The Legacy of Megas Alexandros - a seleucid AAR

[Kuningaz]

Yeeeehaa!

[I of the Storm]

Great as ever!

[Lysimachos]

Good to see this is back!

WOOT!!!! IT LIVES!!!!!!

Ok excellent chapter, this is gonna get real interesting real fast. I sense an execution scene coming up.

Yeeeehaa!

Great as ever!

Thank you very much, guys! Your comments are a nice welcome back and as always a motivation to continue!

I sense an execution scene coming up.

I will stay silent about the details of coming events, but I think I can tell you there is something like a twist awaiting you If it involves anything like an execution I can't reveal now

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 31: Crossroads

Kallinikos walks up the wide stairs to the Royal Palace, a city of its own inside the Metropolis. At the top steps he looks back down, before turning to Gorgias Dahaikos, who has become his right hand in the last few months.
"Replace all guards inside the palace. The gates are to be closed and a transitory curfew enacted. Then we will have to find out whom to trust."
Again he spins around and with a deep sigh heaving from his breast he looks up the marmoreal facade, in abundance decorated with frescoes and statues, overwhelming the viewer with the sheer multiplicity of its elaborate illustrations, a convincing symbol of power, of wealth and of prodigality.
The gilded gates show no less than six representations of Apollon, the mythical progenitor of the seleucid house: Phoibos, the god of light, Akesios, the healer, Smintheus, the mouse-catcher as defender against plagues, Argurotoxos, the one with the silver bow, as god of archery, Musagetes, as the leader of the nine Muses who bring inspiration to the mortals and Agyieus, the protector of homes. Around those are depictions of scenes from the god's life, so closely arranged that on the whole gates there is no flat spot left, big enough to lay an open hand upon it.
Now the gates open for the king's first born son.

The Metropolis' dignitaries are gathered around the prince, magistrates, priests, judges and officers, all of those responsible for the city's government and the royal bureaucracy. An uneasy atmosphere persists below the high ceiling, as the crowd of honorables suspects not to receive much honor this day.
Apollodoros, the commander of the city guard, as the highest ranking military position in Seleukeia, is a prominent guest, not to his enjoyment, though. The cold sweat makes his bald head gleam in the light and soaks his Chiton, leaving an unpleasant wetness on his back. He is just raising his voice, as Kallinikos impatiently cuts his word with an impatient movement of his hand.
"Would you mind telling me, Apollodoros, if you are now so glad and delighted to see me, why did you not use your position and the gravity of your word to do something about this current... unruliness, before it could do any harm?"
"You see, my lord, I... I rather continued to serve the Arche as such, than get myself killed and leave my important responsibilities orphaned, because as you know, our neighbors in their greediness and vassals in their mislead contumacy are waiting for every weakness, and so... so the tiny cogwheel that I am decided to continue its work to protect the empire as a whole, oh, yes, because if only one..."
His voice was going faster and higher with the progress of his speech until Seleukos Kallinikos disrupted it, because the sound of the hasty step of an approaching pair of boots grows nearer.
"Just leave it, you blatherer." The prince faces the newcomer, a royal companion, identifiable by the typical two-plumed helmet that he is carrying under his left arm and the Kopis by his side, as only the Hetairoi and the new palace guard are still allowed to carry arms inside the building.
"I welcome you, Hetairos. You bring a message for me?" The addressee quickly examines the people present in the hall and answers the welcome with a loud voice.
"I greet you, Strategos. I bring word from the divine Basileus, who has defeated the viperish Usurper Sarpedon and demands the city to prepare for the arrival of his victorious army."
With a smile on his face Kallinikos turns back to Apollodoros. "Now that you have communicated your opinion you surely are eager the learn my father's. And..." - his glance wanders over the faces around him - "... you certainly know, the Basileus is not as forgiving as I am."
An embarrassed silence lies upon the hall, until Kallinikos raises his voice again: "Hail to the Basileus!"

