Family History

Mr. Cheeseymuffin

Lived in Era 40 and got 1 heir(s) (Cheeseymuffin).
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Mr. Cheeseymuffin

Lived in Era 40, got 1 heir(s) (Meatball) and was a member of Heaven
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Sir Meatball

Lived in Era 41, got 1 heir(s) (Mithras) and was a member of Guild Of The Fallen
Meatball breathed.

That first breath was the start of a great struggle, the struggle for survival. From his birth he was threatened, part of a group of people cast out from society. The rulers of the area were unfair and cruel, but apart from those people few were brave enough to oppose their rule.

With no other options available, they fled.

By this time Meatball was five years old. Unable to understand what was happening, only that he was in danger, he was carried from the city by his father. It was only as he grew older he began to understand the danger he had faced, and the oppression that still affected those still in the city.

He lived his life by his father’s side, learning all he could. For his father was the leader of this group of people, and for good reason. He could inspire hope in people who were seemingly beyond help, sunk into a pit of despair. It was from these people, these outcasts, he chose his people. Away from the city, his influence grew, until he was leading a group of people just as large as the one they had left behind, if not even larger.

It was at this time that Meatball’s father died. The rulers that they had left behind had heard of their people, and sent an assassin to kill Meatball’s father. The day he was buried, fire burnt in Meatball’s eyes. There would be a reckoning, soon in coming, brutal and swift.

******
Meatball strode among his people, looking from one side to the next. All around was the sound of metal clashing against metal. Some from men practising swordsmanship, others from where the blacksmiths were working, forging more metal into the shape of swords and shields. He nodded to one of his tacticians as he passed, looking on approvingly as he ordered a large group of men in attacking formations. There were the only men on horses there, the few amount of mounts they had managed to secure. Still, the people they marched to attack had never used horses, so even a small number would have a devastating effect if used correctly. All the men had bows, and small lightweight swords.

He entered a building, one of the only ones they had constructed. Building their own settlement could wait, but for now revenge was all that mattered. Once past wrongs had been righted they could prosper and live in peace for many generations.

Meatball greeted each man present, and then they began to discuss various tactics, discussed many times before. Eventually Meatball spoke, this time not going over something already discussed. The moment had come. “There is nothing else we can do to prepare. We shall march in three hours time”. At once everyone around the room began muttering to each other, and after a few minutes it ceased. One man stood, breaking the tense silence that had developed. “I will go and ready my men” he said, then hurried from the room. In seconds the rest followed suit, pouring from the room like water released from a dam. Meatball was alone. He nodded to himself, and then also left. He was pleased with how things were proceeding, but he did not smile. He would not smile until the people who had killed his father had been wiped from the face of the earth.

****
The day of the battle. Meatballs men marched in perfect order, heads held high. The cavalry rode slightly ahead, in several groups. Every few minutes a man would detach from each group and bring back news to Meatball and his generals.

Meatball cursed when he heard the latest scouts reports. His enemy was far larger than anticipated. Almost twice as large as his own forces. But he would not stop, not now he was so close. He could almost see his father dying again in front of him, a blade buried in his back. Then the man who had wielded it, throwing a knife in his direction then fleeing. Meatball rubbed the scar on his shoulder where the knife had hit, then gripped the hilt of his sword. He would not be denied after all those years.

“Cavalry advance” He ordered, and as one they grouped together and charged towards the enemy. Just as they reached enemy ranks they swerved, so they were riding alongside them. Then they let loose shafts of arrows, cutting ragged holes in the front lines of the opposing army. Immediately they galloped away again, out of range of enemy fire.

The rest of the army was now close enough to make out the individual ranks of the enemy. As one they surged forward, and met their enemies with a roar. The most experienced soldiers were at the front, Meatball realised, and the men who had only ever held a sword a few times in their lives at the back. Those men were the peasants, who took up arms and fought when the need arose.

Panic rose up in his chest as he realised his men were being pushed back. He pushed forward. Then he was amongst the enemy and killing, his battalion behind him. His blade flashed, blood dripping from it as he struck again and again, a frenzy settling upon him. He began to laugh, his eyes burning as he was lost in vengeful joy at finally striking back at the men who had killed his father.

As he looked on the men from behind, the peasants had begun to attack their own soldiers. Finally tired of the oppression that faced them, they had chosen a new life. Meatball continued to fight, not noticing the small injuries he sustained in his lust for blood. Finally there was only one man left, the commander. He stared around at the destruction in disbelief, and then all emotion emptied from his face.. Several men advanced, but Meatball called for them to halt.

“He is mine,” He stated, eyes burning with hatred. He began to unbuckle his armour, and threw down his shield, till he was standing in only simple linen garments. His opponent did the same. Then they came together, the sound of metal on metal ringing out. All around men shouted, encouraging Meatball, insulting his opponent. Meatball heard none of this; so intent he was on his opponent. With a snarl Meatball smashed the hilt of his sword into his opponents face, bringing him to his knees. With a howl of triumph he swiped his sword, beheading the defeated man before him.

But as he did so, an arrow plunged into his chest. One enemy had survived, and taken revenge for the defeat of his comrades. Immediately dozens of blades hacked at his body, until it was unrecognisable. But their grief was not yet spent, and the whole army turned to the city. Even when the sun had set long ago, there was a glow on the horizon as the city burned long into the night.

Mithras, son of Meatball watched on. Then, when all was destroyed, he gave the order to march.