Travian Browser Based Game The Travian Story

[new-world-order 0]

This is the story of travian which is a game found at http://www.travian.com/ it is a game based on real time except it is set in the middle ages it is all about runnign you own litte village and expanding your kingdom by conquering new villages or settleing in emty vallys but i dnt want to be talking about that as you will find all the info you need in the site i am here to show everyone the translated story of travian which is a little project of mine. you see travian started in germany and now has servers for england, america, france, spain, germany, holland and italy. but there story was never translated so i thought i should do it myself if they wouldnt so ill post it here and you can see if it interests you...

 

 

Chapter I

 

Our small village is located at the edge of a wide, and vast country, around which so many myths and hero legends revolve. Everyone knows the country, its name is one of the first words, which one teaches babies, its name is: Travian.

Our small city is called Höckerheim, it lies in a valley between two mountains. One is called Martinsberg, after a noble fighter, who came from these mountains. Who by way of an ambush made the Roman Legionaires take flight. On the opposite side lies The Martinsberg. Its not particularly high and probably would pass as a hill. At the flanks it is filled with trees, but its summit is bare. Therefore it's also been called "Bald". The Martinsberg seen from the Devil mountain or seen from afar looks exactly like a "bald head". The treeless space at the summit serves the military, which has already defended our village against so many aggressors, as an exercise area.

 

As for The other mountain its simply called Devil mountain. It is very rocky and filled with caves, which pull themselves along and across the mountain. At night the mountain has a thousand faces. By the window of my children's room, it seemed to look like the all seeing eye. The eye was watching, in my childlike imagination, over all my acts and thoughts. For a long time I was reserved and shy, because I was afraid to make mistakes in front off it. For which the eye or the mountain spirit could punish me. I noticed only later that in the iris of the eye a skeleton seemed to be fighting with a bear. From then on I knew, what the mountain wanted to say to me. It did not want to intimidate me, but for me my true destiny arose. I should become a warrior. But that happened later in my life.

 

When I was a child, I wasn't allowed to play on the Devil mountain, I hadn't noticed anything in the Iris yet. My mother told me, the same story that was told to all the children in the village. A witch was living on the Devil mountain in its caves and holes. The witch waited there for all the small children to throw in her caves and feed on them at night. .... What also could have happened was that when a child fell into a hole and with the aid off the night simply disappeared. All the children were terrified off the Devil mountain.

 

My name is Boris Miles and I would like to tell you my story. My parents were farmers and we lived completely at the edge of the small village. Farmers weren't prominent citizens and nobody wanted to live at the edge, because it had little protection from enemies. An enemy did not even have to penetrate into the city, in order to harm us. He could simply throw a torch/flare over the earth barrier and our house would burn down. Off course nobody told me, but it was crystal clear that everyone knew about it. In our small village, which carries the beautiful name Höckerheim, humans lived in constant fear. They were afraid of thunderstorms, the devil mountain, but in particular, they were afraid of the Gauls and the Romans, who had already frequently attacked the village in its long history.

 

Despite the low status of my parents and our bad living conditions I became a little celebrity in our village. My Grandfather lived in our living room and could tell the best stories in the entire village. Quite often a whole group of children from my Latin class came along to our small farmhouse at the edge of the town, in order to listen to my Grandfather when he was telling stories. My Grandfather was always in our living room. There he sat in a rocking chair in front of the fire-place, a blanket tightly wrapped around his feet.

 

When telling stories he always smoked a pipe and blew the smoke into the air, and his stories into our heads.

He had been a merchant and been around the world a lot. He could tell tales of far cities and villages, which lay dispersed all over Travian. Some inconceivably large or unbelievably rich and magnificent. We craved for each word from his mouth and took them with us to our fantasies and plays. The best however was that I had Grandfather for myself alone in the evening, and he told stories which nobody else knew except us.

 

My dream occupation had thus been that off a merchant. I wanted to go around the world just as much as my grandfather and at his age also sit before the fire-place and tell my grandchildren and their friends stories off my life. However I was also afraid, off all the adventures and dangers, which a merchant had to go through. In addition it was clear to me that being a merchant was an occupation were you constantly had to act and take decisions. The eye from the Devil mountain, which looked directly into my room, observed me however and watched out for me so that any wrong decisions I made I was to be punished. I could not become a merchant, that was much too dangerous. Secretly I always knew that I would become a farmer, like my father. In my fantasy however, I was always a merchant and experienced the most exciting adventures.

