armoured horse

On Alisha Diphda

I love Alisha. I really do. In fact, she might actually be my favourite female character in Tales of Zestiria (it’s so hard to pick favourites in Zestiria, since everyone’s so amazing and lovable). She’s kind, responsible, and fully capable of standing up for her morals and doing what she believes is right. Her strength and resolve are truly inspiring, and despite everything she goes through, she somehow manages to keep pushing forward for what she believes is important to her and the people she cares about. I actually see a lot of myself in Alisha–her idealism and slight naivety are things I can relate to, and her strength and persistence remind me to keep my head up and never give up on the things I value and believe in.

(rant tucked under cut)

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anonymous asked:

Congratulations on your blog! I love Portugal !! Sebastian of Portugal is one of my favorite figures of all time !!! Saw your video about his warhelm, it is absolutely beautiful and intriguing! Can you tell me more about his first crusade? I tried to search matterial about it but couldn't find anything. Thank you!

Kind words my friend, I appreciate it. I actually made a recent post all about that first campaign, it also happened in Morocco and it was a successful raid.

I’ll tell you a bit about it nonetheless.

The Portuguese soldiers embarked to Morocco with a small force of 1.200 foot and horse, led by the King himself of course. It was an almost secretive departure, that can best be explained by taking into account the fierce opposition to his personal participation in the expedition, both by his grandmother and his uncle, the Cardinal D. Henrique.

The fleet anchored at Ceuta, one of the Portuguese holdings inside Morocco, and it remained there until the end of September. The time was spent organizing small probing raids that gave everyone a taste of frontier warfare. 

With no enemy movements taking place (at first) a brief, but most interesting military action was undertaken. The entire galley fleet, ten ships, was dispatched on a raid near the town of Tetuan. 

A little more than a dozen horse were landed, and after brief combat with assorted Muslim horsemen they re-embarked with three prisoners, under the cover of musket and cannon fire from the ships. The King sought to gain insight of the town’s surrounding field, just as he had done at Ceuta, and just a few days after arrival, several exploratory sorties were made. 

The presence of the Portuguese King would not go unnoticed for long.

News that the Muslim Sharīf was concentrating several thousand soldiers in the city of Fez arrived on 4 October, and on 8 October the opposing army was spotted by the Portuguese scouts. 

The Muslim forces (3,000-4,000 horsemen and 4,000-5,000 infantry) were approaching from the South, deployed in a crescent-shaped formation. With the enemy within reach, the King decided to fight in the open field.

A week of skirmishes between the Moors and the Portuguese followed.

By that time, the King and his closest officers had a clear picture of the local topography, enough to choose an adequate battlefield for a more vast assault.

The plan envisaged an interesting multiple articulation of static defences, infantry, cavalry, and naval support. The static defence was naturally provided by the fortifications of Tangier, and the deployment of the mobile troops sought to take advantage of the best static features. 

The mission of the naval forces was to ensure the enemy would find himself channelled so as to face the strongest defence nexus.

At dawn on 20 October 1574 the approximately 900 horse and 2,000 foot Portuguese forces left the town and manned the outer works on the west side.

Two infantry companies were placed astride the main roads thus controlling the land access to Tangier. Another two companies stood on the flanks, and plus 70 mounted arquebusiers went ahead of the army to harass the enemy as it approached the defensive lines. 

Two other cavalry squadrons occupied the two tranqueiras, and a larger squadron took position at the front.

The cannon and musket fire from the galleys pushed the enemies towards but, at the same time, this added further pressure on the defenders in the area, and the clash degenerated into a series of disordered skirmishes fought along the entire fortified front.

This prompted the King to finally join the front lines in the early afternoon, around 3pm, as a confused melee continued to rage until the very end of the day between the Portuguese and the Moors.

Convinced that the disordered skirmish on the day before could have been avoided had he been in charge, the King decided the next day to stand in the ranks of the army from the very beginning.

The next day, by 8am, the army took the field and spent three hours carefully building a nearly identical order of battle.

The only addition was to put some reserve cavalry in a flanking position: this consisted of 100 horse under Gonçalves, who took position in ambush behind a recently made tranqueira that closed off access to the north section of the town walls. The enemy hesitated to attack such a strong formation and tried to make the defenders leave their positions.

The King saw his opportunity to enter the front lines again, and ordered his cousin, D. António, to withdraw to the ravelin, leaving the way open for him to make a charge at the head of some 60 acobertados (portuguese heavy cavalry).

The noisy and irresistible onslaught of the heavily armoured horses quickly wiped out all the Muslim resistance, putting a sudden end to the fight. A scout sent out on Friday 22 October confirmed that the enemy forces had abandoned the outskirts of Tangier, leaving a long trail stretching over nearly three miles. 

On the following day the King engaged in some bullfighting, one of his favourite sports, and the troops began to board the ships.

Finally, on Monday 25 October 1574 the fleet left Tangier, and after a difficult return journey it managed to arrive safely at the Cape of São Vicente on 2 November.

Viva el Rey!

