August 2020 | Story Contest

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General Iroh

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Dear Players,

For this months contest we are looking for original storytellers.
In this post you'll find a Tribal Wars wallpaper. We want you to come up with a fitting story about what you think is happening, why it's happening or any further creative additions you can think of. It's basically a 'caption this' but with a little more background information.


Please note that the forum rules still apply. Keep it to one post, per forum account, per submission.


The story must be Tribal Wars related.
It is allowed to use people's ingame name for the story.
Be original, do not copy any stories from others.
Try to write something with more than just a few words, we're looking for a story, not a title.

Sign-ups close 28/08/2020, any entries after this date will not count. The winners, as chosen by the Tribal Wars team, will be revealed after this date.

You can discuss entries in here.

1st place 600 premium points
2nd place 400 premium points
3rd place 200 premium points

We are looking forward to your feedback, which you can leave in this thread.

Your Tribal Wars Team​
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It all happened immediately after the fall of Oyo empire in 1166, in Nigeria, Africa, during the reign of Anglo-Norman England in Europe, when evil almost wanted to control Africa,but thanks to GOD intervention through His saints on Earth. This all started 5 years before this invasion (attached digital), King SERVANT OF GOD,ruler of lower HEAVEN tribe in the western part of Nigeria had been planing the offensive strategy with his Dukes, Barons and members after the Diplomats he sent to negotiate peace with king satan, the evil tyrant of hell village and ruler of hell tribe who were controlling most of Africa, from the northern part of Nigeria to repent of his evil ways were killed and beheaded. He, King SERVANT OF GOD ordered the recruitment of more heavy cavalry due to the scale of the strategy, and instructed his engineers to build catapults and rams,and train nobles how to noble. King SERVANT OF GOD also sent his spies to fake identities and join the hell tribe which they did and got enough intelligence of the tribe,villages and troops size. Then this day came and still SERVANT OF GOD sent a Diplomat for a last chance to negotiate for king satan and Hell village to change and join lower HEAVEN tribe which the tyrant blatantly rejected. Attack was ordered, the artillery took out the gate, walls and rally point, the heavy cavalry and axe men defeated the enemy troops, then the nobles nobled the village.The digital shows the last troops of tyrant king were completely defeated and cleared, Year 1166, December 14 was a turning point in world history, where GOD defeated satan, again.
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Deleted User - 11593750

Day 102 of the 3rd year of the reign of Borjak the Great
The knights of Dove, once a long time ally of the king, now surrounds the city. We have barricaded ourselves behind the wall. This is where we will make our last stand. Behind the great walls of this once flourishing kingdom, we will fight. We will survive.

Day 104 of the 3rd year of the reign of Borjak the Great
The city is buzzing. Rumours of a coming army to save us from the Knights of Dove is abound. Maybe, just maybe, we have a chance after all.

Day 110 of the 3rd year of the reign of Borjak the Great
The smell of burning wood greated us in the twilight. Men shouting angrily. People running here and there. The Knights of Dove is going to attack. We must ready our defenses. Stall. We have to survive until the promised army arrives.

Day 113 of the 3rd year of the reign of Borjack the Great
3rd day of the siege
The siege is unending. Arrows cover the sky above us. The clash of metal against metal never stops. Cries of babes pierces through day and night. When will this end? Where is the promised army? Where is our salvation?

Day 114 of the 3rd year of the reign of Borjack the Great

A loud crashing sound in the dead of night.

The wall has been breached. Our army routed. The castle has fallen. Borjack the great, our king, is dead.

We are holed up in the citadel.

They are coming.


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The soldiers that knows this story and also lived it, they know.

“Listen up! We have prepared for days to fight of the upcoming attacks from the enemies hordes. This night may be our last night in freedom, or! I say or we shall find peace in death! Tonight we shall die or live forever!!!...”

As his speech echoed out in a loud cheer from the troops gathered below him on the square he stepped bak in to the room. All thoose soldiers were not only the banners of his own dukes. There where far more soldiers on the field from kingdoms far away, that during days had made the effort to get here just in time, before all chance of reinforcements were cut off by the enemy. Outside the walls the enemy’s scouts had been sighted and only in matters of hours, the core of the army would be outside, and the fight would be taken to the battlements.

He turned attention to his belowed friend and captain of the guards.

“Captain Turion prepare our last line of defense. Make sure the defenders in the inner city stays and it defenders in the outher knows exactly what to do. YOu know what surprises we planned for them.”

“Yes, commander. Right away”

As he made his way to the strategy room beneath his own chambers a thread of hope started to grow. The army advancing was big, and the battle would be even bigger. But with allied inside the walls and knowing they all would make a difference to how this would end, he was even more sure as time the hour passed, they would make a good stand and live. Maps on the big table and reports of the enemy’s movements as it had made its way to the city. All showing the massive force that was coming for them.