Antiochos enters the city in Triumph, the warrior-king who again has enlarged the empire at his arabian campaign and defeated the greater numbers of his brother's army with ease.
He is Theos - the god - before whom his rivals tremble, victor against Parnoi and Sakai and the mercenary generals of the Ptolemaioi. A glance of his eye is cold as ice and deadly as steel. And he who crushes his foes is returning in glory, eager to seek revenge.

Kallinikos is standing at the top of the steps to palace, waiting and watching the army marching through the city's streets, bordered with people who are welcoming their king and his army.
A man, who has arrived early this day, approaches Kallinikos. The name is Eustathios, he remembers and he is a Heterogenes - a descendant of both hellenic and persian heritage - like the Kleronomos Basileois himself.
"Strategos, as you know, I've been send by the Basileus to take care of the formalities of the ceremony. You, too, should be informed that a new protocol of court has been enacted, which includes the Proskynesis to honor the king."
Kallinikos frowns in bewilderment. "What are you talking about? Those are honors not fit towards another man!"
Eustathios answers motionlessly: "What you say is true, but we had to realize that he is not man, but divine and thus should receive the honors fitting a true god. According to your standing you will be required to give the king a respectful kiss on the cheek, my lord."
The young man confusedly shakes his head and again looks down, where his father approaches at the head of his army. The world is changing fast around him in these days, he thinks, but how fast it really is, he doesn't know yet...

Finally, Antiochos II arrives at the palace. He doesn't wear his almost humble armor anymore, because now he has to look like a god to be received as one. A new armor has been made, just for this day, a glaring dream of gold. The motives that have been chosen to ornament it are intertwining patterns, as it doesn't fit a god to adorn himself with someone else's deeds.
Slowly he takes step after step. He is a tall man, seeming even larger due to the high helmet's crest, and constant exercise has given him a muscular athlete's body. It really doesn't take much to believe in his divinity, Kallinikos notices, struck with awe.
Mesmerized he walks forward to meet his father, who takes down the helmet and without a noticeable motion on his face looks down to his son, to receive a shy kiss on his well-shaved cheek.
The bearded son takes two steps back, clearing the way. His father's eyes rest on him and at this moment Kallinikos is more certain than ever that it takes a greater man than him to fill his father's shoes and sorrow fills his heart.
"My son." The king's deep masculine voice leaks to his dazed senses. "How long has it been? Five years? You are a grown man now." A faint smile shows on Antiochos' face for a moment before it vanishes again and the king proceeds on his path.
"Thank you, my king," mumbles the prince without really listening and follows few steps behind, through the gilded gates.

Antiochos went to the throne room to hold court and receive homage from the nobles and the leading men of the city. Kallinikos is standing at his right hand side, silently watching the courtiers, the bootlickers bowing or kneeling in front of the king, kissing his garments or blowing a kiss, each according to his status. It was an unaccustomed sight and certainly one that was hard to accustom to.
After the last of the sheepish supplicants has given his obeisance, Antiochos ordered to bring wine and waved his son to come closer.
"I have learned my part. It is much more demanding for a man to betray a god than another man and even more to do so with the soldier's consent. Never admit someone as your equal and never let the people think there could be a way different to yours. But now," he knits his brows, "I feel like I miss a certain face in this room. I guess someone has to be fetched from Babylon..."

