February winners and two new contests!

[DeletedUser15106]

Hi Everyone!

We're back with the winners of last month's contests and we also have two more new contests for you: another prize draw, and a "cake bake" contest. The prizes for this month total 4000 premium points, so be sure to read on if you're interested in winning!

NEW Prize draw

Closing date: End of March 31st, 2011.
Prizes: Each of the 7 winners will receive 200 premium points each.

How to enter: Submit your entry by visiting http://prizedraw.twstats.com/. You will need to log in using your TribalWars account name and password. Once you have done this, you will be automatically entered into the draw. When the contest closes, 7 winners will be selected at random for a prize.

Prize draw rules:

• One entry per person. Multiple entries from the same person will be excluded from the draw.
• You must be currently playing a world to receive a prize.
• Forum and ingame staff are not permitted to enter.

NEW Tribal Wars Cake Bake Contest

Closing date: End of April 7th, 2011.

Prizes:
1st prize: 1000 premium points
2nd prize: 600 premium points
3rd prize: 400 premium points
Plus, 3 further runners up will win 200 premium points each.

How to enter: Make a Tribal Wars cake, cookie or other yummy sweet treat with a Tribalwars theme.

Once you have baked and decorated your entry, you will need to take a picture of it and submit your picture here, then when the contest closes, judges from the staff will decide the winners. (If you are unsure how to upload a picture, a guide is below)

Tribal Wars Cake Bake contest rules:

• Entries must be either a cake, dessert, or cookies, or some other kind of sweet, edible treat.
• One entry per player.
• You can buy a cake or cookies if you like, but you must decorate them yourself.
• Must be TribalWars-related.
• Forum and ingame staff are not permitted to enter.
• Entries must abide by the forum rules (with the exception that your entry does not need to contain any text).

How to upload an image
[spoil]
You can use your favourite uploader if you like, but a free and easy one to use can be found at http://www.imgur.com. To upload your picture with imgur, go to the site and follow the steps below:

1) Click on the computer button:

2) Find your picture, select it and click "open", or "ok". Then click the "start upload" button:

3) Once you have done this, copy the "direct link", and paste it between

bbcodes in your forum post.

Example:

[b][img][/b]http://i.imgur.com/6I257.png[b][/img][/b]

[/spoil]

February winners

Creative Writing - February
Thank you to everyone who submitted entries for the Creative Writing contest. We received hundreds of stories, songs and poems, and it was difficult to narrow them down to just a handful of winners.

Twenty judges from the Tribalwars staff collectively decided the winners below (click their name to view their entry):

• 1st prize - The Beast Esq (1000 premium points)
• 2nd prize - harbinger297 (600 premium points)
• 3rd prize - TheBlueReptile (400 premium points)

Five runners-up also receive 200 premium points each:

• jagebomb
• Erevu
• Orange Fanta
• Watercolour
• aakminer1234

Prize Draw - February
We would also like to congratulate the winners of the February prize draw. Each of the winners below will receive 200 premium points each:

• Tazz 3
• kevrb23
• xxkemistryxx
• hudshot
• Jmarr
• uhaul90
• people
• benbuck14
• enashia
• deomonkid18

 

[DeletedUser15106]

1st prize - The Beast Esq

Stepping gingerly over the slumbering bodies of snoring, farting men, I made my way out of the hall, leaving its’ stink of sweat and stale mead for the bright purity of a crisp November morning. The sun was already rising into a clear blue sky but the courtyard was quiet still. Most were sleeping off the excesses of last night. As I walked to the wall to piss, I thought of my own excesses and felt the churning of my stomach. We had been celebrating Lord Godfrey’s betrothal to Lady Alice and I was regretting it this morning. Hours of sentry duty loomed ahead and I cursed Rulf for continually filling my tankard.

Reaching my post I rested my spear against the stonework and stared out over the ramparts, drinking thirstily from a flagon of water. The valley was wreathed in a thick mist, its’ tendrils reaching almost to Dore, the small hamlet half a mile below. Yawning, I closed my eyes to try to alleviate the pain thundering like a warhorse in my head.

A gruff voice brought me back to attention. “Wake up Anselm!” barked Coll, a grizzled old soldier almost twice my age. “What’s going on down there?” My gaze swung to where he was pointing. In the fields just below Dore several men were running towards the hamlet. I peered into the mist beyond the field. “Maybe it’s a wolf?” I suggested. Coll snorted. Most would run towards a wolf rather than away, prizing the thick furs to protect them from the north wind’s bite.