 

There was a boy in our Latin class who always wanted to set the tone. He was a few months older than me, half head larger and was uncommonly dominant. His name was Robert Reinhardt. He lived in a house in the centre of the town and his father was a paladin. Robert let his homework made in turns by his classmates. He was very unpopular, but respected and feared, exactly like the Devil mountain. Robert and the Devil mountain both seemed to be mystical.

 

Naturally Robert ordered to be allowed to go to my house after he found out that most boys went there to listen to my Grandpa's stories. He too was delighted in the stories my Grandpa told and went again and again with me and the others to the edge of the village, in order to follow stories of my Grandpa

 

A story from my Grandfathers, in which he had found an old drawing in one of the caves of the Devil mountain, captivated Robert. "Today we will both go to Devil mountain and look for gold, Boris!", is what he said time after time and in a seemingly friendly way. He also encouraged the other children to come with us to the Devil mountain. But we feared it as much as we did the Gauls and the Romans because of all the warnings and terrible stories from our mothers.

 

Robert found a correct mixture off reasoning and orders to move us into the direction off accompanying him to the mountain. It was a kind off courage trial. When two of the boys from my class stepped forward to climb the Devil mountain with Robert they became the heroes of our class. They enjoyed their new role and called all the others cowards. Gradually they succeeded to inspire even more children from the class to climb up the Devil mountain. As my friends all went along, I had no choice than to do the same. I had a tremendous respect for the

mountain, and the eye that looked each night into my window, I feared would punish me hard for this. At the end twelve children participated and four pressed themselves around the courage sample. Who would take a so terrible exit?

 

The next day went by. After school we did not visit my Grandfather together, but everyone of the boys ran home, in order to get his provisions and the equipment needed. We met at the old corn mill. Which was shut down and we as children had played there often with our brothers and sisters. Most off my classmates really showed up.

A boy named Markus (he was often called names by us for his Roman name) even brought his dog along. However we made clear to him that a dog was the wrong companion for climbing the Devil mountain and Markus sent it home. Finally we went ahead around eight. The other four were still to afraid, or they had been stopped. Robert determined: "our class thus consists half of men and half of cowards".

 

The ascent was cumbersome. There were hardly any ways, which led up the Devil mountain. Often we had to climb straight up against a cliff. My heart pounded so strong that I believed it would jump out off my chest, but I couldn't admit my fear in front off the others.

After approximately two hours off climbing up the mountain, we took a break in a cave. It acknowledged all statements off Höckerheimers citizens who said that their once lived humans in the Devil mountain caves. Markus unpacked his lunch. He said, that he saved it from his morning breakfast. Robert and some others laughed at him, but I was also considerably hungry. The sun was turning to its lowest point already. It had to be late afternoon. "let us turn around otherwise we wont return before sun-down again!" "You are afraid, crapping your pants?" Then go back to your momma Alone!". Robert scorned.

 

The last part was the steepest. We climbed nearly along the steep cliff only, reaching for shrubs and bushes, in order to hold us. When we reached the top, we looked, like the workers, when they came out off the ore pit in our village. The view was astounding. From the Devil mountain one had a good overview of the fields, on which my parents worked. Once you continued to see farther however. The horizon disappeared in a lake in one direction which stretched out for miles. And in all other directions into the hilly forest.

We also saw the "bald head" off course, the Martinsberg. From so high it looked like a small deformed hill. We made ourselves big over the Martinsberg, on which the warriors of our village practiced daily. But soon Robert stopped us. If one insulted the Martinsberg, one insulted his father and if one insulted his father, one insulted Robert.

We knew that we wouldn't make it back before sundown. Robert however was possessed by the idea that in a small cave near the summit would lie a treasure off gold and we had to wait for him. Impatiently we waited an eternity and watched the sun move towards the horizon, and disappear in the lake.