The knocking on the door was unsure, almost vague.


The door opened and one of his lieutenants stepped through. Making the short distance towards the table with hesitant steps.

“Yes lieutenant?”

“Sir, all orders of evacuation have been executed. The inner city and the defenders have embarked and looks like they can make it out in time before the army arrives. Our allies and their forces have sent word that they accept you orders though many of the commanders questioned it. All according your orders, we now stand with only the local militia as castle defenders.”

“What?! My orders saying what?!”
His voice getting louder, screaming the last words in the face of the lieutenant.

“Yes, all the orders you gave Captain Turion has been executed. Allied forces have already left the city, and the inner city’s defenders now man the outer wall or have already marched as fast as they could, Captain Turion leading them as you ordered.”

Running from the room, up the stairs towards the balcony overviewing the city, his heart pounding. What trickery was this?

From the balcony the once filled square was empty, the once colorful banners from own and allied troops now moving away in the night. He could see the light from torches in a distance. Just moving over the hillside and disappearing from his line of sight.

This was treason, and it was the end of it all.
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Sir Maxwell

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Sometimes, its not a great campaign or battle. Sometimes its just Thursday.....

Sir Harrington, stumbling about in the wee morning hours, shaking, he barely makes it to the privy in time. Dazed, he began to ruminate. That was some feast last night. Though something was most certainly off about the fish. Damn those northerners and their thrice be damned pickling vats. Head pounding, he recalled the herring going down with incredible ease, even delight. Though that was likely helped by ample portions of the excellent local wine. Unfortunately the combination did not seem to enjoy his presence as much as he had enjoyed its. The vile mixture was exiting his person with a spiteful, hateful, vengeance. One that seemed entirely out of sort with last nights recalled fragments.

Alternately cramping and violently releasing, covered in a cold, pungent greasy sweat, and swelled with a flatulence worthy of a barbarian god, he found himself enveloped by a noxious plume. Though murky, one could be certain said plume was laced in pale greens and yellows. Air thick, heavy with the odour of foul fish and other unnamed chemistries, he retched and grumbled.

Thank goodness he was brought to this Castle construction to insure the proper fitment of his latest invention. Soon this cloying near unbreathable stench, would be a thing of the past. Small comfort, but you take a gift with gratitude lest you....uuggghh the small room has turned seriously foul, better ventilation certainly needed.

Carefully reaching forth, he found the candle and striker box. Lo what luck! An actual beeswax candle in the loo. Though currently caught in a rictus brought upon by conditions, he managed a slight smile. Slight. Momentary.

Sir Harrington sparked the striker steel, planning to light his godsend of a candle. Met instead by a flash of yellowish light, arcing crazily through out the room. Followed immediately by a whoomph.........

Sir Maxwell
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I felt the ground tremble as their massive war machines were moved into place. Herds of elephants whipped bloody to drag the gigantic catapults closer to our walls. An army that our numbered us 20 to 1 engulf our castle with their camp and at night fall they sang in unison around massive fires that almost turned night into day again. The dull drone grew in momentum into what sounded like a rather pleasant sea shanty to me. Nevien, the lad who had come to our ranks from the slavers yard, told me that it was no shanty rather a call to the Gods to weaken their enemy and grant them the fallen foes strength and life.

I didn’t sleep very much at all that night I couldn’t get the song out of my head. It echoed in my brain like a great church choir singing in a stone nave. When my eyes finally closed my dreams took over the torment where the song had left off. I was fighting off droves of men, my sword swinging wildly at anything that moved. I was jolted from sleep when an enemy soldier lunged at me out of nowhere, the tip of his long spear sliding in between my ribs, piercing my lung. I gasped for air as I shot bolt upright in my bed feeling my ribs for the spear that was really, only in my mind.

I as queued for breakfast my stomach turned at the smell of cooking tar that was to be pour over the ramparts onto our foe. I had defended castles more times that I care to remember, and I actually quite enjoyed the smell in times gone by. If was a fragrance that filled me with defiant courage, a rally of hope, a chance that we may survive. Today, however, it made me nauseous and I could only manage a few mouthfuls of hot porridge, chased with warm, watered down ale.

The chatter in the food court seemed to die down momentarily, almost as if it were a brief lull before a storm and then we all heard it…the bang of the sieging armies war drums. Farm yard animals scattered as men at arms ran for their weapons and hurried to designated points along our high walls. Officers bellow orders some contradicting each other, and battalions of men formed ranks and marched with uncertainty off in the direction of the castle gates. I joined my unit up on the West rampart, the side facing the largest number of the opposing army. As I reached the top and looked over the thick stone wall, I felt the heat of thousands of men rush over me almost taking me off me feet, their camp stretching as far as my old eyes could see.

