The Macabre Misfortune of 'that' Lone Spearman


T'is a tale we have all experienced, and yet it is criminally ignored.

Imagine the scene; the hour is late, and your village is deserted. You have been pacing along the stone flooring of the Village Headquarters for a time that seems immeasurable, the echoing of each foot-fall your only companion. Although kept warm by all your finery, your breath mists before your face. It was going to be a long, uncertain night.

The oaken doors swing open, letting in a rush of night air that makes the lanterns and candles splutter with indignation. You spin on your heels towards the intruder, swiftly moving one hand to the pommel of your well-balanced sword . . . and then you smile at the familiar chiseled face of your Paladin. He continues towards you, clutching folded parchment in his gauntleted fist, which he wordlessly offers to you. The report of the raid on the abandoned village.

You pluck the report from his grip lightly with one bejeweled hand, and in one swift movement your Paladin kneels before you; head bowed, with one hand holding the pommel of his sword and the other clenched into a fist over his heart. Gently, you unfold the report, moving closer to a rather lavish candle-holder to afford better visibility.

"178 wood . . . 156 clay . . . 233 iron." You mutter to yourself. Turning cautiously, so your bear-fur cloack does not get tangled in the candle-holder, you state to your Paladin. "A good nights pillaging, that. Do we have any idea quite who is making these resources?"

"No, your Grace," your Paladin replies. "The village is quite empty, and has been for some time by the looks. The loot just . . . appears."

You tap a finger against your chin thoughtfully. "Most curious." You unravel the parchment once more, making sure you had calcuated correctly that the village did indeed have enough materials to build a palisade wall around its perimeter. Then you see it.

"Wha . . . one casualty? What? Who? How?" You demand.

The Paladin remains silent, still bowed on the floor.


" . . . Radavan . . . the spearman, your Grace. We . . . we don't know what happened, he just . . . died," the Paladin offered reluctantly.

He tilted his head up to find you looming over him, your face not an inch from his. "He just died? Just died? You told me the village was aban-"

"It is abandoned" he interjected.

"And then how, how did he 'just die?' Did anyone witness what happened to him?"

The Paladin shook his head, only slightly.

". . . then maybe he got lost. He might still be there," you state.

"NO!" bellows your Paladin. "HE JUST DIED!"

Outraged by the Paladins show of insubordination, you afford him a back-handed slap across the face, and storm passed him into the village square. There, you see the three axemen, given the sole responsibility of protecting the seven - no six; it was six now. Poor Radavan - you see nothing but dark faces. Silence. Not one said a word, whereas normally the fools would be rejoicing at such a nights worth of pillaging.

Absolute silence, until the shriek of an owl shattered it. An owl, you convince yourself, but your mind can't help but muse whether it was actually the cries of agony emitted from human lungs. Radavan's lungs.

You shiver, but you are not cold. What had happened?


This is brilliant. Made me genuinely laugh at some points, had never noticed how stupid this is until now! Thanks +1


Haha yeah, neither had I...



Deserted, that's what most people believed. Forgotten workers, left behind by their warriors and their leader, not deemed important enough to help them in other pastures. These few villagers were not weak though, years of work had given them strength and a raw dislike of change and strangers. Together they farmed the land in order to live, expanding the buildings in a good year. Their knowledge was limited, few had building experience, and most knew only how to farm the land and get the resources that they needed to survive. Winters came and past, and still they toiled on, forgotten by all.
On one dreary overcast day, desperate for water, they saw a cloud of dust coming down one of the old roads. No one good came down them they said, so they proceeded to hide. Sure enough out of the dust came soldiers, hungry for blood and the resources that they were hoping to find in the long ago abandoned village. Such a small force though, and villagers decided to try and take them on. Armed only with wood axes and picks, the men crept silently from building to building, settling on the edge of the village centre to await for the strangers to arrive. They did not wait long before the sound of coarse laughter could be heard echoing between the empty buildings, Spearmen and Axemen well versed in the art of war, confident that they would be getting out of there with all the resources that they could carry. As they arrived in the centre of the village one spearman hung back from the group, deciding to go snoop around the houses to see if there was anything of value to be taken. The other soldiers, busy with grabbing the loot, did not notice the shadows of the villagers crossing the street and silently giving chase to the curious spearman.
Gleefully Radavan the spearman bounded into house after house finding old silver and gold, items that he knew would get him a bit of money from the Smith back home. So absorbed was he in his quest that he did not notice the blades until it was too late. He let out a blood curdling scream as axes appeared from the shadows and tore into his armour. A pickaxe from the mines cut off the scream, and the voice of Radavan forever more.
The scream made it to the other soldiers of course, unsettling their nerves. Unable to know where it was coming from the Paladin decided it was high time that they vacated the village before anything worse happened. It wasn't until they were a mile from the village that the paladin stopped them, finally realising that one of their company was missing. That scream, could that... no was that Radavan? His Grace will not take the report well, the loss of life so early on always sent him into wild rages. Sobered by the chilling scream the Soldiers made their way home, glad that they weren't the paladin who would be giving the report.


