The Culture Flip

[Chingis Khan]

Hi all. I'm new to this forum, but I thought I'd share a story I wrote on the other forum. It's a bit long, so I'm breaking it up into several parts for easier digestion. Hope you enjoy it.

THE CULTURE FLIP

The tavern was small. Dust and dirt was building up in the corners an under tables as though it meant to invade; not the sort of place to find any respectable noble. Yet that was exactly where Lord Rikenstein found himself, no, not Lord Rik anymore - just Jon , he silently mused. Grouped around Jon were several of the fine locals inhabiting this poor excuse for a town. No matter, soon my work here will be done and I can move to the next filth bucket. , the thought almost brought a chuckle to Jon, but he swallowed it and continued with his spiel, "as I was saying, the King is growing weak. Sure, old Bismark was quite a general back in his heyday, but...well, have any of you seen that French Queen? Now there's a ruler; looks that could twist a man's manhood into knots! Smart to go with it too. Yup, the God's above surely expanded a good deal of effort on that one." Apprecietive chuckles arose from around the table.
The mood around the table was light, which was exactly the way Jon wanted it. Just enough to suck these fools in, to make them see that he was "one of them". It was now time to deliver the sword. "Speaking of France, have any of you fine men been there?" Without waiting for an answer he pressed on, "I have. At Burlogne. The battle of Two Hills."
Jon's face grew darker with each word as his voice lowered and the peasants around him now leaned in closer. The somber mood was part of his strategy, people tended to remember things much better if they could associate memory with emotion, but the somber mood he was creating was also quite natural. He really had been at the Two Hills and try as he might, he never could get those images out of his head. One image stood out among all the rest,
A knight charging down a single spearman. Sunlight reflecting on the upraised sword. The noise of battle muting as if distant thunder filled his head. The peasant drops the spear as nerveless hands raise as if to ward off the inevitable, the look of stark terror written across the man's face. The dark stain of urine on the man's breeches.
Strangely, Jon couldn't remember that sword ever falling. He continued,
"The battle, as I'm sure you all know, was won by our glorious army. But you probably don't know how bravely the French fought. Or how bravely they died." The lie tasted like ash in his mouth as he recalled that French spearman, "They fought hard because they had something to fight for! Their cities are wonderous. Great temples with massive stone columns the like of which I've never seen before or since. Huge open marketplaces with entertainment at all times of the day. Street theaters all around, I could go on but I think you see the picture." Lord Rik took a deep breath before going on, "And it's all because of Queen Joan. She loves her people and her land flourishes while the only thing Bismark does is destroy things!"
The conversation continued for a while longer before changing to other topics, but by the time Lord Rik left the tavern, he heard the dark mutters of uprising behind him. A slow smile crawled across his lip, "Another small town. One by one until I can work on the "great" city of Heidelburg itself." He felt like laughing. It would be a good day.

[Chingis Khan]

Marcus scurried through the halls of the mighty Drachensfell Castle, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone floor. He wrung his hands together nervously as he worried how the King would take this news. Marcus arrived at the massive wooden doors; on the other side the King could be heard snoring - even through the heavy oak. One of the royal gaurds standing watch spoke without deigning to look at Marcus, "State your business."
"I...I have a message.... for the King. It's....it's quite important."
Now the royal gaurd turned his head to look at Marcus, "Then you'd better give it to him, eh?". With that he turned and pounded his mailed fist against the doors twice, and swept the door open, motioning to Marcus to proceed. As Marcus started in, the gaurd leaned down, "I hope it's important, I haven't seen a beheading for a few weeks now." And gave Marcus a slow, hideous grin which wasn't friendly at all. No, thought Marcus, that grin was not at all friendly.
Marcus had taken no more then three steps into the King's bedchamber when Bismark himself fairly roared from under the covers, "What in God's name... a man cannot sleep?"
"My lord, I bear important news from the North. There have been a number of small uprisings!"
This all came out in a rush as Marcus practically fell to his knee. He noted his own trembling hands and the pale cast of his skin and decided to continue before he fainted, ".....it looks as though Heidelburg itself may...it may...well.... it may revolt!"
"WHAT!!!"
Bismark threw threw the covers aside and rolled his fat, heaving body out of the bed. "Get my war counselours, assemble my army," his voice went muffled for a while as he struggled to pull a robe over his enormous belly, "I don't believe this! After all I do for..." He stopped and refocused his eyes on Marcus, who was still quivering on the floor,"How reliable is this information?"
"Sire?"
"GODDAMMIT, I SAID HOW RELIABLE IS THIS!"
"It's...all true, I swear", this came out as a squeek.
"Hmmmm, well I suppose that I'll just have to teach them who their master is, don't you agree peasant?"
"Yes, of course your Lordship", Marcus was fairly weak with relief. Maybe he'd get through this after all!
Bismark had finished dressing himself and now called to his gaurds, "Is the war room being readied? What are you doing just standing around for? Get me something to eat, and... oh yes, take this foolish peasant to the headsman."
Marcus fainted.

[Chingis Khan]

Lord Jon Von Rikenstein followed the escort to meet Baron Korlof. As he trailed through the seemingly endless corridors, which were obviously designed to impress and intimidate young lordling and their ladies with large, rich tapestries and gilded statues, he thought back to his close call not a month past.
He had been in a small village somewhere south of the Southern garrisons.
"As I was saying, Joan is quite some ruler. Yes indeed, old Bismark is just past his time...", he was interrupted by a mug being slammed on the table in front of him. Forthy beer slopped over the rim and spilled on Jon's lap. He jumped to his feet, wiping the beer off. The mug's owner was right there, close enough to Jon that he could smell the man's truly disgusting breath. He wrinkled his nose in disgust and opened his mouth to protest. The man didn't give him a chance to speak,
"Who do you think you are? What you're saying is like... treason and all that. We're good King's men we are, and we don't like traitors!"
Jon realised that once treason is mentioned out loud, everybody would of course join in the cry for fear of their own skin - no matter that most of these men had been agreeing with him not five minutes ago. So he did the only thing he could have. He balled his fist and broke the man's nose. An outcry raised up at that and no matter that Jon had been winning the crowd up to this point, he was still an outsider and these locals were about to teach him that lesson. As a knight, he felt somewhat disgusted for having to fight these common folk, but the alternative just didn't suit him at all. He let his contempt show openly on his face as he reached for his dagger. The look on his face then froze as he realised his dagger was missing, "Thieving scum", he roared as he picked up the chair he had so recently been using and now used again in a slightly different fashion as he swung it over his head. He was surprised it didn't break as it connected with the head of the ugly fellow. There was a definate cracking sound, however. He felt like giggling at the thought and now he was smiling as he swung back and forth, scattering the folk around him. The smile left his face as two men hit him from the side at the same time. Once on the ground, everybody found their courage and started piling over, kicking and punching at all three men on the ground. "This is not looking good", thought Jon. He felt heavy boots connecting pretty well with his ribs now, as the locals got a feel for it, but now another, nastier grin had crossed his lips because he saw where his dagger had fallen under the table. That's when things got really, really ugly...
He remembered killing most of them and chasing the others off, but there had been one young man who had been too scared to run. With a snarl, Jon pulled the bloody dagger back for one more thrust when an image of a spearman came to his mind. The snarl was replaced with a look of disgust, at himself mostly.
"What's your name, boy?"
The young man looked to be on the verge of loosing his bladder, but he managed to stutter, "M...M..Marcus, sire"
"Well Marcus, I've just given you an extension of your pathetic life. Use it well", with that, he wiped his dagger, turned and walked away.
"Lord Rikenstein, sire", the announcement snapped Jon back to the present and he almost showed the shock on his face. Almost, but he caught himself in time. A good thing too, for these damned nobles liked to play their games and could read a book out of any expressions you were foolish to let paint your face. Give them a lever to work on you with and you may well pay dearly. Unfortunately, Jon knew all about that.
His escort backed out of the room as Jon stepped forward to clasp the Baron's arm in his own, "Baron Korlof, my good friend. It has been many years, has it not?"
"Indeed it has been my old friend."
"And look at you now, a Baron no less! However did you manage that? And command of the Heidelburg region as well? Who would have thought it. I remember twenty years ago when we were both squires, green as they came too!"
"I remember well, Jon. And I seem to remember that you got me in more trouble then a young squire should see."
They both laughed at that, but Jon noted there was a slightly uneasy edge to Korlof's laughter. He must know then that Jon had not come to merely catch up on old times, but to collect on an old debt. So if he was uneasy, Jon would keep him that way. No mention of what he wanted yet. He had to be careful, and patient. He just needed to find his own lever on the old Baron, and when he pried he would move a nation.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Very good start, much intrigue.

[Chingis Khan]