The men had reached Dore and those few figures had become dozens. Shielding my eyes from the sun’s glare, I could see that some were scurrying east carrying sacks. Others were heading in our direction. Still there was no sign of anything amiss. Coll spat over the wall and, hefting his spear, said “I don’t like this. I’m going to wake Turstin”. Turstin was our paladin, the commander of our troops. A strong, lean man from the far north, his scarred face and fierce gaze attested to the battles he had seen and fought in. A difficult man to like, but an easy man to respect.

Coll strode off towards the ladder and disappeared. I continued to watch the exodus. Men were leading cattle, women were carrying children, children were carrying chickens. The small group had reached the old barrow nearby and started digging. I froze, knowing what that meant. Any small amount of silver the family had, any good furs or tools were being buried to protect them from the greedy fingers of a ravaging war band.

And, as I looked, dark shapes slowly began to form in the mist at the edge of the field. What had been white was now light grey, then dark grey, then black as the shapes became identifiable as people. Soldiers. Lots of them. I cursed and fumbled for the horn hanging from my waist, blowing it strongly in three bursts. And as they heard the sound the peasants began to run. Children were stumbling and crying, men were shouting. There was shouting behind me too, and all along the wall horn after horn sounded the warning that we were under attack.

And still more soldiers appeared, rising like wraiths from the mist. Line after line of shining steel, polished leather and bristling spears. The rumble of iron rimmed wheels and the thud of iron clad hooves echoed around the valley. On they came until the entire field below the village was a sea of men.

As I continued to stare in disbelief, the sound of hooves on the cobbles made me look round. A messenger on a chestnut horse set off through the gate at a gallop. Veering away from the villagers who had nearly reached the gates, the rider headed west, towards the castle of Sir Benedict d’Ardougne, Lady Alice’s father. I knew he had gone for help. I knew also that his destination was a good distance away and I feared that by the time Sir Benedict’s banner appeared on the horizon it would be too late.

The heavy thud of the bar on the front gate being heaved into place indicated that the peasants had reached the village’s relative safety. Within the wall’s protective circle, organised chaos reigned. The clang of the blacksmith’s hammer competed with the protests of the peasants as their food and animals were taken from them. Clerks were tallying the confiscated goods, while fighting men pulled on armour and sharpened axes and swords.

The army had come to a halt in the field below. Horses were unleashed from their halters to graze and most of the soldiers were resting. Several small spires of smoke started to wind their way into the sky. Voices from behind me indicated that Coll had returned with Turstin, and Lord Godfrey was also mounting the crest of the ladder. I snapped to attention.

Grim-faced, Turstin surveyed the scene. “It’s Owen of Pomfret, Lord”. Godfrey nodded. “We knew he would be a problem sooner or later. It looks like he’s decided now is the time. I sent word to Sir Benedict. Let us pray Owen gives us enough time. How are our stores?” Turstin frowned. “Not good. The harvest was bad this year. And we didn’t have time to herd the sheep inside. Damn that mist!” Godfrey raised his eyebrows. “We will just have to cope with what we have. Anselm!” I swung round guiltily. I had been distracted again by the army. “Go and ask Gilbert how long we can last if Owen decides to lay siege to us”.

Reaching the base of the wall, I stopped to scan the crowd for Gilbert’s dark head. Gilbert was the steward, in charge of the running of the Lord’s household. He was an officious, self-important man. Uncommonly tall, he was usually easily found, being head and shoulders above other men. Having grown up in Lord Godfrey’s household I had every reason to dislike Gilbert. Unable to fight due to his malformed right leg, he had taken out his frustration on those weaker than him. Many times I had felt the sting of his hands boxing my ears. Now grown, and a spearman in the guard, I was no longer afraid of his violence, but I still feared his sharp tongue.

I strode to the warehouse where I had spotted Gilbert supervising the storing of the confiscated food. Sacks of grain and flour leant against the walls, sides of mutton and pork hung from metal hooks dangling from the rafters, crates filled with turnips, onions and carrots were precariously stacked almost to the ceiling and barrels of ale flanked the doorway. The warm, comforting smell of apples wafted down from the loft where this year’s crop lay. Gilbert limped over.

