Julius Gandi
The Foreign Disease
Alger was traveling in his Ox driven cart north to the Flavian capitol. Along the road a man hailed them. The cart stopped. The man informed him that Bældæg was already dead. His last words were to suceed the land too The Britians. However Flavian nobles did not want to lose their power and elected one of their own to contine rule.
Alger offered the man to ride with him too London for a free meal in graditude of this information. As the oxen trudged on back from which they came and Alger sat in the back cotemplating.
One week later...
Beornulf weaved through the tents in the encampment. It was a chilly English morning on the Thames. Piles of black ash could be seen scattered though out the camp. The sun had just begun to rise when Beornulf raised his horn and let out a low pitch wail. In reply to the call the sound of 1000 men jolting out of sleep could be heard across the field. Crawling from the tents came men clad in hid and leather. With in a minute every tent was rolled and tied. With in another 5 minutes the men where in formation and marching away from the rising sun.
As commanded by the Goldwinian Edict which read as.
“Upon the founding by out fathers of this city 100 years ago, after from the great migration from the eastern lands it was set that we are destined for rule of our land. It is the task of my fearless generals to help our people start on this path to glory. Marching westward into English unification.”
The sound of 2000 feet beating against the earthen drum was mesmerizing. Beornulf marched ahead of his men strong and proud. He was ordered to deliver the westward tribes a stern message, or so the men thought.
Beornulf was a decorated war hero. He stood at 6 foot 7 inches in ornate officers garb. A star ran down his left check adding to slowly forming wrinkles that signs of many battles forgotten in the sea of warfare. His face held two kind dark blue eyes and strong cheekbones. Upon his head lay the skull of an adult stag. Ornately decorated was this skull, a notch placed for each victory. These ornamental headpieces were not worn by many, only by those who serve the kingdom with distinction. Around him was draped a bearskin robe that protected him against the cold. A gold chain hung around his neck.
He was followed by his trusted officer Rouling and 5 guardsmen. The road under them began to fade as they were reaching the end of the kingdom. In 2 hours more of marching the 1st regiment would be in hostile barbarian territory.
Beornulf recalled back to the battle brought him in such good times. It was a little over 27 years ago and Beornulf was nothing more than a veteran foot solder. Marching along with side the Flavia to the left of them against a large confederated tribe of Anglos who called themselves the Crodens. The Crodens had amassed an army of 1000 men. Compared to the allied armies 800 the battle looked to be a rough go. Croden spear hurlers started the fray with a massive volley that fell short of the allied lines. The instant the spears touched ground the allied lines sparked to life with a thunderous roar. A crazed charge took the men. Too Beornulf it seemed to be all going in slow motion. He was felt like he was flying through the air with each mighty stride. In the 50 second charge there was a lifetime. Beornulf saw the second volley of spears and raised his shield quickly, deflecting two. Some men fell and Beornulf felt like a god, no one could touch him.
The two lines met with an enormous clash, men meeting their maker at the end of a spear. Cries, and whales of death mixed the victorious roars of those still alive. A Croden warrior lunged at Beornulf from out of a group of men. Beornulf struck up his shield and deflected the attack to the left and coming down hard with his short spear from the right. The tip hit its mark deep into the warrior’s neck. He heard a faint gurgling cry and he with drew the spear.
After many 30 minutes the battle still raged and both sides were taking heavy casualties. The Croden managed a flanking maneuver and the allied lines began to waver. A retreat took rout in the men and they began to flee. The generals tried to rally the troops but to no avail. Beornulf started to flee but something took over him and he began to shout out in a wild old English tong. A group of solders stopped, turned, and for a moment in time seem balanced on the primordial edge of flight and fight. Finally, in a great turning point, 50 men turned and charged on the on coming Croden. Other allied warriors seeming this turned and charged with them, not letting their warriors march off too suicide with out a fight.
So a v like shape began to strike out from the retreating line at the closely approaching pursuer. Growing in numbers each passing moment those experienced solders of the Croden were filled with a numbing fear. In their broken pursuit they had left large gaps in their lines. The thrill of victory had lead to be their weakness as for it was too late to reform any kind of order.
Now the V shaped wall of crazed men no longer fearing death ripped through the Croden. Beornulf ran full speed through the enemy knocking Croden down with his shield and impaling the rest. Soon he realized he was behind the enemy line. They had broken through. Those Croden not killed by spear were trampled to death by Beornulf’s rally.
It was not long after that the Croden conceded to the allied force. Both Flavia and Britannia gain much land from this great victory and put them on the path to power.
Beornulf smiled to himself at the remembrance of his great victory. He continued to smile at the though of another soon to come. One that would put him in the minds of British solders for years to come. Twenty-five miles out of British territory Beornulf ordered an immediate turn to the north. There was a general flurry of talk. What where they doing? This what not what they had expected. Beornulf had no been sent to conquer new lands to the west as which the solders and people were lead to believe. The council of Britannia and their new king Alger had a trick up their sleeves that would not soon be forgotten. Yes, General Beornulf smiled that day, he smiled that entire week.
