Sarnaen
07-11-2004, 05:14
Well, thsi really belongs in the Mead hall, but as I don't have the privilege of posting there yet, I'm posting it here.
It's thus far an account of a battle I had in a campaign, playing as the Byzantines, but it will most likely be continued.
Pro Patria Mori
I
Smoke smudged the distant horizon as Romanus Maximallian, Duke of Trebizond, vacantly surveyed the arid valley from atop his mighty destrier, Augustus.
The situation was not as he had hoped. His division, Byzantine soldiers and pride of the state, had been marching homeward from service in Georgia when the Turks had been spotted, slinking into a wide, rolling valley between the hills of Trebizond. Turks - riding their scrawny steppes horses, in his own land Romanus had acted instantly, in the only manner befitting a lord and general of Byzantium. The Turks were sworn enemies of the Empire, and any taint of theirs must be cleansed from the lands of their forefathers.
He had ordered his column to form a line of battle and advance upon the Muslim impostors, confident that his well trained and equipped forces would rapidly overcome the lightly armed Turk skirmishers.
As one, the Byzantine division separated itself into wings and blocks, the heavily armoured Scutatus - foot soldiers clad in heavy mail and carrying heavy full-body shields and finely crafted swords, formed the backbone of the lines, their discipline and skill-at-arms invaluable in such a role. The wings were made up of lightly equipped Bulgarians, their composite bows presenting a great threat to the lightly armoured Turkish forces. Before the Scutatus, thin lines of archers from Romanus’ homeland of Trebizond strung their bows in preparation.
The true strength of the army, however, lay in its mounted elements. On the far flanks of the army, traditional Byzantine cavalry, fighting on horseback with short bow and sword, reigned their agile steeds and adjusted their loose fitting leather armour. Behind the Bulgarians, the magnificent lancer cavalry from Nicaea raised their weapons in salute of their enemies.
Further still behind the front lines, Romanus’ personal guard waited in reserve, ready to charge into the fray wherever they were needed most. With that thought, Romanus turned to survey his contingent, pride welling up from deep within him and filling him with confidence. The Kataphraktoi, elite heavy cavalry from Constantinople itself, were the ultimate horseback soldiers, the very embodiment of Byzantine superiority.
Clad head to toe in splint armour and mail, carrying huge Frankish style kite shields and bearing eight foot long charging lances, the Kataphraktoi feared nothing on the battlefield. From atop their mail-clad Georgian steeds, they looked down upon the battle like gods.
A wailing horn call woke Romanus from his thoughts.
“Sire. The Turks are advancing.” The voice of his left-hand-man, Alexios Theodorus, spoke softly from beneath his mail.
“Hold formation. Advance at half-pace. Have the archers target their cavalry.”
Alexios nodded and guided his steed towards the train of messengers that stood in waiting behind the ranks of cavalry.
Romanus turned his gaze back towards the Turks to survey their advance. In typical steppe fashion, much of the army was mounted - small squadrons of horse archers and Sipahi racing ahead of the line, eager to disrupt the densely formed Byzantine ranks.
Behind the cavalry marched the lightly armoured Ghazi infantry - axe-wielding Islamic fanatics - and the famed Turcoman foot soldiers, their masterfully crafted recurved bows resembling those of his own Trebizond archers. Behind the infantry, a single unit of heavy cavalry rode. These were the feared Ghulams, or slave warriors, the Turkish answer to Byzantium’s Pronoiai Allagion irregulars. The banner that fluttered lightly in the wind chilled Romanus’ heart. A red scimitar over a black crescent of Islam, upon a green background. The banner of Mehmed al Hassan, Amir of Armenia and cousin to the Sultan himself. The greatest general known to Islam for a hundred years.
Romanus cursed softly. His mind had drifted again. Perhaps he was growing too old for the endless conflict his title required. He was forty-three now, and no longer the powerful athlete and soldier he had been in his youth. His joints creaked in the morning, and years of luxury had softened his powerful muscles. The years had weathered his once dashing looks. While still fit compared to many, he was no longer among the best in the Empire. His greatest asset was experience. Sighing, he rolled his broad shoulders, blinked, and once again cast his gaze over the enfolding battle. The Turk infantry had halted, and traded volleys with the professional Byzantine bowmen. The mounted Sipahi had attempted to circle around the flank of the Byzantine lines, but the Bulgarian arrows had driven them back, leaving their dead and wounded laying in the short browned grass.
The arrow fire had began to take its toll upon the Trebizond archers, the strength of numbers lay with the Turks, and the sheer number of arrows rattling into the Byzantine lines was forcing the archers to retreat behind the protective heavy infantry.
Romanus bit his lip. His forces were outmatched by the Turkish archery. Without action, the infantry below would be torn to shreds by endless volleys of barbed arrows, despite their armour.
