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scotianostra · 11 months

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On 24th of June 1314 Scotland rose as a nation to repel the English invaders at The Battle of Bannockburn.

The First War of Scottish Independence had say sporadic fighting since Edward I of England led a force into Scotland in the spring of 1296 to strip King John Balliol of his crown. During the next decade or so the likes of Andrew Moray, William Wallace and Simon Fraser among others had fought a guerrilla war against the English. Some of the nobility, Robert the Bruce and John Comyn included had chosen to fight with Edwards Armies at times, Moray died of his wounds some time after The Battle of Stirling Bridge, Wallace was executed in London after betrayal by he Scottish nobleman Sir John Menteith in the autumn of 1305, Longshanks must have thought the resistance was crushed but a year later The Bruce, after killing John Comyn at Dumfries, seized the Scottish crown, and so began a chain of events that would see a smaller Scottish Army defeat the English Army of Edward II on the fields at Bannockburn near Stirling.

After nearly a decade of fighting, by 1314 Robert the Bruce was in control of most of Scotland. Stirling Castle was the only major castle left in English hands, and so he sent his only surviving brother to Stirling with orders to take the castle.

However, his brother made a deal with the English commander: if the fort wasn’t relieved by mid-summer 1314, the English commander would surrender the castle to the Scots.

So far, Edward II of England had stayed well away from the fighting in Scotland. But even he couldn’t ignore the challenge of relieving Stirling Castle. He marched an army north to Scotland, stopping a couple of miles south of Stirling Castle, near a stream called the Bannockburn.

Meanwhile, Robert the Bruce had gathered together all of his fighting troops, and had arrived at nearby St. Ninian’s before the English. This gave him time to prepare the ground for the mother of all battles.

There are only about four hours of proper darkness at midsummer in Scotland. For the English army crossing the boggy ground beneath the town of Stirling, that was just enough time to feed and water horses and men, clean equipment and wonder what lay ahead of them once the sun rose. Morale was low. The foot soldiers were exhausted, having been forced to march as quickly as they could from Edinburgh 30 miles away in order to meet the midsummer deadline agreed for the relief of the castle.

Yesterday I touched upon the first day of the battle where the English had failed to best their Scottish enemies in a series of encounters including the infamous attempt by Sir Henry de Bohun to kill the Scottish king.

Nevertheless, Edward II was prepared. What he did not expect was the Scots to fight, for it was their habit to disappear into the hills when confronted by an English army. Preferring to fight on their own terms, the tactics Wallace had used and Bruce also in his battles.

As dawn crept into the sky on June 4th, Edward could see the Scots across the burn, seing them kneel, legend has it that the English KingI, called out “Ha! They kneel for mercy!” misunderstanding their intent. The Scots then stood up and marched in their schiltrons down the hill, straight towards the massing English knights, under cover from their own archers.

The English archers reacted swiftly, however, and quickly drove the few Scots archers from the field. Beneath a ridge was a line of casualties where the two armies first clashed. The well drilled Scottish lines held at the impact of the poorly organised English cavalry, however, then began driving back the English in a relentless, murderous, crushing slog. The lines were packed so closely together that English support from their archers quickly became impossible.

ThdeEnglish general The Duke of Gloucester had been stung by accusations of cowardice from his own king the day before. Subsequently, upon seeing the Scots’ advance, he hastily formed up the vanguard of the English cavalry and charged without even pausing to don his own surcoat. With great bravery, he charged the Scottish lines but went down under the spears of Edward Bruce’s men. Without his surcoat, he was not recognised as a potentially valuable hostage and was killed by the rampaging Scots.

The English had redeployed their now redundant archers across the Pelstream Burn, on the Scots’ left flank, where they wreaked total havoc amongst the Scotsmen under the command of the Black Douglas and Walter the Steward. But the Bruce had foreseen just such a development and deployed the Scots light cavalry under Sir Robert Keith in a circuitous movement to dispatch them. Unseen by the English, they tracked swiftly through the concealing countryside to take the English archers by surprise and drove them from the field.