 

Perhaps we wouldn't have survived at all this night and I wouldn't be able to tell my story today, and we hadn't experienced all off this, if Robert, determined as he was had not looked for the treasure of the devil mountain. Naturally it gave speculation to take efforts to return without Robert , but these were suffocated in endless dialogues of doubt and the responsibility. I still remember well, how Robert finally came crawling out from his cave. There was probably no place which wasn't covered in dirt. Our anger towards Robert toned down, who however pursued his funny ideas, even if we longed ourselves for our warm bed and our families, who had probably already given up on waiting for us to come eat our meal and were starting to get worried. Robert however had the grimmest expression, Naturally he hadn't found any treasure even though he had touched everywhere as no light came in. It only resulted in him being covered in dirt and nothing was won thereby.

 

In our rage we noticed only late that something was wrong. Sometimes one feels intuitively, if something is wrong. Thinking is instinctive, and like someone who cried, the senses are in alert stand-by and the heart beats faster for no reason.

It was for me like that this night, but I pushed it onto my inexhaustible rage against Robert. First Markus indicated to have heard something strange. We scolded him for being a chicken, because we thought, the nocturnal stay on the devil mountain bended his fantasy.

 

But then we heard it all: Shouting from the distance. No animal cried like that, there we stood united. We remained closer together and became more careful. Suddenly it stopped. As fast as we could we ran back home running for our lives. Then we saw it: thick smoke clouds rose up over the Devil mountain. We accelerated our descent. All the terrible stories about the Devil mountain seemed to have proven to be true suddenly. We ran ever faster. "wait!", cried Markus from the rear, who could not run anymore. We couldn't wait, we ran and climbed for our lives.

 

But everything was completely different. The danger did not came from the witch of the Devil mountain, which I thought to recognize in the smoke.

Our village was burning. We looked it at it from a cliff, stopped and stared one moment intensive into the flames. Markus caught up with us and asked what was the matter. But we did not answer and as he came closer to us and saw the burning village asked us: "what had happened?". We continued to run. Toward the flames and the death cries, Ever continuous down the Devil mountain. We saw them riding. They were Gauls. I could tell from the stories of my grandfather.

 

A proud mounted tribe. Their horses were white and came out off nowhere off Travians forests. They aren't richly decorated, or magnificently equipped, like the Romans. They attack, murder and plunder in complete arbitrariness, I thought at that time. They do not speak much and if they speak, they do by the sword.

The Gauls. Hooves of their mounts shook the soil, as their horses disappeared again, from where they had come. In the deepest darkness. I ran on to our house. Everywhere around me were burning houses, crying children, exhausted men and mourning women.

 

Others were calmer, formed rows, extinguishing burning houses. They asked me for assistance, but I could not help them, I had home, I wanted to go home. I made myself reproaches, to have been on Devil mountain, the attack was my fault, because I had done something forbidden and hadn't watched out for my family, my village. The door to our house was broken open.

 

Carefully I stepped through the door the wood creaking under my feet into the room, louder than otherwise. I forgot all the horrors around me,. stopped hearing the cries outside. I heard nothing at all more, except for the creaking under my feet. It creaking loud, if I put one foot on it, only, if I shifted my weight , gave it a rolling, creaking tone. It had always been there, but I had never noticed it. Now it took my complete attention, My entire senses were fixed on it, and a quiet crying in the living room. I creaked toward it and the gap became ever more important, It captivated me completely.

 

My mother sat on the ground, she held the head of my grandfather in her lap and mourned within. The rocking chair was empty and was motionless. I stood rigidly before my mother and watched her weep. I could not cry or swear nor move, or speak,. It lasted a long time, before my mother noticed me. But when she looked up it seemed she had known the whole time exactly, where I had been standing and with a pitched, broken voice she said: "go into your room Boris and do not come out, before I do get you! Go already!"

 

I bent my limbs, to which I thought were imobile, completely automatically. I listened to my own creaking, slammed the door shut of my room and went to the window. The time around me had stood still. I could hardly think of anything, then gradually , as I gathered my thoughts and tried to analyze my situation, a thought sprung in my head which switched all different off: "your Grandfather is dead!"