“Anselm” he spat. “What do you want? Don’t you think I’ve enough to do without a mud-trodden worm like you interfering?” I ignored his insults and used my sleeve to wipe his spittle from my cheek “Lord Godfrey asked me to find out how long our stores will last”. Gilbert rolled his eyes. “If I didn’t have to keep stopping to talk to idiots I would know all the sooner exactly what our position is”. He sighed. “Look, we’ve enough to feed everyone, including all these damned peasants, for a couple of weeks, maybe three. But no more. Now, let me get back to work, before some damned imbecile spills flour all over the floor. Again”. He turned and limped away, shouting as he walked. “No, no, no! Do I have to do it all myself? Cheese needs to be wrapped before you stack it!”

Suddenly several warning horns sounded. It was clear Owen had decided that there was no advantage to be gained in delaying the attack. Hurriedly crossing the rally point I was struck by the sheer number of men gathered, waiting. Some wore mail, some merely leather jerkins. All had a weapon, be it a heavy axe, a sword or a spear with a cruel point. Archers garrisoned the ramparts and the huge armoured warhorses that cost so much to buy and even more to feed were stamping and snorting and heaving, as intimidating as the men who rode them. The catapults were primed and great barrels of pitch stood nearby, ready to rain fire on the enemy.

Despite the thousands of women, children, animals and armed men that thronged the village, it was strangely quiet. I heard the creak of a leather sword belt, the shuffling of a horse’s hooves, the barely perceptible sound of nervous breathing. We were ready.

Many would die today. I prayed that it would be more of Owen’s men than ours. I prayed that my friends would be safe. I prayed that Sir Benedict would arrive in time. I prayed that the tale of our bravery would be told around fires when my grandchildren were old. But mostly I prayed that we would know victory.

 

[DeletedUser15106]

2nd prize - harbinger297

War. It's intoxicating. The sound of the drums pounding all around you, the feel of the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you grip your sword tightly, the knowledge of death's embrace mere moments away. No-one hears us, we have nothing to say. Tools for the war-mongering elitist, our blood forming the statistics they love so dearly. We march, day and night, powering ever-onwards, no stopping; no injury or hunger will pause or break us. We are perfect. We number in the thousands, wives, children, homes and loved ones, all left forgotten as we march towards our own destruction. We are numbers, we are everything, and we are nothing.

The clock ticks.

We approach our target. A village, small, defenseless. Nothing but the innocent reside here, but they are of no consequence to our masters, the fat and drooling pigs who puppeteer us. We are seen coming, our numbers cannot be hidden. A few men scramble out with make-shift spears and swords. A pointless waste of life, they try to defend, but they number a few hundred to our few thousand. There is no honor here, no glory, and no valiant battle. Simply slaughter. The pigs who command us do not see the tears or hear the screams. The see only a new village under their control, ready to begin reconstruction and mass production. The screaming is so loud; it runs through me, tearing into my mind. Not the screams of the innocent, or the dead, but the screams escaping from my own mouth, and on the tongues of my brothers. We scream for those who can scream no longer. Because of us.

The clock ticks.

Months of pillaging, violence, destruction and chaos has brought us to this point. We stand looking out on the greatness that is world domination. There is only the enemy who stands between us. Our puppet master commands us to destroy, and we will. We stand alongside the soldiers from the other puppet masters, the friends of our own. They have united us to fight the enemy. The enemy... Not our enemy, but theirs. We are soldiers, mass produced by those in power, to fight wars we know nothing of. We fly a banner on our horses and spears, blue, our united force is called "Frost". Some of the other armies draw great pride from these banners. Ours does not, for we cannot be forgiven, nor can we forgive, the slaughter and death reigned in its name. We can see the enemy on the horizon. Death sniffs the air impatiently, waiting for its fill.

The clock ticks.

We stand face to face now with the enemy, our distance measured in meters now. The puppet masters edge us closer, waiting for the moment to begin. This is honorable, an honorable battle, no-one will strike until the agreed upon time. This... There is no honor in this; there is no honor in war. There is only death, and those who survive, will have died regardless. We wait.

The clock ticks.

The cavalry charge. We are infantry; we do not partake in their "glorious" rush. We run, though our speed seems slow compared to the horses charging around us. I see a horse without a rider, his rider has fallen, but he cannot stop, he is caught up in the charge. I watch, as he is forced onto the enemies spears, by our own forces. Our own, glorious charge. We run, towards death, towards freedom, towards... Glory.