It was at this point that the Bruce deployed his own schiltron, with support from Angus Og MacDonald and his highlanders, who he had previously held in reserve. As they smashed into the thick of the battle, the English began to lose heart. They were being driven back mercilessly and yet most had been unable to reach the front line to strike a blow. They could not manoeuvre effectively in the tight confines and on such broken terrain. Many fell beneath the crush, never to rise again and panic began to surge through their ranks.

English King Edward was persuaded to leave the field by his advisers as order in the English ranks collapsed and he fled for nearby Stirling castle with his escort. Upon seeing the Royal Standard, three golden leopards on a scarlet background, leaving the field, the English collapse became inevitable.

The Scottish archers returned to the field to wreak havoc upon the fleeing English. The “small folk” abandoned their reserve position by Coxet Hill and took to the field. It is unlikely that Robert the Bruce ordered this charge, but its effect was devastating upon the already retreating English forces. Seeing these hundreds of figures rush into battle carrying workmen’s tools as weapons and waving homemade banners, the English mistook them as another Scottish reserve force entering the fray. Subsequently, they totally disintegrated and fled the field, pursued in every direction by vengeful Scots

The English King eventually reached Stirling Castle but was refused entry by the castle commander, Sir Philip Moubray, as this would only have resulted in the King’s ultimate capture. He and his retinue were pursued relentlessly south and east to Dunbar by the Black Douglas, leaving his army to be slaughtered.

#scotland #scottish #robert the bruce #battle #battle of bannockburn #medieval warfare #medieval history #history #english #england

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peashooter85 · 2 years

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youtube

Battle of Bannockburn, 1314 AD --- First War of Scottish Independence

from HistoryMarche

#history #middle ages #medieval history #battle of bannockburn #scottish history #Youtube

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bantarleton · 1 year

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Bannockburn 1314 - When it became clear that all was lost the Earl of Pembroke and Sir Giles d’Argentan led King Edward II from the field, much against his will, retreating before the rampant Scots. Artwork from CAM 102 Bannockburn 1314: Robert Bruce’s great victory, illustrated by Graham Turner.

#bannockburn #battle of bannockburn #history #scottish wars of independence #scotland #scottish #robert the bruce #14th century #medieval #middle ages #medieval history #knight #knights

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maypoleman1 · 1 month

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6th April

The Arbroath Declaration

Source: S Buwert/ Shutterstock/ The Conversation website

On this day in 1328, the Treaty of Northampton was signed, confirming the independence of Scotland from England, a full fourteen years after the victory of Robert the Bruce’s army of freedom fighters over the forces of Edward II at Bannockburn in 1314. This was followed by the Declaration of Arbroath, drafted by Bernard de Lington, Chancellor of Scotland and Abbot of Arbroath. It is perhaps the first declaration of independence by a country from an imperial power in history. Its ringing tones of national pride and freedom have a distinctly modern feel, particularly given the national consciousness was a barely acknowledged concept in medieval Europe:-

‘It is not for glory, riches or honour that we fight,

it is for liberty alone,

the liberty which no good man loses

except with his life.’

#scottish independence #the declaration of Arbroath #battle of Bannockburn #robert the bruce #Edward II #Bernard de Lington

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branmer · 6 months

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always v funny to me when certain types of english ppl move to scotland and then get mad when their kids are taught scottish history in school. 'they teach them about the wars of independence!!! and we're not depicted as the good guys!!!! it's anglophobia!!!!' quality japes, five star material, excellent clown costume

#like the relationship between scotland and england is complex #but when it comes to the wars of independence....#yes i am sorry but you are actually the bad guys and you should just take the L #and stop acting like reenactments of the battle of bannockburn are a hate crime while you're at it

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auspicioustidings · 6 months

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Bannockburn

Summary: Your boyfriend Johnny has come home in a strange mood, and you are about to get your shit rocked at Bannockburn.

Technically, if you squint, a sequel to Savage set just over 700 years later. Like I will perhaps write a proper sequel at some point, but you can blame Bunny for this one.

Words: 3.6k

CW: CNC, smut, implied character death

You were getting nervous. You were getting really nervous. There were two Johnny’s and you never knew what one you were getting when he came home from a mission. Most of the time you got your Johnny, sweet and loving and tackling you to the bed with a laugh while he showed you how much he missed you. But sometimes whatever happened out on mission got his blood up. Whatever he usually did to get himself settled and out of war mode didn’t take. Sometimes you got the Savage Johnny, the one who heard your English accent and became more animal than man. The one who went into such thick Scots that you hardly understood what he was growling into your ear as he took you.

