AntiochusIII
03-25-2005, 05:56
~;p
"The desert is ours. It is my home. Invaders come here, but they do not leave. They do not understand the desert. They do not understand how it gives life, or how it kills. So they die, and we grow stronger.
The dead, now, the dead, cannot pass on their newfound wisdom. So invaders keep coming, keep trying to take our lands and our wealth. But then wealth flows through this land.
And if our people have one fame, it is the love of wealth. It is sweeter than water. It is more powerful than the sword. For any sword can be turned aside with a gold coin. Gold will by a thousand warriors.
And a thousand warriors - why, they are the start of an Empire!"
-By The Trio Man-Killing Arsaces, Runner Arsaces, and Arrogant Arsaces, descendant of Achilles
::::The Desert is Ours::::
Prince Antiochus of the Seleucid Kingdom had been marching across the desolate landscape of Central Iran for many months now. He had been trying to catch the Parthian army, which had led the Iranians in rebellion against their rightful masters, the glorious Seleucid dynasty. Rebellious Parthians, they proclaimed themselves heirs of the evil Achaemenid Persians! They had betrayed the Great King of Antioch and raided his lands, robbed his realms of wealth and raped the women of his citizens. His son, the Prince, decided months ago to march forth to deal with them, and deal it decisively. He wished to crush the Parthians once and for all with the very flower and pride of the Seleucid armies: Argyraspides, Kataphractoi, and the Companions. He had no doubt of the skills of these mighty men of war: they could -- and did -- crush countless foes which might've stopped Alexander himself dead on his tracks. He had nothing to fear from the lowly nomads in a pitched battle.
Unfortunately, to crush the Parthians, he must first catch the Parthians. And that required some extraordinary luck and desert skills. It was indeed unfortunate that the Prince Antiochus possessed neither. He had foolishly prepared himself for a glorious pitched battle, where great men of great bravery could come together and decide the fate of the world, his romanticized views of war based on the legends of Chaeronae, Gaugamela, and Ipsus. These Parthian cowards, he concluded, including their king, simply left the occupied cities and forts and marched into the vast deserts of this deserted wasteland the moment Antiochus seemed to close.
He had to hunt them into the desert, or else they would come back again and never to return. So he marched forth, daring the wills of Fate and the mastery of the desert.
But Antiochus was a fool. He had led his army into the lands which they did not belong. The desert was never theirs, and they had been left impoverished of water and food for at least three days of the beating sun and freezing nights!
The men were dying, suffering. Antiochus was enraged and frustated at the same time. How could the Parthians survive with no water? Did they not need the nourishment of it at all? Antiochus was about to turn back through the beaten path when he noticed something on the horizon.
And look! Was that a sandstorm that was approaching? Prince Antiochus looked on with despair; he had endured at least four sandstorms since he entered this cursed sea of sands. One more sandstorm and he swore to personally slay every single Parthian he captured for proper vengeance that they had to lead him into Tartarus!
However, when the sandstorm came in, it appeared that these were no ordinary storms, it was a storm of dirt, stirred up by the galloping horses and the men above them. The Parthians! They had shown themselves at last!
Prince Antiochus pulled out his sword, prepared to deal a worthy blow to finish off the arrogant raiders. Feeling his blood rising, he tried to shout the orders for the battle line to fight, but his mouth, he found, especially his tongue, was too dry to even open up. And when he tried to take a proper look at his army, his blurred gaze shown not the mighty forces that had marched with him from Seleucia, but a horde of desperate souls struggling to find a way to survive in the face of death. The Parthians were coming!
And death did come. The storm was close, and the horsemen began to surround them. Volleys upon volleys of arrows blackened the sky, raining a waterless rain of death upon the doomed army. Prince Antiochus looked around in panic. He was too exhausted to do anything; it must be the same for his men, as well, for his phalanxes did not form the phalanx, and his cataphracts did not raise their spears to fight. One after another, they fell to the hail of arrows, too tired to even raise their shields or take cover to protect their precious lives. And the Parthians were coming!
All that the young Seleucid Prince's exhausted mind knew was that the Parthian horsemen were coming, slaughtering and annihilating his army. He could not do anything. He could only watch, barely, until a Parthian horseman, dressed elegantly with a crown on his head, reached him.
The horseman pulled up his sword, glistening under the harsh sun, smiled a bloody smile, and said: "I am the king you seek. Send this warning to your king when he goes to visit you in your cold hell: The Desert is Ours."
Antiochus did not feel anything at all after that, except one small glitch of a feeling that he learned something new about this desert, and that it was far too late to know.