The clock ticks.

Chaos reigns. Some men fall, some men rise. I wander the battlefield, I do neither. Arrows flies past my head, nearly taking it off. I laugh, a dry, humorless laugh. I do not fear death; I welcome it, though it seems no man on this damn battlefield will slay me. I wander, and before I knew it, it was all over, our puppet master was calling us back. We were to be stationed in various key settlements and bases, throughout the frontier, to defend against enemy counter attacks. We are move to our designated positions.

The clock ticks.

I saw them today. Noblemen, a squad of them passed through the village we are defending. The only lives the puppet masters will value. They had a personal escort of heavy cavalry, almost four thousand of them, headed to the front-lines. Those troops probably are worth more than these villages we are defending. Most of them will die, we know it, and we salute the living dead as they ride past. They don't return it. We are just infantry, not worthy of their time. We allow them their arrogance; we won't have to suffer it for long.

The clock ticks.

A year has passed. A year of war, and it feels both like a lifetime, and a moment. We have seen little combat since the start of the war, though now we are being deployed to defend key villages that have been taken from the enemy, in the heart of their territory. We will see what lies ahead. For now, we march.

The clock ticks.

For the first time I have seen what we have done.

We have entered the broken city we are to defend, and have stepped over the fallen citizens entering the gate. My heart strains, we heard stories, but to see what we have done... Death runs rampant in the streets. War is brutal, but even for war, this is an atrocity. So much loss, to take so little. The enemy is coming; we receive word from the puppet master. This place is not worth the death it has seen, we are godless, and we are soulless. We curse the name of those who sent us to fight their war.

The clock ticks.

The puppet master has been brought to the fallen cities. He sees the death and destruction, and he is silent. I glare at him; my eyes are full of hate. Not for him, but for me. He looks at me and he laughs, the same humorless laugh that I have, that I will always have, as he says;

"It's all just a game, and we won. We won."

He falls over the dead under his feet. He falls over his own victory.

The clock stops.

 

[DeletedUser15106]

3rd prize - TheBlueReptile

It was just routine. Another simple task taken from the orders of a mysterious and voiceless commander. As the leader of the main squad of the 32nd village I had prepared everything we needed to leave and gathered the troops for departure. Many of the men had scoffed at the idea.
“We’re being wasted over here!”
“This has got to be the 17th attack I’ve done now!” They’d argue.
They were right of course, to an extent. I had only been in the village for three months and already completed at least 35 separate attacks on the same neighbouring village Perhaps our leader just wanted to be sure we’d left no survivors, whoever he was. Or maybe the idea of basically free resources was so attractive of an offer that the few casualties we would take on an average plunder were ignorable. Nonetheless, I joined the military, I accepted the recruitment offer and so I had to fulfil my desired commands.

We hit the wall with a casual arrogance that even irritated myself. Groaning and sweating we pushed and clanked against the wooden guard ahead of us until, with a long creak it gave way. The gate was breached and we poured in, expecting an easy ride into their warehouses and back home. You could almost hear the gluttonous pride emanating from my brother’s lazy faces. Yet the grins of anticipation fell as the ambush awaiting us revealed themselves. Hoards of spear fighters, swordsmen, heavy cavalry, and anything else even remotely defensive swaggered into our path. From behind me I heard a soldier utter a quiet prayer as the clink of metal echoed throughout the hostile atmosphere. Not a word was said, and yet both sides recognised the time to begin. With a mighty roar our army clashed with theirs and blood cries rang sharp through the crisp morning air.

There’s something magic about danger. It takes the most ordinary of people and within an instant transforms them into savage survivalists. Suddenly they equip the most dazzling of skills and against heavy odds they outperform even their own expectations. This was true of my brothers in this battle. I witnessed incredible strength as my men fought on, ignoring any wounds they were taking along the way. Holding back a tear of pride I continued my own struggle for survival. As my sword met another the pulsating throb of a hundred blows before it surged through my aching arm. I parried and brought the weapon back around my head and into the side of my current competitor. A new opponent, this time taller. He made the first move. Metal kissed metal and a small shower of sparks shot to the ground as our swords gently skimmed the other‘s. The hay littering the floor caught alight and a small fire began. There was now a knee high wall of flames between me and my enemy. Each blow burnt and the tired muscles within my armour grew more and more weary. I had to end this guy quickly, already my wrist was searing with pain from the expanding line of heat below us. Taking a step back from another swing I timed my next attack perfectly and during the interim between my opponents swing and preparations for the next I launched myself forward, the tip of my sword heading straight towards his heart. If only his armour were as weak as I had predicted.

