Christoph's Manor of Music -- Challenge #2

Welcome back to Christoph’s Manor of Music, home to the only musical contest on Althanas! For those who don't already know, the object of this challenge is to channel the tone, mood, and style of music into your writing. The rules are simple. I provide a link to a particular piece of music and you write a short scene or excerpt of no more than 1,500 words that you believe truly captures the essence of the song.

This contest will close on the 1st of February and the winner is rewarded with four sexy Fate Points, with two points going to the runner up.

For this challenge, I'm going forward in time a few hundred years to something a little more... modern, but just as badass. I present you: Song #2!

Good luck!

Unfortunately, the link given has been literally silenced by YouTube, due to copyright stuff. You can find the song here on YouTube again, or here for those of you who have an IMEEM account.

The thunderous song of horses echoed across the barren wastelands of the desert, a riotous pounding of ten thousand hooves racing frantically at the whips of their masters. The shouts of the riders competed for volume and ferocity, filling the frigid night air with a maniacal fervor, a rallying cry to the ravages of war that waited at their destination. Moving by the thousands, the soldiers of God crossed the wastelands, taking no heed to either fatigue or worry, as their Lord was the strength in their limbs on this fell night.

Moonlight, cold and bitter in its fading gaze, was the only illumination had to show the path before them. It reflected wildly from the polished steel that encased the warriors, the mighty and terrible armor their enemies had come to know and fear as the wrath of God itself. The pale light, competing for relevance with the fervor shining in their eyes, was a gift in this noble quest to retake that which had the invaders stole. The way was clear; all that remained was the decimation of the usurpers.

Lord Richard the Chaste, captain of many fair and noble warriors, rode at the head of the brigade, leading the charge to the gates of Jerusalem. With a mighty yell, he rallied his soldiers, feeding upon the glorious rage and bloodlust, secure in the knowledge that the rightness of their cause purified whatever foul deeds it required. With his right hand, the captain thrust aloft a mighty banner, terrible and deadly in its majestic purple hues.

O Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Raise your voice this night, O Jerusalem!
Salvation rides at dawn,
The fury of God at its heels!
Sing praises, O Jerusalem!
The Holy City shall rise,
Once again in freedom!

The men sung in unison, their voices cast before them to the consternation of the barbarians sitting upon the walls of Jerusalem. God himself smiled upon their words, His hand beckoning in finality to persecute the invaders by his name. The brigade closed upon the distraught city, spreading as water upon rock to surround the heathen defenders, ignoring the stinging nuisance of their arrows.

As the leading branches of their formation met around the backside, the soldiers turned as one to enter the city, trampling the Muslim defenders as they went. Lances and swords flashed in the uncertain predawn light, slaying all who stood before the Christian advance, uncaring for the wretched victims of their strikes. Any man who set foot in the Holy City as an invader was deemed and enemy of God; likewise, those who stood against the salvation He offered were to be slain with neither mercy nor care, for they were traitors and heretics.

The battle raged in hellish intensity, well into the morning sunlight. Hot desert winds blew across the land, spreading the smell of carnage; blood was the only scent noticed by those crazed with religious fervor, for they relished it as the finest of perfumes. Bodies fell by the dozens, the underequipped Muslim invaders woefully inept at countering the brutal charge of the armored knights. The defenses crumbled, seeing many who fled in abject fear, leaving their brothers behind to fight and die in the glorious slaughter.

Lord Richard, upon seeing that his brigade had routed the primary bastions of Muslim activity, rode through the city with his standard held high; this day, the day of the Lord, was won. The Holy City once again rested in Christian hands, where it would remain throughout the histories. No invading heretic, nor riotous blasphemer, would ever again stand upon its glorious heights and claim victory and dominance upon this land. Such was the promise of God, and none would stand to challenge it. Not while the souls of righteous warriors, young and old alike, stood at the towers and walls of this fair city, whose freedom was now assured in victory.

O Jerusalem! Jerusalem!
Raise your voice this day, O Jerusalem!
The Army of God has risen,
Eager in triumph this day!
Sing your praises, O Jerusalem!
Your freedom is won,
Upon God’s grace!

