| “ | On finally reaching the Coastline, Balboa walked into the sea. Waist deep in the water, he proclaimed Spain's dominance of the "seas, lands and coasts, and islands of the south."
— Explorers: Great Tales Of Adventure and Endurance by Alisdair Macleod
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” |
Vasco Núñez de Balboa, was ruthless as any of his contemporary conquistadors, he became the terror of many native tribes. In one instance, the Spaniard encountered the Quarequas tribe, which openly practised sodomy: in retaliation, he unleashed his attack hounds, animals trained to kill and disembowel (and some write where raised on native American flesh). 40 natives that day where slaughtered. One of these dogs was possibly Leoncico/Leoncillo, a red haired, Greyhound (most likely Spanish Greyhound/Spanish Mastiff Hybrid) that was said to have ripped the head off of an native during a battle, and could confront and even kill a Jaguar. Eventually, despite his achievement with the Pacific Ocean's discovery, Balboa was accused of treason and beheaded in 1519.
Battle vs. Vlad the Impaler (by GSFB)[]
Balboa: 5 
War dogs: 7 
Vlad the Impaler: 5 
In a pleasant meadow shaded by dark trees, Vasco Nunez de Balboa walked with four conquistadors and seven dogs. Among them was Leoncico, a mastiff/Spanish greyhound mix who followed Balboa everywhere, often licking his hand. Balboa petted him, rubbing his hand on the dog’s scarred face.
He looked back to the path, smiling as he thought about his discovery.
“Mar del sur. Mar del sur. The name itself evokes wonder.” Balboa said, smug as he considered his incoming fame.
“It is a great wonder, senor, a new ocean. Not even Cortes could claim such a prize.” Another conquistador said.
Balboa stopped. He turned to the Conquistador.
“Not even Cortes...Indeed. But dont say such things out loud. He still has many friends, and such lose talk could incur their wrath. I want to end my life on a deathbed, not on the chopping block!”
“Yes, senor Balboa.”
“Now, onto other matters....”
The men started walking again. Leoncico started to look back and forth, for a moment thinking that he smelt something.
“What of that strange ship our men saw just off the coast. Any word on it-
Leoncico and the other dogs halted, growling. The men froze.
“What is it, boy?” Balboa said, looking where Leonico was staring. Suddenly he understood.
“Ambush.”
With a whirling hand Balboa signaled to his men to move off the path, surrounding whoever, or whatever, was waiting for them. Before they could respond, they heard someone whisper in a Romanish toungue. An arrow flew past Balboa, penetrating two feet into a nearby tree.
“We’re under attack! We’re under attack!” Balboa said.
He ducked and ran into the jungle with another conquistador, followed by Leoncico and two other war dogs. The other three Conquistadors moved to the right, circling around the site of ambush. The remaining dogs, Greyhounds and surly Spanish Bulldogs, didn’t leave their sides.
They heard whispers and the sound of footsteps. The Conquistadors turned.
“Arquebuses!” one of the three other Conquistadors whispered. As they reached for their guns, three Wallachian troops suddenly appeared. Two held hand cannons, one a crossbow.
“Fire on the wretches!” Someone unseen said, in a deep, flowing voice that frightened the Conquistadors.
“Aim!” One of the Conquistadors said.
Before they could fire, the Wallachians pulled their triggers. The dogs leaped at the Wallachians, each taking a bullet . The bolt from the crossbow struck the lead Conquistador, hitting him in the shoulder. He fell, clutching his wound.
“Fire!” The wounded Conquistador said, snapping the arrow. The others fired, felling two Wallachians . The third dropped the crossbow and fired his handcannon, but an incoming Greyhound took the bullet . Another, coming from behind, jumped on his back. The Wallachian threw it off and ran him through with his kilij . Meanwhile, the Conquistadors fled behind several boulders, reloading their arquebuses. Grunting, the Wallachian ran over, a sword in his right hand and a flanged mace in the other. As a Conquistador rose to fire the Wallachian struck him in the chest with the mace, knocking him down. The Wallachian turned, finding an arquebus barrel an inch from his nose. He froze, dropping his weapons. He looked at the barrel, and then at the Conquistador who held it. As the Wallachian closed his eyes, the Conquistador smiled, pulling the trigger.
Silence.
The Wallachian stood motionless for a moment. Then he opened his left eye, looking around him and then at the confused Conquistador. The Spaniard looked at his gun, grinding his teeth.
“Jammed!”
The Conquistador threw the weapon down in disgust, drawing his sword. Realizing what happened, the Wallachian picked up his weapons and charged. The Conquistador swung with his espada ropera. The Wallachian blocked it with his Kilij and struck the Conquistador on his forearm, breaking it. The Conquistador screamed, dropping his sword in pain. With a twist the Wallachian took his head off .
“Taste steel, senior!”
The Conquistador with the wounded shoulder rammed his halberd into the Walachian’s belly, pining him to the Mexican earth. He looked into the Wallachian’s eyes as he died, smiling wickedly, enjoying a view he often saw in the new world. Shaking his head, he checked on his comrades, seeing of he was okay. He turned and drew his sword as a wicked laugh came from deep within the jungle. The hairs on the back of his neck rose.
...
Five hundred feet away, a Wallachian soldier stood guarding near another path, listening nervously to the gunfire and the screams of men. His king was out there, only heaven and the enemy knowing what had become of him. He wondered when, if ever, he should leave all behind and split, making the long journey back to the Persephone, Wallachia’s only warship. He wanted to leave, now, thinking that his prince and men were lost, but he knew well the price to be paid for desertion, especially when under fire.
“Another tree for the forest of the impaled,” he whispered.