The war room at Drachensfell castle was filled with excited chatter as the various lords and generals sat at their positions around the White Stone table. The White Stone was a huge slab of the finest marble, transported from the long ago provinces of the once mighty Roman empire. Around the room, the royal gaurds stood to attention, their highly polished plate mail gleaming brightly in the light of a thousand candles. And of course, the honor gaurd took their customary position three paces behind the King's chair.
Bismark, for all his blustering behaviour, was no fool. After all, no man lives to be as old as... how old am I now? , as old as he was. He knew many of his so called trusted retainers would turn on him like a rabid wolfpack given half an opportunity; it was a testament to his politacal savvy that he still ruled Germany after so many years. Now, as he lounged in the great throne at the head of the White Stone, gazing around at his war counsel, he could have no idea that many miles to the North, Lord Rikenstein was meeting with Baron Korlof and laying plans that could end with the death of a King.
Lord Zouvee had everyone's attention now; he was standing and gesturing quite wildly. Bismark fancied he could see bits of spittle falling from the lord's mouth. The King decided it was time to pay attention.
"...and there is no WAY that a buch of flaming farmers could possibly, possibly ever take a whole city from us. The whole idea is flipping ridiculous! I mean, we have a large garrison at Heidelburg, right? How will abunch of PEASANTS ever defeat them!"
Bismark noted, with slight alarm, that lord Zouvee's eyes had taken on a slight reddish tint and...was that steam coming from the man's nose?!?
"This has never happened before! The whole idea is...is..." Lord Zouvee stopped to wipe the spittle from his mouth, "...is STUPID. WHOEVER THOUGHT THAT HEIDELBURG COULD BREAK AWAY FROM MIGHTY GERMANY CAN ROT IN HELL!!! DO YOU HEAR ME!!! DO YOU? I WILL NEVER BUY FROM HEIDELBURG. I WILL..."
King Bismark sat up in definate alarm and motioned to the royal gaurdsmen behind the lord. As they carried the stricken lord Zouvee away everyone tried to ignore his rantings as they studied their fingernails, or took a sudden interest in the tapestries upon the walls.
After an uncomfortable silence, Bismark cleared his throat. Several people jumped. "I have reconsidered sending the army to deal with this small matter. I believe the reports to be greatly exaggerated", after all, Zouvee was right, wasn't he? "I have also recieved word from Baron Korlof." This news jerked everybodies head up in sudden interest. "He tells of several SMALL uprisings in the outlaying villages, but nothing serious. All of these riots were caused by one man. The Baron informs me that Lord Rikenstein has resurfaced and is causing mischief. As you all know, Lord Rikenstein was once a trusted member of my personal Honor Gaurd. I counted him as my friend until he betrayed me. I also stripped him of all his lands, monies, and trappings before exiling him. The penalty for returning to German soil is death by slow torture." The King was quite pleased he had managed to keep a straight face thus far. Of course Lord Rikenstein had betrayed him. He had betrayed him by refusing to keep his mouth shut about Bismark's private indulgences. Well, he had shown the great Lord Rik a lesson in politics had he not? He continued, "At Baron Korlof's request, I am sending a detachment of the Red Fist knights. This should relieve the pressure on the current garrisons at Heidelburg and secure the region. "
"My Liege", the interruption came from the general of Drachensfell's main army. "What of the army? At your request I have assembled them in very short time and they stand ready."
"Hmmph, send them to the Westerly grasslands... for training or something. Seems to me like they're getting fat and lazy anyway."
Luckily the King didn't notice the way one man stifled a laugh, or the way a few more took that sudden interest in that tapestry. The conversation continued for a long while, but the King had made up his mind, so he went back to daydreaming while his counsel carried on.
The French Palace at Paris was one of the grandest in the world; no expense had been spared in the construction. Each room was a demonstration in exquisite artwork. The Queen's bedchamber was no exception. Lord Jon Von Rikenstein lounged on the expansive, yet feather soft, mattress, propped up by a collection of silky pillows. It had been a hard few days, riding from Heidelburg to the Great Palace of Paris. But as tired as he was, the sight facing him seemed to revitalize him, body and soul. Queen Joan D'Arc was wearing those silken underthingies again - and not much else. She stood with her weight on her right leg, hands on her hips and her chin held high. Her entire demeanour was that of challenge and Lord Rik never turned from a challenge...
She turned out to be a worthy opponent.
Much later, as they lay in bed together, the Queen spoke, "How did your mission in Germany fare?"
"It went well. Better than I could have hoped."
"Did you visit with the Baron of Heaidelburg?"
"Of course. He played perfectly into my hands. He betrayed me to Bismark, as I knew he would. But my men ambushed his messenger and changed a few words that will make all the difference. In the meanwhile, both Bismark and my dear friend the Baron believe they have the situation well in hand. I can only hope Bismark was calmed enough by the Baron's assurance that all is well to not send his armies. And if he chooses another division besides the Red Fists..... Well, I have contingency measures prepared."
"I am sure we will succeed, my sweets. After all, once Heidelburg is in our hands, the great French Armies stand ready to defend her. Bismark has grown too old and too soft to have the heart for a full scale war", Joan trailed off as Jon reached over to her to prove once again, that he was a most mighty champion....
It had been two months past since Jon had lain in the arms of the French Queen, Joan d'Arc. In that time he had not been idle; all the plans he had set in motion were rapidly coming to fruition. He had gathered all the German outlaying villages to him and assembled a motley army of farmers, smithies, tailors and other peasant workers. The the ragtag army had been secretly bolstored by many of Joan d'Arc's personal gaurd; and then there was the Red Fists, sent by Bismark himself. Jon was particularly pleased that Bismark had fallen for that, had he forgotten that Jon commanded the Red Fists before he was called to act as Bismark's honor gaurd? Jon had stayed in contact with his old unit, learning much valuable information about Bismark's habits and quirks. That was how Jon had learned that Bismark longed to take to the field of battle again. From there he formed his plans to take revenge on the King of Germany. How long had it been since Bismark had unjustly stripped Jon of everything he had loved? Six, Seven years? He only needed to start a war large enough to lure Bismark on to the field and from there... Once exiled from his homeland, it had not been easy to make his way into the French Gaurds, but not due to a lack of fighting skill, after all, he was the finest swordsman in Germany, but more because of his German heritage. He had to earn every promotion by his own skill. But once he was gaurding the Queen herself, as part of her honor gaurd, it was surprisingly easy to seduce her. With that accomplished, he now had an army behind him. No matter that the French army had never won a major battle against the German; Lord Rik had taught the French new tactics and strategy to defeat the Germans.
Now, as Jon surveyed the battle plans laid out in front of him, he mused that he may well need some of those tactics. He had heard that Baron Korlof was fielding the entire garrison of Heidelburg against Lord Rik's army of peasants. Not only was the peasant army outnumbered, the cities garrisons were trained soldiors. They also had fine German armor and well made weaponry whilst Lord Rik's army had only wooden shield's for armor and very little melee weaponry. Although the Red Fist's were some of the best trained knights in the land, and heavy cavalry were a force to be reckoned with anywhere in the land, Lord Jon was unsure about the coming battle. His secret meetings with his loyal friend's in the Red Fists revealed the Baron's army's strengths. Over a thousand archers, almost four thousand infantry (with seven hundred heavy infantry), three thousand spearmen, and of course three hundred of the Red Fist Heavy Cavalry knights.
Lord Rik's army consisted of just over two thousand peasant foot soldiors, three hundred Red Fist knights (who were really on his side!) and four hundred of the French Gaurds.
Nine thousand trained German troops against three thousand farmers, half of which didn't even have a sword yet! Lord Rik's frown deepened as he continued poring over the battle plans. If he lost the fight here, then it had all been for nothing! He had to get Bismark's attention and if taking Heidelburg for the French didn't take his notice.... Still, Jon had to find a way to defeat the Garrisons of Heidelburg. If only he knew the Baron's plans. Suddenly it struck him; looking at the maps and plans laid before him, Jon knew how the Baron would deploy his troops.... and Jon would make him pay dearly! A smile grew across Lord Rik's lips as he could taste the forthcoming victory. Soon, my dear Bismark, soon we shall meet and I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!!!

[ChrisiusMaximus]

great stuff keep it coming.

[Chingis Khan]

Lord Rik stood at the head of the table in the crowded war tent. Seated around the table were the various commanders of each regiment of the peasant army along with the two French commanders, and of course, the lieutenant of the Red Fist Knights. Lord Jon laid out his plans for defeating the German army,
"Baron Korlof is a most competent general, but his one major failing lies in being overly cautious. This will be in his favor considering the huge numerical advantage he possesses. Thusly, he will follow strict German war doctrines and strategy; but his second, and most fatal, failing is an inability to adapt to a changing battlefield." Jon hoped that his old friend had not changed in this respect, "We will definately change the field when the Red Fists reveal their true alliegance. Our biggest concern is the timing of this event. We already know that the Red Fists are the only heavy cavalry in the Baron's army, besides the Baron and his few retainers that is. German battlefield strategy since the Great Roman Wars has remained very effective, but unchanged. It reads like this; first, the archers fire. No less then three volleys, but no more then six. Whilst the archers are at work, the infantry has already begun their march on the enemy. Usually only two thirds are sent forward with the final third being held in reserve. When the armies close ranks, the cavalry is sent out. Either to the right or the left flanks, or if the occasion permits, straight through the middle. This gives the infantry a chance to destroy most of the palisades or other anti-horse measures the enemy may have deployed. But the cavalry is always the final blow."
Lord Rik took a deep breath and glanced around at his officers. He noted more then a few pale faces. With nearly three times their number to face against trained and well equiped troops, he could understand their concern. As for the French, they knew all too well the effectiveness of the mighty German army but to their credit, they kept their faces composed. Jon continued, "As effective as these strategies are, remember, they were developed in the South, against the Roman armies where most of the land was open and flat. The German army has forgotten how to fight amongst wooded glades and forests. Baron Korlof will look to find the nearest open land that he thinks he can pin us to; and that land is the farms just west of Glen Oaks. That is where he will seek to do battle. And that is where we will defeat him!"
Jon pieced out his battle plans and as he spoke, the pale faces surrounding him started to grin as hope replaced the grim acceptance of things to come.

The Baron sat astride his steed, surveying the fields at Glen Oaks. He wore a strange half-smile which his commanders would have told him, had they the guts, made him look somewhat of a simpleton. However, Baron Korlof was most pleased with himself; he had outmanuvered that fool Rikenstein and now had him right where he wanted him - on the open fields. He looked across the fields (why were those fields wet? It hadn't rained in over a week) to where the ragtag army faced his mighty army; why, they didn't even have any armor! Just those ridiculously oversized wooden shields and less then half had a real weapon! The rest of the rabble were holding wooden spears that were half again as long as they should be! It had been many long years since Korlof had taken the field of battle, and while he was pleased to do so once more, he was quite disappointed in the lack of any real opposition. He waved to the commanders to commence the battle.
A bugle called out one long note followed by two shorter ones. By rote, the long lines of archers stepped forward with arrows notched. A third note was sounded and the first arrow flew free, followed closely by a thousand more. The sky turned black and time seemed to stand still as the arrows reached their peak. Slowly, so slowly, the arrows turned and fell earthwards. The Baron sat forward on his horse with that smile growing on his lips; until the rebels raised those huge shields and took very few losses. The Baron snarled slightly and ordered the infantry to march while the archers reloaded for a second volley. Let's see how those shields hold against solid German steel! Again, the arrows did little damage and the third stike did even less. The archers were ordered to hold bows now as the infantry had closed almost two thirds the distance with no answer from the rebel bowmen. Korlof watched with glee this time, as the rebel army seemed to crumble before his eyes. Half the army began routing on the left flank while the right held. He couldn't believe his luck! He watched as the German army, not even closed with the enemy yet, began a lumbering encircling manuver to take advantage of the weakened flank. Suddenly, he realized he heard hoofbeats - hundreds of hoofbeats and he spun to his commanders, "Who ordered the knights to charge!"
"no...nobody, sire."
"Ahhh, stupid knights. Always looking for glory! Pah! No matter, the fight is already over, see." He gestured to the field where the remainder of the rebels were fleeing into the woods. The German infantry commanders had split their forces into two parts, one to pursue the rebels into the woods and the other to circle around to gather up the first bunch of cowards who ran. Baron Korlof watched in amazement as the first row of the pursuing infantry sprouted foot long shafts from their armor and fell to the ground.
“Archers! They have archers hiding in the trees! Why don't our troops run up and kill them!"
"Sire! Our infantry have just walked the best part of a mile to engage the enemy over the muddy fields whilst wearing heavy German armor. They are becoming fatigued."
The Baron's mouth worked soundlessly up and down for a few moments before clamping together. He noted with incredulity as the peasants, unencumbered with armor and wielding those huge spears, turned about on a force three times their number. Fighting from the tree line, with covering fire from archers seated in the trees above who could fire unimpeded over the heads of their comrades, the peasants were knocking many infantryman to the ground; using their long spears like cattleprods. This would almost have looked comical if it hadn't been for the knights, who had just arrived, slaughtering the fallen footsoldiors.
"But the knights are on our side! THEY CAN'T DO THAT!!!"
The Baron was furious at this betrayal, but he still had numbers on his side and the second half of the army had turned from their encircling manuver to assist their countrymen. But now the first half of the rebel army came back through he treeline. These ones were armed with swords, and with the French gaurds amongst their ranks. The Germans wheeled around yet again, plainly wishing to help their friends who were still dying, but unable to ignore this new threat. Now the Red Fists relented their slaughter and turned to face the other half of the German army, who were now caught between the rebel swordsmen, and the knights. The peasants wielding the oversized spears melted back into the forest along with the archers, who had already climbed down from their vantage points. The Germans who had been caught in the grinder just a few short minutes ago were now forced to watch the same happen to the rest of their army. Try to recover as they might, they were to exhausted to reach their friends in time.
The Baron watched all this with that same half-smile frozen on his face. It had all happened so fast! So many dead and wounded in such a short time. His army divided and each half attacked front and back; this was unthinkable. He still had a thousand archers and the two thousand foot that had been held back in reserve and he began to order them to march when his reserves commander caught his arm, "Sire, think! We have nothing to counter the treacherous knights with! With such few numbers and no palisades, those cavalry, backed even by those flaming peasants will crush us. Our foot soldiors will have to march across that damned mud again and they will be as tired as the first wave was! Our archers are ineffective against their shields and we have lost the battle! We can't match their manuverability and we are simply outgeneraled! It is time to call the retreat, sire. Call the retreat."
The Baron looked at his commander coldly for several long minutes before turning away. He looked back over his shoulder as he began to ride away, "Sound the retreat."
Lord Rik swung his broadsword in a large arc culminating in a spectacular shower of blood as his blade found it's way between the shoulder plate and breastplate of the man facing him. As always in battle, Jon was happy. A grin was fixed on his lips as he cut through one opponant after another. Faster and faster his sword snaked through defences as if there was nothing to stop it, seemingly cleaving through armor as if it were butter. Of course, Jon knew the weak points of the German armor intimately and as for the men facing him, they had never even participated in the Drachenfell's Tournament of Champions let alone won it - three times over! He let a short bark of a laugh as he ducked low, an enemy blade humming through the air above his head, and stabbed with his dagger into the man's groin. He pulled away and turned as he rose, spinning, to take the man's head off with his sword. He knew that somewhere on the other side of this human forest was the fearsome band of Red Fist knights, hewing their way to meet him somewhere in this tangled mess of war. But for right now, he reveled in the deadly dance.
From what seemed to be a great distance, he heard a horn blow three, four times. The retreat! They are retreating! Lord Rik grinned even harder as he continued dealing death to all who stood in his way.