Without warning, without any sign of command to do so their catapults launched their first payload at our walls. The machines of wood and iron were so large that the whole action took a few seconds to complete. Their stones, rotating slowly in the sky, looked as if they had fired the stars themselves at our inadequate walls. I could do little but watch as a gargantuan bolder smashed into the guard house immediately to my right, turning half my men into a fine red mist and leaving me completely deaf to the high pitched ringing in my ears. Cocooned in the roaring silence of my own head I felt a mild euphoria wash over me. I heard and felt nothing as men missing arms and legs and more reached out for help, covered in their own blood. I was rudely torn from my daze by the sound of our splintering gates as the ringing subsided and my hearing started to return. “We must hold the gate” spat an officer. “All men to the gate” wheezed another, his left arm cradling is badly hurt right close to his chest. I did my best to gather myself and find my sword and shield and what remained of my unit and ushered them to the gate. All of which was pointless as a massive flaming rams head thundered against the massive doors one more time splitting them like one would snap kindling for a fire, a large chunk of wood was broken off with such force that it hit one of my men in the chest knocking them back 10 feet and pinned them to the side of an ox cart. Then their men axemen and light cavalry swarmed through the ruptured gate. I swear I could head the low signing of the song they were chanting the night before. We had enough men to rally and our spear and swords men hit back inflicting heavy losses to their vanguard, but they returned like black tide on a moonless night, creeping in through ever crevasse and spilling over our defences like a plague of sharp steel.

Quickly we fell, my mind raced over the thoughts of “Had our sigil of distress not been raised soon enough?” and “Why did Lord KidDynamis sent so few troops in support?”. A fruitless exercise as none of that really mattered now. I dropped my shield and my strength waned and my breath shortened. I placed both hands on the hilt of my sword and tried to compose myself amidst the chaos. I fended off one attacker and then watched as two more teamed up to cut another of my men to his knees only to finish him off by smashing the spiked handle of their axes into the face of his helmet. I parried to deflect another aggressor only to be stopped in my tracks by sharp pain in my left side. Just as in my dream the night before, one of my foe had picked up my comrades spear and driven it deep into the small gap between tow of my ribs. I fell quickly onto another body, my sword ringing as it dropped to the cobbled floor. I felt no pain rather a warm creeping up my side and my blood filled my armour.

No matter how hard I tried to breath in it felt like I could not get enough air. Soon the fight for air seemed to slow as I closed my eyes I had to put ever ounce of strength I had left into opening them again. As I blinked I saw what remained of our forces running for the inner enclosure, many being slain from behind. I blinked again and looked to the gate only to see a nobleman mounted on a brilliant white steed, his black cloak and jewels shined in the sunlight. I blinked again to see that he was quickly followed by another noble who horse was equally as magnificent horse of red, but his cape equally as black. A fourth, and some what slower blink, was met with two more noble men, mounted on excited horses of pitch black and pale green.

I closed my eyes for the final time knowing that we had fallen to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
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MeatDragon:The last battle against the power of the "pp fiends"
MeatDragon stood on the ramparts of his castle, looking out, as the day slowly gave way to the darkness of the night. He quietly uttered a curse at the "Gods of Innogames", as his scouts had reported a vast increase in the number of troops of the "pp fiends" to his North, known by many as the P2W, who he had been at war with for many long months. Their numbers no doubt greatly strengthened by the Mercenary armies their "pp" wealth had been able to secure! He cursed the 'Gods of Innogames', for their unfairness... as his own coffers had long since been depleted, trying to defend his kingdom against this seemingly unstoppable force!
That night, the P2W pressed home their advantage on the weary defenders of the castle..with no less than five attacks, being sent that night. Each wave accompanied by a Nobleman, hoping to be the one that finally wrestled the castle from his grip. But, by some miracle, the defences held! And although he took heavy losses ..the castle remained HIS, when the sun finally broke through the dark veils of the night!
But, his joy was cut short, as the Sun had barely reached its zenith, when he heard a cry that he had been dreading "to arms! to arms!" Impossible! How could they have raised ANOTHER army so quickly?! Looking out, at the approaching troops, he was relieved to see that this NEW Army was only a quarter of the size, of those sent before. But still.. his men had been awoken from their beds, battle weary after fighting through the night. Where as these NEW attackers all looked fresh and eager for battle! Although his remaining troops fought valiantly, they were no match, and with a weary heart, he watched as his own men were slowly but surely, forced back. With each crashing thump of the enemies battering ram on the gates, his heart shuddered. When the wooden gates, finally shattered.. he watched as the enemy forces spilled through the breach. His own troops were fleeing before them..and he knew all was lost. Curse those "Gods of Innogames!" ..for soon the banner of those "pp fiends" would be raised in the castle where he had once been Lord!