Ikadion Anthemusias is worried and this unfamiliar state of mind is decidedly derogatory to his famous wits. A large group of armed men has - in a manner of speaking - invited him to the royal palace in Seleukeia and the precipitous departure which had been necessary - or at least is this what the more or less friendly visitors made him convinced of - hindered him from taking his usual precautions before visiting the Metropolis.
Now he is waiting - standing, due to the lack of seating-accommodations - in a rather gloomy and small room inside the palace, far away from the parts where visitors usually were brought. If this was not enough in itself, a hunk of a man was standing next to the door and watching every step that he, like a tiger in a cage, was taking.
Right at the moment when the door opens again, Ikadion has to realize the fun part of his abidance is over.
At once he recognizes the two newcomers and he falls on his knees to adequately honor his host, the king, who is accompanied only by his eldest son. "Oh, godlike Basileus, my eyes are delighted and my heart is overjoyed about the honor of your presence!" His hand reaches out to touch the hem of Antiochos' plain though finely woven Chiton, but the king pushes Ikadion's hand away.
"Just stop it!" he barks. "I have no sense to listen to the play of your snake-tongue, Babylonios. We have some earnest talk to do."
From the corner of his eye Ikadion notices Kallinikos positioning himself near the window, folding his arms, but his attention is ultimately caught by the Kopis that is girded at the king's waist. Filled with fear he decides to remain on his knees, but before he regains control over himself something escapes his mouth. "You certainly are nothing like your brother."
Pain strikes him as suddenly the king's hand grips into his curly hair and his head is jerked backwards. "You can bet on that," Antiochos hisses close to the Babylonian's ear. "But better don't gamble with me. I've slain hundreds of greater men than you are and I won't hesitate to waste you now and here. Where - is - he?" With the last word Ikadion feels the cold steel of the king's sword touching his throat and he trembles with fear, having never been tested with danger.
"He is fleeing to Aigytos! Your brother has taken up correspondence with Ptolemaios after the war ended and invested a lot of his wealth there." He can't hold himself back and starts to sob. "Please, don't kill me, I have no part in this, I swear!"
Antiochos watches him with disdain. He releases the hair and Ikadion collapses on the ground, shivering. "Guard, put this wimp under arrest. I'll later see what to do with him."
The king turns to his son, a dark shadow in his expression. "So it is decided. My son, I will make you a King by my side. You will rule with full authority and responsibility during my absence."
An grip cold as ice closes around Kallinikos' heart as he comes to the awareness of the weight that has been put on his shoulders in this very moment.

[Lysimachos]

Here is a screenshot of the map in 251 BC. It has been taken before the battle on the Tigris, but it's still the same year.

[General Appo]

Amazing work Lysimachos.

[Hax]

Very nice, Lysimachos. Most impressing.

[I of the Storm]

Very nice, Lysimachos. Most impressing.

QFT. Great narrative again. You're really talented!

[Olaf Blackeyes]

Here is a screenshot of the map in 251 BC. It has been taken before the battle on the Tigris, but it's still the same year.

If thats 251BC Then i gots 3 things for you.
1. The Luso have gone berserk again.
2. The Sauros are doing VERY well against Hai
3. Kart-Hasdastim has gone braindeaded

[Lysimachos]

Amazing work Lysimachos.

Very nice, Lysimachos. Most impressing.

QFT. Great narrative again. You're really talented!

Thank you very much! I really appreciate that. I hope I'm not overdoing it with Antiochos

If thats 251BC Then i gots 3 things for you.
1. The Luso have gone berserk again.
2. The Sauros are doing VERY well against Hai
3. Kart-Hasdastim has gone braindeaded

Perhaps I'll have to do something about 2. because I don't want the Hay to die there. I might need them in the later game for an invasion of Syria

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 32: The Leap

A moderate breeze has arisen and refreshes the wearied men. It is the cold season, but in these latitudes this doesn't change much. Antiochos has reverted to his accustomed attire as a soldier, chosen for practical reasons. The men he is leading don't need a glamorous appearance to believe in their king's divinity, they have seen him striking upon his foes, like an Avatar of the dreadful Ares, hardly ever wounded, despite him always seeking the midst of the fighting.
With no obvious reason the Basileus stops his steed and dismounts. He stoops down to take a handful of sand and watches it run through his fingers, just like the two years that have passed since he defeated his brother at the shore of the Tigris.

