A Merry Krugzmas Writing Competition

[𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖚𝖘𝖍 2451]

Reserved

[The Great Mongol Khan 1110]

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKdjSUEHaJ0

 

 

-O- "Forsaken Merriment"  -O-

x- A Krugsmas Tale by William Karduin -x

 

Snow continued to pile upon the blanketed tundra. The winter brought darkness and a blistering cold that could consume the very life of a man. The cold and bleak night brought no solace, forbidding all to descend from their hearths into the darkness. Beautiful families slumbered within their homes at this merry time of the year. The only time of the year that allows a blissful ignorance to overtake its host. All problems and injustices fade away when the banners of red and green cover every city within Vailor. All conflicts seem to become at peace on this one day of the year.

 

***

 

Within the darkness of the night the snow became brutalized and beaten beneath leather boots. The brown haired man continued his hasteful escape towards the sanctuary of dense forest. Upon a depth within, he turned to set his gaze behind him at the barren plain in an attempt to locate his hunter. He scanned the horizon, but to no avail he could not locate him. Fearful of his fate, he continued forward deeper into the shelter of the tree given canopy.

 

***

The array of candles reflected a warm and festive light on the mass in the Felsen cathedral. The priest stationed himself at the altar, offering a warm smile to the masses within the pews. He observed them momentarily, happy of the turn up of this year’s Krugsmas mass. The beginning of the sermon began to escape his lips:

 

“Oh LORD, we are truly delighted to come together in your house on yet another beautiful Krugsmas. We thank you for keeping our friends and family in good health within the past year and ask that you continue to do so. We are forever your humble servants. Watch over us great Creator. Deliver us from the murderous hands of men and ascend us to your great kingdom, Oh LORD”

 

***

 

The man broke down into pants of exhaustion. His back found itself snug pressed against the frosted tree trunk. His emerald eyes danced around in fear as he attempted to find his breath. At of the corner of his eye, he became shocked to see a second pair of tracks within the snow alongside his. A new wave of fear began to overcome him. A warmth drenched the cloth on his leg. An arrow now rested in the once untainted flesh. He turned to see nothing but a blur slowly overtake his senses.

 

***

Deep wheezes echoed throughout the room as he awoke. Stone consumed the walls within the cellar. A blanket of darkness was sewn from wall to wall. The darkness was only splintered by an open window. A bittersweet source of sight. The bringer of light and the usherer of the devastation frost of the winter night. The still hopeful urge to get up from the chair was squashed by the tight bindings. With frantic eyes he scanned the room. Within the darkness he found the shadow of a man in the corner of the room leaning over what appeared to be a table. A fire began to illuminate from a small match. The man leaned over to light a candle. Tearing it from its rest, he turned towards his helpless guest. The light brought identity to a portion of the man’s face, the rest shrouded in the shelter of the shadows. A hushed voice echoed throughout the room:

 

“You have been a very bad boy this year.”

 

A menacing grin was offered to the bound man. The man swallowed in fear as his captur lingered closer. He sought to plea but only muffled squeals came out. In one hand held the candle and in the other rested steel. The man continued to the side of the chair. Leaning over, he undid the bindings securing his mouth. The muffled wheezing bursted from beneath the bindings.

 

***

“Oh LORD, everyday you offer us the greatest blessings. You have given us the rivers, the mountains, the forests, and the prairies. You give us love through our families and humanity in others. However, we do not neglect our thanks to you for the greatest Krugsmas blessing that you bestow upon us, life.”

 

***

The man squatted down leaning into the bound man’s ear allowing a whisper to flow through him. “Merry Krugsmas; This might be my best one yet.” With a renewed rheumy

of his eyes, the man jolted in his bindings offering only a hopeless screech to the bleak winter darkness that had forsaken him.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXQViqx6GMY

 

((Couldn’t resist...))

 

[Kaelan 1918]

Withdrew.

[Mephistophelian 977]

Testing if I can edit.

[Adelemphii 1768]

11 hours ago, Maruthir said:

They don't have to care about Krugzmas, write about having an awful Krugzmas or something wacky happening that your character didn't expect.

so like a human walking into my tree and opening my (my friend said he locked it) chest and stealing all my iron 

https://gyazo.com/64f250aa983ccd488a8705642c63b6f5

[Dr. Boom/Dr. Bewm 29]

This sounds fun! but why were everyone saying Resvered?

 

[AlternateKy 89]

Reserved ;)

[Xygim 80]

Reserved - Whatever that means!

