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Writing The Scourge of God: A Soldier


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This is my first story, I got bored and typed it out. Constructive critisim is appreciated.

The year is 1240, the sight Kiev. The sights and sounds of battle where everywhere, and Alexei couldn?t help but feel sick. Bodies floated in the river like logs, both men and horse. Countless men screened the banks with alabasters and bows.

Vladimir Domazhinori was a peasant from a nearby village. The great scourge of god, the Mongol Hordes, had come. The Russian empire was smashed down as they swept through the border provinces. They now moved on Kiev. A lowly bridge was all that stood between the Mongols and further domination in Europe.

The Russian soldiers had taken men from the villages and hastily trained them to fire alabasters, larger more powerful versions of a crossbow. Vladimir was now being rushed to the bank with at least a hundred other conscripts to halt the endless horde and buy some time for reinforcements from Novgorod to come and try to drive the hordes back.

The peasants where told to take the places of the dead men. Even with the huge shields the crossbow men where given, the Mongol?s mastery of the bow could not be matched. As they lined up, they where told to fire at will as the soldiers rushed to the bridge with their swords and spears brandished to keep the Mongols from smashing through the line.

As Vladimir fired his first bolt, he felt relieved that the Mongol who was struck fell dead. He thought for an instant that these Mongols could be stopped, they are not endless so much as they die like every other man. But he was dismayed as more warriors came up with bows reinforcing the bank in strength five fold.

Arrows rained down like a blanket that shielded the sky and the clouds. Vladimir raised his shield as several darts stuck into or smashed off the shield. A man next to him did not raise his shield in time, and was struck dead by a Mongol Arrow in the eye. Vladimir was horrified, he didn?t want to put his shield down, he was shaking with fear. The soldier next to him yelled over the sound of battle, ?What?s wrong!? Fire that against them!? Vladimir could only shake his head in cowardice. The soldier replied, ?Look, your either going to die cowering behind your shield, or your going to die killing your enemy. So fire that weapon on the Scourge of God and go down as a hero!? Vladimir finally mustered up the courage and fired off his alabaster, which struck a Mongol Heavy Horse collapse to the ground, crushing its rider.

Vladimir watched the bridge, Mongol Cataphractes, huge elite armored horses, stampeded towards the bridge. The pikes broke on the huge mail coats of the horses, and the stampede threw men off the bridge as if it where a downpour.

A horn sounded, the retreated had been ordered. Men ran left and right, fleeing from the wave of Mongol?s pouring off the bridge. As the men ran, horsemen cut them down and the Russians routed.


Vladimir lay in the camp exhausted and wounded. Only the timely arrival of Boyars and Rus Spearmen from Novgorod prevented the garrison from Kiev being annihilated. Vladimir none the less had been struck by a Mongol arrow in the shoulder, which was now bandaged. But even the reinforcements were not enough, and they were forced to retreat from Kiev.

A soldier walked up to him, it was the same soldier at the bank. He sat next to his wounded shoulder.

?You did well today, many of the newcomers die in the first battles.? He said. ?What?s your name?? Vladimir dazedly said, ?Vladimir? Vladimir Domazhinori.? He looked at him and said, ?Vladimir, if you want to live, you?ll stick with me in the battlefield. I?ll teach you the ways of war, you can learn it from me or learn it from the blade of your enemy.? Vladimir?s look on his face was almost of hope, hope that he would survive, and he promised God, that if he survived this war, and if the Mongols would be stopped, that he would settle down on a small farm in a small village far away from these borders and never fight again.

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