Left tired and unready I limply stood in front of my challenger, unable to escape the flames now lapping at my legs, slumped like a small child humiliated by the discipline of an angry parent. I saw his arm raise itself high as his polished blade gleamed in the bright sunlight. I couldn’t move now, I didn’t want to move. I wanted the pain to end. The tired, the inescapable tired. It was sleep time now. The sword slammed against the side of my helmet and I blacked out.

The aching returned as I awoke to a painful reminder of where I lay, right at the heart of a growing inferno. I told my legs to pick my body up and relocate myself but somehow couldn’t seem to get through to them. One by one, each part of my body grew aware of the intense heat surrounding me and eventually adrenaline forced my body into moving. I didn’t quite know why I was still alive, or where my opponent had gone, but I did know that the battle was still raging. The numbers of both sides had thinned since I last laid eyes on the battlefield, but somehow I didn’t feel quite so outnumbered now. My men had come through for me in the time I’d been out. But the battle was far from over. Reluctantly thrusting my hand back into the now towering flames I grasped at my sword and began weighing up the situation. After allowing a few moments for my senses to recover I strode back into battle.

A horseback soldier had chosen me as his next victim after I defeated someone who, judging by his reaction, meant something to him. Anger radiated from him as he ordered the beast into action, charging at me at full speed. Taking a rather radical approach to the challenge, I held my ground. The pointed lance faced right towards me and the thud of hoofs bounced around the walls of my mind. Waiting for the last second I ducked and span, avoiding the lance and swinging my blade right through the chest of the poor animal. The rider had been grounded, yet I couldn’t avoid the injured animal and was sent hurtling through the air until I aggressively re-united with the unforgiving ground. I had to ignore the pain for now, as the rider was making his uncomfortably fast paced way towards me. His anger betrayed his training as he went to strike me yet was met with a blade in his own side. He fell, but was not killed. I spared him dying, knowing that his injury was severe enough to disqualify him from the war. Just in time. The straggles of my fellow troops that had survived cheered as they realised that the battle had been won. We were somehow victorious.

I glanced around at what was left of our army and was hit with a solemn realisation of loss. I couldn’t do this anymore, the war, the blood, the never ending pain, the burns on my wrists, the bruise on my head, the blood in my mouth. But I had to endure. Leaving the military would result in being outcast from the village and certainly making a lot of enemies within my squad. Or what’s left of it. The sun was now gently setting over the rolling hills and a curtain of intense orange cascaded across the green horizon. Yet as we approached the village we found that such orange had followed through into the sight of our home village itself. Fire. The village was on fire. And it looked like a battle was going on. Collecting what little strength we had left, the tatters of a squad we could call our company rushed home. We got closer and realised that while we were gone, whilst we were laying our lives on the line for our leader, our village had been conquered. The town flag was alight and eventually a new one took it’s place. Our friends, families, neighbours had been imprisoned and the bodies of our previously immense defensive lines were being tossed over the wall and lay in heaps on the ground they died to protect.

My men cried. Lay on their knees and wept. Everything was gone. My men had more to lose than I did. The military was a way of life for me. Only a career for others who instead had to worry about the families they were returning home to, and how they were planning to feed them. We were leftovers and setting foot back inside that village would result in our massacre at the hands of troops once bearing our emblem. Some of us formulated a plan to get back inside and save the ones we knew, others decided to re-recruit in a neighbouring village in the hopes of one day fighting to claim back our land. Whilst others, like me, remained outsiders. Living in the forests on what we could find and forage.

Perhaps my writing in this diary is futile. No doubt my time here will end soon. The ravages of time that have already claimed my brothers here in the forest are busily at work on me. Yet the history of the 32nd village of TheBlueReptile’s empire has been written in blood and I hope, by filling what little paper I can find with my account I can help to play a part in sharing it’s gory history.