lol... this is brilliant!

Thanks for brightening my day, farming was getting boring. :icon_biggrin:


I was always on the impression that they "slipped" and fell on their spear.


I was wondering how your spear died, when the wall was 0 and there were no troops.
Good read mate ;)


He lowered his gaze upon the man before him. "Radavan," he thought to himself, as he circled around the prisoner before him. He studied the rope that held both of his hands behind his back, the black luminescent black of the hood that concealed his would be warden and the subsequent spear that was rested against the abandoned Barracks. He contemplated what he would do with the spearman. Would he be joining the others he had subsequently taken in the other hundreds -- no -- thousands of barbarian villages.

The hooded man lifted his somber features to the noise ahead. As the gate opened, another man entered the center of the village and approached the hooded, bound features of Radavan and the man that had subsequently taken him from the apparent raiding party. He smiled at his subordinate, whom lowered into kneeling and bowing his head. The new arrival listened, "My Lord, another spearmen... as ordered."

"Good," replied the new arrival, folded his arms back into his sleeves. "Soon, we will have enough of these men to create another army... and then soon, we the Vikings will return from the Nothern hemisphere to lay claim to the South, as we so deserve."
"Very good, my Lord. What should I do with him?"
"Take him away... Have him join our hidden village. Induct him, as you have done with your captured 'Axemen', 'Light Cavalry' and the occasional 'Scout' that have fallen to your... talents."

The hooded man kept his head bowed until his Master turned away from him. When he got up to his feet, he studied Radavan in silence. He averted his gaze from his new prisoner and soon to be Viking Warrior to the Paladin sword he had used to knock him out. He had seen several Paladins during his travels across this new world. Fortunately, they had not suffered the same wrath as he and his men had suffered a long time ago. Their Lord and Master had decided to start a new village, following an attack by another nearby enemy. The coward had subsequently abandoned him, then a Paladin and the other spearmen and swordmen that had been recruited on their very first day of setting up their old village.

It was now a barbarian, abandoned much like the others he had visited in these past few days. On each visit, he had found a lone soldier, fallen to the hands of a nearby wall... The fools. Luckily and perhaps in a way an unfortunate circumstance, the one time Paladin warrior had been at hand to save Radavan, as he had done with the others.

Picking up the one time spearman and placing him in a fire-mans-lift, the mysterious figure departed the barbarian village. Nearby, he climbed onto the white horse he had gained in the subsequent raids he had made on other villages with scouting parties... A gift his old Master had given him for his service. A reminder of why he would lead the new invasion of world fifteen...

Placing Radavan on the horse, he climbed on the saddle and began to make his way back up north. He smiled in contemplation of the events ahead.


(Apologies, I missed all the Viking fun over winter and have absolutely no reply, but I love it - thanks for continuing!)



It had been a while since, radavan had seen any civilization. In fact, 2 weeks had passed since the night of the raid on that village. 2 week since that fateful night when his greed and curiosity got the better of him and he was separated from his party...and his wife.She thinks me dead, I'm sure of it... He thought to himself in silent contemplation.

His back, ribs and head hurt, his arms still bound caused immense pain in his shoulders. His ribs pressed against the spine of a moving horse. his head, through concussion. All this however was nothing compared to the hunger and thirst he felt. His captors fed him only enough to keep him conscious.