[Chingis Khan]

Jon stood at the center of the field; his deep red cloak moved slowly in the wind, his armor bore many marks and dents, but still shone nonetheless. His expression, so happy not one hour past in the midst of battle, now looked as though it had been carved from stone. Strewn around him like deadwood were the bodies of thousands. Pieces of armor, weapons and shields lay scattered on the muddy, bloadsoaked ground and a slow, cool breeze swept the field, stirring cloaks and fallen banners alike as if trying to give at least the impression of life to the unnatural and morbid scene. Jon hated the gory aftermath of war, and he especially hated seeing the ravens and other scavengers come out to feed once the noise died down. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and saw that the peasant army was gathering together from the various corners of the field that their violent, personal and desperate struggles had taken them. He also noted, with a slight smile, that the Red shields had already removed their warhorses from the bloody grounds and tended to them properly. Still as efficient, deadly and proffesional as they ever were. He started picking his way through the carnage to where they waited.

Stephan finished unstrapping the heavy saddle from his warhorse and, with the help of his friend, moved it with the rest of them. Having only seen twenty one winters in his life, he was the youngest to have ever been asked to join the notorious band of the Red Fist. He had, in fact only ridden with the band for the last year, but in that time, he had proven himself to be more then the older, more grizzled knights had hoped for. As he set the heavy saddle down and stood back up, stretching his back and wiping a cloth across his brow, he saw a man striding towards the Red Fists. The man wore a shining, but well beaten, breastplate and greaves, but no other armor besides a leather undervest. Not one of the knights then, but he had a look to him that you could never ascribe to a peasant - maybe one of the French? The man walked straight up to Lord Commander Glavius. Stephan joined the others in walking over, with a curious expression, to see who this stone faced stranger was. As he arrived to join the rapidly growing crowd surrounding the newcomer and the Lord Commander he could see that the two men were staring at each other hard. In the blink of an eye, the stranger had his sword unsheathed and was attacking Glavius, who had also somehow managed to bare his blade. With a yell, Stephan began to run to help his beleagured Commander. His sword was barely halfway out when on of the older knights caught his arm and pulled him back. "What are you doing? We have to get in there and help!"
The older knight gave a soft chuckle and leaned down to speak in Stephan's ear without taking his eyes off of the two fighting men, "Don't be alarmed now, boy. That's just their way of saying hello. See."
Stephan looked around, and far from seeing the alarm that he still felt, he saw his comrades enjoying a masterful performance. He turned to watch his Commander and the stranger – stranger? If he knows Lord Glavius like that, could he be the leader of this whole thing? Lord Jon Von Rikenstein? Stephan searched his memory and came up with a match. He had heard of Lord Rikenstein in heraldry classes. That man had been a great champion. He had won the great Tournament of Champions what - two, three times? But he had been stripped of his title after betraying the King, or something. Stephan remembered because no other noble in the last hundred years had suffered such a cruel and extreme punishment. To have been a member of one of the mighty noble houses of Germany, only to have that taken from you? To become a ... a... a commoner! Such was the price for betrayal, Stephan bitterly reminded himself. He shook himself from his thoughts and concentrated on the "battle" before him. No matter how good this Lord Rikenstein had been, he would surely be taught a lesson by Lord Commander Glavius, who was simply a devil with the sword. Glavius had been a Roman Legionaire, captured in the great Roman Wars and forced to fight in one of the Slave divisions. Through his skill alone, he had risen to become division commander, general and finally he recieved a knighthood from Bismark himself for "performances of exceptional valor". As Stephan watched, the two swordsmen seemed to be involved in the most graceful dance he had ever seen. A far cry from the bloody work of chopping through a battlefield, the two men in front of him worked swords as though they had rehearsed the performance beforehand. Stephan hadn't known that a sword could make such beautiful noises, humming through the air with such speed to create varying pitches. Back and forth, One man gaining the advantage before the other pushed back. Never once did Stephan hear sword connect with armor.
Jon was grinning, as usual, as he barely managed to deflect the lightning strokes of his age old friend. You've gotten better my old friend. Much better. Sweat started to bead on his forehead as he delivered his counterblow, a low sweeping arc to cut up deep under a breastplate, into the short ribs. Glavius spun away and deflected another whipquick strike as Jon reversed his sword. After the hard battle against the Germans, Jon was tiring quickly, as he knew Glavius must be. His muscles felt like water but he maintained his focus. There was too much pride at stake here - after all, he had never come close to losing a "hello" to his old friend. He noticed that while Glavius had improved his form tremendously, he had one opening. He tended to leave his torso open; not a bad battlefield tactic to let your foe waste his time trying to split the strong German steel breastplate while he left himself open for the counter, but Jon had spent his life finding ways to exploit the smallest opening. After a flurry of snakelike strikes from Glavius, Jon found himself on the offence once more. He swung high, with a two handed grip and as Glavius perried, he commited himself to the attack by allowing his sword to carry through in a full swing. He let the momentum pull his right shoulder down and as Glavius let loose a short bark of triumph (he had Jon's neck wide open for a "killing" blow) Jon thrust his shoulder hard into Glavius's breastplate with the last of his flagging strength. Glavius came within a hair of finishing his attack on Jon when he was caught by the shoulder charge and lifted off his feet to land flat on his back. Dazed momentarily, Glavius recovered and started to roll to his side to regain his feet when Jon's swordpoint appeared as if by magic at his throat.
Jon helped Glavius to his feet to the sound of swords beating on shields as the other Knights of the Red Fist roared their approval of this fine display of swordsmanship. The two men grinned wildly at each other as they clasped forearms. The rest of the day was spent in celebration of the day's victory and with Jon reacquainting himself with several old friends from his old unit. The knights even deigned to allow the peasant army to join them. Not quite treating them as equals, but not ignoring them either. It had been a hard and trying day for all. Tomorrow would come the dirty work of salvaging the battlefield, but for now, good times.

[Chingis Khan]

Lucas walked resignedly down the Grand Hallway of Drachensfell to the throne room accompanied by no less then four of the stern-faced royal gaurd. It hadn't been more than two months past since his brother, Marcus, had walked these same halls to deliver a message of bad news to the King. Not for the first time Lucas cursed his family for choosing to be a bunch of God cursed messengers. Oh sure it was all cake and wine when the news was good; but more often then not the news was of the sort more likely to earn a trip to the headsman.
The doors to the throne room of Drachensfell were standing wide open. Past the Royal gaurd and through the throng of courtiers, nobles and other sycophants, Lucas could see the King lounging on his incredably huge and ornate throne. He was hustled through the crowd by his escorts until he found himself kneeling in front of Bismark.
"Arise peasant, and out with your message." Bismark wore a wide smile as he believed the news would be of the crushing defeat of Lord Rikenstien and his ragtag army. Lucas was under no illusion as to what would happen to him after he delivered this news. Screw it he thought.
"Well sire, Baron Korlof was extremely succesful. He destroyed all opposition without losing a single man. As for Lord Rikenstein, well he was captured alive and awaits you in your torture chambers...er...I mean inquisition room."
"Really!!! That's great!" Bismark leapt to his feet and threw his arms in the air as he addressed the court,
"I proclaim today a rest day. And a feast we shall have like no other; the wine will flow as never bef..." He was cut off by one of the Gaurdsmen who accompanied Lucas into the castle. "What is it?"
The gaurdsman nodded towards Lucas and shook his head slightly.
Bismark looked down to Lucas, "You mean... Korlof didn't take Rikenstein alive?"
Lucas burst out with laughter as if that was the funniest thing he had ever heard. "No..haha... you idiot...hahaaha...Korlof is dead!!! Hahaha...Lord Rikenstein defeated your entire garr..garrison.. ahahahahaaaa... and then...and then he took control of Hiedelburg AHAHAHHAAAAAHAHHAHAHAAAA!!!!"
King Bismark sat very still for several moments as he watched the messenger curl up on the floor, mad with laughter, the only sound to echo across the throneroom; indeed most of the assembled nobles looked as though their eyes were going to fall out of their heads as they stared in shocked silence. The Gaurd who had interrupted the King merely rolled his eyes.

Later that day as Bismark sat in his warchamber he wondered if he had been too harsh with the peasant messenger? No, he decided, he had been most fair, and he got to indulge himself in his most favorite pastime as well! Oh well, that was for later, for now, the matter at hand was war.
"How soon can my army be ready to march?"
General Mosfetta answered him, "The army is still in the grasslands to the West; training as you requested, my Lord. They are ready to march on the hour and can be within the borders of Heidelburg within three days."
"Excellent. Have them march immediately. Throw everything we have at them. I will not sit idly by while that flaming son-of-a-goat runs around capturing my cities! It has been a long time since I commanded an army to the field. I think I will oversee this one."
General Mosfetta hid his shock twice; first at hearing the King swear like a commoner and the second for hearing that he had lost control of his army to this fat mound of blubber sitting before him. He hid his shock well, "Of course my King, we have eagerly awaited the day for you to lead us to glory once more."
Bismark fairly preened, "Yes, I know. Soon you will see what military genius really is."

The conversation continued in much the same manner for several more hours. Meanwhile, Lucas was confused. And cold. Why had they taken his breeches from him? And given him a dress to wear? What the hell was going on; and where was he? This bedchamber looked much too lavish for a minor, or even a major lord. Could it be the King's? He rubbed furiously at his face where they had smeared him with make-up of the sort women wore. Well he didn't know why he wasn't dead yet but he was getting out of here. As he went to the doors, they were thrown open by Bismark - in all his glory. Why was he smiling like that? What the hell ?!?....,"Bismark!!! Nooooooooooooooo..."

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Very funny but is this a drama or comedy ? A bloody crisis for poor old Lucas !

Most excellent tale, and the speed at which you are delivering it is fantastic, keep it coming.

[vovan]

I have read this story over on "the other" forums, and thought it was great. Although as I am not registered there, I did not comment on it. Glad that you decided to treat our Apolytonian audience to your creations. Maybe when you are done posting this one, you could also bring over the story of the spearman? It is very entertaining for the most part.