Deleted User - 848895914

When the heavy iron portcullis of the Headquarters was raised from within,the strongest warriors from the Dragon Tribes of world 115 rushed to close it only to find the traitorous Barney Stinsonn cheerfully damaging the clevis that releases the locks,making it inoperable.Being a former member of the Red Dragons,he had recently joined forces with the Joker tribe and to prove himself worthy to join them he had to do something diabolical to his former tribesmen.As the inner gate fell the look on the face of the remaining swordsmen tell the tale of panic,anguish,and bitter defeat as they flee, only to realize the inevitable ending result of sheer treachery as they are trampled under hoof of the heavy cavalry from the enemy tribe!

Deleted User - 848897932

A shout from atop of the walls alerts you of the giant boulders flying straight over the walls. The very ground shakes as the boulders strike the keep directly. Around you, peasants and serfs alike are scrambling for shelter from the attack.

"They're at the gates!" shouts one of your men, from the walls.


Splinters fly off as the gate's wooden doors buckle and shudder from the force of a ram.

The war was a mistake. Your lord, in his pride and vanity, believed he could conquer them. His men, led by those haughty nobles, marched to battle as if they had already won, that they only needed to stroll to the enemy and claim their prize.


Those men are not here anymore. None lived to return to tell, not even the scouts.

"Move, barricade those doors!" you shout, as your men rush past you to block the doors with that they can but it was futile. The ram was making short work of the rapidly deteriorating doors.

You look behind you to the rest of your men, fresh recruits. Young men who've been forced into the army after that disastrous attack. Men, who've been given spears and training to stay in place. Inexperienced as they are, you'd rather have them than the militias.

One of the last orders your lord gave was to form a levy from the peasants who worked the land. The militia stands beside your men armed with what they could get their hands on. Faces filled with fear and desperation. These men are neither soldiers nor fighters. They'll break and be cut down at the first sight of battle.

Behind them, are your veterans, what's left of them that is. Armed with a sword and shield, in plate armour. They can be relied on, you will at least stand a chance against them, you think to yourself.


You hear shouting and panicked cries, as you see the ram's head peek through the crack of the gate. Your men at the gate try hold the gate in place in order to buy more time. You move to the back of the lines. You’d rather fight alongside your men at the front but as the only veteran commander left after the disastrous attack, you have to make sure the line holds altogether… if it can hold.

As of your lord, where is your lord? You think to yourself. After giving you your orders, he disappeared without a trace, his face a mix of anger and desperation. He was abandoned by his tribe and abandoned us in turn.


The doors finally give. You hear a deafening war cry from outside. The men at the gates tried to run to you before they are cut down by the horsemen rushing inside, their spears catching the backs of those who run. Those who were mad enough to stand in front of a cavalry charge are trampled by the horses, spurned by their riders to charge.

The militia breaks at the first charge of the enemy, as expected. The enemy horsemen find their backs easily as they try to run to the safety of the other lines. You look to see two of the village smiths attempt to fend off an axeman with their hammers, attempt. One of them was quickly brought down, as the other attempted to flee as soon as his partner fell. A horseman rode him down shortly.

To their credit, the recruits stood their ground. The first few enemies to charge were met with a ragged wall of spears. Horses slowed and brought to a halt, panicked at the sight of the spears. Those who were pressed forward by their riders are impaled, their riders flung off their mounts to be stabbed by another.

Yet, more of them pour in to the gate and for every one of them to fall, four take their place. You look on as one of your own impales an axemen; only for two more to appear and strike him down. Your men slowly pull back and stand to the last line, your veterans.

Your veterans stand firm, holding the line and killing the occasional bastard who was reckless enough to push too far and alone. But it is useless, the sea of endless enemies are ultimately whittling down your small island of soldiers. Your men begin to waver; even the bravest soldier can only fight for so long and not begin to fear for his own life. Their sheer number is slowly creating cracks your lines. And soon enough, it does.

You see your center line snapping like a twig. Left and right, you see your men cornered and picked apart like lambs. You're brought back to attention when a horseman gallops straight for you, spear raised. You need to move.

Too late, you realized as you hit the ground hard. Your whole body aches, refusing to get up or move. You feel your hands over your chest to find a broken spear deep in your chest. You taste blood in your mouth, your blood. You’re bleeding out, dying because of some lord’s ambitions and failures.

This has always been the cycle, you’ve realized, a cycle of war and death. Until a single tribe stands alone on top of a mountain of corpses, it will continue. Whether it’s here or some other village, this cycle of this Tribal Wars will continue.
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