Usually you knew what Johnny you had the moment he walked through the door. Not this time. This time he seemed like he was boiling with energy under the surface, but he kissed you nonetheless and ate dinner with you and held you as you slept. When he got you both up and packed into the car the next morning for a trip you had the sense to at least be a little worried. Now, hand held in his as you listened to the guide, you had some inkling that you might be in for it.

“Now King Edward the second invaded as a result of Bruce’s demand to his people to recognise him as their King. He summoned 25,000 infantry and 2000 horses, the largest ever army to invade Scotland. Bruce only had command of 6000 men.”

You could feel the blood draining from your face as the guide went further into the background of the battle. Around about the time she briefly mentioned how Wallace had been hanged, drawn and quartered, limbs displayed in different cities, just shy of ten years before the Battle of Bannockburn, you absolutely knew what Johnny you had on your hands. And this Johnny? There was nothing you could do to save yourself from this Johnny. This Johnny was taking in every word, ready to punish you for your ancestors' transgressions against his.

You were trying to pay attention, but your eyes were darting around trying to pinpoint any little nooks that might spell danger if he got you in them. Only that was dangerous in itself, because the first time you felt your attention drift from what was being said Johnny had let go of your hand and moved to instead hold you firm by the back of the neck, fingers massaging a little too hard in warning. That got you to pay rapt attention to all of it, to the whole history of the Scottish wars of Independence as it related to Bannockburn.

It was strange sometimes, you and Johnny. There were times like now when you would be learning about the history of your countries and it felt like some long forgotten memory. There were times when you met his Lieutenant and swore you knew him from somewhere. Like there was some ancient part of you that trusted them when they fought together to watch each other's backs. No matter what Johnny you got, you held such a deep love for him that it scared you sometimes. Your heart twisted as they described what the battle would have been like for the soldiers, the sights and sounds and weapons. It must have been awful.

You were stuck on it. Stuck on the image of a Johnny with a sword on the battlefield. That was your mistake, zoning out and just following along when he led you out to the grounds. Only when you had been walking for a while did you realise how far you were getting from the safety of a building full of people.

“Where are we going?”

“Dinae pay any attention at all did ye? Must naw have been interesting tae ye learning about how my people battered yours when they tried tae grind us intae nothing.”

“No, I was paying attention. Of course I was” you said, trying to be meek and quell some of his building fury.

“Couldnae even hunt a bunny without some English noble claiming it wisnae our right. Punishing us” he ranted before turning to you with a feral look in his eye. “Cannae stop me from hunting one right now though can they? Ye going tae run for me wee bunny?”

Fuck. He looked ready to tear into your throat with his teeth. You felt every bit a prey animal, eyes darting around to find a way out of this. The woods. There were woods here. That was where he had been leading you while you had been busy getting stuck on the idea of him as some ancient warrior fighting to the death. Gillies Hill. The guide had told you about it, how the Scottish had made their camp here. It was where they had attacked from.

And it was where you found yourself sprinting through, heart pounding. Your logical mind knew it was a mistake, you running only meant he could chase. You should have just stayed where you were, tried to talk him down. You were stumbling and tripping, trying to get your bearings as the woods became dense around you. Every snap of a twig or sway of a branch sent you darting away in the other direction until you were shaking from exhaustion and no small amount of mounting terror.

You had never been hunted like this. Johnny had been rough with you before in the warmth of your own home, had fucked you into the bed like he was trying to mould you permanently to him. But this was a different creature entirely. This was the monster under the surface that you only caught glimpses of, that you never thought you would meet face to face. The woods were silent of another human, had you managed to escape him?

“Yer naw even trying little bunny, ye want me tae catch ye is that it? Slut.”

His breath was hot on your ear and you choked on any response you had tried to come up with. How had he gotten right behind you without a sound? You were running again, tripping and scraping your knees but clawing your way back to your feet to keep going. The little summer dress was not suited for this, but at least you were wearing boots. At least Johnny had told you to wear boots this morning.