These years have been quiet years, but the king has been busy. His son was proclaimed as Basileus too, because Antiochos knew in the near future it would be almost impossible for him to rule the empire alone and his son needed the authority to silence opposition, an authority that now was fed from the divinity of their blood.
Antiochos himself used the years to form an army, smaller than those he commanded before, but professional to the last man. As always it would rest on a phalanx of Pezhetairoi, among them the Argyraspides, the silver shields, the senior part of the Pezhetairoi. Those soldiers who have distinguished themselves most in the past campaigns were assigned to an elite corps, consisting of three elements: the Thorakitai Agematos Basilikou, heavily armored assault infantry, the Hypaspistai, royal guards fighting in the fashion of hoplites and the Peltastai Makedonikoi, light troops in the prime of their physical strength.
From Galatia hails a band of Tindanotae, fierce warriors, who fear no enemy and are now loyal to the seleucid kings. Antiochos' ranged troops are composed of cretan archers, who are famed for their skill all over the hellenic world.
The cavalry consists of Prodromoi, fast and skilled light cavalry, Lonchophoroi, cavalrymen well protected by their Aspis shields and of course the Hetairoi who are riding as bodyguards of their king.
Adding to this do asian elephants which are descendant from those that Seleukos acquired from Sandrakottos of Maurya and trained by indian Mahouts.
Now it is Antiochos' sixteenth reigning year, the sixty third year of the Seleucid Era and the beast, thirsting to take revenge, takes its leap.

Antiochos straightens up, with closed eyes deeply inhaling the air, and it comes with an almost physical realization: The soil beneath his feet belongs to the land of the Pharaohs, the ancient land of Aigyptos.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 33: The Boar

Beneath a baldachin, that is protecting from the sun, sits a huge man. The nakedness of his upper body reveals bulging muscles under the tanned skin. He is wearing trousers and a massive golden torque lies around his neck.
Demophon is comfortably resting on his chair, the light blue eyes closed, while a nubian slave woman shaves the dark blonde hair off his skull.
Unlike the seleucid kings who lead their armies themselves to prove their worthiness, Ptolemaios Philadelphos prefers to trust professional generals, experienced soldiers.
Demophon is one of them. It is, of course, not the name he was born with, but it has proven useful in his business to bear a name in the language of those whose silver coins he was paid.
He is a Galates, a descendant of one of the celtic tribes that invaded Greece and Asia Mikra not long ago. He came to Aigyptos with his father, who has been allured by the prospect of the fair sums that the Ptolemaioi pay their mercenaries.
However, his father did not find his happiness in Egypt and soon died of a fever, so it was up to the only son to support his mother and sisters. So he, barely a man, took up a greek name and his father's sword. Demophon fought with the ptolemaic army and excelled in several battles against the Kyrenaioi and was rewarded with a Kleros near Paraitonion. From then he was known to his hellenic masters as Demophon Paraitonios, while his name amongst his galatian brethren simply is "The Boar".
In the following years he served in several campaigns against Kyrenaioi and Nubaioi and was trusted with increasing responsibilities. Now Demophon is assigned a challenging and very reputable task: The defense of Aigyptos.

Another man enters the cooling shade under the baldachin. He is a Galates like Demophon and uses their celtic language to address him. "Commander." The Boar squints, trying to recognize the man. "What is it?" - "They are approaching on the route you anticipated."
The dark skinned slave finishes the shave and rubs a scented oil on her master's scalp.
"How many?" - "About twice as many as our soldiers, well equipped, with elephants. They are much closer than our reinforcements, commander."
Demophon reaches out for the slave girl and pulls her on his lap. "We don't wait for the reinforcements. We'll give them a short welcome fight, show them we have no fear and test their resolve. In the long run we have the greater reserves and with constant attacks we will weaken their will to fight, until there is the opportunity to break the army in a capital battle. Tomorrow morning we will leave the camp."

[I of the Storm]

Ahaaa! Finally going to Egypt then! Will he triumph in Alexandria or will the desert swallow him and the great Neilos wash him away like so many before him...?

[Lysimachos]

Ahaaa! Finally going to Egypt then! Will he triumph in Alexandria or will the desert swallow him and the great Neilos wash him away like so many before him...?

That is a good question, indeed

Or should I say: ?