Movement on the far right flank caught his eye, and he wheeled his steed slightly to allow him to see what was happening. A band of Turkish Ghazi had broken formation and were dashing towards his infantry, their large wooden shields and rapid pace protecting them from the hail of Bulgarian arrows. Romanus smiled as horn blasts echoed along the line, signalling for the Byzantine mounted archers to ride forth. For all his tactical thinking, Hassan could still not depend upon his fanatical troops to follow orders. Using their speed to quickly surround the small band of Ghazi, the cavalry began to pour arrows into them from every direction.
Horn blasts signalled a Ghazi retreat, and eager from their victory, the Byzantine cavalry pursued, cutting down the fleeing infantry and before Romanus’ eyes, running straight into a trap. As the Muslim infantry fled, the Sipahi - light cavalry carrying nothing but swords and small shields, flanked the Byzantines and tore into the lightly armed cavalry, slaughtering them to a man. Romanus cursed as a sole horseman galloped back towards the Byzantine lines, only to be struck by an arrow fired from the Turcomen. Loyally, his horse bore his body back towards his brothers in arms.
With the Byzantine right flank severely weakened, the Turkish began their main advance, horn calls signalling the beginning of the melée. With a thunderous roar, the Turk infantry lines began channelling through the valley towards the Byzantine lines, still keeping up a hail of arrows as they advanced.
Romanus, despite his many years as a tactician and commander, watched nervously. His troops were outnumbered, though the Bulgarians valiantly brought the ratio closer and closer with each volley from their composite bows. Men screamed, some through pain, some through anger. Leather booted feet thundered through the valley, and the clatter of armour on armour filled the ears of every single soldier on the battlefield.
The atmosphere tensed as the lines closed, soldiers muttered prayers to God and the church. Time slowed, and everything seemed eerily quiet.
The calm before the storm.
____
Well... that's not all I've written so far, but it's the end of the opening passage. Small, admittedly, but I hope you enjoyed it, or at least, hope it helped stave off boredom for a few minutes.
What do you think? Criticism? Is it worth continuing with this, or should I give up and go back to being a general instead of a scribe?
Any history nuts might like to help me out with the Scutatus reference - I understand the Scutatus were a form of armoured infantry the Byzantines used, but I wasn't totally sure whether the Byzantine infantry in the game are the same.
Thanks for taking the time to read my scribblings. http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/wave.gif
It's thus far an account of a battle I had in a campaign, playing as the Byzantines, but it will most likely be continued.
Pro Patria Mori
I
Smoke smudged the distant horizon as Romanus Maximallian, Duke of Trebizond, vacantly surveyed the arid valley from atop his mighty destrier, Augustus.
The situation was not as he had hoped. His division, Byzantine soldiers and pride of the state, had been marching homeward from service in Georgia when the Turks had been spotted, slinking into a wide, rolling valley between the hills of Trebizond. Turks - riding their scrawny steppes horses, in his own land Romanus had acted instantly, in the only manner befitting a lord and general of Byzantium. The Turks were sworn enemies of the Empire, and any taint of theirs must be cleansed from the lands of their forefathers.
He had ordered his column to form a line of battle and advance upon the Muslim impostors, confident that his well trained and equipped forces would rapidly overcome the lightly armed Turk skirmishers.
As one, the Byzantine division separated itself into wings and blocks, the heavily armoured Scutatus - foot soldiers clad in heavy mail and carrying heavy full-body shields and finely crafted swords, formed the backbone of the lines, their discipline and skill-at-arms invaluable in such a role. The wings were made up of lightly equipped Bulgarians, their composite bows presenting a great threat to the lightly armoured Turkish forces. Before the Scutatus, thin lines of archers from Romanus’ homeland of Trebizond strung their bows in preparation.
The true strength of the army, however, lay in its mounted elements. On the far flanks of the army, traditional Byzantine cavalry, fighting on horseback with short bow and sword, reigned their agile steeds and adjusted their loose fitting leather armour. Behind the Bulgarians, the magnificent lancer cavalry from Nicaea raised their weapons in salute of their enemies.
Further still behind the front lines, Romanus’ personal guard waited in reserve, ready to charge into the fray wherever they were needed most. With that thought, Romanus turned to survey his contingent, pride welling up from deep within him and filling him with confidence. The Kataphraktoi, elite heavy cavalry from Constantinople itself, were the ultimate horseback soldiers, the very embodiment of Byzantine superiority.
Clad head to toe in splint armour and mail, carrying huge Frankish style kite shields and bearing eight foot long charging lances, the Kataphraktoi feared nothing on the battlefield. From atop their mail-clad Georgian steeds, they looked down upon the battle like gods.