It was with a sickening dread that you realised he had planned this. He knew you would be running from him, knew he wanted you in a dress for easy access but boots for fleeing into the woods. At least you knew that your Johnny was still in there somewhere, enough to care about you not breaking an ankle. Not enough to care about breaking you in other ways.

“Aww wee English princess got her knees all scraped up? All yer kinfolk are going tae ken how ye love getting on them for good Scottish cock when they see the marks. Wee whore down in the dirt fucking gagging on it, crying over how much ye love it.”

You couldn’t properly tell what direction his voice was even coming from. The shame of his words was flooding you with a sickly humiliation that only increased when your body reacted differently to how it should have. When you throbbed with need for him.

“I’m not! That isn’t what’s happening!”

You were flustered and scared and needy and felt like you were yelling at nothing as you kept catching sight of him on your periphery only to turn and find nobody there.

“Naw? Slick is practically running down yer plush fucking thighs princess, bet yer clenching down on nothin’. Dinnae even have tae catch ye dae I? Could just wait until ye come crawling tae me, begging me tae claim ye. Fucking pleading for it right here, right where my army celebrated before decimating yours.”

His words sent a shiver up your spine. Out here felt removed from time, it really did feel like you were betraying something by finding yourself drawn to this savage. By imagining that his prediction would prove true, that you’d beg for him. You couldn’t, it would be too much, too shameful. So you kept stumbling through the woods even when the deep tenor of his voice rang through in a mocking little song.

God he had translated this for you once. Told you that brose and butter was a euphemism, that it was about fucking a girl full of cum. It had made you blush and laugh at the time when he playfully sang it over to you now that you understood the meaning, but now? Fuck now it just scared the hell out of you with how the words were tinged with a promise. This was hardly playful, he really meant to hold you down and shove himself inside you out here in the woods where anyone could walk by.

“We can’t! John please, not here” you pleaded, pausing to try and find where he was. “I… you were gone for months, I’ve not…”

He had made you promise before he left that you’d save yourself for him, wouldn’t even put your own fingers inside yourself while he was gone. And you hadn’t. Fuck you would be so tight now, not ready for him to take you hard. Had he known even then that this was the plan?

“Maiden are ye? Scared it’s going tae hurt, princess? It will, did they naw teach ye that we’re animals? We dinnae treat wee English lassies the way yer own men would. Ye’ll get treated the way ye should, like a fucking whore. And ye’ll take it won’t ye? Ye’ll take it wherever I want tae give it tae ye.”

Fuck, you were starting to slip away to whereever he was. You were starting to feel less like yourself and more like the poor English maiden being hunted by the enemy. The bunny being hunted by the hound. Starting to drift away into pure animal instinct, pure fear and arousal. You could hardly breathe now, feeling tears prick at your eyes.

“Please…” you sobbed quietly, not even sure what you were begging for.

And then he was there, towering over you and wrapping a hand around your throat, thumb beneath your chin to tilt your head and force you to look at him.

“Wonder whit they’d think of ye begging so pretty for the enemy. Cannae help yerself can ye?” he said, as if fascinated by you, slipping his other hand up your dress and under your panties. “Fucking English slut. Y’er dripping.”

Your reaction to those words was violent and unexplainable. It made your legs shake and your pussy clench painfully hard. It was confusing how much it affected you, causing such a flood of wetness that Johnny noticed, his pupils dilating as he squeezed at your throat and laughed when that made you whimper and claw at his hand. He only kept on squeezing until you were starting to see stars.

“Dinnae fucking move princess.”

The pressure of his hands was gone in an instant and the flood of oxygen made you dizzy. There was no time for you to recover before he was on his knees in the dirt, treating your pussy like it was a mouth and sloppily kissing it over your panties. The press of his tongue was insistent and overwhelming, like he was trying to bully it past the fabric. When he ripped at your waistband with his teeth the lace tore.

He continued his attack like he truly was a wolf sinking his teeth into a fresh meal, completely ruining your underwear until the mangled scraps fell to the floor and left you bare. Your hands were woven into his mohawk and you tried to pull him away, earning a growl that reverberated into your bones and a heavy handed smack to your ass before he assaulted your clit with tongue and teeth and spit.