Edit: Oh, by the way, I of the Storm, you are now beside me the poster with most contributions in this thread, so thank you for your loyalty

[I of the Storm]

Cool. Hehe, that's why I'm posting this now:

It's almost half a month since the last update and this thread was dangerously close to page 2. So...

[Lysimachos]

Hey, thank you
I'm in the last stages of preparation for an important exam, so it will have to wait a little bit longer.

[Lysimachos]

Hi there, a little something to announce my return for now

Chapter 34: Tusks

The air still bears the pleasing chill of the night, the sun doesn't yet show above the horizon to the east, but the sky already lightens up. Down in the basin, protected from the sharp desert winds, the camp of the syrian army is about to awaken.
Neolaos dozily rubs his eyes. The coming morning marks the end of another uneventful watch and soon would be time for the changing of the guard. Neolaos looks up to the top of the ridge in the west, where the morning's sunlight will first hit the ground, before slowly descending into the basin.
There, a bright spot appears on the slope and starts growing. Reflections flash up along the ridge. The startled guard blinks and it takes a moment for his perceptions to go through his dozy mind.
"Alarm!" Neolaos, suddenly fully awake, shouts at the top of his voice. "Alarm!"

The Boar has come to show the might of his tusks. Demophon's soldiers are positioned along the ridge, utilizing the high ground to which only a narrow natural ramp leads up between steep acclivities. The basin, which has been useful against the sandstorm, now serves as a trap.



The galatian commander's men fiercely fight at the bottleneck, where their enemy's greater numbers count for nothing, while the seleucid Taxiarchoi try to bring order to the ranks of their regiments.
The king's adjutant is galloping back to the center of the camp, where his master awaits him. "Basileus! It is futile, we can't advance a single foot. They will be able to hold the ramp for ever this way!"
Antiochos Theos grimly nods. "So let's see what brute force we have left."

Among the noise of the fighting, of clashing iron and bronze, of crying and shouting, a new sound is mixing, the powerful trumpeting of the majestic indian beasts, Antiochos' elephant corps. They are fearsome animals, larger than the ones that dwell in Aithiopia and at the eritrean coast and mounted with archers who rain death from above. The mere sight of their charge brings disorder into the enemy's ranks and the pure brutal force of their weight ploughs deep gaps through the ptolemaic formation. Into these gaps Antiochos sends his Peltastai Makedonike and his own Galatai, the Tindanotae, who show the foe their disdain by fighting naked. With furious anger they charge into the chaos left by the elephants, irresistibly carving their way through Demophon's terrified men, for whom the day had began so promising. Soon the line finally breaks and Antiochos' heavy infantry sweeps away the remaining resistance.



The galatian Boar has proven to be a dangerous adversary, able to spot opportunities and willing to take risks in order to utilize them, but for today the longer tusks of the seleucid king's indian elephants remained victorious.

[I of the Storm]

It lives! Cool.

[Vasiliyi]

Lysimachos! I have finally caught up with your story, no book. It is quite the read. It is because of you I play the AS and enjoy them so much. i must say the detail you put into this is very good. i hope you can get back to writing more often. but i know what you mean when it comes to exams at school. Good luck with them!

[Lysimachos]

Thank you! In fact the exam was the very final one in my time at university and school exams were a cakewalk compared to it
I was in need of some recreation but I hope I'll be able to update regularly in the near future.
I'm currently thinking about how to make the following chapters a bit more unique instead of just lining up events, which happens sometimes when I'm not fully motivated while I'm writing.

[Vasiliyi]

Yep i know what you mean. But all of your chapters seem very unique to me. Actually im kinda copying your idea of 'internal struggles within the faction itself' in my aar. keep it going man.

[Seleukos I Nikator]

Seleukid AAR ! Just what I need. And I find it very interesting. Keep up, I'll be one of your top readers.

[I of the Storm]

I'm looking forward to your next update!