[thesmellypocket 1859]

 

 

Knight of the Golden Lilies

 

François could only imagine. Only imagine what naval war would look like, smell like, let alone feel like. The utter and complete carnage, the explosive growls and grunts ; the flames. He was alone - at least in his mind. He cared not for the people sat around him in the public house, who gathered here and there with much fanfare, because this was that most foreign and unfamiliar festival they called “Krugmas.” François just ignored them as he poured over a work of naval strategy, the young squire enthralled by writing of such magnificent eloquence that it must have taken the diligence of a thousand skilled craftsmen to produce each letter, or so he imagined. But soon the words became more abstract, and pictures came into his mind. He had seen war before. All her horrors, as close friends had died in Adria and other distant realms ;the pictures were more terrible and vivid than what could possibly be imagined before he had seen war in all her brilliant, brave and brutal aspects.

 

Soon, the reading stopped. He let a story formulate and flow within his mind, the creativity and passion of a child interweaved with his increasingly mature and adult mind; the age-old tales of chivalric romance intermixed with his practical experience of war in all her frantic chaos. It was the strangest brew one could ever make.

 

And François could only imagine.

 

Suddenly, a rough voice growled at his men. He was a bear of a man, towering over them with the added height of his magnificent hat. The hat was truly brilliant:- innumerable jewels of astounding rarity were plastered onto it, and they gleamed splendidly in the golden sun. The jeweled man glanced about him, to see the narrow strait packed with dromons alike to his own, smiling with amusement at the simultaneous, ever-constant grunts of the oarsmen as they pulled his galley closer toward the enemy. “By the truth of our religion, we shall see this city conquered, and you shall have all the loot and enemy women to please you!” He gestured toward each side of the narrow strait, which was packed with buildings of incredible wealth and prestige that was previously thought unimaginable - but amazingly, the city on both sides was without city walls. Dominating it all was a great temple, a huge, opulent building with a large dove symbol towering over the buildings around it. The great symbol of the polytheists, the man thought, the polytheists which they would crush utterly under their unstoppable heel. The man was Baibars, captain of a single galley, yet a destroyer of cities, universally feared, he came seeking to fill coffers with glinting gold and souls with fervent fulfillment in equal measure.

 

A collective cheer erupted from the men in response to Baibars’ words. They were a diverse mash of troops :- missile troops, who wore only turbans, and the iconic Mamluks, who bore mail armour and scimitars; spearmen, who came for the same reasons as Baibars, and imitated him in every aspect.

 

The enemy sallied forth to meet them with a pitiful number of galleys , miserably outnumbered and with little hope of victory. Baibars smiled toward the sun.

 

He was ready to win.

 

Slowly but surely, Baibars’ own ship came into missile range of a foolish enemy galley. An exchange of missiles followed, with sling bullets and with sling stones, with rocks and with pebels, with arrows and with bolts, and with javelins and with spears. Explosive cries of pain came from both sides, yet few casualties on either side were counted. Baibars watched the enemy traverse closer - the imprudent fools wanted to try and board! It was as if he could smell the fear coming from the enemy’s desperate eyes. All except one. One lone man who stood out from amongst them, his surcoat bearing brightly the sign of golden lilies and proudly proclaiming that this was no common soldier. This was a man of Chivalry. A knight!

 

A great “CRASH!” was heard as the enemy drew down a narrow bridge between the two ships. Baibars ordered his men to its site, ready to fight back any fighter who was brave or foolish enough to try to cross. A terrified spearman was the first victim of the melee, climbing into the defender's ship to try and gain a foothold for his comrades. Instantly, his hopes were terminated as a spear was thrust from his right, skewering him completely. His body tumbled into the ocean, turning the once deep and vivid blue into a battleground, the first traces of blood etched into the sea as his life spilled into the sea beneath him - and it would not be the last. Next for the execution was that most valiant knight, who pushed ahead of the wavering attackers to set a perfect example of bravery and diligence. The missile troops shot as many missiles as humanly - or divinely - possible at the knight, but his armour seemed to absorb the arrows with little more than a shrug. His shield and armour packed with a dense cloud of arrows, he charged forward, sword drawn, an eternal fervour burning in his bright and fiery eyes which set any enemy who gazed into them to cowardice. The defender's wavered, whilst more and more of the knight’s comrades poured onto the ship.

 

Then the butcher’s work began. The knight severed a Mamluk’s head, the former man’s blood spilling into the ground beneath him in a thick pool. Each defender surrendered or was killed in a savage blitzkrieg, but Baibars had had enough. “**** it.” He concluded bluntly, knocking over a barrel of deadly incendiary and setting it alight, his face as blank as if he were setting alight wood for a homely fireplace. Leaping off the vessel with speed of a wing'd chariot, he abandoned his livelihood and comrades without a single glance back. He swam with all his might toward a vessel similar to his, inhaling black smoke from his ex-ship and emerging onto the dromon.

