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Tuesday, 15 August 2006
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Well, this is my second part and... that pretty much says it all!

thanks for those who read my first part, i never wrote so many pages in the same story before for the reason that nobody would read them! 

  I would like to thank some people for reading my story and pushing me forward. First of all, Jean Marcel, for reading my story, giving me ideas and honest opinions while pushing me forward, also Arakasi (from the late Chateau Montreford), who i can always trust to support me and help  me in difficult times, Tylarion (from asur) who is always besides me and is a great and trust worth companion, and Ferretsnarf, who gives me the strengh, the will, and the morale to stay up until 5 a.m. while writing and listening to his jokes.

 Of course that there is many others also, but im not going to write an essay about other people here so, im just gonna jump to my story.



Chronicles of the Asturien


Chapter II:

Death in your sleep


    Hugo was astonished by the size of the enemy's force, he, and all the men in his command he was, sure, thought the enemy to be at least a hundred times smaller, and the size of their warriors was also subject of great concern amongst their men, he was sure that if it wasn't the two hundred knights behind his force, they would have run for the hills as soon as the main unit of knights had took off for the flank attack.

     His thoughts drifted away to back in time, as far off as when he was a children in L'Anguille,  his father told him that since he had first been born, he had noticed how stronger and tougher he was when compared to the other peasant children. He grew up with his father constantly carving wooden sword for me to train with him so as to have a bigger chance of entering the force of men-at-arms of our Lord Marcel. 

     In the recruitment day, he was the first to be chosen amongst the persons there, his father told him it was a sign, he was only sixteen then, yet he was already tall like a grown man. From that day forward, he began catching the eye of many people; he was mostly famous for being one of the youngest yeoman wardens around. He had gained enemies amongst the other men-at-arms due to his quick trip to the top of his garrison. Yet he had always somehow managed to keep himself out of trouble, one of the reasons was because he simply had not asked for his promotion, he was more surprised with it than any of the other men, and his personality always made people smile and forget their anger even when they were about to punch him right in the face.

     He knew that one day, he would be sent to an impossible battle, where he would perish alongside his companions, it was, to his understanding, inevitable, he just didn't think it would be so soon.

      He was brought back to the present happenings when the horns in the units of men alongside him were blown, their sounds announcing the fight to come.

     He looked back to the unit he was in charge of, one of the units in the centre of their battle line. "Twenty men will not be enough to hold these barbarians for more than some minutes..." he thought to himself, he knew that twenty men deep in his line was not near enough to hold back the main force of the enemy, he also knew that it was part of the plan, that his unit of men-at-arms was not expected to survive, and instead, would sacrifice half their numbers to hold their flank. Due to this tactic, their line was divided into three main sections, the first, being the left flank had roughly five thousand men and a thousand and two hundred and fifty men, the middle, was made up of almost three thousand men, seven hundred and fifty bowmen, and the two hundred knights ready to charge into the enemy through the first opening in the line, now in the far right flank, where they expected to undertake the majority of the enemy, they had more than six thousand men there, with a thousand and five hundred bowmen of support, and several knights to ensure that the formation would not falter. They expected to have at least fifty thousand men of the enemy hitting their right flank, with forty thousand hitting the left and the other forty thousand hitting the middle, yet now, that the never ending horde before them marched towards their front line, he had realised, as had the others, that the enemy had in a very clever action changed their formations, they had taken then thousand men from the right flank and five thousand men from the left flank and had moved them to the middle of the army, meaning that now fifty five thousand men marched against the middle composed of less than four thousand men, and still, the two formations in the flanks were too outnumbered to borrow some of their men to the middle, it seemed that their plan was to be their doom.

     Hugo looked forward, towards the living moving mass before them, moving tirelessly, in a manner that seemed to indicate that it would swallow the whole ground.

     The two opposing lines continued moving until no more than a hundred metres of grass and ground separated them, in that infinitely long, and yet, so small amount of time, the eyes of the two different armies met, they all held their ground like statues. their gazes that once showed hope, dreams, and emotions displayed in intimate and cheerful moments, now showed only rage, despair and the understanding that this would be their last moments of their lives in this earth, it was a moment where no movement was displayed or word was spoken and the sound of the background was filled by the sound of the howls in the wind, and also the screams and sounds of the struggle and death of their friends in other parts of the battlefield.

     Hugo and some other Yeoman wardens wishing to end the never ending gaze between the two forces stepped forward, drawed their swords  and held them high in the air while they shouted like one


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