Out of Character:

Just realised through the podcast that I posted my previous entry under the wrong name >< Must get used to dual accounts... many apologies for any inconvenience caused. In the meantime, my entry, which I'll admit to having sat on for a week or so before deciding it was barely worthy of submission.

The Order of the Aurora had been formed as a crusading chapter in Corone, but over the course of many years their wars took them far and wide across the entirety of Althanas. When finally they settled in the far eastern isles of Nippon, tired of their nomadic existence, the knights took on a new role as the guardians of the small foreign presence in the country. Their code of honour forbade them to involve themselves in petty local politics, but when lives of the innocent were threatened by overwhelming evil or gross injustice, Grandmaster Gunther Leitdorf led forth his two hundred or so steel clad men-at-arms to eliminate the foe.

The procession left the iron gates of Fort Falcondark just after dawn, a long line of dust and glimmering steel under the early morn sun. At the very fore were the knights of the Inner Council, twenty veteran warriors encased in heavy engraved breastplates and riding barded chargers, led by Lord Gunther himself alongside his eldest son Johann. They bore long lances, greatswords and heavy kite shields, their enclosed helms grim reminders of their deadly prowess. The remainder of the knights were younger and less experienced, wearing surcoats bearing the device of the order – gold eagle on ebony field – over lighter chain mail and riding unarmoured warhorses. Gunther’s second son Hector was one of these, the pennant on his spear fluttering gently in the warm breeze, a heavy bastard sword strapped to his back and his left hand clasping a worn heater shield.

When outriders brought word that the enemy was close, the knights had been on the road for hours, the pace of their steeds steadily eating up the dusty miles underfoot. Gunther signalled a halt and drew his men up in formation, the Inner Council to the van and the lesser knights spread out in a wide arrowhead behind. His chosen battlefield was wide and open, long grasses swaying gently upon lightly rolling hills under a clear blue sky, the ubiquitous snow-capped mountains in the distance. It was an ideal location for the might of the Order’s horse.

They did not have to wait long before the goblins arrived. The dust brought up by their scurried passing darkened the entire horizon, casting a distinct gloom over the field. Crimson red shells carpeted the ground like an undulating wave, their chittering warcries reverberating like insect calls. A beady-eyed, blade-wielding carpet of doom, the relentless advance of the akki did not waver even after the knights were sighted.

“Astaldo, I’m counting on you today,” Hector spoke softly, his voice low and gritted as he adjusted the rim of his coif on his sweaty forehead. His chestnut steed answered with a barely audible whinny, nostrils flared and teeth bared as he caught the scent of his foe. The young knight checked the leather straps on his shield one last time, then concentrated on the grain of the spear in his right hand. So solid it felt, even through the mail gauntlets he wore.

He caught the eye of his close friend, the fair-faced and intelligent Eliot, on his right. Many were the times that the pair of them had rode into battle together, and the mutual look of trust and anticipation that passed between them was by now a pre-battle ritual. On his other flank was Eliot’s tomboyish younger sister, Elaine; this was her first battle. It was testament to her unyielding spirit that she did not shy from the horde of foes.

The sounding of the horns, clear and triumphant as they echoed across the rolling plains. The flash of bright sunlight upon Lord Gunther’s naked blade as the Grandmaster sounded the charge. Slowly at first, maintaining the arrowhead formation, the knights began to advance.

Swifter, faster. Astaldo’s legs became but a blur as the ground sped by. The wind whistled in Hector’s ears, the pennant on his spear fluttering straight and proud.

Stronger, sharper. As one, the lances and spears lowered to meet the foe. The forward ranks of the akki cowered as the tidal wave of horseflesh and glinting steel rapidly descended upon them. The rear ranks pushed forward, eager to get to grips with their enemies.

Into this confused mass, with nary a second thought, the courageous knights plunged.