 

[DeletedUser15106]

Runner-up - jagebomb

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the village,
A truce had been called, there was nothing to pillage.
The axemen played cards, while swordsmen sat drinking,
archers sharpened their arrows, while nobles just stood around thinking.
When all of a sudden, there arose such a clatter,
we all ran to the HQ, to see what was the matter.
When from up on the walls an archer yelled "TRAIN,
but this guyz got Reindeer not Rams, he must be insane."
I looked to the archers, as each pulled back his bow,
And they shot at the fat noble in red, while he yelled ho-ho-ho.
Áll of a sudden he took flight, and flew over the walls,
then our Paladin screamed out "Man this guy got balls!"
But the arrows found their mark, and from the sky he did fall,
hitting the ground with a thud, eight Reindeer and all.
The fat noble in red cried, "there's no need to fear,
you see I am Saint Nick, and bring with me good cheer!"
Those were his last words, as an axeman hacked off his head,
He was nomore, the fat noble in red.
Then we turned off the lights, after locking all doors,
They'll be no Christmas this year, Santas last stop was Tribal Wars!

 

[DeletedUser15106]

Runner-up - Erevu

They called us Barbarians. We did not speak their language; we did not follow their customs. In their eyes, we were not humans, but vile creatures, lower than dogs.
They first appeared to us in the middle of a blistering summer day. On the edge of the horizon, we spotted a dozen figures, riding the swift white stallions of the North. They were traveling light, dressed in dark, slender cloaks, carrying only food and water. We could see that their cloaks were skillfully woven, that their water skins were bound with the finest cords. We allowed them passage through our wooden Wall; we wanted to communicate with these Scouts from the Northern Plains. Perhaps we could contact their leaders, trade with them, and benefit from their wealth. They inspected our Iron Mine, our Clay Pit, and our Timber Camp with knowledgeable eyes. They appeared to be pleased with what they saw. We watched them ride off with hopeful hearts.
The following day, more men rode in from the North. They wore the same dark colors the Scouts had worn, but there were very many of them. These men wore light armor and carried shields and lances. They rode the brown chargers of the Hills, which were fast and could carry heavy loads. We allowed them to pass our Wall, hoping to barter with them. The men entered our village and rode straight into our Warehouse. They began to load the resources onto their horses. Kiongozi, our wise old leader, approached the men. He asked them what they were doing. The men were agitated. They yelled something in their strange language, growing angrier. Their horses stomped nervously. Kiongozi put his hand on the mane of one of the horses, attempting to calm it. Before he could react, the horse’s rider drove his lance through the old man’s chest. Kiongozi fell forward, never to move again. One of the men shouted, and the whole group galloped away to the North.
We did not understand. They had killed our wise leader in cold blood, as if he was not human. These men rode so far, only to steal from us? But they were not done. They returned day after day, plundering our village. We did not approach them. We hid in our Farms, fearing for our lives. When they were gone, we continued to build, as if nothing had happened. But our village could not grow. Each day, we would store nearly enough resources in our Warehouse, but before we could begin to build, the men from the North returned to plunder all that we had worked for. We could not continue to live this way.
So we fashioned spears out of Wood and Iron. We trained our men to use them, to form ranks. We hid the spears in our Hiding Place, under rocks and trees in the corner of our village. When the men on from the North returned, they were puzzled. They could see that some of our resources were missing. Some of their horses rode home empty. We worked and worked, until we had 500 Spearmen trained, living secretly in our village.
Finally, we were ready. One morning, as the riders approached, our Spearmen hid behind our Wall. The men rode into our village. They were unprepared. We were not. Our men gave a great cry, charging the Light Cavalry from both flanks. The men fumbled with their lances, but they were too slow. The horses shrieked in pain, the riders screamed as they fell to the ground. In minutes, it was over. The men from the North lay dead on the grass. One of our Spearmen shouted. He pointed outside our Wall. We saw a dozen Scouts, galloping northward on their white steeds. They had seen everything.
What had we done? The men of the North were surely powerful. We did not even know where they were from. They would surely retaliate.
So we built up our Wall. We built a tall stone layer, much thicker than the wooden posts that surrounded it. We fashioned swords, bows, and arrows. Our men and boys trained tirelessly, driving their swords into dummies and shooting their arrows into circular targets. We practiced forming ranks, shooting arrows at distant moving targets, and hand-to-hand combat. We knew how to prepare ourselves at a moment’s notice. Three thousand men were ready for battle. We were ready to fight for what was ours.
But now, the men have returned. We are watching them approach from inside our Wall. There are large Rams, meant to knock down our barrier. There are hundreds of Catapults, followed by carts carrying large stones to fling into our buildings. There are more of the Light Cavalry, formed into several massive battalions. There is a sea of Axemen, their numbers too large to count. Their blades gleam menacingly in the morning sun. As the enormous Northern army approaches, the ground shakes.
We can hear the women and children sobbing behind us. Our hands shake as we clutch our spears. It seems as if a dark cloud has consumed our hope. As we stand in ranks, prepared to fight, tears come to our eyes. We know we were lucky before. We know we will not survive this time.