A wailing horn call woke Romanus from his thoughts.
“Sire. The Turks are advancing.” The voice of his left-hand-man, Alexios Theodorus, spoke softly from beneath his mail.
“Hold formation. Advance at half-pace. Have the archers target their cavalry.”
Alexios nodded and guided his steed towards the train of messengers that stood in waiting behind the ranks of cavalry.
Romanus turned his gaze back towards the Turks to survey their advance. In typical steppe fashion, much of the army was mounted - small squadrons of horse archers and Sipahi racing ahead of the line, eager to disrupt the densely formed Byzantine ranks.
Behind the cavalry marched the lightly armoured Ghazi infantry - axe-wielding Islamic fanatics - and the famed Turcoman foot soldiers, their masterfully crafted recurved bows resembling those of his own Trebizond archers. Behind the infantry, a single unit of heavy cavalry rode. These were the feared Ghulams, or slave warriors, the Turkish answer to Byzantium’s Pronoiai Allagion irregulars. The banner that fluttered lightly in the wind chilled Romanus’ heart. A red scimitar over a black crescent of Islam, upon a green background. The banner of Mehmed al Hassan, Amir of Armenia and cousin to the Sultan himself. The greatest general known to Islam for a hundred years.
Romanus cursed softly. His mind had drifted again. Perhaps he was growing too old for the endless conflict his title required. He was forty-three now, and no longer the powerful athlete and soldier he had been in his youth. His joints creaked in the morning, and years of luxury had softened his powerful muscles. The years had weathered his once dashing looks. While still fit compared to many, he was no longer among the best in the Empire. His greatest asset was experience. Sighing, he rolled his broad shoulders, blinked, and once again cast his gaze over the enfolding battle. The Turk infantry had halted, and traded volleys with the professional Byzantine bowmen. The mounted Sipahi had attempted to circle around the flank of the Byzantine lines, but the Bulgarian arrows had driven them back, leaving their dead and wounded laying in the short browned grass.
The arrow fire had began to take its toll upon the Trebizond archers, the strength of numbers lay with the Turks, and the sheer number of arrows rattling into the Byzantine lines was forcing the archers to retreat behind the protective heavy infantry.
Romanus bit his lip. His forces were outmatched by the Turkish archery. Without action, the infantry below would be torn to shreds by endless volleys of barbed arrows, despite their armour.
Movement on the far right flank caught his eye, and he wheeled his steed slightly to allow him to see what was happening. A band of Turkish Ghazi had broken formation and were dashing towards his infantry, their large wooden shields and rapid pace protecting them from the hail of Bulgarian arrows. Romanus smiled as horn blasts echoed along the line, signalling for the Byzantine mounted archers to ride forth. For all his tactical thinking, Hassan could still not depend upon his fanatical troops to follow orders. Using their speed to quickly surround the small band of Ghazi, the cavalry began to pour arrows into them from every direction.
Horn blasts signalled a Ghazi retreat, and eager from their victory, the Byzantine cavalry pursued, cutting down the fleeing infantry and before Romanus’ eyes, running straight into a trap. As the Muslim infantry fled, the Sipahi - light cavalry carrying nothing but swords and small shields, flanked the Byzantines and tore into the lightly armed cavalry, slaughtering them to a man. Romanus cursed as a sole horseman galloped back towards the Byzantine lines, only to be struck by an arrow fired from the Turcomen. Loyally, his horse bore his body back towards his brothers in arms.
With the Byzantine right flank severely weakened, the Turkish began their main advance, horn calls signalling the beginning of the melée. With a thunderous roar, the Turk infantry lines began channelling through the valley towards the Byzantine lines, still keeping up a hail of arrows as they advanced.
Romanus, despite his many years as a tactician and commander, watched nervously. His troops were outnumbered, though the Bulgarians valiantly brought the ratio closer and closer with each volley from their composite bows. Men screamed, some through pain, some through anger. Leather booted feet thundered through the valley, and the clatter of armour on armour filled the ears of every single soldier on the battlefield.
The atmosphere tensed as the lines closed, soldiers muttered prayers to God and the church. Time slowed, and everything seemed eerily quiet.
The calm before the storm.
____
Well... that's not all I've written so far, but it's the end of the opening passage. Small, admittedly, but I hope you enjoyed it, or at least, hope it helped stave off boredom for a few minutes.
What do you think? Criticism? Is it worth continuing with this, or should I give up and go back to being a general instead of a scribe?
Any history nuts might like to help me out with the Scutatus reference - I understand the Scutatus were a form of armoured infantry the Byzantines used, but I wasn't totally sure whether the Byzantine infantry in the game are the same.
Thanks for taking the time to read my scribblings. http://www.totalwar.org/forum/non-cgi/emoticons/wave.gif