 

Thus I looked from the window and regarded the Devil mountain. I could not cry, I could not weep, I stood still in the same way as the Devil mountain, and examined us, like I had already often examined him.

The eye, which I had taken its structures up from my childhood, looked more threateningly, more provocatively, than otherwise. It had lost its benevolent, all-knowing expression. Rather it seemed to blame me for not obeying. Simultaneously it seemed to provoke me. I looked for a long time, at the structures off the Devil mountain to find out why. I looked at the eye of the Devil mountain and it seemed to examine me. I tried to withstand its view.

 

I did not need to apologize, the eye could go ahead , it knew each thought, which I had made, or ever would make. I asked myself how I could repay my debt to it. Should I bring him offerings? Should I worship it three times a day ? I did not know. But the picture of the eye in suddenly sprang in my sight. I did not see the simple eye I had always seen. I noticed a structure further inside the iris. It was not by far in such a way dominant and clear, like the eye. But now I saw a fight completely clear in the small unevenness off the rock. A skeleton was to be seen, its limbs lean and weak it seemed. But this wavering shape fought: And it was holding off a bear.

 

Chapter II

 

The attack changed everything. Höckerheim became a site of mourning and rage. When I woke up the next day, the house was empty. It was quiet like never before, the only sound in the house that I heard was the sorrowful birdsong that was coming through the closed window.

 

An uneasy feeling crept through my body when I passed the rocking chair and felt a stab in my heart, dazed by the pain I walked on.

Out of pure habit I went to school. The roads were completely empty and filled with devastation. Our school was burned down, like most houses. I saw that from afar, but I went nevertheless. There was still smoke rising out from the glowing ashes, which cast a sorrowful shadow upon the scene.

 

As I stood helpless before the school, I realized for the first time, that all constants in my life were destroyed and burnt down. A tremendous, unknown rage rose within me. My eyes moved over the remnants of the school building and I imagined myself, on the battleground against the Gauls, cutting them down, they who had cast my life into disorder.

 

I fought and met them there, they were infinite in numbers. As I imagined them crying out in pain, crying reached my ear. The crying however wasn't happening in my dark fantasies, it took me back to reality. It was like the noise, that wakes you up, briefly before your dream finishes.

 

I followed the noise, it led me to a girl, she was laying on her back, eyes filled with tears. When I looked at her for a while, recognition dawned upon me, it was Heike, the daughter of the blacksmith. It pained me deeply to see her so sad.

 

A sudden realisation struck me, I liked her. In our village everyone knew each other. And although the girls did not go to school and my father bought tools at the blacksmith only on rare occasions. I had noticed her, and had also secretly observed her. That was important to me, because I knew her from back when I was allowed to go out alone and stroll around. Like the young children, before they had to go to school or when school was out. At those times I played house and other girl games with her.

 

She was one of the few girls, who also played along with the boy games.. I already liked her a lot back then, with her light brown hair, dimple in the chin, her sparkling eyes and her bright mood. Now she was sad and I did not know how to act. When you close your eyes and compare someone with how you remember them, they do not always match. Thus one connects a person with a memory which one has seen more often.

 

So I imagined a small Heike who was sad. When I stood before her I could not imagine that she had changed so much since I had last spoken her. And so I could not keep the small and the large Heike apart. She was called Heike I remembered it again. I sat down next to her and we remained in that position for a long time. She was lying and crying. I was sitting and thinking. She grabbed my hand , It surprised mw, as I wasn't sure an instant ago whether she had noticed me or not. I was stirred up and reflected even more deeply.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a strange day and I had a weird, pleasant feeling, even if my thoughts seemed very confused to me. I had fallen in love during the hours in which we sat silently together. Or better: I became more aware of it while reflecting upon my feelings, that I had always loved her and only her. I found further similarities, which pulled our lives together, that I, as an only boy, secretly was fond off girl games and had played them and she, as an only girl, always was fond of boy games and had played them.

 

Thus I remembered that we had been born in the same month of the same year with only a few days apart among a thousand other small details, which consolidated into a magnificent unification.

 

At sometime we stood up and ran past half the village hand in hand and saw much suffering and devastation. All this was however no longer so bad, because she held my hand and we were a couple and it strengthened us mutually. That helped me a lot and we broke our connection only when a hurt woman asked us for assistance.

