Author's note: So, I'm looking to start a writing project, and I thought I might as well publicise it here. This project would see a group of writers write various stories that would be set within the same multiverse, or if the case may be the same worlds/cities/etc. We will look to get these works published, promoting them to publishers at interlinked works. If this succeeds eventually I look to do one final story where all the different characters from all the writers' stories would come together and have to deal with some sort of crisis. So yeh, kinda like Warriors Orochi…. Anyway, if you're interested, PM me, otherwise, enjoy the next part.
Oh, and the main character of the first part is a character from my first Medieval 2 Total War game, I thought it would be interesting to write about him.
Chapter 2- A Different Kind of Horde
George Durville had expected his eyes to be greeted by the sight of a horde of Mongols camped outside the holy city of Jerusalem, not whatever these foul creatures were. For months, what seemed like an endless army of blood thirsty Mongol warriors assaulted the walls of Jerusalem.
George the Chivalrous, as he was known throughout Christendom, had taken the city from the Egyptians eighteen years previously, and since then he had done a valiant job of protecting it from the Muslim forces, allowing the safe passage of Christian pilgrims.
In those eighteen years, in between one victory after another, George was wed to a local, something that only helped to adhere him to those who he now ruled over. He had twins, one son and one daughter, both now coming of age. Once prized as one of the most handsome men England had ever produced, years of his northern features being subjected to the Middle Eastern climate had aged him terribly. His once blemish less face was now wracked with wrinkles, his luscious blond hair now withering away under the heat. Physically, he was far removed from the man who captured the holy city. His mind however had only sharpened with age; it had to, or else he would have succumbed to the continuous attacks launched first by the Egyptians, and then the Mongols.
Jerusalem had first received word of the Mongol hordes when survivors of Baghdad came flocking to the city; they told horrifying tales of how men, women and children were killed indiscriminately, anything of worth, including slaves, was taken. Tombs were raided, artefacts destroyed, they even devastated the irrigation system. It would take years for the region to recover, they told him. Unlike most Christian crusaders, George realised the importance of keeping the natives on side, and so allowed them access to Jerusalem, even if it meant a strain on food and water reserves. Later George would wish he hadn't of done this.
With the news of such terrifying opponents, George had ordered preparation for siege defence. This entailed the fortification of the city walls, along with the mass production of weapons, particularly arrows.
They came, day after day, week after week. Their generals issued challenges, which were rebuffed by the city forces. When they realised they would not get anywhere, the Mongols decided to employ the use of arrows, which they had used with deadly affect for many years. Thousands upon thousands rained down on the Jerusalem each day, and yet the defenders held firm, holed within their citadel for weeks. The only reply they could send was to employ the widely feared English longbowmen; the hardiest of them had volunteered to man the city walls and shoot at the invaders. After only a few minutes of shooting exchange however, they quickly saw they were outmatched, retreating hastily to within the city.
After a few weeks, frustration had set in for the invading horde. They decided to use their secret weapon, one the world had yet to see. Multiple hwacha, a rocket launcher no bigger than a metre were deployed, which sent hundreds of primitive rockets hurtling towards the city walls. The inhabitants had never seen such destructive power; they were forced to watch in horror as the walls took hit after hit, cracks forming in the only barrier between them and the blood thirsty steppe warriors. It was only due to the hwacha's inaccuracy that the walls did not fall, though this led to stray rockets crashing within the city, destroying property and killing civilians indiscriminately.
The peasants with the least nerve began panicking, and it was only through the quick thinking of George's daughter Aethylswith, who quickly reminded them that the best they could hope for if they left the city was a painful death. Fortunately for the defenders, the Mongols had only produced a small number of missiles, and as a moving army with no permanent base they didn't have the means to mass produce more. And so, once more George's strategy of staying within the confines of the city had proved successful.
It was the beginning of the ninth week of the siege. With the influx of refugees from Baghdad, the supplies of grain, meat and water were running dangerously low. George could see that their situation was becoming far more desperate. If the Mongols refused to withdraw, George thought, then his forces may have to sally out and take the fight to them. It had been on the advice of the refugees that he hadn't dared confront the Mongolian forces on the field, however perhaps the time for caution was over.