Hector didn’t even have to think. He simply urged Astaldo forward, single-mindedly maintaining the grip on his spear and his place in the formation. In large numbers, the akki were a dangerous foe, but they were by nature cowardly and weak. Astaldo’s powerful hooves and the firm edge of Hector’s spear were the doom of many of the diminutive goblins, wispy puffs of smoke all that remained of their presence as they were sent back to their spawning caves. You could never truly kill an akki, the young knight reminded himself. But you could always give them cause to fear

He did not sense the spell until a moment before it hit him, and by then it was a moment too late to duck. The breath left his lungs in an abrupt wumph! Stars danced in his vision and time flowed like viscous mercury as he was inexorably carried from the saddle. As Astaldo continued to press forwards without him, Hector only vaguely recognised that his friends to either side had also been knocked off their mounts.

The young knight hit the ground hard on his back. His head swam mightily with the impact, his vision dim and blurred despite the high noon sun. Only the nearby chittering of opportunistic goblins gave him the strength to clear his mind and stagger to his feet, painfully regaining his robbed breath to roar a defiant cry that was taken up by his two companions. Somehow he’d managed to keep hold of shield and spear even through the fall; now, with a disdainful snarl, Hector discarded them and drew the cross-hilted bastard sword from his shoulders. Eliot and Elaine mirrored the action and produced their own steel, he an elegantly curved fencing sabre, she a short arming sword. Back to back they stood as the akki closed in on them from all directions. The first wave of goblins to try their luck were beaten back in a flurry of desperate sword strokes, but it was blindingly obvious that there were too many of them for the knights to survive long.

“Hector!”

A deep-throated cry, unexpected salvation. The Inner Council had led the knights in a breakthrough of the goblin lines, dividing into two in a prearranged flanking manoeuvre. One of those wings, led by none other than Johann himself, now clove a path through the akki ranks like a sword through layers of parchment, arrowing straight and true towards the beleaguered threesome. In a matter of moments the red-skinned goblinoids had seen enough; collective fear and basic survival instinct took over, and rather than face the metal behemoths that they could not seem to even scratch, what remained of their number turned as one to flee.

“What did I tell you, little brother…” the massively built Johann called jovially from the head of his men, “… about not falling off your horse!”

“… and what did I tell you about leaving me behind?” the young knight growled at Astaldo, fixating his destrier with a stern glare as the horse followed rather sheepishly in the wake of the saviours. Astaldo tossed his head at the question, whinnying in a reconciliatory manner.

Hector turned to thank his friends, then paused as he found Eliot staring after the fleeing akki with pursed lips and furrowed brow. Just as the query of what the matter was formed upon his lips, the ground began to shake, as if in the throes of one of the ubiquitous quakes that plagued the land. A massive crack in the earth, the world itself torn asunder, and a terrifying daemon forced its way out from the bowels of the underworld, bellowing its defiance and fury. Its very appearance turned the skies black and the air heavy with the smell of cinder and ash; brave men averted their gazes from the horror, and horses reared violently in instinctive fear. Its powerfully muscular build the size of the very mountains on the horizon, the oni was truly a sight to behold, warty leathery skin as tough as any dragonscale and a single ivory horn jutting upwards from the middle of its four-eyed forehead. A whole host of lesser evils followed it forth from the gateway it had spawned, eager to make their mark on the outer world.

Lesser men would have fled. Only grim determination, responsibility born of their chivalric code, and the commanding presence of Lord Gunther kept the knights on the field.

“Saddle up and form the line!” the Grandmaster’s voice rung out across the ash-strewn battlefield, harshly audible even over the hollow keen of the oni. “We ride!”

Hector heaved himself into Astaldo’s saddle, bracing for the next charge of the Order of the Aurora.

Two more days! Get your entries in!

While I don't normally like to extend deadlines, I want to get a few more entries in. Thus, the contest will remain open until the first of February.

If there's one thing in the world that I hate above everything else, it's ninjas. You know, those fuckers that dress in all black and hide in the shadows, waiting for that one moment when you aren't paying attention to sneak up behind you and slide a knife between your ribs? Yes, I realize that's exactly what I've been doing for most of my life, but I at least had the decency to reveal myself and my intentions to my victims right before they died. That's what separates me from the likes of them.