 

At that time we were still children, perhaps eleven years old and we could not help a lot, but we did our best and got her something to drink after which we brought her home. The house was empty and the first words, which Heike addressed to me were: "Ill clean the wound, I order you to go look for bandage material!". "Okay!", I answered and started searching.

 

In the following days we met each morning and helped whoever we could. My girl and me. We took care off some of the wounded, cleared rubble, or helped in the reconstruction. At the end of these days I was always very exhausted and although I saw very much sadness during the day, I always fell asleep content.

 

They killed nearly all the men in the village. Including my father. My mother had looked unrelentlessly for some days after the assault, for my father under the dead and wounded despite her mourning over my grandfather. Until she learned that an old woman had buried him as well as other corpses, who lay scattered around their house.

 

Instead of helping to rebuild the school, I kept seeing Heike, I consoled my mother and mourned myself. When we had overcome the worst, I went out one morning to the exercise area. I was determined to become a great warrior. And bitterly take revenge on my enemies, who wiped away my ancestors, which my conscience would not let me forget.

 

Thus everyday I made my way to the exercise area. It was one of these cool, refreshing summer mornings. I still remember well, how I stood at the foot of the "bald-head", my heart filled with excitement, was beating so loud, as if a small animal was looking for a way out through my throat. - I breathed in and out, deeply inhaling and letting the fresh air fill my lungs.

 

The two dozen warriors who had survived the assault, carried shining arms and fought in pairs for exercise. Steel met steel and steel met wood. The air was filled with the sound of dull and metallic noises. It was well-known that the small barracks and the rally point lay in the centre of the village, next to the palace, but soldiers did most of their daily exercises on the Martinsberg. Thus one Saluted in the centre off the village and practiced before its gates.

 

What do you want young boy, a man asked me, who suddenly apeared before me. I was surprised due to the unexpected question. Somehow I tried as convincingly as possible to formulate and answer: "I would like to join the army and become a warrior." He laughed form his belly and took me by the shoulder: "So you would like to become a warrior? Don't you think you're a bit young to be a warrior?"

I struck his hand away, looked at him fiercely and ran home.

 

 

On the next day I came back and the next day and all the days thereafter. It took some time but eventually the warriors accepted me as one off them. At first they told jokes about me, but that did not prevent me from coming again and again. Jokes like "Blow-fly the boy!", said one and the others laughed. Later they got accustomed to their quiet observer, until one entrusted me sometime ago , in the course of a discussion: "boy, if it is so important to you, you are allowed to train with us, but it's no kindergarten here. You must train just as hard, as the others. Normally we take no one as young as you. But the assault changed the rules ", a sigh of relief escaped and I cried out in joy internally.

 

So began my training as a warrior. More exactly I started out with the swinging club. Someone put a club and a shield in my hands and said to me, I want to make you familiar with your weapon from the beginning off your training.

And I trained until exhaustion and beyond. I fought as if I had to defend my life. Naturally I never won. The sweat from my relentless efforts started to mix with tears flowing down my face, and I began to hate them.

 

Faced before an almost impossible task, one rises to the challenge, or falls to the ground and drowns in the dust. I rose. It was probably my hate for some off the warriors, that propelled me. They played me, like a cat plays with a mouse. They let themselves drive me into a corner, in order to finally win over the boy, who exercised so much but could not improve. Perhaps it was also their hate against the Gauls, which connected us and continued to let me fight on despite it all.

 

The only thing I was certain off was that I had 2 goals. I wanted to triumph over the other warriors, to show them that they underestimated me and I wanted to pay back the Gauls for what they had done, what they had done to us all. So I trained from dawn till dusk, day after day. When the other warriors went back home to their families (if they had any remaining) after a hard days work, I remained and fought. Fought, until the sun fell over Höckerheim and the whole off Travian, red light shined and I was alone on the Martinsberg again. I thanked the unknown power, which had given me the strength, to train yet another day like that and set foot towards home.