[Datajack Franit]

It's long but enjoyable if you don't mind caffeine

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Come on good Sir we would like some more! please.

[bassman]

I second that request. I've been enjoying this story and look forward to arrogant Bismarck's downfall.

[Chingis Khan]

Frederick had been covering the Forests of South Dale for the entire morning; he was worn out. Scouting was hard work, he thought. It had sounded so glamorous when Commander Glavius recruited him for his skills. "You will be the eyes of our army, son". he repeated Glavius' words in a shrill, mocking voice. "Yeah, right!" He dismounted and sat up against a tree to get a little rest.
He awoke to the sound of a sword being drawn. He opened his bleary eyes, rubbing a hand across them, and slowly a shape came into focus. A man holding a sword to his throat! "Who are you?", he wished his voice hadn't broken at the end of his question.
The man pushed his swordpoint just a fraction of a hair closer and spoke, "Never mind who I am, who are you and what are you doing in the King's forests? Are you poaching? Well, out with it!"
"I'm not a poacher, sir", well, not anymore, Frederick reminded himself, "I am employed by the Army of Liberation."
"The what? Do you mean that damned army of peasants who are causing trouble in Heidelburg?"
Frederick replied indignantly, "Causing trouble? HA! We have conquered Heidelburg and freed it from the tyranny of Bismark. I happen to be a scout for the army of liberation " He emphasized the title. Hmmph, army of peasants indeed!
The man holding the sword to his neck seemed far from impressed. Actually, he seemed pleased for some feeling. Frederick began to get the feeling that he had messed up somehow. The man was smiling now as he said, "Well, well, well. A scout you say. Better than a poacher I suppose. I also am a scout. A much better scout than you apparantly. In fact, you may be able to help my liege, the King, with a few questions..."

Lord Rik sat at the table with Glavius; the two men had been at the table for some time now, planning the defence of their new conquest. Heidelburg was almost completely under Rik's control now. All of the outlaying villages had been his for some time now, thanks mostly to the rumors he had spent the last several months spreading, but thanks in part to Bismark. He really didn't know how to keep his people happy. The actual city of Heidelburg had come to him almost too easily. Only a few speeches of how the French were to welcome them with open arms, and how the standard of life would improve so greatly. For all Lord Rik knew, it probably would, too. There was some scattered resistance, but Jon didn't want to stamp it out too quickly for fear that he would be seen as big a tyrant as Bismark. Jon hoped that his choice would not come back to haunt him at a later date, but for now, all Rik worried about was the counterstrike of Bismark.
"It will take weeks to have the army of Germany ready to march. And our scouts are patrolling the forests to the South, West and East, so we will have plenty of warning when he comes." Glavius, of all people should know how long it would take to mobilize an army. But Jon still had his doubts. It was a nagging feeling in the back of his skull that wouldn't go away. He had always trusted his feelings, and they had seldom let him down.
"Are you sure the army isn't ready now?", he pushed.
Glavius let out his booming laughter, "Lad, the only things I am sure of is that women find me ugly and that one day I will meet the Creator! If, and I say if mind you, if the German army is ready to march from Drachensfell, it will take them four or five days to reach Heidelburg. But I shouldn't worry, when I was dispatched to aid Korlof, the German army were still playing cards and dice at the Drachensfell barracks!"
Jon let out a small laugh of his own as he ran his hand through his hair, "I suppose you are right, old friend. But I have only recently dispatched messengers to Joan. Her army is ready to defend Heidelburg but it will take some time for her to arrive. If Bismark gets here first... Well, I suppose we will have another tough battle to face."
Glavius looked at Jon thoughtfully for a moment. He leaned in closer, "are you having one of your funny feelings, lad? I remember how those feeling saved our tin-plated asses many a time. Perhaps we should begin recruiting from the city and start work on our defences. Maybe we should prepare for a siege?"
Jon looked up, "It's probably nothing, you know. And our scouts would give us plenty of warning." He shook his head and gave a heavy sigh, "When Joan's army arrives, I will gladly take the field to Bismark. I will not let him leave it alive, either. But I think maybe we had better start preparations - just to be safe."
"You're not having second thoughts about this, are you lad? The process is begun and we must stay the course, or be flattened by the very plans we laid."
Jon gave a wry smile, "I will have my revenge on Bismark; you know that. And you will have your very own city, Baron Glavius"

The two men both laughed at that, and the sound of their laughter echoed through the closed door. The gaurds standing watch heard the laughter and shared a look,before going back to studying the full moon in the night sky above. In turn, the moon looked down and saw the massive and powerful German army advancing on the borders of Heidelburg. It was far closer then Glavius or Rik could have imagined...

[Chingis Khan]

*Thanks for the support guys!*

The former Baron Of Heidelburg sat in the gutter; he was the very picture of misery. He reached up to a man walking past, "I used to own all of this! I used to own you, peasant...aaarrgh!" He was cut off as the man threw his hand off, and then gave Korlof a kick to the ribs for good measure. Damn that Rikenstein! Damn him and his eternal soul to hell! He thought back to the days following his unimaginable defeat at Glen Oaks...

"We can rally! Men, if you will just listen to me." Why wouldn't they listen? His reserves commander was leading the beaten garrison back to Drachensfell. Korlof was no fool; he knew what awaited him at the King's castle. "Please, you must listen, we can make a sneak attack and..." He was interrupted by the commander, "And what? Have our asses handed to us again? Or do you have some other master battle plan for us this time? As I recall, you led us to disaster, you turned a sure victory into a hideous debacle. Well, do you have a great plan, my Lord?" Korlof's mouth worked soundlessly in outrage and indignation for several moments and before he could get out a word, the commander turned on his heel and walked away, taking the battered remains of the garrisons, and Korlofs last chance, with him.

Since then, Korlof had crawled back to his castle, only to find that damned Rikenstein had taken that too. "When I get my hands on him, I will...aaargghhh!" He was again cut off, this time by someone in the window above emptying her bedpan. He jumped to his feet, yelling obcsenities that a Lord of his (former) status had no right knowing. Then a poster caught his eye, fluttering as it was and attached by only one corner. Korlof snatched it to him. It read:

Citizens of Heidelburg,
The great and wonderful Army of Liberation has freed you from the tyranny that you have endured for far too long! But beware! Danger still looms as the mad King Bismark wants to enslave you once more! Join the Army of Liberation and aid in the defence of your great city.
Lord Jon Von Rikenstein

A dangerous glint appeared in Korlof's eye, and he started laughing; a slow chuckle at first, it built into a mad sort of laughter both loud and raucous. Several people walking by gave him funny looks as Korlof threw his hands in the air and laughed even louder. A small crowd eventually gathered as Korlof took his "evil laughter" to new and previously unexplored heights. When dusk finally settled it's mantle on Heidelburg, Korlof's laugh slowly died back down to a chuckle once more. The crowd dispersed, after throwing a few trinkets his way, and some scattered applause. And then he went to bed. In the gutter. He didn't even mind when the bedpan was emptied on him first thing in the morning, for his dreams had been filled with thoughts of bloodshed - and now he had his way to get close to Rikenstein; close enough to deliver his revenge.

[Chingis Khan]

The dias was set in the middle of the grand courtyard, inlaid with glittering jewels and gilded all the way around - it was quite spectacular. But even the beauty of the dias paled beside the woman atop it; Joan D'Arc seemed to make even the drollest scenery come alive. Even the armor she wore, silver laced through with gold, and with many intricate patterns on the shoulder plates to the greaves, was nothing compared to Joan D'Arc, the Queen of France. She stood facing her assembled army with her arms held high and her deep purple cloak, again laced with more gold, moving softly in the cool breeze. When she spoke, it was in a melodious tone that nevertheless had unmistakable currents of authority within it,
"My fellow soldiors. You have known for some time now that we will be marching into the German borders once more. You know well what happened in the last war with Germany, I don't think it bears repeating, does it?" There were a few chuckles among the crowd. "But fear not, my stouthearted soldiors! This time shall be a very different story! This time, we have been training just for this battle. Thanks to Lord Jon Von Rikenstein, we know the weaknesses of the German armor, we know the fighting styles the Germans adopt and we know the battlefield tactics the Germans use! We are ready to strike a mighty blow to the German empire - one from which it may never recover. We are ready to expand the borders of France, and increase her glory tenfold! Today, my fellow soldiors, we march on Drachenfell itself. Today, we take Berlin!"
A massive roar of approval came from her army; the noise drowned everything else out as Joan descended the dias and made her way back to the palace. On her heels was Lord General Tibarias. He had a million questions for the queen, his mind was spinning faster then a chicken ran from the fox, but he couldn't speak above the still celebrating men.
Finally they reached the interior of the Great Palace and Tibarian whirled on Joan, "What happened to our plans of Heidelburg? I thought we were to aid Jon in his defence, he will never survive Bismark's juggernaut!"
Joan gave him a thoughtful look before cooly arching an eyebrow, "Lord Rik proved a most useful tool in training our armies and in pulling Bismarks army away from Drachensfell. Now. finally, we have a chance to take the mighty Drachensfell fortress, and you know full well that whoever owns that monstrosity of a castle, owns Berlin. Whoever holds Berlin, holds the heart of Germany!" She suddenly squared herself to General Tibarias and grabbed his shoulders whilst looking him straight in the eye. Damn my eyes, but she is beautiful - Tibarias thought, he knew he couldn't resist anything she required of him - and he never had, as pleasurable as some things had been. He knew she was talking, he could hear that singsong voice and he could see those rich, full lips moving, but for some reason he couldn't seem to concentrate on what she was saying. He suddenly flushed bright red and interrupted her, "Umm, my lady, do you mind if we take a seat while we discuss things further?"
She looked at him as if surprised, but after looking him up and down she gave a mischievious grin and nodded her acquaince. They both sat on a nearby bench, she with that knowing grin, and he with a ready sense of gratitude.
"As I was saying, Lord General, we will march to the heart of Germany today and crush the mighty Germans like the fools they are." She gave a heavy sigh, "I do feel bad for Jon, however. I hate to leave him in the sty like this and I just know that he will be angry with me for manipulating him. But he was trying to use me too!"
"Perhaps we should send a small division of men to aid him in the defence of Heidelburg, as originally planned, my queen?"
She chewed her lip, in a remarkably endearing way, and finally said, "No, we cannot risk splitting our army. Bismark may have taken the vast majority of his army to reclaim his lost city, but even a small garrison holding Drachensfell will be very difficult to defeat. No, Lord Rik will have to live, or die, by his own sword."

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Brilliant twist and turn of events

One question, which nation did you play France or Germany just out of interest.

[bassman]

That evil witch! You duplicitly bed a woman and she leaves you hanging, ready for the slaughter. Excellent turn of events!

[vovan]

Well, I am rereading this story as you are posting it, and I still like it as much as before, if not more.