But one thing I hate more than ninjas is fighting them. And that's exactly what I'm doing at the moment. You see, I shouldn't be worrying about why I'm doing the dance of death with my silent attacker, but I can't help but wonder. Did I piss someone off years ago, and they've held a grudge long enough to try and collect my head after all this time or something? Was someone angry that I opened up my book store? Was it a case of mistaken identity? Or was I just the closest living being when this guy said to himself, "Hey, I feel like killing someone!"

A handful of shuriken whizzed past my head and took a couple strands of hair with them moments before they stuck harmlessly into the back wall of my store. I considered myself lucky that time hadn't diminished my reflexes. By the time I was able to look back up from my fancy dodge, the fucker was in mid-jump; a short kunai gripped tightly in his gloved hand. He took a swipe at me, but I was prepared for it, like, three seconds ago. I trapped his outstretched arm with my hands as he came down, and used his momentum to try and bring him to the floor in an armbar.

However, him being a ninja and all, he was able to worm his way out of the hold before his face hit the floor. I stopped myself from faceplanting and quickly rolled across the slightly-dirty wood floor to safety. As I bolted back to my feet, my attacker was already on the move. A short sword glinted in the moonlight coming through the window. I tried to move back a step to try and get some room, but I bumped my ass against one of the short tables that I used to display some of the books... Wait! Of course!

"Fuck you!"

I quickly reached behind me and put my hands on a nice, thick, hardcover book. If I remembered correctly, this is where I had put a copy of Gary Goodman's "A Comprehensive Analysis of Why the Book of Thayne is Bunk"--1126 pages of controversial atheist goodness. As the man in black rushed towards me, I wrapped a hand around the unbound side and brought it up horizontally in front of me as fast as I could.

As I hoped, the ninja wasn't expecting the strike. The binding of the heavy book collided with his throat, crushing it. He stumbled, clutched his throat, and let out a quiet, painful gasp. I didn't hesitate; I brought the book down on the base of his neck with a powerful two-handed swing. He crashed to the floor with a dull thud.

Wasting no time, I slammed my foot down on his wrist repeatedly until he finally gave up and released his grip on the sword, which I then kicked away. He tried to roll over and swing around to stab me with his kunai, but I intercepted that with a good kick to the stomach. The pussy doubled over in pain. I made a mental note that ninjas were no longer the feared entities that the stories and legends made them out to be.

I kneeled down and grabbed him by the collar of his gi. "Okay, asshole, I think you know how this part goes. Who sent you?" Despite the darkness that suffocated the interior of my store, I could clearly make out the two bright eyes between the slits of his mask. An uncomfortable silence, broken only by our heavy breathing, descended upon the room. I raised my voice to show him that I meant business. "Who sent you!"

It was then that I heard a small, familiar click. Almost immediately, the life began to fade from his eyes. That motherfucker popped a poison pill! "No, you son of a bitch," I screamed with futility. The ninja's lifeless head rolled back. I sat there for a few seconds, bewildered by the events that had started three minutes ago. I let go of the collar. His body hit the floor with a crack, never to move again.

A loud curse escaped my lips. "Fucking shit!" I gave the ninja another kick to the stomach to let off some steam. I'm the one who should've known how this part goes. Ninjas have too much honor--they'd die rather than betray their intentions.

Assholes.

Out of Character:

As halfway through "The Crusade" keeps turning into "Into The Night..." yeah, I don't know either.

The din in the stairwell was horrific. Shouted orders, shrieks of pain and high, keening, otherworldly calls echoed off the cold stone walls and bounced back, amplified a thousand times over by unsympathetic marble.

The slowly spiraling curve of the stair was awash with light. Not the simple, clean-white glow of the portals the stairs led to, no - this was something filthy: blacks and purples that strobed and kaleidoscoped into oranges and reds without once pausing for the spectrums inbetween; something that cast shadows on the walls of the men on the stair between them and the portal. This would be ordinary, excepting the fact that not all the shadows were human shaped.