THAT Wonder Woman script, part 2 of oh shit it got worse

Previously on Wonder Woman, we met our hero – brave, selfless, moral, willing to go to bat for perfect strangers without a thought for personal safety, but uneasy with emotional vulnerability, preferring to rebuff intimacy with snark and condescension.

I’m talking, of course, about Steve Trevor. Wait, who did you think the hero of this movie was?

Anyway, Steve crashed in plane on an island of Nasty Women, proved his moral superiority and won a convert in the form of a luminous-elemental-natural-curvaceous-waterfall-girl, who beat up her mother to save his life, then decided to follow him home. Just because.

Now Steve and The Girl are flying into a war zone, where Steve is overdue to deliver much-needed supplies to sick, starving refugees.

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anonymous asked:

Pls write something with possessive territorial Claude over the reader

Yasss~


The tales were always speaking about beautiful yet humble princesses and their knights in shining armours, riding on white horses to rescue them from the danger and eventually live happily together for the rest of their lifes. It was an interesting scenario, indeed, the one almost every young girl dreams about and when you finally met a man who could be your perfect lover, you didn’t mind that he was anything but good, no matter how courteously he acted. There was only one thing you couldn’t know about and nobody would thought about it after seeing how suitable you two were for each other – the fact, that your prince charming is also the wild beast, the one who he was supposed to protect you from.

Claude Faustus was dark and mysterious, like a secret dressed in the night. He was the one by your side when you thought that nobody else cares, who patiently handled your worse times and was still ready to give you the stars, as if your disadvantages didn’t matter for him because he admired you way too deeply to mind such a trivial things. What he couldn’t ever stand, however, was the presence of the others around you, especially when they dared to touch you, be it an embrace with a friend or a kiss placed at the top of your hand as a greeting. You didn’t see the anger sparkling in his mesmerizing eyes whenever you were interacting with somebody, you didn’t know about all the furnitures he damaged in an act of mute fury while tearing the hard wood to shreds when nobody was looking, you weren’t aware of the burning feeling consuming his insides with jealousy and, most importantly, you never thought that those bloody threats of his were supposed to come to life one day.

“I am going to snap every single one of your fingers if you lay a hand on her one more time,” Claude stated easily, as if he was talking about the weather.

The young man you were conversating with at that moment, looked at him with an amused smile on the lips but eventually took his hand off your shoulder. He probably thought it was some kind of joke, the sick and disturbing one, but nevertheless still a joke and so assumed you. You changed your mind few days later when you got a letter from said friend, full of clumsy writing, clearly not belonging to him, informating you about an accident he had in a way home which resulted in completely crushed arms.

Terrifying coincidence, wasn’t it?

You began to listen to Claude more carefully when he talked with the others and keep in mind to not look too fond of anyone, not wanting to give him any reasons to be jealous. You weren’t suspecting him for your friend’s accident, Claude was way too calm and collected to do something like that, but still it didn’t hurt to be more aware of your surroundings.

The next months passed peacefully, even the party you were both invited to didn’t end up wrong. You were having a lot of fun, tasting delicious meals along few sips of Chardonnay, dancing and talking, admiring the creations of the other guests until it was time to take some rest. That night you had a lot of sweet dreams, spinning around the ballroom in Claude’s arms, almost flying above the ground, your dress like a waves of the rough sea and sweet music echoing in your head, drowning out the sounds of broken bones, ripped flesh and gushing blood of the people who stared at you for a little too long.

You were walking down the street, an umbrella in your hand protecting you from the summer sun. It was supposed to be just a stroll, some time only for yourself and your thoughts, and you would never expect it to turn out this way. The group of teenage thiefs, some of them even younger than you, didn’t look too dangerous with those short knifes but their shouting stopped you in a middle of the step and made you turn around to face them. The stress didn’t allow you to understand the first few sentences they said in a broken English, however, when they threatened to harm you if you didn’t give them all the money and other wealth you had with yourself, you decided to give up. You didn’t believe that they could truly hurt you and with this thought in mind you handled your jewerly to one of them, only to have it thrown away to the others and got roughly grabbed, then pushed on the wall in an alley. The back of your head pulsed painfully after a hit on the brickwork and therefore slowed you down in an attempt to push the boy away while one of his hands quickly wandered under your dress. Your scream was muffled by him, not caring about your struggles, inhaling the scent of your body and perfume with highest pleasure but just when he was about to tear your corset apart, the weight of his body was suddenly threw back from you, leaving you shaking uncontrollably, desperately trying to fix your clothes and pride.

You knew it was him before you even saw him from the corner of the eye. Claude was faster than you could ever imagine, stronger than you thought and surprisingly it didn’t shock you that much as one would believe, as if somewhere deep inside you knew he was more, much more. You were staring blankly somewhere else when the boys’ death took it’s place, quick but painful when the demon crashed their skulls, tear out the tongues and ripped off the spine of the one who dared to touch you in such a disgusting way. Their bones cracked under the pressure of his steps, perfectly polished leather shoes now stained with so much blood and while approaching you, he took a handkerchief to wipe his lips, half of the face still splashed with crimson red.

His kiss was as soft as the feathers of the colourful birds he was so fond of and it tasted like death but hell, it was making you feel so alive.