A twig snapped.
The Wallachian turned to the noise, lifting his crossbow. A bearded, hulking man in plate armor, emerged from the forest. As he raised the crossbow to fire, the big man knocked it out of his hands and slapped him to the ground.
“Filthy swine!” the big Conquistador said, readying his halberd.
The Wallachian, wild eyed and filled with adrenaline, jumped up and took his halberd from a nearby tree. The Conquistador walked towards him with his halberd. The men fought for thirty seconds, until the big Conquistador knocked the weapon from his hands.
The Wallachian pulled out his Kalij.
“Trying to fight me with a steak cutter, no?” The Conquistador said. Laughing, he ran to stab the Wallachian. With astonishing speed, the Wallachian jumped, twirled, and slashed the big man’s throat. The Conquistador put his meaty hands to his throat, trying to breathe. Calm and unconcerned, the Wallachian soldier put his sword back in his scabbard and walked away, letting the Conquistador die alone .
Something stirred in the bushes. The Wallachian stopped, drawing his sword again. Other bushes around him were starting to shake. The Wallachian looked around him, waiting for what he thought were men to attack.
“Fight me, now! I will show you as much mercy as I did that giant over there, bleeding like a stuck pig!” The Wallachian said.
He heard a growl. Other growls followed.
“Wolves. A whole pack of-
Before he could finish, Leoncico leaped from the nearby bush, biting down on his face. The other war dogs, large mastiffs, pounced on the Wallachian. Balboa turned and walked away, laughing as the dogs tore into their victim .
...
“Where is Balboa?” the Conquistador with the wounded shoulder said, wincing with pain. The other followed behind, struggling with the heat and humidity under their oppressive armor. The men listened, holding onto their halberds tightly. They eventually came to a crossroad in the path, each direction covered in thick mist. There was something in the center of the crossroad, a dark shape cloaked in the dying mist. It didn’t move, didn’t speak. The Conquistadors approached.
“Senor Balboa?” The wounded Conquistador said.
“Hello, dear guests. Welcome to the crossroad. Please do come in; you look like men of good... taste.”
The Conquistadors froze at the familiar voice. The mist cleared, revealing Vlad the Impaler, his head down and his hands on the hilt of his sword. Snickering, Vlad raised his head, revealing a face of malice and unbridled barbarity, conveying a cruel spirit few of their fellow Conquistadors could rival.
“Shall we sup?” Vlad said, tapping his sword with his right index finger.
“Attack!” the wounded Conquistador said, raising his sword.
Vlad threw his cape back, pulling out a sword and a mace. He blocked the overhead strike of the wounded Conquistador with his kalij, striking the man’s head with his mace . The other conquistador charged with his halberd.
“Oh foolish Spaniard. Did they not tell you ?”
Vlad threw the mace into the conquistador’s face. As the man dropped his halberd and grabbed his shattered nose, Vlad picked up the man’s halberd and ran him through .
“There is only one impaler..”
Shaking his head, Vlad leaned down to kiss the dying man on the head. Before he walked away, he dabbed his finger in the man’s wound, licking the blood. His eyes rolled with sick delight, relishing the taste.
“And I thought I was demented.”
Vlad turned, seeing Vasco Nunez de Balboa standing next to a dying tree, his sword already drawn.
“Demented? You have no earthly idea.”
Vlad dropped he halberd, readying his sword.
“About time I fought a fellow sword swinger, no?” Balboa said, readying his stance.
For the next two minutes the warriors dueled. Vlad was cut three times, once on the chest and twice on the face, a cut on each cheek, while Balboa suffered a cut to his left leg and arm, the latter bone deep. Eventually Vlad blocked an overhead strike and countered with a kick to the gut. Though protected by the plate armor, Balboa was knocked down, and as he brought his sword up to defend himself, Vlad turned and knocked it out of his hand with his Kilij. Laughing, he put his sword to Balboa’s neck.
“Well fought, Spaniard...” Vlad said, licking his blade, “but few, if any, can challenge the Lord of Wallachia. The Ottomans learned this the hard way. Such a pity; if only we were back home. I could add you to my growing...forest...” A growl came form a bush behind Balboa. Vlad looked up from Balboa, seeing two yellow eyes in the bush. He didn’t move, preparing to strike.
“Your dog has given itself away. Too bad. Now you will both die- Suddenly two large mastiffs charged Vlad from the sides. Wide eyed with surprise, Vlad whirled, slashing both mastiffs in the face . At the moment he turned back Leoncico leaped, knocking Vlad down. The sword fell from his hands.
“Now, who is going to die, senior?” Balboa asked, laughing as Leoncico tore into his foe.
“You know, that was an odd thing to do, licking my blood off your blade. You act like some Vampire of legend.”
Vlad screamed, struggling in vain to force the far more powerful dog off of him. His voice was guttural, gurgling.
Balboa picked up his sword.
“I know those stories, very well. They tell of many things. Enlightening, I should say.”
Vlad was growing quiet. Leoncico’s growls drowned out his moans.
“Why, they even spoke of how to kill a vampire. I remember that most of all.”
Balboa flicked his espada ropera in their air, and then brought it down, impaling the impaler’s heart .
“Pierce the heart.”
Leoncico shook his head. With a wet, breaking sound, Leoncico ran off, Vlad’s head in his mouth. Balboa watched him go with shock.
“...Oh, well, that was another way to do it...”
BALBOA WINS
Expert's Opinion[]
Though Vlad had more experience and a two to one melee advantage over Balboa, Balboa had superior firearms, armor, tech, and, most importanly, the war dog. The pack gave him numerical advantage and the ability to sniff out danger, thus keeping them from being surprised.