Cael Inkfinger stared, wide-eyed, as he was half-dragged, half-shoved down the three last stairs. “What,” he asked, when he finally found his voice (watching something go from having two arms and a head to having a head and seventeen arms, all of which were flailing madly), “can make a man’s shadow not his own?”

“You better pray you don’t find out,” Lev Reznik, his main guard, returned, pulling something from his pocket. Cael’s chains jangled as he held out his hands. The old, worn wood of his pen was shoved into them, none too gently. He held the pen tight, the first touch of familiarity since they had hunted him down. It worried him. What was going so wrong that they’d need him? He didn’t ask the question. He voiced a simpler one instead.

“Ink?” He’d need it, after all, if he were to be of any help…

Lev’s rough hand closed around his wrist faster than he could move to get away, his heavy bulk holding him still as a knife flashed in a quicksilvered arc, slicing deep into the fleshy base of his thumb.

“Nope.”

Cael bit back a whimper at the fresh pain – hot, and dirty, and deep; he could almost swear he could glimpse bone beneath the torn skin and muscle. He slid the blackened nib of the pen over the vibrant red, coating the point, hands shaking convulsively as he did.

The sounds from through the doorway…

“Remember,” Lev said into his ear, far far too close; he still smelled of last night’s liquor, “don’t try anything dumb.” His foot slammed into the back of Cael’s knees, forcing him to the floor. “’coz if you do an’ you screw up, well…” He flopped to a seat on the stairs, grinning – trying, Cael realized with startling clarity, to appear confident and failing rather miserably; there was hollowness in his eyes that the shark-sharp smile couldn’t hide. “Most demons,” his voice was nothing like his scarred body: it was smooth, slick; like too much oil over too little ice, “could probably read your brand…though they wouldn’t need to. They’d be able to just smell just how easy you spread your-”

“Oh, shut up.” It was a sign of the situation that the disrespect didn't get him slapped upside the head. Cael took one last glance towards the door before he began writing furiously, hand leaking blood at an alarming pace; smearing in thin red layers on the cold, smooth stone. The scritching of the pen was drowned out by the sounds through the door; the echoing howls, the constant electric buzz...

So that was another rumor about the Church of the Ethereal Sway proven true, then. Someone had clearly summoned something. Hadn’t it ever occurred to them, hadn’t anyone realized, that doors that could be opened one way could also swing both ways?

His hands burned, his left from the gash, the right from the speed with which he wrote, a thin layer of sweat forming between his fingers, on his brow, dripping down into his eyes. Lev, soon discontent with sitting, was up and pacing before he leaned over Cael’s crouched form, the tip of his knife pressed right between Cael’s shoulderblades, right above his spine.

Cael left out a huff of breath, taking precious seconds to wipe sweat from his forehead with the tattered sleeve of his shirt. “Look, Lev…sir,” He added, hastily, when the knife seemed to shift, dangerously, “If you don’t give me at least the space to work, I…” Inspiration came in a desperate flash. ““I swear to the Sway that you hold so holy, I will kill myself.” It would be easy, too, to just lunge backwards…the blade would sever his spine before Lev had a chance to blink. “Then you’d have to trust that they’re,” a fresh screel, a high pitched wail -like a bat- sounded from through the door, as if to make his point for him. “…going to be able to stop them.” He started sketching the outline of the next circle, voice mild. “If you trust that, I don’t see why I’m out here in the first place…”

“You're only here to buy us time,” Lev snarled back, but the prick of the knifeblade disappeared. Cael hid a smirk, etching in the sigils of warding and containment. They glistened red, like wet rubies, darker than natural in the strange half-light. He could feel the guard watching as he moved onto the next circle, adding to the already sizable line stretching from wall to wall.

Three desperate, wavering circles later, and he had to move forward to find more space. The floor behind him was nothing but interlocking Inkbind circles, but there was a lot of bare floor to go between him and the door…

Lev had to move to give his chains enough slack to continue. Cael tried not to think about getting closer to the door – the human sounding noises from within were becoming fewer and fewer, and the skin on his arm where the Portals talisman had left its mark was itching and crawling, as if there were ants beneath his skin…

Oh, hellgates I wish I hadn’t thought that. He doubled his efforts, barely noticing that his eyes were blurring, his skin paling dangerously – barely noticing the too-deep shadow darkening the doorway. Barely heard the clatter and rattle of someone –lots of someones- coming down the stairs. The reinforcements, perhaps?