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 35: A Chain of Gold



The Golden Jackal's howl sounds in the night. A chilly breeze blows from the Hyrkanian - or Caspian - Sea. The carnivore strides the sleeping land, restless and alone. This little creature, despite struggling for its bare existence day by day and night by night, must seem most enviable for another restless and solitary mind, awake under the hyrkanian sky. Its only ambition is to live and to stay alive in the blood of his offspring, the only sorrows it has to bear are its own, the only rules and codes it has to obey are the capacity of its legs and fangs.
The restless and envious mind belongs to a young man, sitting atop a large rock. The man is looking down to the shy and playful dance of the waves, adorned by a magical sparkle of reflected moonlight, and the glimmer of thousands of thousands stars on the clear and indefinite sky, a spectacle so simple and unsophisticated, yet so unfathomably beautiful that its mere sight might make the unguarded man's heart forget to beat, a spell that has to be conceived and cast by an entity of higher virtue and imagination.
But still, this invaluable gift of nature fails to attract the young man's attention, fails to lift his spirits, fails to spark the inspiration, the exaltation which leads people to think the unimaginable and achieve the impossible. Perhaps, in this very moment on the face of earth there is no being with a greater opportunity to experience the divine touch in the simplest things in nature, to feel the freedom to do anything, but still he feels imprisoned, chained to a certain destiny, an inevitable fate, chained with an artful and golden, but firm and heavy chain.
While his mind is traveling through the deepest depths of his emotions, his fingers subconsciously wander along the hem of his Chiton, where they find a small rip in the cloth, an unsteadiness in the garment's flow, the sensation of which allures the finger tips to run along the edge, again and again, unintentionally unraveling threads of the expensive fabric.
The young man's conscience does not perceive this, does not waste effort on what his fingers do, but bathes in the painful solitude of his fortune, enduring the cold grasp which firmly, relentlessly closes around his chest, squeezing his lungs, allowing only a dolorously straining breathing.
A deep sigh heaves from his breast. Is this really what he is supposed to be? Is it not his place to be with his family, with his wife and son? But no longer is this his decision to make, a stronger mind that doesn't tolerate contradiction has made this to be his place, made him, who suffers under his own destiny's weight, a wielder of destiny himself, a king beside the king, a general, a leader, leading men, who can resist his word just as little as he can resist his father's, leading them - to what?
The stars' glow and the night's innocent beauty slowly fade away, as the canopy goes pale and grey, bearing the signs of yet another day. A day, when the soldiers again will look up to him and await his decisions, trusting in his judgment, more than he himself ever could.
Seleukos Kallinikos, joined king of the Arche Seleukeia, slides down from the silent and lonesome rock, which in its intimacy with solitude has been like a sympathetic companion in this late spring night. He feels the cold gravel under his bare feet, sharp edges carving tiny cuts in the skin that is used to be protected by soles of the softest and finest leather in the east. The slight pain which is itching in his feet while slowly walking upwards the rocky beach is an anchor, fixed somewhere in reality, a rope which he gratefully takes to pull himself at least a small way out of the gloom - not of the dying night, but inside his mind. Slowly follows step after step, each one accompanied by a bite from the solidly real gravel, each one carrying him closer to the camp and closer to awareness, each one a small victory for the sense of responsibility, acceptance of the inevitable, hardly won against the desperate cravings of every fiber in his body.
"Who is there?" A barking voice ruptures the barrier build up around his conscience, only a small breach, just enough to make him notice and decide to ignore.
In the moment of cognition the guard gasps and goes down on his knee. "Basileus!" Kallinikos cringes, when the cold grip around his heart closes again, inflicting a sting of pain. A free Hellen on his knee - for him! It was hard enough to accustom to the men abasing themselves in front of his father, paying Proskynesis to the king after his victory over Sarpedon Prodotis - Sarpedon the Traitor - but for himself? Oh, now he was called a king too, still - how could he possibly find himself worthy of this salute?

[I of the Storm]

More please!

[Vasiliyi]

You really know how to use discriptive words there. Awesome stuff once again. I'm guess kallinikos is not going to be like his father?

[Lysimachos]

Thanks to both of you for the continued support!