[Chingis Khan]

Jon stood atop the city walls. From this vantage point, he could see several miles along the Southdale road; that was where Bismark would come from. Out through the Black Forest and across the expansive farmlands that lay all along the Southdale road. He closed his eyes and tried to envision the German army advancing on Heidelburg. How will you deploy your forces, Bismark? Will you settle into a siege, or will you come straight for the city walls? Will you mass your troops, or will you come from all sides? Against Korlof it had been easy to "see" how he would attack, giving Jon ample opportunity to prepare the fields; widening the irragation ditches from the river to muddy up the fields Jon knew Korlof would attack across, thus fatiguing the advancing army, and placing his archers in advantageous positions had allowed Jon to win that entire battle well before the first arrow had flown. But Bismark was another matter entirely. The King of Germany was no fool when it came to war. He had surprised many a foe on the field; the French could readily attest to that, as could the Romans. Jon opened his eyes again with a sigh, there were just too many avenues of attack, too many options open to an attacking army. Well, however wary he was of Bismark, he was pleased with the way the defences were being handled. The local carpenters had already completed three of the massive trebuchets. A surprising new development from the French, those monstrosities rose well above the city walls and could hurl a basket of rocks a full half mile! By the time Bismark arrived, he should find ten times as many of the mighty siege weapons to face. The "Army of Liberation" was also growing at quite a rapid pace, which created the problem of arming them all. The smiths were working day and night to try to keep up with demand; and that was in addition to the weapons and armor pillaged from the fields of Glen Oaks and from the city armoury! Light bless me, but there is still so much more work to be done!, Jon ran a hand through his hair and looked down to where the peasants were digging pitch ditches all throughout the nearby fields. Those should also surprise Bismark, another new war developement from the French. A developement that Jon was not entirely comfortable with; after all, being burned alive was not a fate Jon would wish on any man - or horse come to that. However, all these new weapons of war coming from the French made that nagging feeling in the back of Jon's head twitch even harder; the last time Jon had seen such a leap in battle technology was when Germay was preparing to conquer Rome. Why would the French be so interested in.... Jon's train of thought was cut off as he caught sight of a horseman riding as though the devil was on his heels. Jon watched the rider, coming hard, a full mile down the Southdale road before being able to make out the flash of red on the man's tunic, one of the forest scouts then... Jon's stomach made a sickening lurch as he turned from the walls to greet the scout and find out what dire news had the man pushing his horse so hard.

Glavius let loose his booming laughter as the scout finished recounting what he had seen, "A hundred thousand men led by Bismark, eh lad?" He turned to Jon, "I doubt that the German army could be here so soon. Especially a hundred thousand of them! This man was probably dreaming the whole thing, or drunk! Well lad, where you drinking out there?"
The scout flushed bright red and turned to Lord Rik, "I swear my lord, I saw them camped just North of the Black Forests. hundreds and hundreds of campfires. I don't know how they got past the outer scouts, but I know what I saw, my lord." He turned to Commander Glavius, "...and I don't drink, my lord."
Lord Rik's face could have been carved from stone right then, eventually he looked up and said, "Start from the beginning, boy. Tell me every thing that you saw. Leave out nothing..."

A half hour later, Jon and Glavius left the room on somewhat unsteady legs, and with ashen faces. "So soon, lad. So many. And with no word from the French at all."
Jon nodded slightly. His mind was racing, so soon, how could they be here already? so soon... The vivid descriptions the scout had provided them with left no doubt that the German army was huge, if not quite the hundred thousand that the man had stated in the first place. The scout had detailed the German camp so precisely, that Glavius easily recognised it as the standard layout the Germans used when advancing on an enemy, right down to the central General's tent, to the ring of palisades and outer gaurds. So soon..., and with no doubt of who they were and in what numbers. Jon turned to Glavius, "We must see to the final preparations, order the food stores to be brought in and the scouting parties doubled - no tripled, I must be able to see what Bismark is doing. And check on the trebuchets and onagers. I must go and see to the men."
With that, Jon turned on his heel and swept away, his face a thundercloud. Glavius stared after him for a few seconds, and with a heavy sigh, turned away to see to his duties. As he left, he muttered under his breath, "I have survived many odds, lad, but I fear this may be the time for us to pay the Butcher's Bill..."

The Germans had arrived.
The lands surrounding the city of Heidelburg were littered with small groups of soldiors. Some were playing cards, some played dice, and others played dumaki; a game discovered in Rome that was gaining popularity amongst the Germans. Other groups of men practiced swordplay and still other groups stood ready for combat, on the off chance that a raiding party would be sent forth from the city. Jon watched all of this from his vantage point, high in the SouthGate Tower, but the group of men who captured most of his interest was the German Combat Engineer Core. That was the group upon which the rest of Bismarks juggernaut army waited on. They were currently busy constructing siege equipment to open holes in the walls of Heidelburg; Jon had no doubt what would happen soon after that...
This was Jon's worst fears realized, Bismark had the entire city surrounded, with the bulk of his forces massed at the SouthGate. There was no chance of getting any more food into the city, and the stores that had been hastily gathered would last the citizens no more then a month at best. Worst of all was that even if Joan's reinforcements arrived, they would have to fight their way into the city through Bismark's well defended ranks. Where was she? She should have sent her army by now! Well, Jon had fought bad odds before, and he had the advantage of defending. Of course, this was all without considering the mood of the populace. how long before they decided that being under Bismark's rule was better then the fate that currently awaited them? Jon began to think that perhaps he had erred in not squashing all resistance at the start. It was too late to worry about that now. He had to strike a blow to the German army to inspire confidence in the citizens; before they turned him over to Bismark themselves, bound hand and foot. But how? How to hurt that great mass of an army? They were sitting back out of the range of arrows, and Jon didn't want to unleash the trebuchets just yet; he only had a finite supply of ammunition for them as yet. Jon wished that he had had enough time to extend the pitch ditches back to where Bismark sat his army! Maybe he could lure a division or two onto the ditches? But what did he have for bait? Himself perhaps?
Jon let loose a flurry of curses in frustation, as he brought his fist down onto the narrow windowledge, "Damn it all to hell! So close! So close, Bismark. I can smell you from here. I will have your head if it's the last thing I do!" He addressed his curses to the Royal tent, clearly marked in the middle of the encampment beyond the city walls. "You may have taken everything from me, my lands, my title, my wife.... But I will take only one thing from you; your head! And with that, I take not only everything that you have, or ever had; but I take everything that you will ever hope of having." A clearing of the throat came from behind him, and Jon whirled around, hand on sword.
"Easy, lad, easy." Glavius walked toward the window that Jon stood at with his hands raised, as if approaching a wild stallion that needed reassuring. He stood next to Jon for several moments, both of them shrouded in silence until Glavius spoke,
"I have had a thought, lad. The Northeast corner of the city is the most weakly defended. The Red Fists can easily cut our way through them."
"And then what, Glavius? Encircle this army and take them from both sides, as we did with Korlof? In case you hadn't noticed, there are almost seventy thousand men out there!" Jon was practically shouting now.
"Get a hold of yourself, lad!" Glavius took hold of Jon's arm and turned him roughly towards the window, "Take a look out there! What do you see? An unbeatable army of great German warriors? Ha! I see an enemy with a huge lumbering mass of men that he will have difficulty manuvering! I see an enemy that has weak points within it's ranks to be exploited. Look, damn your eyes, look!"
Jon's face turned an angry red as he threw off Glavius' hand and opened his mouth to snap a retort. But nothing came out, and Jon's rage subsided as he realized that his old friend was right.
"I am sorry, my friend. You are right." He sighed heavily and ran his hand through is hair, a new habit he had gained whenever he was worried. "I cannot believe that Joan has abandoned me. I suppose that I was counting on her forces too much."
"Aye lad, you wanted to crush Bismark on the field. I understand, but you must be fluid with your plans; in life as well as in battle! As I see it, we have no choice but to settle in for a siege and try to survive as best we can. As things have worked out, I wouldn't hold out any hopes of going after Bismark." That last was directed with a warning look at Jon.
"Don't worry, I don't have any plans for suicide."
Glavius just wished that Jon didn't sound as if he was trying to convince himself of that....

[Chingis Khan]

*@ ChrisiusMaximus: I haven't played Civ3 for over 6 months! The entire story came from my head, inspired by a guy called Zouve on the "other forum" who would rant about how ridiculous the culture flipping was. So I thought it would be interesting to write about one way it could happen.*

Three columns of French soldiors marched across the Western grasslands, where not one week before, the german army had been exercising. The French looked resplendant in their shining mail armor, covered with white tunics; each tunic bearing the sigil of Joan D'Arc, the golden mare. Bannermen were in large supply, riding alongside each column of men. Banners were raised with not only Joan's sigil, but her entire coat of arms. Of course, the largest banners carried the colors of France upon them, and these were more concentrated at the head of the middle column, where Joan herself rode.
Joan gave a regretful look to the North, where she knew Jon would be having the fight of his life; the fight of his life for his life, she supposed. Firming her expression, she turned her head back towards her target, the Drachensfell Fortress. She could not afford to spend idle thoughts on any man, she chided herself. Not now. Not with Drachensfell only forty miles to the East. The sound of steel shod hoofbeats alerted her to General Tibarias riding up alongside. "What is it, General?"
"My Queen, our scouting screen has discovered the enemy laying ahead."
Joan had expected that news of a foreign army approaching Berlin and Drachenfell would travel quickly through the countryside. "How many?", she asked almost curtly.
"Very few, my lady. I imagine that they have no accurate news as to the size of our army. Yet."
"Very well, take a thousand cavalry and crush them." After a moment's thought, she added almost casually, "And Tibarias, try not to let any live to tell what befell them."
As he spun his horse away to lead ten hundred French lances to the slaughter that would surely ensue, Joan tried hard not to think about Lord Jon Von Rikenstein. She was not very successful.


Jon looked over the plans once more. "It should work." He looked up to Glavius, "By the Gods, it should work. How soon can the Red Fists be ready?"
Glavius replied with a merry twinkle in his eye. He had been cooped up for too long, Jon realized. "We are ready to ride since yesterday, lad!" And he let out his deep laughter. "We may not deal a crushing blow to the Germans, but we will sting them hard, sure as the bluefly stings the sheep!"
Jon idly wondered at how short of a time had passed since they started referring to the Germans as though they were a seperate people. He supposed that for Glavius, a Romanman, they were. "Then it is settled. We strike tonight, under cover of darkness. The Germans have had it too easy thus far; let's see how their mettle holds when it meets our metal!"

As nightfall settled around the two forces, one a massive, sprawling entity and the other seeming puny in comparison, but well defended behind city walls lined with defences, the Red Fists made their final preparation for the planned assault on the weakest part of Bismark's siege - the Northeast corner.
The NorthGate doors were opened and Glavius' knights poured out into the darkness; spread all along the walls were unlit torches to further shroud the knights movements. The only sound to break the night was the pounding of hooves on the cool, hard ground, yet that sound alone was enough to strike fear into anybody who heard it. And it did, judging by the screams that arose from the German camps, settled down for the night. At the same time that the Red Fists were bringing a swift end to the Northeastern camps, the huge Southgate doors were opened and scores of peasant spearmen streamed forth. They didn't get far before being met by a strong resistance, but as pre-ordered, they fell back quickly towards the gates. This was the risky part, thought Jon, if the Germans pressed onwards too far, too fast, they could overrun the gatehouse before the doors could close again! They didn't however. Once again, the Germans were weighed down by their heavy armor while the peasants enjoyed greater mobility. Jon held his breath as he heard the bugles being blown within the main German encampments, they are sending horsemen!?! Jon couldn't believe his luck! Obviously the night commander was still half asleep, that or he thought that Jon's army was attacking in much greater numbers. either way, cavaly began overtaking the German infantry and almost reached the fleeing spearmen. But before they could, Jon ordered the archers on the city walls to fire. Twenty flaming arrows made their way to the ground and those among the pursuing infantry, and cavalry that saw them, pulled up short in confusion. There was a strange lull in the action as everybody watched the arrows fall to the ground. Then the flaming arrows touched down - WHOOOF!!! The ground erupted into flames as the pitch ditch ignited all around the Germans. Jon turned his head away; in part because of the sudden bright light that illuminated the night sky, but partly because of the screams, from man and horse, and the wildly flailing figures on the ground before him. And to think, this is just the diversionary attack! Jon wondered how Lord Commander Glavius and the Red Fists were faring...