He had no idea where he was going, all he had seen for the last week were tree's and mountains. The occasional brook, where he managed to sneak the odd drink when his captors were otherwise occupied. He had not the strength, nor the courage to attempt to flee.

Where would I go? I have no idea where I am. At least with these brutes I'm still alive...for now, for how long? why?

These questions and many more ran through his head during the waking hours. during the sleeping hours it was a constant nightmare. visions of horrific deaths haunted his dreams. He knew the things barbarians did to hostages. He had seen the aftermath of their raids many a time on patrol.

Why did I request the position on the raiding parties? My job was mundane but safe.

It was too late now. he was a captive, a hostage. He had become just like the many other spearmen that had "vanished". He convinced himself time and time again that it wouldn't happen to him. He was wrong.

Looking towards the direction they were travelling he saw what looked like a town on the horizon, just before the mountain pass. It was then that he realized the grim situation he was in. He was approaching barbarian territory Is this it? is this the end of the line for me? Tired and hungry he closed his eyes knowing that it maybe the very last time he opens them...
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There was no hiding it; Radavan was a player, and a drunk. The Master of the village always seemed to enjoy his company, although it was more than likely this was due to the women that circulated around him, rather than Radavan's company itself. The women of the village flocked to him, which was in no small way problematic. You see this was no grand city, this was a small village, with barely 10 spearmen and a paladin. Most of the village women were wives, lovers or daughters of this small force, so Radavan's womanising ways did not go down well with the other members of the villages army. Not well at all. The troops could not question what the Master did with the women, he was above question, but Radavan was nothing. Just a lowly foot soldier. One of them. They had had enough, on the next raid they would end it, him.

The next day they were sent to raid an abandoned village. Stupid lone soldiers had been known to get lost, fall on their own spears or be abducted from these places, so a drunk going missing would come as no surprise. After pillaging the mines the soldiers turned on Radavan, he was drunk as usual so was easy to fool into thinking the group of trees in the abandoned village contained women, alcohol and dancing, they called it, 'a nightclub'. After watching him do inappropriate things to trees, that they hoped he assumed were not trees, they struck him down with his own spear.

On return the Master was heartbroken when informed that Radavan had fallen on his own spear, but Radavan's true demise had left a scarring image in each of the soldiers minds... They would never be able to work in the lumber camps or look at trees the same way again.



Radavan came groggily awake as the pale dawn light filtered through the high barred window.His head ached and as he sat up a stabbing pain tore through his shoulder, nausea swept over him and he almost blacked out.Taking a deep breath he staggered to his feet holding the damp wall for support.
Slowly he looked around,he was in some kind of cell,dirty straw rustled under his feet and he ran his fingers over the cold granite wall.Gradually the memories came back to him,the raid on the supposedly abandoned village,his subsequent capture and the hazy journey,bound and slung over a horse to this place.Wherever that was.Carefully,his head still swimming, he began to explore his prison,it did not take long.A heap of straw in one corner,a heavy wooden door that solidly resisted his admittedly weak attempts to force it open.Then he noticed the leather water bucket and loaf on the floor in the gloom and he ate and drank ravenously.Feeling slightly better Radavan tried to peer through the crack in the door but could see nothing and he rested his aching head against the panels.Suddenly a key rattled in the lock and he stepped back as three men entered the cell and surveyed him.
Clearing his throat the older of the three muttered 'Well.. you're awake and on your feet,all the better as the Master is not a man known for his patience'.
The other two jailers chuckled darkly. Radavan studied them,they seemed ordinary enough, powerfully built and carrying short swords that looked well used.But what was that strange light in their eyes? Suddenly Radavan remembered the time a so called Holy Man came to the village with a small flock of ragged, half starved converts.The same light of fanaticism had burned behind their eyes.
'Anyway,spearman' the older guard spoke 'no time for chitchat,the master wants to speak to you'
As Radavan was pushed toward the door he asked despondently 'who is your master'?
This time one of his younger captors spoke,his voice taking on a hushed ,almost reverential tone.'Ahh...he is a great man..a warrior and a leader....he sees things that are hidden to others...He has great plans for this land...great plans.