 

Atop, he found a swarthy, short man with a cunning, cruel smirk,who took pleasure in the fact Baibars’ opulent hat had vanished. Baibars instantly welled up with wroth...Of all people! Husayn Ibn Munqidh, that bastard! Husayn was clearly relishing the moment. “Nice bonfire, my friend!” He exclaimed mockingly, giving his customary laugh, a cruel, jeer-like sound which grated on Baibars’ ears. “It is those polytheists.” Baibars replied with all the bitterness of an unripe fruit. “They are led by a man who fears our arrows and spears no more than would an anvil.” Another laugh. “You were just craven. I shall deal with him.” Husayn waved a dismissive hand, deliberately toward the burning wreck that was Baibars’ former ship, that insufferable smirk still cemented on his insufferable face. Baibars wanted to punch that face into dust. “We shall board them this time. I have already captured prisoners.” Husayn gestured downwards as he spoke with a towering hubris, and Baibars could hear a vague wailing sound below, silenced by a harsh growl, or more often, a painful beating.

 

“Usama.” Husayn ordered the lieutenant beside him, giving him a wink. “Find a weapon for our honourable guest.” Mohammed threw Baibars a rusty old axe, a weapon of a serf, a grave insult if there ever was one. “I don’t need a ******* fancy scimitar to kill, Munqidh.” Baibars retorted. “On this day, I shall surely prove myself a better wario-” Husayn was interrupted as a javelin crashed into his right leg, causing him to cry out with the volume of a million birds. The cries, constant and unending, signalled his utter trauma, and, rendered totally incapable, he babbled incoherently. “I am in command now, Mohammed.” Baibars spoke authoritatively whilst dabbing his paw in Munqidh’s blood with  a triumphant smile. “Take Husayn below. Bring some prisoners and an olive branch.” The force of his voice was so great that Mohammed was compelled to obey, and he forced his former commander below.

 

Typically, Baibars’ orders were carried out without fail and the prisoners, hands bound behind their backs, were driven onto the top deck with desperate whimpers. As the olive branch was waved, the missiles stopped flying. “Polytheists!” Baibars called out to the enemy ship, eyes fixed on the knight. “Shall you continue to fight, knowing the cost of defying our will?” He raised his axe, burying it deep into the neck of a civilian prisoner, a noble heiress. She gave a muffled wail as the axe bit deep into her neck, blood gushing out in thick rivers as she collapsed onto the floor with a sharp thud. Baibars smiled toward the lilied knight, who, for the first time, showed a glint of fear for the first time. So he was human, after all!

 

The olive branch pulled down, Baibars’ new company loosed such a great volume of missiles that the sky darkened; this hell that was unleashed was reciprocated by the enemy, and within moments both sides were grasped by the harsh hand of death. The ships were hooked so closely together that one could leap from one to another, and Baibars’ men did exactly that with all the zeal of preachers. An intense melee followed, and in the midst of it all was Baibars’ great enemy, the almost fearless knight. Baibars rushed at him, chopping downwards madly and then suddenly swinging, go for the knight’s right, propelling his shield away. Baibars then swiped at his right arm, causing the knight to instinctively drop his weapon. With all the killer instinct of a tiger, he could smell his kill. But the knight was swift. Trapping his enemy’s axe, the knight chucked it away, before Baibars, red with rage, wrestled him to the floor with him. The knight withdrew a long rondel dagger, striking into Baibars’ neck and causing him to gurgle furiously. The knight groaned as he forced the massive, dying hulk off of him, standing up proudly. He was soaked in blood, peppered with arrows, and now filled with hubris. “I am Sir Bal-”

 

His words - and life - were cut short by a whizzing sling bullet. The last thing the knight saw was a second ship boarding them from the other side. His body tumbled into the ocean, staining the once vivid blue sea a touch redder as his life spilled into the sea beneath him...And it would not be the last.

 

But François could only imagine.

 

Commentary:- this is my character some years ago, and represents his transition from a boy brought up with chivalric romances to a man who knows the reality of war, tempered by experience in battle

[Dr. Boom/Dr. Bewm 29]

Reserved (I guess)

[Burkester 1247]

Reserved

[mmat 7460]

Literally no idea why people are reserving.

[_pr0fit 3084]

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ZcoQ3YG_cQhn8zFy5gg62zlCMyz3B7gmeBFBTj81Hm8/edit

 

[Han Solo 35]

Reserved.

[Farryn 860]

Reserved! (Writing piece coming soon~!)