 

[DeletedUser15106]

Runner-up - Orange Fanta

He was young, inexperienced a head full of dreams
A feisty beginner or so it seems

He had a nice little village with so much potential
But neglected troops which are extremely essential

Upgrades were constructed without a thought in the world
Stable, market and smithy, a beautiful village unfurled

All was well and farmings were underway
Too much wood and not enough clay

The tribe was an afterthought and he worked alone
Nestled in K72, the seeds of success had been sown

Village after village fell into his possession
Conquering barbarians had become a new obsession

His 'fearless' men were out on frequent raids
And his market was busy with constant trades

His people were happy until one day
His villages were threatened by the mighty ~SA~

He called out for help but nobody came
He had no troops, oh what a shame

Then Orange Fanta who was the bringer of life
Swept down from the heavens to end his strife

Flashed his magic wand and saved his skin
He then became, a Hidden Assassin

His knowledge improved and so did his desire
An asset that many people began to admire

Internal noblings were his only way
Of taking villages that had been left in disarray

He was at his peak a roaring fire
His ambitions were rising even higher

But then something happened, something unexpected
A fault in his game that had not been detected

For multiple accounts is a terrible crime
One that deserves punishment for all of time

His villagers panicked at this great offense
And fled their master for greater defense

And so his pride was dented, unable to heal
This is the story of Walton-Neil

Dedicated to Walton-neil, a close friend and companion who has departed from the game.

 

[DeletedUser15106]

Runner-up - Watercolour

I’d been waiting for this moment most of my life and now that it had finally come I was feeling absolutely terrified. The training process was over in a blink of an eye, and I was already standing at the gates of the village with the rest of my army men. The women and children cheered with tears in their eyes, because they knew this could very well be the last time any of them saw us again. I had grown up watching other brave soldiers take on the position of paladin, and I had heard countless stories of their braveries at war. While being appointed a paladin was nothing short of an honour, it was also very much a death sentence. Paladins came and went all the time. For the most part, the markings on the statue were all they were remembered for after their death. But I had not gotten to this position through being mediocre, and I sure as hell would make sure to go down in history now that I had reached my goal.
My first mission was nothing out of the ordinary, but my pulse was already racing from the fear. I wondered if this was the way all the soldiers felt before battle. They sure didn’t show any signs of it, and I knew very well that I wasn’t showing it either. One of our villages was under heavy attack and it was my job to bring the catapults with the bonfire to defend it. The sheer size of our army was something that would take your breath away. 2000 catapults with eight men for each one, pushing them along. I remember the relief that washed over the faces of these men when I arrived and announced that I would be accompanying them. Without me this journey would have taken them a lot longer, and they would not have performed nearly as well at battle due to exhaustion and lack of organization.

It was a three day journey for us and we didn’t stop to rest once. It was unnecessary. Morale was high and we were all very eager to protect our village. Especially me. For you see, I’d been to this village before. From a young age I knew that my calling was to defend, and defend I did. I started out as a swordsman. One day I was sent to this very same village to help defend a wave of ram speed attacks. Luckily they were just fakes, but during my time there I met a young maiden that worked at the stables. She was the most beautiful girl that I had ever seen and before we even spoke I knew that I wanted to marry her. She was such a shy and coy creature. Her name was Eva. Eva loved horses more than anything and spent most of her days at the stables. I had suggested to her that we go to the village market for our first date, but her utter lack of enthusiasm for this idea was quite obvious. That’s another thing I loved about her: she was so easy to understand, unlike any girl I’d ever met before. I stayed in that village for two whole weeks and I saw her every day. When the time came to leave I got down on one knee and asked her to come with me, to marry me, to be mine forever… She burst into tears and revealed a horrible secret to me. Her father was the current Paladin and he would never allow his beloved daughter to marry a swordsman. In fact, he had already found another man for her to marry. I begged her to run away with me, to follow her heart, to deny thy father and choose MY name. But alas, she turned away from me then and walked away slowly. “Wait,” I shouted after her, “just wait”. We stood their looking at each other. “Give me some time. I will come back as more than a swordsman, I’ll come back as the man your father would want me to be. Just wait for me. Please. Give this a chance.” She agreed to it. She agreed to wait for me, and we shared a passionate kiss without ever saying the words ‘good bye’.