Alger offered the man to ride with him too London for a free meal in graditude of this information. As the oxen trudged on back from which they came and Alger sat in the back cotemplating.
One week later...
Beornulf weaved through the tents in the encampment. It was a chilly English morning on the Thames. Piles of black ash could be seen scattered though out the camp. The sun had just begun to rise when Beornulf raised his horn and let out a low pitch wail. In reply to the call the sound of 1000 men jolting out of sleep could be heard across the field. Crawling from the tents came men clad in hid and leather. With in a minute every tent was rolled and tied. With in another 5 minutes the men where in formation and marching away from the rising sun.
As commanded by the Goldwinian Edict which read as.
“Upon the founding by out fathers of this city 100 years ago, after from the great migration from the eastern lands it was set that we are destined for rule of our land. It is the task of my fearless generals to help our people start on this path to glory. Marching westward into English unification.”
The sound of 2000 feet beating against the earthen drum was mesmerizing. Beornulf marched ahead of his men strong and proud. He was ordered to deliver the westward tribes a stern message, or so the men thought.
Beornulf was a decorated war hero. He stood at 6 foot 7 inches in ornate officers garb. A star ran down his left check adding to slowly forming wrinkles that signs of many battles forgotten in the sea of warfare. His face held two kind dark blue eyes and strong cheekbones. Upon his head lay the skull of an adult stag. Ornately decorated was this skull, a notch placed for each victory. These ornamental headpieces were not worn by many, only by those who serve the kingdom with distinction. Around him was draped a bearskin robe that protected him against the cold. A gold chain hung around his neck.
He was followed by his trusted officer Rouling and 5 guardsmen. The road under them began to fade as they were reaching the end of the kingdom. In 2 hours more of marching the 1st regiment would be in hostile barbarian territory.
Beornulf recalled back to the battle brought him in such good times. It was a little over 27 years ago and Beornulf was nothing more than a veteran foot solder. Marching along with side the Flavia to the left of them against a large confederated tribe of Anglos who called themselves the Crodens. The Crodens had amassed an army of 1000 men. Compared to the allied armies 800 the battle looked to be a rough go. Croden spear hurlers started the fray with a massive volley that fell short of the allied lines. The instant the spears touched ground the allied lines sparked to life with a thunderous roar. A crazed charge took the men. Too Beornulf it seemed to be all going in slow motion. He was felt like he was flying through the air with each mighty stride. In the 50 second charge there was a lifetime. Beornulf saw the second volley of spears and raised his shield quickly, deflecting two. Some men fell and Beornulf felt like a god, no one could touch him.
The two lines met with an enormous clash, men meeting their maker at the end of a spear. Cries, and whales of death mixed the victorious roars of those still alive. A Croden warrior lunged at Beornulf from out of a group of men. Beornulf struck up his shield and deflected the attack to the left and coming down hard with his short spear from the right. The tip hit its mark deep into the warrior’s neck. He heard a faint gurgling cry and he with drew the spear.
After many 30 minutes the battle still raged and both sides were taking heavy casualties. The Croden managed a flanking maneuver and the allied lines began to waver. A retreat took rout in the men and they began to flee. The generals tried to rally the troops but to no avail. Beornulf started to flee but something took over him and he began to shout out in a wild old English tong. A group of solders stopped, turned, and for a moment in time seem balanced on the primordial edge of flight and fight. Finally, in a great turning point, 50 men turned and charged on the on coming Croden. Other allied warriors seeming this turned and charged with them, not letting their warriors march off too suicide with out a fight.
So a v like shape began to strike out from the retreating line at the closely approaching pursuer. Growing in numbers each passing moment those experienced solders of the Croden were filled with a numbing fear. In their broken pursuit they had left large gaps in their lines. The thrill of victory had lead to be their weakness as for it was too late to reform any kind of order.
Now the V shaped wall of crazed men no longer fearing death ripped through the Croden. Beornulf ran full speed through the enemy knocking Croden down with his shield and impaling the rest. Soon he realized he was behind the enemy line. They had broken through. Those Croden not killed by spear were trampled to death by Beornulf’s rally.
It was not long after that the Croden conceded to the allied force. Both Flavia and Britannia gain much land from this great victory and put them on the path to power.
Beornulf smiled to himself at the remembrance of his great victory. He continued to smile at the though of another soon to come. One that would put him in the minds of British solders for years to come. Twenty-five miles out of British territory Beornulf ordered an immediate turn to the north. There was a general flurry of talk. What where they doing? This what not what they had expected. Beornulf had no been sent to conquer new lands to the west as which the solders and people were lead to believe. The council of Britannia and their new king Alger had a trick up their sleeves that would not soon be forgotten. Yes, General Beornulf smiled that day, he smiled that entire week.