You felt yourself clench so hard that you almost felt nauseous. Fuck. You were trying to keep some sense of self, trying to remember that you were out in public and he was some feral version of the man you loved who was saying horrible things to you and promising he was going to hurt you. But there was a creeping haze taking over, turning you dumb for him.

It wasn’t even something you had been aware was happening when you came on his tongue. It was just sensation, just the desperate need for more. The primal desperation to be fuller even as he pushed his tongue into your over sensitive hole while your walls fluttered through the pleasure of that high.

“Please, need you.”

“Aye, that right? Needy wee slut.”

You were too far gone to notice that while he was rough in getting you onto your back in the dirt, one hand was gentle in cradling your head to make sure it landed softly.

“Use those pretty wee words. Ask me for it the way ye’d ask a good English man.”

Ask me for it the way ye’d ask Simon.

When all you could do was wriggle underneath him and whine he grabbed the neckline of your dress and yanked it down to let your breasts spill out, slapping hard at one and making you howl.

“They naw teach ye how tae talk proper ye wee slut? Ask fucking nicely.”

“Please, please I want you inside me.”

“Aye, can tell that princess. Whit else?”

“Want you to cum inside me.”

“Good fucking girl, wisnae so hard now was it?”

He didn’t take any of his clothes off, just fished his hard cock from his jeans, hooked your knees on his shoulders and pressed into your wet heat in one fluid motion. You both groaned as he bottomed out. It had been so long, you were so fucking tight around him.

“M’so full, thank you thank you ,m’yours, need you. Fuck, ah. Made for you, it’s so much” you rambled, incoherent in your bliss.

“There she is, needed this naw? Needed my cock deep in this tight wee English cunt. Cannae be a person without it, it’s whit ye were made for. Fucking built tae be on yer back with yer legs open for me.”

He stayed like that for what felt like forever, the fullness pushing any coherent thought out of your head. Fuck he was so deep like this, with you nearly folded in half. It felt like you were choking on his dick. You were clawing at the dirt by your sides so hard that you thought your fingers might bleed, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them above your head before they could.

You were so cock drunk that you were only distantly aware of the look in his eyes now, the almost obsessive adoration as he took in how you looked pressed into the earth like this, dress rucked up from the bottom and pulled down from the top, palm print visible from where he had slapped at you, knees by your ears, hands pinned over your head and yet despite it all so blissed out you were salivating and babbling at him how you needed him.

When he pulled all the way out to the tip and then slammed back home you choked on the wind being knocked right out of you. It only encouraged him as he started to fuck you hard and deep, taking him time to make sure every thrust settled him so incredibly deep inside of you that you were floating.

“Braw wee creature aren’t ye? Feart of me and gagin’ fer it anyway. Dinnae fash bonnie, gettin’ yer hole proper.”

You knew vaguely that he was close because you could hardly understand what he was saying. You were so unable to do anything in this position, no leverage on your arms and legs that you could use to pull him closer.

“Inside, need it inside. Please, please ah!” you cried, no shame left in so as you begged like a bitch in heat for him to cum inside you.

He shifted and sped his pace, nailing that spongy spot inside you that was making your vision black out with every thrust. You’d have marks on you from the buttons and zipper of his jeans. You’d have marks on your throat and your wrists, on your tits. He needed more, he needed anyone to take one look at you and know who you belonged to.

“‘at’s it, take it. Fuck. Good lass” he groaned as he sunk his teeth into your throat and your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you came, clamping down on his cock.

He jackhammered into you, forcing his way in while your pussy tried to force him out. The tight heat of it was too much and he growled and stilled after one more brutal thrust had him cumming deep inside you. He collapsed on top of you, the painful stretch from being folded as you were a delicious burn with the extra pressure forcing you to stretch further.

You stayed like that for a while, both panting. Only when you were slowly coming back to your senses did you feel a sharp pain in your back from what must have been a particularly jagged stone. Ah, you thought you were probably bleeding on it, feeling something sticky.

“Bannockburn” you breathed out softly.

The pressure was off of you almost immediately and he let go of your wrists and kneeled up, pulling out with a soft sigh leaving both of you at the feeling. He was quick to tuck himself in before his hands were back on you, gentle this time, fixing your dress and rubbing at all the spots he had marked.