This was a little over six months ago and I had not heard from her since. And now, as we marched towards her village, I fantasized about proposing to her again. This time as the Paladin figure her father once was. Oh how I’ve longed to take her away from that front lining village and move her to the safe zone in our cluster. The one that had never been attacked before. We could be happy there. I was so lost in my thoughts of Eva that I was startled by the appearance of our destination over the horizon. We had made it.

I would get to my lady soon, but for now my job would have to come first. Looking over the village I saw that it was severely battered up already. The headquarters and smithy had been catted, the wall was rebuilding… I threw a quick glance at the stables, it was safe. Thank heavens. My calculations showed me that we would be defending with a level 16 wall and I made sure that all our men were notified of this. Soon after we had set up our defense one more paladin arrived from a tribe mate’s village. We had a solid defense of 3000 catapults now. No attacks would get through this type of barrier. We had three hours to spare before the first incoming arrived.
After making sure that everyone was doing their job properly, I headed to the stables. I looked everywhere for her. Where was my precious Eva? I found myself running through the village searching high and low for her. Where could she be? I started asking the locals about her. Most didn’t even know who she was. Finally, I saw a spark of recognition on the face of an old sales woman at the market. She told me that my darling had married another and that they had moved far-far away to the new rim cluster in the South. “Last I heard they were expecting, “she said. In that moment my entire world came crashing down both literally and figuratively. Figuratively because I had just lost all hopes for happiness, figuratively because the first of the incomings was just about to hit and the supporting troops had been withdrawn by the tribe mate. I inhaled the fumes of betrayal and marched to the front of the line. My men were in panic. I silenced them. I knew this was where I was expected to make my motivational speech, but being on the verge of tears myself, I decided to cut it short for I could not guarantee that my weakness would not show through. “Let’s do this,” I said.

I don’t remember much of the endless battles that we fought for the next few days, I just know that we won them all and the village was kept. We arranged for more help to come at a stage. Without this option I would have surely been killed. On our way back home there were few of us, and we were all exhausted. But the victory stood in the air and I knew that this was the start of great things for me. So why did it feel like I had lost? I tried to drain my thoughts of Eva. But at the same time I knew that I could not. To this day I think of her. The thought that comforts me though, is that I know that she thinks of me every day too. I know she loved me. I know now she wishes she had run away with me. Because I had fulfilled my end of the promise. I had become everything her father had ever dreamed her to have in a man, and because she couldn’t keep her promise she was stuck on the sidelines living a loveless relationship with a man she settled for.

Not a happy end by any means, but I was willing to accept it.

 

[DeletedUser15106]

Runner-up - aakminer1234

I log onto TW one day.
And work and play in my usual way.

Suddenly I see 5 attacks coming at me.
I checked the distance and I could see.

I was going to get nuked and taken.
I tried to contact the attacker, maybe he was mistaken.

I got no response and my fear level rises.
"Just snipe it", my friend advises.

I feel so depressed, the attack comes closer.
I decided to wait and be a poetry composer.

I was a noob and felt so grim.
I guess it was my time to visit the rim.

I spammed the inbox of this unjust tyrant.
I was nothing to him but a mere peasant.

I had no time left, I sent my troops away.
Only to bring them back, I was in disarray.

The attacks were 50 milliseconds apart.
I will never make it, I knew in my heart.

I open the browser, Opera was the name.
And attempted to snipe with my best aim.

Instantly, my rally point goes blank.
As I pictured that compass, my heart sank.

I clicked on the reports to see the hated dots colored red.
I saw yellow and green dots instead.

Opening the reports, I see I had survived.
His troops had died, all that arrived.

I jumped for joy, so happy and proud.
I spammed everyone and was on a cloud.

I went to sleep, tomorrow I had class.
I wake up and see the dreaded compass.