Glavius rallied his men, all around were the bodies of the dead and dying. Hundreds of them, it seemed. But Glavius knew the hard part was yet to come. Once all the RedFists were gathered, he swung his sword towards the forest to the East, and they rode. The NorthGate opened once more, and a couple thousand peasants poured out to follow the knights into the forest, across the mounds of dead and wounded enemy.

Bismark squinted as he looked to where the fires burned high and bright in front of the city. He had never seen this kind of flame before, or this kind of "dirty" warfare, but it didn't take him long to figure it out. "GODDAMMIT! WHERE THE HELL IS GENERAL MOSFETTA!!!" Gaurds scrambled to find the general as Bismark finished dressing himself.
General Mosfetta was quite out of breath when he arrived to report, "Sire, they are attacking from everywhere! The entire foregaurd, plus three hundred cavalry were caught in that deathtrap of a firepit out there! What are..." Mosfetta was cut off by Bismark's full armed slap. He rubbed his cheek as Bismark glared at him. "Sire, there is no need to...", he was cut off again as Bismark slapped him with the other hand. This time Mosfetta was knocked to his knees. He regained his feet, if a trifle unsteadily and tried again, "Sire, really, this is not helping at all.. Sire?... Sire?" His eyes widened as Bismark put on a pair of steel gauntlets and eyed Mosfetta with a stern expression. DONGGGG!!! Mosfetta landed several feet away and didn't get back up. Bismark turned to Mosfetta's gaurd.
"Now, give me a report, soldior."
"Sire, as General Mosfetta said..."
Bismark fairly growled, "...that's private Mosfetta now..."
The soldior gulped before continuing, "...as private Mosfetta said, the foregaurd are all but destroyed along with three hundred cavalry. The rebels retreated themselves and took very light losses. We have also had reports of fighting from the Northern camps; camps seventeen and eighteen have not reported in, while camps sixteen and nineteen report that they heard heavy fighting. They were unwilling to leave their positions, my Lord."
"Dammit, a night raid! It sounds like something the great Roman general Revolutionary would have come up with! How did Rikenstein get so creative? No matter. They probably meant to distract us at the rear so they could try to lure the foregaurd into their trap. And thanks to Mosfetta, it worked." He slammed one mailed fist into his other palm, "They have barely made a dent in our forces, but I am sure this will bolster their morale! Well, let them have their little victories; as soon as our battering rams and rolling bridges are ready..." He trailed off into an evil chuckle, full of promises of what would happen when he got hold of Rikenstein.



Joan smiled as she looked across the barren grasslands that seperated her forces from that of the small castle in front of her. One of the defensive fortifications that stood between her and Drachensfell. Her forces had already smashed all of the opposition that had thought to stand before her on the open field, however small it had been. Now, facing men fortified behind stone walls, it was time to unpack the huge, lumbering wagons which carried the fearsome trebuchets. The French engineers had really outdone themselves designing this beast, and now, Joan thought, it was time for the Germans to discover just how far the French had come in the last ten years. She wondered if Jon was surprising Bismark with his trebuchets that she knew he would have built by now. She had been reluctant to give him the plans for building them, but in the end, her guilt dictated that she had to give him something that may give him a chance to survive against Germany's army. She shook her head slightly and grimaced to herself as she muttered, "Stop thinking of the man! He is probably dead already anyhow!". She cleared her head as she waited for the massive siege machines to be built.

By the time that Joan and her armies moved on, the castle behind her was a ruined shell, littered with the bodies of the brave few Germans who had no chance at all against the army of France.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Keep it coming and if you can write like this without playing then I insist you never play again!

This is excellent.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Please Sir can we have some more.

[Chingis Khan]

Lord Rik stood his lonely vigil atop the walls of Heidelburg. He had become a familiar sight to the troops below over the last few days, as he looked out to the German camps. It had been only two short days ago when Commander Glavius had led the Red Fists and the better part of three thousand of the Army of Liberation through the enemy lines and into the forests beyond, smashing two encampments of Germans on the way. Glavius would have made his way behind the main enemy force by now; to where the supply wagons were settled, and more importantly, to where the German engineers labored on building more battering rams. From his position, Jon could see that no less than twenty rams already sood completed. It wouldn't be long before Bismark led the assault. Jon could see Bismark's battle plan clearly now; it would begin with the rams, of course, battering down the SouthGate entrace, and probably most of the surrounding walls. While the rams did their work, Bismark would bring up the "rolling bridges" - massive towers constucted to be moved up close to the city walls, where gangplanks would be used to bridge the gap, and hordes of German soldiors would pour across. Bismark had the luxery of numbers against the beleagered city. Why wait through a siege, when he could overrun the defenders? And of course, thought Jon with a wry smile, Bismark was eager for battle. Well, once a hole was opened up in the walls, he would see enough bloodshed to satiate the devil himself!

Sighing, Jon ran his hand through his hair. How had it come to this? All his work, all his plans ruined because of the fickle whim of a woman! He still found it hard to believe that Joan had deserted him. Even with the incredible speed with which the German army had arrived, with the French army on his side, and the German army caught out in the open, unprepared for Jon's planned assault, Jon was sure he would have defeated Bismark. As things stood now, Jon would be lucky to escape with his head. For the first time since he had laid his plans, so very long ago, Jon thought about defeat. Looking back to all the people that he had used, and to all the people that had died for his plots of revenge, he felt the first pangs of regret and remorse stirring through his soul. Visions of the bloody aftermath of Glen Oaks came to his mind and he winced. Memories of laying next to Joan, basking in the warm afterglow of love, and him only thinking of how to manipulate her to his designs... Well, it had all come back to haunt him now. He shook his head as if he could shake out the guilt which pervaded him and laughed quietly to himself, "Glavius would beat me senseless for the thoughts I am having! He is right, it is too late for regrets. I must continue on the path I have set for myself. I must find a way to take down Bismark! I must!"

A bugle sounded from across the fields and Jon's head whipped up. "So it begins..."

There were twenty three battering rams in all, lined up in a staggered formation and aimed directly at the SouthGate. Just as Jon had foreseen, the rolling bridges came on either side of the rams, with rows and rows of German soldiors lined up behind the siege equipment. They marched slowly across the grass, blackened and burned where Bismark had ordered the rest of the pitch ditches he could find to be fired. They advanced with their shields held high to ward off the arrows which they knew would be coming shortly. Bannermen were strewn throughout the ranks, holding their colors high and proud. Behind the ranks of Germans stood the knights. Obviously impatient for the footsoldiors to get on with it and open a hole in the city, so that they could get on with what they saw as the real battle. Jon ran down the stairs to where his engineers stood, "It is begun", as if they didn't already know, "unveil the trebuchets! "

The massive banners which had been used to cover and disguise the trebuchets were detached and left to fall to the paved roads below. The huge baskets of rocks were loaded onto the sling and the order to let loose was given. The ground seemed to shake as the massive wooden arms swung upwards, driven by the huge weights on the other end. At the top of the arms path, it was stopped by a crossbeam and the basket of ammunition, attached by a sling, whipped forward and soared high into the sky, unleashing it's payload into the ranks of the German army. Jon cursed as he saw that four out of the six trebuchets missed not only the siege equipment lumbering towards the walls, but also missed the rows of footsoldiors following behind. One of the remaining shots, however, landed squarely in the middle of an advancing division. And the other was a direct hit on the battering rams.

Men fell screaming, with parts of their bodies crushed beneath the large rocks that scattered them like leaves in the wind. The most impressive sight was that of one of the rams crumpling like a rag doll, and another losing it's protective covering. The German advance faltered as the commanders, unsure of what had hit them from what previously would have been out of range of any equipment, turned to their commanders for guidance. The command to resume the advance was given and they came onwards again. Behind the city walls, the command to reload was given and the horses were whipped into action. They pulled the ropes around the pulleys and dragged the massive arms back into their latches, ready to unleash death once more, as the engineers hastily recalculated for a new range. Once again, the six massive arms swung upwards and delivered their deadly message to the Germans. Only two of the trebuchets missed this time, and three were hits on the approaching siege equipment. Three more rams went down, and a rolling bride was hit, but undamaged. However, wherever the rocks landed among the footsoldiors they left behind bloody messes and twisted metal. By the time the trebuchets were ready to fire a third volley, the Germans had come into the archer's range. The arrows began to rain down onto the Germans, punctuated here and there by flaming arrows directed at the rams in a vain attempt to set them on fire. Of course, they had been thoroughly soaked and coated with green wood to prevent this. Still the German juggernaut advanced through the rains of death, until the rams reached the gates. Vats of boiling oil were poured downwards, on top of the enemy and more rams went silent. But there were always more to come. Three of the rolling bridges had reached the walls and the footsoldiors were pouring up the stairs to reach the tops of the city walls. Jon led the defence against the onslaught of the first, he even managed to dislodge the gangplank as the archers fired point blank into the faces of the invaders. But still, the Germans came. Ladders were placed at other points along the walls and were pushed back, but always more came. The fighting atop the walls was fierce by now, and at the height of it all, one of the trebuchets was loosed straight into the top of the middle rolling bridge. It seemed to explode into splinters, before slowly, and quite dramatically, falling sideways into the mass of soldiors below.

For the first time in his life, Jon was not grinning as he hewed down the men before him. He heard the pounding of the battering rams below and he knew that the huge doors of the SouthGate could not hold for much longer. What was taking Glavius so long? Jon was suddenly gripped by the fear that his dear old friend had abandoned him in the same way that Joan had. He fought his way to the top of the SouthGate tower and spared a glance to where the German supply wagons were. Nothing! They should have been fired by now! What was taking so long?

Glavius had been waiting behind the Germans. Waiting for them to attack the city so that he could begin his raid on the supply wagons, and the engineers. When he heard the bugles call out to begin the German assault, he led his knights and peasants through the trees and towards the enemy lines. Unfortunately for him, the German scouts had caught sight of his forces, and far from the easy raid he had anticipated, he was now caught up in a desperate struggle. The Germans had managed to get a sizeable force back to their supply wagons in time to prevent him from burning them all to the ground. It was about time for him to call the retreat.

Bismark sat astride his warhorse and watched the ensuing battle with glee. Aside from that accursed new weapon with the incredible reach that had done so much damage, it had all gone smoothly. He watched as his troops swarmed along the walls of Heidelburg, a bleak stain spread across the white walls. It was only a matter of time before the rams opened up a hole and allowed the mass of men still on the ground to pour in. Intently watching the battle in front of him, he missed the rider coming up behind him until the man breathlessly spoke, "Sire... the wagons are being.. the supplies are under attack, Sire. There is another army.. two of them... they are killing everbody!"
Bismark was silent for a moment. He was beginning to learn Rikenstein's style. Attcking from multiple sides, that could be used to advantage later, but for now he had to make sure his supplies were safe. Without supplies for his massive army, he would have to be sure of crushing the cities defences. He thought for a moment of how Baron Korlof was surprised and vowed it wouldn't happen to him. He called for a retreat of his main force and for all available units to protect the supply wagons. He had hurt Rik's defences, and his army, while Bismark's army was merely scratched. There was always tomorrow, and he always had more troops...