“C’mere bonnie, ye did so well. Hurting anywhere I need tae look at?”

He looked at your back when you told him, laying soft kisses of apology on you as he cleaned it up. You used to tease Johnny for the little first aid kit he always had strapped to the back of his jeans whenever you went out, but it was coming in incredibly handy. Your panties were toast and he sheepishly tucked the remnants of them into his pocket before getting you to unsteady feet.

“Creeping Jesus, I’ve made a right mess out of ye” he said with a bashful sort of grin, doing his best to try and fix your hair.

“Hmm, s’ok” you replied, still a little hazy.

He kissed you soundly and then gave you an absolute squeeze of a cuddle before scooping you into his arms in a princess carry.

“Let’s get ye all tucked up in the car then we can have a bath and dinner when we’re home eh?”

You nodded and nuzzled into his chest to get comfortable. He would take care of you, he always did.

–

John MacTavish didn’t know how he got so lucky. Not any woman would be softly dozing off in his arms after what he had just put you through. Fuck you were beautiful all of the time, but when you were like this? Fucked out and marked up but achingly soft for him in the afterglow? Jesus, he loved you. He would love you forever, through lifetimes.

He’d explain obviously, he should really have warned you how hard he was going to go, that should have been pre-negotiated. But he had been so wound up. Fucking Simon Riley and his little comments about you, winding him up by putting thoughts in his head about how demure an English man could get you. It should have just made him laugh and shove at him, instead it made his blood boil and his cock hard and he had taken it out on you. You had let him, you always did until either of you thought it wasn’t safe.

He paused on his way out of the woods with you, considering waking you so you could see the little glade he had come upon. It was pretty as anything, almost felt like hallowed ground with a giant stone right in the middle. Something about it called to an ancient longing within him. Fuck. He wanted to marry you out here. Was that ridiculous? Maybe just post orgasm stupidity.

Still as he settled you in the car and took you home so he could love you properly, he thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

–

“Fuck, Johnny.”

Simon Riley was an Englishman through and through. Everytime he stepped into battle it was to strike down those who would oppose his King and country. Yet he had left the battlefield. He had tracked into the woods, to where he knew MacTavish had crawled off to die. He found him leant against the stone that sat in the centre of a glade. Of course this is where he would want to die. Not on the battlefield, but here. The place he had married you. The place they both had.

“Ye come tae watch it for yerself Si?” Johnny said with a laugh that turned to a hacking cough.

“Course. Been trying to kill you for years, not about to miss it.”

Simon sat next to him, both of them looking at the sunlight filtering through the trees. It was peaceful here. Maybe in another lifetime they would not have been enemies. Maybe in another lifetime they could have been brothers.

“Ye’ll look after her until I can find her again?”

“Always.”

#mhairiwrites #cod #cod au #fanfic #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #look I am very much implying that Simon is going to get in on this action #I used all my smut braincells on Savage so the smut is not really hitting as good #had to let some of the angst braincells out for a bit or it wasn't going to get written #personally I think having Bannockburn as a safeword was sick and twisted of me <3

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keep-tilting-at-windmills · 1 year

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Born in Caernarfon Castle on April 25, 1284, Edward II (also called Edward of Caernarfon), was King of England from 1307, until he was deposed in January 1327.

Edward had a close and controversial friendship with Piers Gaveston; elevating him as The First Earl of Cornwall. The precise nature of this relationship is uncertain, though it inspired Christopher Marlowe's play, 'Edward II' (1592), along with other subsequent plays, films and novels; many of which have focused on a possible sexual relationship between the two men.

As King, Edward's contemporaries criticised his performance; noting in particular his defeat by Robert the Bruce at the Battle of Bannockburn in 1314, followed by widespread famine and the oppressive regime of his later years; although 19th-century academics later argued the growth of parliamentary institutions during his reign was a positive development for England over the longer term. As such, debate has continued into the 21st century as to whether Edward was a lazy and incompetent king, or simply a reluctant and ultimately unsuccessful ruler.

Unable to make progress in Scotland and following a successful invasion from France, Edward's regime collapsed in 1326 and he fled to Wales, where he was captured in November and forced to relinquish his crown in January 1327 in favour of his fourteen-year-old son, Edward III.