That night, while in his chambers with his wife, George told her of his plans to attack the Mongols at first light. He knew the risks, and so did she. With all her ability she pleaded with her husband to reconsider, she believed whole heartedly that he would not return, and she couldn't bear the thought of life without him. She even cried out that she would commit suicide if he continued with his plan. All George could do was to comfort his crying bride, gently stroking her jet black hair. He reassured her that he had an escape route secured for her and the children, once he had lead his troops out; they could use the commotion of the battle to escape the city by the rear. A ship, he told her, would be waiting for them at the Jerusalem port, with the orders to make the trip to Rome. George had always kept this option in reserve, if it looked like Jerusalem would be overrun he would always have a ship ready to sail them to the protection of the Pope. He had even already seen to it that carts and donkeys had been prepared to carry as much food and water as possible for his family's journey, as well as preparing his most trusted servants to accompany them. George would not back down on the subject, and knowing this fact his wife could do nothing other than consent to his plan. She left their chambers to inform her children of what was happening, weeping as she did so. This was the last time George was to see his wife. As soon as she had left, he made his way to the city barracks, where he helped to make the final preparations.
After the men had been outfitted in their armour, which due to the climate of the region was light to avoid overheating –which in turn made them vulnerable to arrow volleys-, and given their weapons –mainly spears- , George thought he would overlook the barren land where he would most likely die. There were only a few more hours before the sun rose. He found it difficult, particularly with his stiff hip and full armour, to walk up the enclosed stairs to the wall. He chuckled as he did however. He thought to himself, if only his younger self could see him now, willingly throwing his life away, and for what, in the hopes that he'll be considered a martyr for Christendom and be made a saint. Starting out his career as a knight George would have balked at the idea. Sure, he had always wanted fame and glory, but not at the cost of his own life. Though, he supposed, he had been lucky to make it to his sixties, if he was going to die soon anyway he might as well go out like a true crusader. He could once again feel the warm Arabian air on his wrinkled face, signalling that he had almost reached the top of the wall.
Once there however, he saw a sight that sent a shiver down his spine, an amazing feat for a man who had experienced the horrors of a bloody crusade. As he looked out, no longer did he see the familiar Mongol encampment, instead he saw a formless army moving in the dark, a giant purple portal churning in the background. While it was hard to make them out in the darkness of the Arabian night, the portal illuminated them enough to show they clearly weren't human. The Mongol horde had been replaced by another, full of not only grey, humanoid creatures, but what seemed like giant boar men with clubs. Although he could not see them, there were also thin, one eyed 'Dodemekis' within the mass of demons. The portal also allowed George to see that they were, slowly but surely, moving towards Jerusalem. If they had dealt with the Mongols so easily, what chance do we stand, George thought.
Acting on instinct alone, all George could think of doing was to get his family to safety as quickly as possible. He hobbled down the stairs, limping as fast as he could through the streets of Jerusalem back to his abode. It was because he was in such a hurry that George didn't see that the portal behind the demon army had quickly increased in size. It had engulfed the demon horde, and now made its way towards the city. The walls that had defended against the Egyptians, against the Mongols, were in moments consumed by the purple mass. People, houses, and animals soon followed. It wasn't until George felt an approaching heat far unlike anything he had encountered, even in the holy lands, that he turned around, only having a second to look upon his fate in terror as he too was consumed.
Guan Yu saw a lone rider heading towards him, a great sword far bigger than its wielder scraping across the ground beside his horse, earth flying everywhere. He reigned in his horse a few meters in front of Guan Yu, dismounting and bowing before the man who would become known as the 'God of War'. Yu stroked his now waterlogged beard; a thunderstorm had suddenly encroached on his position only a few moments ago, highlighting what an auspicious day it was.
"Guan Ping my son, where have you been?" Guan Yu asked, his hand clasping his famous green dragon crescent blade.
"I am sorry father. I had gone to scout up ahead, in case any Wei forces were coming to support Cao Cao's flight. However, when the sky turned pitch black I began to worry, and so I returned." Ping was not exaggerating; the sky had suddenly become as dark as ebony, despite it only being late afternoon. The only lights that could be seen, other than the torches some of Guan Yu's troops had lit, were the streaks of lightning up above.
"Very well. Though I would prefer if you informed me of you intentions in future." said Guan Yu sternly, though within his heart he was proud of his adopted son's foresight.
"Yes father."
"Now, let us wait here for Lord Cao Cao. I have been entrusted with the task of slaying him as flees from the Red Cliffs, and I…" Guan Yu paused mid-sentence, the creasing of his brow suggesting to Ping that something was troubling his father.
"What is it father?" he enquired.
"Nothing son. As I said, we shall wait here for Lord Cao Cao."
"Yes father." Ping said, bowing once more.
Had Guan Yu not of been debating as to whether he still owed a debt of gratitude for Cao Cao for taking him in all those years ago, he may have noticed something odd about his son. It was something barely noticeable, particularly in their darkened surroundings. The fact the Guan Ping, son of Guan Yu, was giving off the slightest purple aura, one which could have easily been mistaken for one's eyes playing tricks on them.
This oversight on the part of Guan Yu would be a costly mistake.