"The desert is ours. It is my home. Invaders come here, but they do not leave. They do not understand the desert. They do not understand how it gives life, or how it kills. So they die, and we grow stronger.
The dead, now, the dead, cannot pass on their newfound wisdom. So invaders keep coming, keep trying to take our lands and our wealth. But then wealth flows through this land.
And if our people have one fame, it is the love of wealth. It is sweeter than water. It is more powerful than the sword. For any sword can be turned aside with a gold coin. Gold will by a thousand warriors.
And a thousand warriors - why, they are the start of an Empire!"
-By The Trio Man-Killing Arsaces, Runner Arsaces, and Arrogant Arsaces, descendant of Achilles
::::The Desert is Ours::::
Prince Antiochus of the Seleucid Kingdom had been marching across the desolate landscape of Central Iran for many months now. He had been trying to catch the Parthian army, which had led the Iranians in rebellion against their rightful masters, the glorious Seleucid dynasty. Rebellious Parthians, they proclaimed themselves heirs of the evil Achaemenid Persians! They had betrayed the Great King of Antioch and raided his lands, robbed his realms of wealth and raped the women of his citizens. His son, the Prince, decided months ago to march forth to deal with them, and deal it decisively. He wished to crush the Parthians once and for all with the very flower and pride of the Seleucid armies: Argyraspides, Kataphractoi, and the Companions. He had no doubt of the skills of these mighty men of war: they could -- and did -- crush countless foes which might've stopped Alexander himself dead on his tracks. He had nothing to fear from the lowly nomads in a pitched battle.
Unfortunately, to crush the Parthians, he must first catch the Parthians. And that required some extraordinary luck and desert skills. It was indeed unfortunate that the Prince Antiochus possessed neither. He had foolishly prepared himself for a glorious pitched battle, where great men of great bravery could come together and decide the fate of the world, his romanticized views of war based on the legends of Chaeronae, Gaugamela, and Ipsus. These Parthian cowards, he concluded, including their king, simply left the occupied cities and forts and marched into the vast deserts of this deserted wasteland the moment Antiochus seemed to close.
He had to hunt them into the desert, or else they would come back again and never to return. So he marched forth, daring the wills of Fate and the mastery of the desert.
But Antiochus was a fool. He had led his army into the lands which they did not belong. The desert was never theirs, and they had been left impoverished of water and food for at least three days of the beating sun and freezing nights!
The men were dying, suffering. Antiochus was enraged and frustated at the same time. How could the Parthians survive with no water? Did they not need the nourishment of it at all? Antiochus was about to turn back through the beaten path when he noticed something on the horizon.
And look! Was that a sandstorm that was approaching? Prince Antiochus looked on with despair; he had endured at least four sandstorms since he entered this cursed sea of sands. One more sandstorm and he swore to personally slay every single Parthian he captured for proper vengeance that they had to lead him into Tartarus!
However, when the sandstorm came in, it appeared that these were no ordinary storms, it was a storm of dirt, stirred up by the galloping horses and the men above them. The Parthians! They had shown themselves at last!
Prince Antiochus pulled out his sword, prepared to deal a worthy blow to finish off the arrogant raiders. Feeling his blood rising, he tried to shout the orders for the battle line to fight, but his mouth, he found, especially his tongue, was too dry to even open up. And when he tried to take a proper look at his army, his blurred gaze shown not the mighty forces that had marched with him from Seleucia, but a horde of desperate souls struggling to find a way to survive in the face of death. The Parthians were coming!
And death did come. The storm was close, and the horsemen began to surround them. Volleys upon volleys of arrows blackened the sky, raining a waterless rain of death upon the doomed army. Prince Antiochus looked around in panic. He was too exhausted to do anything; it must be the same for his men, as well, for his phalanxes did not form the phalanx, and his cataphracts did not raise their spears to fight. One after another, they fell to the hail of arrows, too tired to even raise their shields or take cover to protect their precious lives. And the Parthians were coming!
All that the young Seleucid Prince's exhausted mind knew was that the Parthian horsemen were coming, slaughtering and annihilating his army. He could not do anything. He could only watch, barely, until a Parthian horseman, dressed elegantly with a crown on his head, reached him.
The horseman pulled up his sword, glistening under the harsh sun, smiled a bloody smile, and said: "I am the king you seek. Send this warning to your king when he goes to visit you in your cold hell: The Desert is Ours."
Antiochus did not feel anything at all after that, except one small glitch of a feeling that he learned something new about this desert, and that it was far too late to know.