Edward II died in Berkeley Castle on September 21, 1327; probably murdered on the orders of the new regime. Having been embalmed, his body was taken to Gloucester Abbey (now Gloucester Cathedral), where it was buried by the high altar.

Depicted: The cell at Berkley Castle in which Edward II was murdered.

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yuniemaki · 1 year

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Mondstadt in its post-Snezhnayan era be like: Freedom must be won by blood.

I've been on a historical battle clownery binge like you wouldn't believe and we've got:

The Battle of the Bucket (Battle of Zappolino)

That Moment When the Scots do Pikes Better Than You (Battle of Bannockburn)

That one battle where the wind blew the spears back at the enemy the instant they were thrown (Battle of the Frigidus)

What that dog doin? (War of the Stray Dog)

I can imagine all of this happening in the war, to be honest.

IM LAUGHING (and crying) this is completely out of the scope of my knowledge, googled all these wars like wtf?!??!

but I can imagine Venti cackling while he blows the spears back and then shutting up real fast when the real deal comes into play

It'd be such a cyclic metaphor if this happens though because the last time Mondstadt rebelled, Venti had been but a wind spirit by a young bard's side. Now he is the bard and their Archon; he has the strength to fight back. Even if he is the weakest of the Seven, he is still a god.

Speaking of that, Venti did share a gift with Dvalin at the end of the Mondstadt AQ, presumably a piece of his power. Zhongli also shared a piece of his power to grant Azhdaha sight. I wonder what it is with this Archons-sharing-power-with-dragons trend? Hmm hmm

#NARKY #yunieinbox #genshin impact

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une-sanz-pluis · 4 months

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For a ‘warrior-king’, the fact that [Henry V] took part in only two pitched battles – Shrewsbury and Agincourt – in his military career is cause for reflection. His personal courage, exemplified on both occasions, is not in question. But an aversion to battle in the field, and its enormous risks, was not entirely uncommon among later medieval commanders – the lessons of Courtrai (1302), Bannockburn (1314), Crécy (1346), Poitiers (1356), Najera (1367), Aljubarrota (1385), or Tannenberg/Grünwald (1410) were certainly learnt by some of them. Henry’s attempts to negotiate himself and his army out of the predicament in which they found themselves on the very eve of Agincourt suggest a certain reluctance to put his quarrel to the test of God’s judgment in those adverse conditions. His subsequent war in France was to be one of sieges, economic warfare and attrition, not even punctuated by pitched battles. With the exception of the ill-judged fight at Baugé (1421), for which Clarence paid with his life, the conquests of 1417–22 were gained by the steady and patient reduction of fortified places, generally along the river valleys of Normandy and the Île-de-France. This form of warfare was especially well suited to the king’s abilities and talents. A concern for logistics, for the effective deployment of siege artillery, together with close supervision of military organisation and finance,16 and an insistence on the conduct of war by a disciplined force, backed up by an uncompromising administration of punitive, drumhead justice, all played to his skills and aptitudes. None of these measures was carried out without some concern for the non-combatant and ‘civilian’ population. It was imperative to gain their respect and their acquiescence, if not their loyalty, if any kind of conquest and occupation was ever to succeed. It has recently been argued that ‘the expulsions at Harfleur and the pillaging of Caen were … uncharacteristic of Henry’s actions in Normandy, and his subsequent treatment of Norman towns was marked by conciliation and clemency’. Much the same could be said of his behaviour towards other areas in his French conquest.

Malcolm Vale, Henry V: The Conscience of a King (Yale University Press, 2016)

#henry v #hundred years war #historian: malcolm vale

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medievalistsnet · 5 months

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#podcast #medieval #military history #Bannockburn #Scotland

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ballsballsbowls · 6 months

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"Kindle Customer

2.0 out of 5 stars I mistakenly judged this book by its title Reviewed in the United Kingdom on July 16, 2023

I took this book based on its title, thinking it was a historic book about Robert the Bruce and the battle of Bannockburn. Boy was I mistaken! I have never liked vampire stories and I still dont. I persevered with this story to the end, but it's not my cup of tea and I won't be reading any others in the series."

