Potemujkin stepped out of his yurt, stretched and farted loudly. It made him feel rather good and even a bit proud. There are some who would call Potemujkin a barbarian but that was far from truth; he did not stutter. In fact, he was a very good speaker, he was literate and always said “thank you” after raping someone. He was also a warlord, he had his own horde and everything, and he hoped that very soon he will have his own kingdom, or rather warlorddom
It was early in the morning. The sun hadn't come up yet and the world looked gray and dull but the camp of the Germanium horde was very lively. There were sounds in the air, sounds that sounded very much like an angry barbarian horde preparing to barbarize something or someone. This particular time they were preparing to barbarize the city state of Larissa.
-Good morning, warlord.- greeted a voice as smooth as a baby's behind covered with butter and nearly as perverse.
-Aah, indeed it is, sorcerer! Soon I will be sitting on the throne of my very own kingdom!- he had his fist raised in mid-air and was looking at something years away rather than miles.
-As soon as you defeat the entire Larissan army encamped, across the river.- The sorcerer's words were appropriate but there was something in his voice which said:”I rolled a 74 on my intelligence score, rude is my natural colour of voice.”
-Yesyesyes, the army, danger, bloodshed, minimal chances for victory, been there, done that, bought a chain mail. I was wondering, can I have a harem when I'm king?-
-You can have everything you want, your warlordship.-
-Even ice-cream for breakfast?-
-No.-
-Awww...oh well, it was worth a shot. Let's get this horde on the road then, I have a civilization to crush.-
There are two reason why the Larissan army was considered, mostly by Larissans, to be one of the best in the world. First, the Larissan army was comprised of battle-hardened professionals and cunning soldiers, brainwashed with the ideas of honour, bravery and dying for one's country, and second, their weapons and armour were real shiny. Every child knows that the man with the shiniest armour will win the day, and in their ways, Larissans were much like children: unruly, snotty, mean and rude.
The filthy barbarian horde didn't stand a chance. They were pretty silly thinking that they could defeat the mighty Larissan army, and they had a silly name too. Who, in his right mind, named his horde after a kind of metal; if anything it should be the other way around.
Sir Jonathan Prancealot was sitting atop his mighty steed on a hill overlooking the camp, but his mind was somewhere else, somewhere being Fat Molly's whorehouse on Tenth street. There was a storm coming and sir Prancealot didn't like it one bit. Storms meant rain and rain meant mud and mud didn't look good on your shiny, polished breastplate. Other than that he was completely carefree, and, frankly he didn't have much to be concerned about. The Larissan army had 25.000 footmen, 5.000 crossbowmen, 10.000 pikeman, ten war-machines, 5.000 horsemen and a thousand knights; every soldier heavily armoured. Even their horses, large thoroughbreds, were armoured. The Germaniums, on the other hand, wore only light leather armour, used bows and armour-cleaving axes instead crossbows and swords and rode small, wild horses which had a nasty habit of biting enemy horses and enemy riders and enemy footmen and frankly, anyone else who didn't smell like horse entrails. It looked like the gods were on the wining side, again. With their polished armour shining in the morning sun the Larissans were a beautiful sight, a sight that would throw most epileptics into a fit, and they were on the march (the army that is, not the epileptics).
Post je objavljen 14.09.2008. u 13:03 sati.