 

Chapter III

 

Gunther Martin was a feared warrior, ranked higher, bear killer and full fledged axe fighter, who was notorious for the fact that he knew all the stories about the national heroes of Höckerheim. "Not just that. He was also a hero in other ways. Once... ", he sat down and stroke his beard straight before he continued "... he must have been approximately your age, boy. He saved a girl from a bear, by striking him down with his bare hands and strangling him! If you continue progressing like you have, it wont be long before you can too, boy!", He smiled and his rotten teeth showed.

 

From this old warrior I learned everything about the great heroes from our city, whom I didn't know yet. Naturally it did not take long before he had to repeat the story. "if youve been in the army for five years, you hear stories about Martin ten times over, joked a light armoured middle aged spear fighter. Thus many individual stories, flowed into a bigger frame, which I can still pass on today.

 

Gunther Martin had grown up with an alcohol-addicted *BLEEP* in a small, shabby house close to the barracks of the city. During the day he often sat in his tiny room on his bed, he did not have a chair to sit on. From there he watched the soldiers, as they came out off the barracks and walked onto the rally point, and decided to become one off them. There are all kinds of stories about what Gunther did as a boy and about later on as an adult in our village, for example, he was supposed to have made twenty robbers take flight with a mere trick.

 

During my school time we told ourselves another particular story that we liked.

After he made an impudent remark in class the teacher wanted to hit him, but he flogged the teacher gently with a leather whip. Apart from all these more or less reliable stories, which had probably led their own life in the vernacular, there was however still the official one. Because above all Gunther Martin had been a soldier. He served for more than 30 years as a obligation-conscious Paladin in the army.

 

This time the Romans had come from the sea and led a relentless expansionist war against the Gauls. In earlier times there have been many wars between the Teutons and the Gauls. But for some centuries now they have lived in peace.

 

But since the Romans had come, one heard ever more frequently of, how they did not only fight Gallic villages, but also how they raided (plundered robbed and raped) Teuton villages. When the Roman troops approached Höckerheim, the army command at the time decided to withdraw the soldiers of the village against the superior Romans and put up no resistance. To prevent loss off face the military command did not inform the citizens about the coming danger.

 

The military command preferred to station the soldiers in a neighbouring village, in which they were allegedly urgently needed. But Gunther Martin saw through this plan and called upon the other warriors to return to Höckerheim .

Only one dozen off club swingers and 2 axe fighters continued to carry out orders. The rest agreed with Gunther.

 

Gunther Martin set course to Höckerheim and rode out ahead with his stride, in order to warn the civilian population. When they were faced with the threatening danger, the farmers came running from the fields, the warehouse workers, millers, armourers, iron refiners, bakers, stable cleaners ... They all gathered and plundered the weapon chambers. The army command hadn't even secured the weapons in the face off the coming enemy. Many women also participated.

 

Gunther Martin's next orders however were to evacuate the children, the elderly and women into the dense and safe forest. When the club swingers and the two axe fighters arrived, everything was ready. Gunther Martin gave tactical instructions and assigned the warriors each a dozen off peasants, so that their experience in the fight could radiate on the courageous people.

 

Behind the mountain, which is now called Martinsberg, they lay hidden and awaited the Romans to arrive together. The Romans set up formation and moved forward with some hundred men. When they got permission to raid the small Teuton village, they moved like a grasshopper swarm and devoured the entire village.

 

At last Gunther Martin gave the instruction for the attack and gradually they struck through the overwhelming number off unorganized roman soldiers.

After a long and bloody fight the Romans were driven out, the population saved and the raids against Teutons had been halted.

 

Every peasant had probably killed ten soldiers at the end of the day. Gunther Martin had killed more than fifty, before he was killed in battle. He entered as a much celebrated hero into history. On the same mountain, which had given Martins troops the first strike and then later on in the fight a tactical advantage, I fought now. I fought on the Martinsberg and had become a warrior. I noticed the fact that the other soldiers no longer laughed at me, but only with me.

to be continud

 

Notice from BuffaloHELP:

Translated from page http://forums.xisto.com/no_longer_exists/

Edited April 16, 2006 by new-world-order (see edit history)

[iGuest 3]

[Replying to new-world-order,35662,243449 Is there another story you made on the to be continued if so give me the link I looked for it I really liked that story