I'm guess kallinikos is not going to be like his father?

Probably not very much although there might be more parallels than obvious.
When Kallinikos came of age I had a look which of his traits I could work with and I noticed he was pessimistic (later he gets the trait "gloomy", my use of the word "gloom" in the chapter is a hint in that direction) and uncharismatic + some traits regarding his inability to handle people (this was getting better while he was at the academy).
The most obvious difference between them is the fact that Kallinikos is sceptic regarding his own abilities and if he is doing the right thing, while his father has - or at least seems to have - not the slightest doubt about his actions and never falters, which is one thing that makes him so inspiring for the men he leads. The son is also more prone to let his decisions be influenced by ethical motivations unlike the more practical Theos (see the introduction of the Proskynesis for rational reasons, which is against Kallinikos' feelings).

However, not all dice have been cast yet. Theos certainly had a reason to become the heavy drinker that he is (his most obvious weakness) and who knows? Maybe will Kallinikos overcome his inconclusiveness and self-pity and become a strong leader himself...

Maybe not.



Well, I'm planning to retain a strong focus on the characters in the future and there are some things I really look forward to write about. Sadly it spans over a long ingame timeframe and might take many months until I got all of it in the story.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 36: The Moment of Truth

The junior king yawns loudly. Recently he neither sleeps much nor restorative. Deep, dark circles around the bloodshot and only with effort half-opened eyes mark his face, the pale and greyish colour of which makes an unhealthy impression. The metal of his armour and the colour of his clothing are matted from a thin cover of dust. He looks weak and worn out, crookedly sitting on his mount.
He is accompanied by his staff, the leading officers of the army Seleukos Kallinikos has taken under command. The fewest of them seem to be in a much better condition than their Basileus, but at least they mostly strive to maintain a degree of dignity.

When Antiochos went to the west, to Aigyptos, his son travelled in the opposite direction, to the iranian possessions of the Arche. In recent times the incursions into the northern border regions of Hyrkania, Astauene and Margiana had increased to a dimension that could no longer be ignored. Raiding parties of the Dahae and related people were more and more roaming freely in the empire's lands, acting as lords by their own right. It was the father's wish for Seleukos to restore seleucid authority and give a sign that the Arche was capable to defend her subjects.
The largest of those parties, which was headed by Surenmehr, a powerful warlord of the house of Suren, had intruded far into Parthyaia. After some skirmishes Surenmehr decided to retreat, the seleucid army slowly following down to the Caspian Sea and further north. The steppe people, who were always outnumbered, evaded major confrontation time and time again and instead resorted to harass rear- or advance guard and supply troops, steadily drawing Kallinikos behind them.

"Those are too many to be Surenmehr's troops. Anyway, they are sitting on that hill like they want to give us a fight. We should take positions and show them the stock we're made of," barks Lasthenes Akkadikos. He dons his most baneful expression, although a meagre tuft of grass, which has somehow found a way to entangle itself in his beard, does its part in undoing the effect.
Seleukos examines the thin line of light infantry, screened by a larger number of riders, then looks along the columns of his own contingent. He nods. "Yes, form the phalanx. The cavalry stays back, close with the light troops."



Kallinikos' force, more than sixteen thousand souls, line up across from the hill, where the foe has positioned himself. A vibration flows through the ranks and with effort they start to move slowly. Most of the soldiers have little experience at marching in lockstep and need all the help the Auletai, the flautists, can give to follow the tact, the long and heavy Sarissas reaching into the sky. Officers with sticks run up and down the formation, forcing those back into line and rank, who fall behind. Close after the Phalanx, in the centre, where the overview is the best, follows their Strategos.

The enemy sits atop his hill and watches. Patiently he is waiting. Artabarzan, the warlord, has a good eye-sight and he is proficient with the bow. He knows how to use the wind to carry the arrow in its goal, he knows the strength of his men and their bows. He doesn't haste, for he is in no need to waste an arrow. When Artabarzan lifts his arm, he knows his men will hit the mark.