This is a review on a time-traveling vampire MMF erotic romance with a trigger warning for anal btw.

25/10 best amazon review of the year. Peak "This isn't tennis! This is anal sex!" vibes. I just wish they had mentioned exactly how far they had to read before they realized this was a slightly different genre of historical fiction.

#stop b think of the children

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scotianostra · 2 years

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Bruce and de Bohun, were fightin’ for the croon,/ Bruce taen his battle-axe and knocked de Bohun doon.

You just have to google “Bruce and de Bohun” in images and you’ll find scores of hits for depictions of the scene setter for this two day battle.

Day One.

It was the chance of a lifetime and Sir Henry de Bohun knew it. Even before the battle began he could win immortal fame by killing or capturing the Scottish king, Robert Bruce.

Sir Henry was with a group of young English knights who were riding up a hill towards the enemy, impatient to force a fight, and he was at the very front of them. Ahead he could see a lone figure in chain mail on a small grey horse. The rider had an axe in his hand and on his helmet, which was covered by a leather crest, was a high crown.

The English knight did not hesitate, riding straight at the great king, his lance at the ready. A second before the tip of the lance could hit him, Bruce pulled his horse to one side, then, as the Englishman drew level with him, he stood in his stirrups and, with a huge sweep of his axe, brought the blade down so ferociously that it cut clean through Sir Henry de Bohun’s helmet and split his head in two. So fierce was the blow that Bruce was left with only the stump of the shaft of the axe in his hand, for the impact had shattered it. Sir Henry lay dead on the ground.

A mighty roar went up from the watching Scots. The king’s men and his top advisors scolded him for allowing himself to be placed in such danger. “Bethink you, Sire, the fate of all Scotland rests upon you,” they said. The king had other concerns on his mind. “I have broken my good axe,” was all he said, “I have broken my good axe.” And so our warrior King had sewn his place in Scottish history.

The scene was set for the greatest defeat ever suffered by the English in Scotland. It was Bannockburn, the date was June 23rd 1314.

King Robert I was an excellent tactician, he had already showed his military abilities at the battle of Loudoun Hill (1307), where he was all to beat back a much larger English force led by Aymer de Valence, 2nd Earl of Pembroke. As mentioned before, the Scottish army was outnumbered and in many respects, out matched by the cavalry based English force, forcing the Scots to consider how and most importantly, where the inevitable battle would take place.

By the morning of 23rd June, Robert had arrived near the village of Bannock, a small hamlet on the edge off the Bannock Burn stream, surrounded by woods and hills. the village was just a few short miles away from Stirling and would be where the Scottish army would make their last stand. Robert positioned his men on the edge of the forest in the rear, to protect his flanks from cavalry and ordered his men dig trenches filled with traps to confuse and funnel the expected cavalry charge. The Scottish army were organised into four main battles (the word ‘battle’ originally meant formation) of tightly packed Schiltrons, the Scottish equivalent of a phalanx, thousands of pikes bristling out facing the oncoming enemy.

As was expected, the English army approached in all pomp and chivalric spender, led by its fearsome heavy cavalry. Seeing the large force, Robert ordered his men to retreat into the woods before again ordering them to turn and face the oncoming cavalry that was by now, charging head on into the Scottish lines. Led by the Earl of Hereford, the cavalry smashed head first into the Scottish lines with disastrous consequences. The traps set by the Scottish forces had successfully funnelled the English onto the waiting spears, with men and horse Impaled on the wall of pikes unable to be relieved due to the traps and trenches now behind them. The Earl of Gloucester, Gilbert de Claire, was sent around the flank to try and hit the Schiltrons on the side but Edward Bruce was able to move his men into position on his brothers left side, Covering the attack from the Earl, forcing the English to retreat back to their original positions at the Burn.

In the lager scale of things the English army didn’t take many losses on the first day but, the lack of progress made by the cavalry, acted as a serious moral hit for Edward and the English forces. Edward and his swollen army began to set up camp spread out around bannock itself, ready to take the fight to the Scots the next day.

#Scotland #scottish #The first war of Scottish Independence #Battle #battle of bannockburn #medieval history #medieval warfare #Robert the Bruce #english #history

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