay. I would help to celebrate, but I have a hut to build." She whistles and her rat climbs into her knitting bag. Together they take their leave. Everyone in the room hopes to themselves that her hut building abilities are better than her knitting.

[Katzaniel]

Yays!

[Jammeez]

Jammeez steps into the office, and sniffs delicately. "Ah, I gather that my sweetie has preceded me here." Looks around, but doesn't see Itchy anywhere. "Well, he can't have been gone long. Maybe he will return."

 

After putting her manuscript down on a vacant seat, Jammeez begins perusing the bulletin board, over which is haphazardly strewn the works of previous applicants, most of which are stamped in large red letters ACCEPTED. She finds several very interesting, and some a bit inscrutable, others quite hillarious...finally she sees one written in a familiar hand.

 

"Why, Itchy, it's Wonderful!"

Edited April 21, 2004 by Jammeez

[DeanTheAdequate]

Nice one Gnarly! Glad you've found an outlet for your... dare I say... GREATNESS!