Jon was desperate, he looked up and down the line of defences along the walls, and saw that it was bulging in a dozen different places. If the line broke anywhere.... They were being overrun, plain and simple. He had heard the loud crack of the mighty Southgate minutes earlier and knew that that doors were barely together; if they hadn't been smashed already. He fought with a desperation he had never known before and the dead kept piling up. Bugles were sounded in the distance but he was too tired to know what they meant. His vision was blurred from the blood that flowed down one side of his head, but he kept swinging his sword. Before he knew it, there were no more of the shiny breastplates to swing at, Jon looked around sharply, there were a few pockets of men still fighting, but they had stopped coming! He ran up to the tower to look out and saw that the Germans were pulling back! They had won! Well, they had survived anyways. He staggered back to help with finshing off the last few Germans he could find. He didn't know how they would survive tomorrows assault, not with the heavy losses they had taken today, but the Gods willing, he would find a way.

Glavius called for his force to fall back to the woods, he had paid a heavy price for his attempted raid, he noticed that from the three thousand foot he had brought with him, less then five hundred fled back into the woods with him. He had barely scratched the supplies of Bismark. Only ten wagons burned! He should have burned them all! He should have made a fire bright enough to make the sun shy away! And his band of Red Fists down to two hundred. Most of them wounded. He looked back towards the German army before fleeing into the forest himself, "I am sorry, Jon. I failed you."

The candle flickered fitfully, creating wierd shadows around the walls of the small room. Jon lay reclined on a wooden bench as one of his aides stitched the long gash a German sword had opened up along his ribs. He winced as the hamfisted peasant pulled another stitch through. The aide looked up at Jon and opened his mouth as if to say something, before looking back to his handiwork.
Jon sighed, "Out with it. What do you wish to say? Come on man, I am not a monster."
The peasant spoke without meeting Jon's eyes, "Well, m'lord, I was just wondering how you see our chances, like. I mean, me and the lads were talking 'bout it and the way some of them see it... well, you know... it don't look so good, m'lord."
Jon ran his hand through his hair and stared toward the ceiling for several moments. When he spoke, it was in a soft voice, almost as if he were talking to himself, "Lad, I have seen many things in my life. The most beautiful things I have seen I can barely describe, but I will try. I have seen one lone knight knocked from his horse amongst a mob of footsoldiors, only to regain his feet and fight his way through twenty enemy just to save his horse! I have seen a lowly peasant fight off armed bandits with nothing more than a rake, to save his family! I have seen a band of Roman soldiors outnumbered ten-to-one, yet they fought with a courage and a dignity that defies belief, because they wanted to save their land." Jon looked down to the aide, who was now looking up at Jon, and a warm expression crossed his face, "When it really matters, when you are fighting for something larger than yourself, you can perform miracles and change the course of battle. Do we have a chance? Yes! You peasants...no, you people are fighting for your freedom. Do you wish to continue living under Bismark's oppresive rule? Do you want to lay down your weapons and pretend that you never had your chance to make a better life for yourself, and your family, and your neighbours? Do we have a chance? Yes, and it lies squarely on the shoulders of you and your fellow countrymen. Arrrggghhh, damn your eyes, be bloody, flaming careful with that needle! That's my chest, not a bloody pincushion, man!"
The aide made his apologies and continued his work, if taking a great deal more care about it.

The candle flickered in the sudden breeze and Jon turned his head towards the door. A messenger stood with his cloak wrapped tightly around his chest and his hood pulled deeply over his head. He spoke in a deep gravelly voice that was somehow familiar to Jon, "My lord, The captain of the SouthGate gaurd wishes to speak with you on a matter most urgent! He ordered me to escort you to him at once." Jon grumbled about being bone weary, but he pulled his shirt over his head as he motioned for the messenger to lead the way; that voice rang a bell in the back of Jon's head, pah! I probably fought with him at Glen Oaks or something. He was so tired, but there was so much more work to do. The SouthGate was being hastily repaired as best as possible and arrows were being made and sent to the archers lining the walls as fast as the fletchers could make them. There was a great deal of bustle around the well lit fortifications and Jon barely noticed any of it until he realized it was no longer there, "Messenger, where are we going? This is not the way to the Captain's station!" The messenger, still holding his cloak tight, muttered something back to Jon and kept walking.
They came to a darkened ally and Jon grabbed the man's shoulder to demand what was going on. The messenger spun around, the cloak ripping free in Jon's hand revealing a small crossbow, loaded and aimed at Rik's heart.
"So Lord Rik, we meet again." The breath caught in Jon's throat as he belatedly recognized the voice of Baron Korlof! He heard footsteps around him and realized that the baron had found some of the few men still loyal to him in this city. Damn, he should have stamped harder on the resistance in the beginning! He was surrounded by eight toughs, wielding an assortment of weapons, but nevertheless, he flexed his shoulders in anticipation of the coming fight. If only he hadn't been so damn tired, he thought ruefully, he should have seen this coming.
The Baron spoke as if he had been reading Jon's mind, "Don't try it Jon, not even you are faster than a crossbow! You are coming with me. When I deliver you to Bismark, he will forgive me my loss at Glen Oaks and give me my city back! Ahahahaaa! You thought you had won didn't you." He stepped forward and viciously backhanded Jon across one cheek, "But I bided my time. I found resistors against you in the city, true and loyal men. I joined your stupid army of Liberation and I watched. I waited for the right time to take you alone as I knew it would finally come, and now here you are!" He slapped Jon again, this time a full armed slap that knocked Jon to his knees. Jon snarled and drove himself upwards at Korlof, knocking the Baron to his back. He swung his arm back at the nearest thug, catching him square in the face, as he fumbled for his dagger. Before he could grasp the hilt of his knife, another of the toughs grabbed him in a bearhug while two others advanced with clubs. Jon kicked high and felt like laughing as he felt the man's throat crumple under his blow. Even as the man fell, choking on his own blood, the other caught Jon in the ribs with his club, as luck would have it, right on his recently sewn wound. Jon grunted as he felt stiching rip loose. Jon growled deep in his throat as he thrust his head back into the face of the man holding him. He heard a cry of pain as the grip broke free, and he threw himself at the thug with the club. Before he reached him though, pain flared in the back of his head, and his world went black. Korlof sneered down at Jon, panting with the exertion of actual fistfighting. He stared down at the crossbow he held, which he had broken across Lord Rik's head, and spoke to his thugs, "Tie him up and strap him to the horse, it is time to return to Germany!"

The Gaurdsmen at the EastGate had never known about the small entrance built into the city walls by the Church of the Blessed Saints, but Korlof did. The Gaurds saw the shadowy figures race into the night, holding high the colors of Germany, and raised the alarm, some of the more impetous even fired arrows at the retreating figures, but none struck. It was hours before anybody realized that Lord Jon Von Rikenstien was no longer in the city of Heidelburg. The Champion of Freedom, as some had started calling him, was in the hands of his most hated enemy.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

Oooh! what will become of Jon I wonder. Great stuff this keep up the good work and I hope Lord Rik escapes somehow.

[Chingis Khan]

A wide grin was fixed on Bismark's lips as he looked at the unconscious form of Lord Rik, tied and bound in the wagon. "You have done well, Baron Korlof. I am pleasantly surprised. I had expected you to fall apart after your ignomious defeat; ha! truth be known, I didn't expect you to ever show your face again!"
Korlof preened under his King's praise, "You know I am loyal to you, my liege. Now that we have the rebel's leader, we can go about taking my city back."
Korlof swallowed suddenly under Bismark's steely gaze.
"My dear Baron, your city?I was under the impression that all the lands are my lands. You were merely a... a caretaker for a while. Hmmm, perhaps I will allow you to continue running my city once I take it back, and then again, perhaps not."
"Ye.. yes, my Lord King. Of course I know it's your lands and your city; forgive me my poor choice of words."
Bismark didn't answer, instead he reached for the bucket of water and threw it over Jon's head. Jon slowly moved his head upwards as his wits returned to him, fuzzy as they were. He squinted up at Bismark before moving his head slowly to look at Korlof. He sighed and drooped his head again. Bismark's face turned a funny shade of red as he threw another bucket of water on Jon's head, and then hit him with the bucket, for good measure. "Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! You filthy scum, look at me! Look at your King!"
Jon looked at Bismark with red rimmed eyes, "You are no King of mine...", he was cut off as Bismark went beserk, slapping Jon for all he was worth. After a while, Bismark stopped, panting with exertion, he motioned to the Baron, "Korlof, continue slapping the prisoner..."

Boris was tired. He had spent the last day weaving through the enemy forces he had almost stumbled over in the forests last night. But he had a message of dire importance for the King. This was his first assignment, and he had only gotten this one because his cousins Lucas and Marcus had both gone missing. Oh well, they were probably off having message delivering adventures somewhere. Boris arrived at the King's camp and was escorted to the King's tent without delay to deliver his message.
"So you see, my lord, with the French army ready to besiege Drachensfell, and the fortress only with a relatively small garrison to defend it, you should probably return to defend it."
Bismark sat back in his chair and silently regarded the messenger in front of him. "Why can't you bastards ever bring me some good news? Just once I'd like to hear news of... oh, I don't know, maybe all my enemies drop dead one day! Or...or maybe one of my southern armies have taken it on themselves to capture new lands, yes? But nooooo, you always bring me BAD NEWS!!!" Bismark brought his fist down on the arm of his chair with a crack. Boris had shrunk back with each word the King had uttered. He replied in a small, squeeky voice, "Ummm, well, my King, I suppose some good news would be, umm, Joan D'Arc is really good looking! And she will be in your castle, right? Right?" Bismark's face went through three shades of red before settling on a light purple, "Get out!!! Get out of here!" As the messenger was led away, Bismark cursed his fortune. What was happening all around him? First this upstart Rikenstein and now France had declared war? Worse than that, if Joan managed to take Drachensfell and hold it, he would be hard pressed to take it back. He was in trouble, and he knew it. He could mobilize his lordling's armies and create an even larger force with which to recapture his castle, but Joan would probably have set up a supply route back to France by now. She would probably have another army marching from France to secure her path back. Damn it! He would have to abandon Heidelburg for now and head back to Drachensfell. Damn that French harlot! How had she been ready to attack? How had she known what was happening with the German army so precisely? Was she somehow involved with Rikenstein? Of course! Bismark didn't believe in coincedences. He wondered if his possession of Rikenstein could be used to his advantage.
In the darkened wagon, Jon raised his head. The side of his face was covered in dried blood, where he had been beaten half the night. He looked to his left and gave a slight start at realizing he was not alone. A skinny fellow hung by his wrists, staring at Jon, "So what are you in for?"
Jon smiled a rueful smile and replied in a cracked voice, "I led the rebellion of Heidelburg. And you?"
"Hmmmph, that's just freaking great! I deliver one lousy damned message and all of a sudden I'm locked up with the traitors! Stupid damn job anyway. Hey, I don't suppose you've been in the King's tent have you?"
Jon stared at the strange man , "No, no I haven't. Why?"
"What? Oh nothing I suppose. I just thought I saw my cousin, Lucas in the back of the tent, that's all. I must have been mistaken, after all, he was wearing a dress! And make-up! Can you believe I'd mistake one of the King's concubines for my cousin! Eh?" He laughed so hard at this that Jon feared he might rupture a lung. Strangely enough, Jon could believe it. He sighed.

As the Army of Liberation looked out to the German army, they noted with great joy that the Germans were packing up. They were leaving! Cheers went up throughout he city at their newly won freedom. Tributes to Lord Rik were raised. Messengers were sent to France to enlist their help. A celebaration that ended up lasting two weeks spread throughout New Heidelburg, and would be celebrated every year afterwards. Heidelburg was free.