He didn’t notice any of this until the shadow –barely defined, haloed in unnatural light- took one step forward. He felt a slight surge of power, then: a tiny shock, static’s baby brother, awakened when the circle flared to white-blue life. The effect of realization was not unlike dropping a frog into a pot of incredibly hot water. Cael took one clumsy, scrabbling leap backwards, heart in his throat, to land flat on his back-end, barely missing the last line of sigils. He sat there in a daze, staring at the…the shadowy thing that defied description, struggling against the double row of binding circles.

(It shouldn’t be working that well, a small, niggling voice said in his head. There’s no way you’re strong enough to hold something like that.

Except, he thought back defiantly, That it is a demon and I am in a church…for a reasonable definition of church. It’s already weak here…or something.)

“What,” he asked Lev, the moment he felt the guard grab his hand and wrap a strip of coarse cloth around his wrist, seconds-that-felt-like-eons later, “Was I buying us time for?”

Something like a ghost of a smile flickered on Lev’s scarred lips as he shoved Cael facefirst onto the floor. Cael felt a sudden rush of heat and cold and electricity (thankfully distracting him from the sudden additional dull pain in his nose); the interlocking elements that seemed to define magic, in general, passed over his head, terrifyingly close. He felt, more than heard or saw, the combined magics hit the demon in an implosion of tangible color and light that left a taste in the air; gravedirt and blood, spoiled fish and ozone. He didn’t dare look up, but he could hear Lev growling in his ear.

“Them.”

The winner and runner up will be announced in a couple days. Thank you to everyone who entered: all the entries look good.

Shadowed: I loved the opening. With the music playing, I could really feel it. It got my hopes up, but then it ended too swiftly, with the battle scene that you’d built up to so nicely not given the justice it deserved. Instead of leaving me going, “oh yeah! So awesome!” it gave me the literary version of blue-balls. The battle itself could have ebbed and flowed, gone up and down, like the song itself. With the opening you had, your entry could have been great. But still, kudos for building tension and maintaining a stylish, yet efficient flair.


Wings of Endymion: You were nearly the opposite of Shadowed. Your opening didn’t have the same striking impact that some of the other entries had, especially considering the nature of the song. After that, the fight scene was pretty decent, but it dragged on and didn’t pull me in. I couldn’t feel the intensity that the song calls for.


BlackandBlueEyes: I have one word for your entry: “Lol.” It didn’t have the same polished, fancy style as Shadowed’s entry, but the action was very clearly written and entertaining to visualize. I think it could have used some more serious stylistic touches, but it didn’t suffer too greatly from their absence. I like the twist both on taking a more humorous, tongue-and-cheek approach and going for a one-on-one duel rather than an epic battle. The scene was well paced, building up nicely, keeping me engaged in the middle, and wrapping up in a way that left me with a sense that it was a nice, completed entry.


Inkfinger: I didn’t get a great feel for your entry, unfortunately. Your style has a lot of potential, but you would benefit greatly from polishing it up a bit to make it sing more. The scene itself was pretty good on the whole, but reading it while listening to the music didn’t feel right to me. Still, keep at it.


Winners: This was a very tough call for me between BaBE and Shadowed. Both of you had good entries, but very different entries. Each had their positives and negatives, as I stated above.

First Place: BlackandBlueEyes – you killed a ninja with atheism, and if that can’t work as a tiebreaker, I don’t know what would. You get four Fate Points!

Second Place: Shadowed – you had a great start, but you didn’t deliver fully on the rest of the scene. I was left wanting more, but not in a good way. Had the battle been carried through with more description and dynamics instead of rushed through, you would have taken first place handily. Still, the overall entry was quite good, and worthy of the second place reward. You get another two Fate Points!

Congrats, everyone. Tune in next time for something completely different!