The Immortal Gazette: The Crusades – Siege Warfare and the Art of Psychological Trickery
The Immortal Gazette studio was abuzz as the day’s story took shape. Alice, sprawled lazily across a velvet cushion, sipped her tea with a devilish smirk. Loki was, predictably, hanging from the rafters in his usual upside-down perch, while Rumplestiltskin was unrolling yet another aged scroll. This time, they were diving into the gritty and bloody world of the Crusades—the siege of Jerusalem, to be precise.
“Siege warfare,” Alice muttered, eyes glinting with mischief. “Nothing says ‘we’re in for a mess’ quite like a bunch of fanatics fighting for holy land. You’d think they’d take it up with a game of chess first. But no, they had to drag it through the mud.”
Loki chuckled, twirling his coin between his fingers. “It was a classic. Battering rams, trebuchets, starving people out. You know, the usual ‘we’re here to take over’ tactics. But what do you think? Do they succeed because they had the better weapons, or because they outsmarted their enemies?”
Alice’s eyebrow shot up. “Smart doesn’t quite cover it. It’s all about breaking the spirit of the enemy. You can have all the catapults you want, but the real war is fought inside the minds of the people trapped behind those walls.”
Rumplestiltskin adjusted his collar, his eyes gleaming with thought. “Ah, yes. Psychological warfare—the fine art of making the defenders crumble before the walls even break.”
Alice leaned forward. “Enlighten us, Rumple. What would you have done differently?”
Rumplestiltskin smiled, a twisted gleam flickering in his eyes. “Let’s break it down. Jerusalem was heavily fortified. The Crusaders had their work cut out for them. But before they even touched the walls, they could have started the siege with a well-timed series of rumors.”
“Ah, classic," Alice said dryly. “Because nothing inspires faith in your defense like whispers of betrayal.”
“Precisely,” Rumplestiltskin continued, clearly enjoying himself. “First, spread rumors among the defenders. Tell them that their own leaders are planning to surrender, that their supplies are already dwindling, or that there’s a secret pact between the Crusaders and some of the defenders. Sow mistrust. Force them to question their own. How long would it take before the morale starts to falter?”
Loki grinned, hanging closer to the conversation. “Clever. Let paranoia do the work for you. No need to break down the gate if the defenders are already weakening.”
“Exactly,” Rumplestiltskin smirked. “Then, while the defenders are busy second-guessing their leaders and allies, you strike with fear. Perhaps send a small group of Crusaders to raid villages outside the city, and leave bodies behind—victims who seem to have been tortured in ways that speak to the city's deepest fears. They won’t know what’s real or what’s just toying with their heads.”
“Ew,” Alice shuddered, but the dark excitement never left her tone. “But I see your point. The longer they believe they’re under siege by an unstoppable force, the quicker they’ll fall.”
“And once they’re convinced that the siege is inevitable,” Rumplestiltskin said, leaning in, “it’s time to really twist the knife. You bring in something personal—something they can’t fight. You cut off their access to water, for example. Make them thirsty—because thirst can make anyone do desperate things. Suddenly, those defenders who were so proud behind their walls are ready to panic.”
“Nice touch,” Alice mused. “And with their water supply cut off, no one’s thinking about holding the gates or defending the walls anymore. They’re scrambling to survive.”
Loki hopped down from the rafters with a flourish, a mischievous grin on his face. “Now we’re talking! We create chaos, sow fear, and break their unity—all before we even swing a sword.”
Rumplestiltskin nodded. “And as the siege continues, it’s all about maintaining that pressure. Send messages—make it look like there’s no escape. Make the defenders believe that reinforcements will never come, that they are surrounded and hopeless.”
“I guess, at that point,” Alice said with a wink, “you just sit back and wait for the walls to collapse—either from the weight of the siege, or from the weight of their own fear.”
“Indeed,” Rumplestiltskin mused. “It’s not about the physical walls; it’s about the mental walls. You break the spirit of your enemy, and the rest becomes trivial.”
Loki tapped his fingers together. “I’ve always said the mind is the real battlefield. Sometimes, it’s less about the force and more about the illusion of it.”
Alice snorted. “If the Crusaders had just gotten their hands on you, Rumple, they might’ve saved a lot of time with all the brute force. But instead, they went for the heavy artillery.”
Rumplestiltskin grinned. “Ah, but brute force can be...so...satisfying. Don’t you think? The sound of a good trebuchet striking the walls of Jerusalem—pure poetry.”
“Until the defenders start picking off your soldiers one by one, right?” Alice shot back.
Rumplestiltskin shrugged with a mischievous smile. “Always a risk. But that’s why we’ve got psychological warfare to keep things interesting.”
The three immortals sat back, the room filled with dark laughter as they pondered the battlefields of history—and how, in the end, it was often the shadows that made the real difference.
🖋️✨📜🖤