More than three thousand short dark lines rise from the hill, where the parthian footsoldiers stand, firm ground under their feet and strong bows in their hands. The arrows climb into the sky, higher and higher, before they start to fall, lowering down to the approaching army. Many arrows bounce against the lifted shafts of the Sarissas, lose their momentum and drop without effect, but many hit the barely armoured men, with unreduced velocity easily penetrating leather and lives.
The first cries of pain and death are heard, but the line of men only shivers shortly before continuing to crawl towards Artabarzan's humble hill.

With composed mind and calm heart, with deliberateness and steady hand the archers loosen another volley, and another, before Artabazan's mounted warriors join in the concert of snapping bowstrings. Now every single man under the warlord's command is contributing to devastating volleys, each composed of more than eight thousand deadly arrows, while their leader is waiting for his plan to unfold.

It is a terrifying sight, the dark clouds of thousands of simultaneously loosened arrows rapidly approaching, a sight that is able to inspire awe even in the most confident hearts, a sight that mutes all other senses and paralyses the mind, yet still is the phalanx rolling forward, so despondently slow. Quickstep could be in need, but with these untrained men, chaos would ensue, the line would rip apart, rendering the phalanx's strengths non-effective.
"Sire!" Kallinikos turns his head to the right, where Gorgias Dahaikos has stopped his mount and points to the east. There unobserved another band has come up and is now quickly riding over a slight slope, which runs some way to the right of the seleucid host, in full speed already shooting the first arrows into the back of the right flank.
The junior king is petrified, staring at the riders in the east, his horse nervously prancing, while the line is still advancing, unperturbed by the new threat.
His eyes meet Gorgias, who closes up to his king. The adjutant is on the verge to grab Seleukos by the shoulders and yells into his face: "Do something! Now!"

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 37: Shattered Shield

When Seleukos Kallinikos awakes from the apathy, which the shock imposed on him, already twelve thousand bowmen guide their missiles against his army.
"Hold the advance!" the king shouts. "We have to fold in the right to form a crescent and then retreat!" - "Yes, Sire," replies Gorgias with a grim face, relieved that the king has found his balance again, and drives his heels into the flanks of his horse. He dashes along the line to the right, where Lasthenes Akkadikos waits at his wing.

The advancing Phalanx comes to a halt. Its right wing is split into the taxeis, which march backwards, describing a curve, to get to their new position. Very slowly the infantry swings around, still under the constant shower of arrows.
The enemy's horsemen now have reduced the distance to a few dozen feet, shooting from close range and more and more weak points in the phalangites' position result. Then, a horn loudly calls and Artabarzan descends from his hill, at the head of his bodyguard and another squadron of equally heavy armoured riders joins this force. They are clad in iron from tip to toe and their mounts wear strong barding. The horses can't move fast under all that weight, but it seems like once they are going nothing may stop their ride. Artabarzan's light horsemen quickly make way for the cataphracts, while the Dahae Nobles take position right behind.
The fearsome iron-clad men couch their lances and as one wall made of metal charge into the weakened Phalanx, simply shoving the pikes aside, cutting through the formation, which immediately breaks into pieces. The shield is shattered and now the Dahae pour into the gaps.

"Charge!" the general cries and his companions follow him into the fray, a last attempt, not to win the battle, but to gain time for the infantry to retreat. Chaos has already ensued, the soldiers desperately try to escape, the steppe riders chasing them down, only the Hetairoi remain on the field, unavailingly trying to prevent the inevitable, fighting the Kataphraktoi, who seem to be moulded in steel, until the horns call "Retreat!" and the finest soldiers of the empire are also hurrying to flee the battle, flee the plain that bears witness of the humiliating defeat of the junior seleucid Basileus by the hands of robbers and shepherds.




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The photo that I'm using here is actually from a different region, but still has a (slight) connection to the chapter. Who can guess what the picture shows (or is supposed to show, I couldn't check it) gets a balloon

[I of the Storm]

No idea. But this was a great update!