[Chingis Khan]

At the heart of Drachensfell Castle, the great throne of Germany grandly stood on the dais on which it had rested for countless years. Long a symbol of Germany's power, it had now become a symbol of her downfall, Joan mused as she stroked one gloved hand along the heavily gilded and bejewelled chair. She took a deep breath as she prepared herself to sit on the magnificant throne; she paused as she poised herself, ready to seat and reconsidered. Not until all of Germany is mine, she silently promised herself. She took a final satisfied look around the throne room of Drachensfell before making her way to the war chamber, where her generals would be waiting to plan the defence of the fortress against the army she knew was already marching from Heidelburg. Claiming the massive fortress had been easier than she could have possibly dreamed.

The mighty arms of the trebuchets were pulled back into postion and reloaded. Again they launched forth their deadly missles to crash against the gatehouse of the Drachensfell Fortress, and again, more stone and mortar was smashed free of the walls which had once seemed impregnable. When the gathouse lay in ruins, it had taken no more then three hours to lay bridges across the moat and pour her army into Germany's most prized castle. After a token resistance from the meager forces left gaurding the stone behemoth, the German commander had wisely surrendered his forces to the French Queen, Joan D'Arc.

With a slight start, Joan realized she had arrived at the war room and was standing before the notorious Whitestone table. Tibarias was talking at her, "...will be here within the week. His army will need to be rested before they continue with the siege, and as deeply rooted as we are now, he will try to starve us out. Whilst the fortress contains a large amount of dry rations, if we are cut off from our homeland, I fear that it will be a waiting game that we cannot win. We need to secure the supply route back to France, as that will surely be the first thing Bismark will attack."
There were murmers from around the table and one of the division commanders spoke, "We know this already! We have planned for it. As we speak, the armies of Fruitingail, Harelot, and Jeanine, three of the strongest houses of France, march to secure our path home."
Tibarias held up his hand for silence, "This I know, but how will those armies fare against Bismark's seventy thousand men? Fah! Not to mention what will happen when the other Lords and Barons of Germany send their armies against us! I propose sending an additional four armies, of five thousand men apiece, to aid in the defence of our supply lines."
Joan sat in the chair that Bismark had conquered Rome from and raised her hand for silence. When the murmers died away, she spoke, in her clear, dulcet tones that captivated all who listened, "We have all taken great risks in coming this far. We still are a long way from being done here. However, I believe that we can take all of Germany by the time our glorious work is done. I have had runners dispatched to the various other lords and Barons of this land, and we will see how loyal they remain to their beloved King when they realize they have a chance to throw off the chains of tyranny. Replies I have had so far indicate that at least some of the houses of Germany are willing to see how events transpire here, at the heart of their lands. I believe most are sitting on the fence, so to speak, and if we are victorious over Bismark's army, who is to say that they will not join with us to create one united nation? The glory of Germany is over! It has been long since Bismark conquered new lands. The people are tired of living under an iron fist, they want the velvet glove now; they feel they have earned it. And it becomes increasingly clear to them that will not have the lives they so desperately want under Bismark's rule. What I am saying, is that all we need do, is defeat Bismark's army totally and utterly. We must destroy him so thoroughly that there will be no question of who is the stronger."
When Joan finished speaking, there was silence around the Whitestone table. Tibarias muttered under his breath, "I never thought... the houses rebelling against..." There were a few other scattered mutterings but overall, most were nodding in thoughtful agreement. Talks now centered on how best to destroy Bismark's army. Not an easy task, but all the assembled generals and high Lords were putting their best minds forward to it even as Frances ambassadors spread their words across mighty Germany...

Baron Fontenot of Frankfurt regarded the messenger with steely eyes, "I have of course heard of events transpiring across Germany. Having a French messenger in my courts now that we are at war could be considered treason, could it not?"
The Frenchman returned the Baron's gaze evenly, "Then consider me an ambassador if it makes you feel easier. But my message remains the same. Your King is old, old and well past his prime. Perhaps if he managed to defeat my queen you would have reason to continue following him. But what have you to lose by waiting to see how things transgress? By the way, how much gold do you have in your city coffers? How is your economy? How much in taxes does your King take, and what do you see in return?" The Baron stared, considering...

Lord Rueloft of Konisberg spoke softly, "So what if my armies aredelayed in reaching Berlin?" The French messenger smiled...

Baron Thrawn sat as regally as any King, "Bismark has always been a sick, twisted man. But he is my King. Why shouldn't I have you thrown in the dungeons for your treacherous words?" The French messenger wiped beads of sweat from his brow as he continued, "My Lord, I don't preach treachery, I merely ask you questions that you have no doubt asked yourself in the last few years." Baron Thrawn stared at the rich tapestries covering the walls as he tapped his finger to his lips in a thoughtful way...

King Bismark of Germany was in a rage, as he had been every day since being forced to turn back from Heidelburg. "Send out runners to gather my lord's armies to me. Tell them that if they don't arrive within the week.. then I'll....I'll... I'll do horrible things to them! AARGGHHH! I hate Joan D' flaming Arc and I especially hate Lord Damn Rikenstein! Where is he? Bring me the traitor Rikenstein that I may administer his royal beating!" Jon was brought before the Kiig and was soundly beaten, as he had been every morning, noon, and night since being captured. After the King had finished, he grabbed Jon's hair and pulled his head up, "What do you have to say now, traitor?" Jon flinched away from Bismark's truly awful breath, but managed to grin. "Why are you smiling? Why is he smiling like that? ARRGHH!" Jon recieved a heavy blow to his belly for that. He grunted before answering, "I am smiling because I am imagining what it will feel like to kill you!" He broke off into a coughing fit as Bismark's jaw dropped. Jon continued, "I admit, for a long time all I could think about was killing you for my own revenge. But now, while that still sounds fine to me, I also want to kill you for all the people of this land that you have trodden on. Mere peasants were willing to stand up against trained German soldiors, who greatly outnumbered them, just to escape your foul rule. I saw the desperation in their eyes as I walked among them. For the love of God man, you had that poor messenger beaten and then hanged, for what? Did he give you some bad news?..." Bismark interrupted him . "ENOUGH! I say, enough!" His face had turned white with rage, and Jon thought maybe he had gone too far, when Bismark turned and stalked away, leaving Jon to suffer the pains of his beating in solitude. Despite his pains, Jon grinned.

Glavius stood at the head of the battered Red Fists. Since seeing Jon captured and taken into the German camps trussed like a pig for market, he had followed the German army from Heidelburg on it's way back to Berlin, and Drachensfell, waiting. He had been wound tighter then a merchant's pursestrings since feeling that he had failed his old friend again. He just needed one chance to ride in and rescue Jon, just one! "I will not fail you again..", his whispered promise was swept into the cool night breeze, which in turn, swept over everyone, German, French and rebel alike.

[ChrisiusMaximus]

For gods sake man have you no mercy ! Poor old lucas, still being used as Bismarks play thing.

At least Lord Rik has'nt had to suffer that sort of fate.

[Chingis Khan]

General Tibarias looked over his men once more before nodding gruffly and turning away. He walked to where Lord-Captain Chrisius-Maximus stood, inspecting his men and spoke, "Do your men know what to do?" Maximus gave a sharp salute and nodded, "Aye, that they do. I trained them myself, according to Lord Rikenstein's doctrine, remember? My men are more than ready, sire."
Tibarias looked over Maxima's men once more, and then moved on down the line to the next Lord-Captain and his group, continuing with the inspections until he had seen all fifty thousand of France's finest troops.
While he walked, he couldn't help but think over the battle plans formulated by the best generals France had to offer; himself included. No matter the political ramifications, he just didn't like the idea of leaving the fortress to take Bismark on in the open field. Why, with fifty thousand men, he could hold Drachensfell forever! Well, as long as he had supplies coming in, he conceded, but still! It was madness to go toe-to-toe with Bismark; especially considering that Bismark had almost seventy thousand troops himself. He remembered the scouts reports vividly;
Thirty thousand infantry, tired but otherwise in good shape. Another ten thousand heavy infantry. Also tired. Over ten thousand archers made up of mostly country folk. They are in good spirits and seem eager. The same goes for the light cavalry, which numbers around fifteen thousand. The heavy cavalry are madder then a hornet's nest, but since they are mostly German nobles with a stake in the land... anyway, there are over five thousand of them.....
The reports went on and on and Tibarias had each and every detail memorized. The French had mustered the largest army their country had ever seen, but the German army still dwarfed them. Well, the French plans were good. And if they managed to catch Bismark by surprise, and if they managed to manuver his forces into the wooded glens, and if the other Noble houses of Germany didn't send their armies to reinforce Bismark, and if ..... Dammit! Too many ifs. So much hung in the balance, and with so much at stake. Tibarias wasn't a betting man, but if he had to make a bet on the outcome of this battle, he would have bet that the only winner would be the crows and foxes, getting fat on the corpses of both sides! Except that France needed to be the clear victor in the coming fight, or the other German Nobles would send their armies, without question, and that would mean it had all been for nothing. Tibarias sighed, perhaps the new training that Rikenstein had taught would make the difference. He sighed again, and looked over the parapets of the north wall of Drachensfell, to the glens of the Tabarns estates. A large open area, interspersed with pockets of wooded glades. That was where the French would try to engage Bismark. Tibarias frowned as he wondered how many crows and foxes lived within those glades.

Bismark sat in his "travelling throne", rocking gently from side to side as the armoured wagon in which he was perched, made it's way through the Black Forest. His lips were pursed and he tapped his finger to his lips in agitation. Well, at least the rage within him had died down somewhat; enough for him to think clearly, at least. He had recieved no word from any of his so-called "loyal" Barons, or nobles. This in itself was quite worrying, especially after having an entire city revolt against him! He decided he would have to reassert his rule on these ingrates. After he had controlled the current situation, anyway. Who would have thought that Joan D'Arc could have summoned the courage to attack Germany; more so in light of the last war between the two countries. He chuckled grimly to himself. He had smashed France's armies before and he would do so again. Except this time, he would not be merciful; this time he would drive the French into the ocean! He would close his mighty fist around France and squeeze! ...he would squeeze until not a drop of life remained in that damned land! But first, he had to take Joan out of his castle. His castle! Drachensfell was his! The thought of that French whore in his beloved fortress was enough to bring back the overwhelming rage of the last few days, and he screamed aloud. He looked around for something to smash and his eyes fell upon the empty wooden bench in front of his throne. He grinned mirthlessly as he stood to draw his sword and smash that infernal bench, but the wagon lurched as a wheel caught in a rut. Bismark was catapaulted from his throne and was launched face first into the bench. He screamed again, this time through a bloody nose, as he set about beating the bench with his fists, a red film coming across his vision from rage. he bought his fist down on one side of the bench. Unfortunately for him, the top slat was loose and flipped up from the other side to whack him in the side of his head. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. He worked his jaw noiselessly for a moment as he stared at his newest arch-enemy in pure hatred, rubbing the side of his face. The bench stared back implacably. Bismark slowly, and regally, rose to his feet, turning as if to ignore the bench and sit down on his throne, but at the last moment, he whirled and kicked out at the cursed bench. His foot caught in his robe and he let out a small, strangled yell as he collapsed in a heap. To make matters worse, the wagon lurched again, and the weakened bench, with what Bismark swore was satisfaction, slowly fell on top of him.