The Legacy of Megas Alexandros - a seleucid AAR

**Brave Brave Sir Robin** · 08-26-2010, 17:39

I'm following. Don't feel discouraged and keep it up.

**Lysimachos** · 09-03-2010, 13:47

Originally Posted by divulse123

Hey man. I loved this AAR back before I left the forums, and I just re-read about the first half. I have not made it to your new chapters yet, but if they keep up the quality, then bravo! I love the Seleucids (historically) so it's nice to get some good alternate history fiction. :) Welcome back!

Originally Posted by Brave Brave Sir Robin

I'm following. Don't feel discouraged and keep it up.

Thank you guys. It will remain a slow process, but I promise it will continue.

**Lysimachos** · 02-03-2011, 23:39

For weak memories:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

And the new chapter, enjoy

Chapter 47: Three Noble Persians

Fravarti closes his eyes and raises both hands to his face to softly rub his lids in a circling motion, but the travails of a laborious day won't go away. He sighs deep and drops his arms. His work is not done yet and lamenting won't help it. Fravarti looks up, searching for Tiz, the shepherd's best friend. Just as Fravarti himself, Tiz is no longer as quick as he once was, but the trusty dog remains the most reliable helper the ageing shepherd has known.
Fravarti frowns, as he can't spot the dog. He sounds a sharp whistle and perks up his ears in search for a reply. There, in the distance sounds barking. Shivers run down his spine, as Fravarti notices, it is not Tiz calling. He spins around, whistles once again for his dog and starts running toward the sound, his fingers nervously reaching for the pouch of sling-stones.
Then the shepherd spots Tiz, running towards him, and further away another dog, unknown to him. It is a huge mastiff, Fravarti realizes and the thoughts run through his mind. For generations the Persians have bred and trained wardogs, fearless animals that, following Alexandros and the advent of hellenism, have been exported all over the known world, where they are drilled to fight man and beast alike. A predator like this could easily rip him and Tiz both into pieces. A lucky shot with the sling, perhaps, but then?
An animal like this, carefully bred and trained, is an extraordinary luxury, only a wealthy man could afford such a specimen and which nobleman would hold an old shepherd's life higher than his hound's?
A voice calls out: “Karda!” and from one moment to the next the huge dog flips around and runs to where its master approaches. Tiz arrives at Fravarti's feet and the shepherd goes on his knees, both so he can comfort his scared quadruped and so he will not offend whoever commands Karda, the warlike spirit. When he lifts his gaze, Fravarti spots a rider, only a young man, but everything in his affectation seems... excessive, out of place. He wears his hair and attire in the way of the Persians of the old days of glory, clad in the finest of silks, riding a horse worth a few towns. His face shows pride, but also a certain softness, a merciful touch of divinity. Beside his leg a quiver with bow and arrows reveal his intent to be the hunter's occupation. The hound frolics around his master's horse's legs, but the playful sparkle in his eyes cannot conceal the deadly threat.
Not far behind two more riders follow the one. Just as he, they wear the attire of old nobility and over their horses they have attached, with surprising craftsmanship, a holding from which a hind of red deer is dangling.
“Rise, good man,” their leader speaks in a soft voice and, with hesitation, Fravarti follows his command. “Say, what is your name?” The eyes still directed to the ground, he answers. “I am the shepherd Fravarti, my lord. You are too kind to inquire, my lord.” - “A shepherd you are. Tell me, Fravarti, where do you live?” - “It is not far from here, my lord. My village lies that way, my lord.”
Fravarti covertly watches as the rider looks towards the horizon, slightly nodding.
“My lord, if you suffer me asking, what leads three noble Persians such as you to these humble hills?” Bright laughter sounds from the young man's mouth, confusing the old shepherd, for he does not know what funny thing he may have said.
“You see, Fravarti, the days grows old and we have strayed too far from the city to reach it in time. So, if you choose to invite us to your home for this night, we will invite you and your people to our hind. What do you think of that, Shepherd Fravarti?”
Knowing, he indeed has no choice in the matter, and cursing the day, he accepts. “My lord, I know of no honour greater than that. But, my lord, whom shall I announce to my people?” - “Rightly you ask, Fravarti. I know your name, so you shall know mine. I am called Euphorion and I ride with the princes Miltidades and Xenoitas.”

**Roka** · 02-04-2011, 18:33

re-read this entire story recently, glad to see your still updating it from time to time

**Lysimachos** · 02-04-2011, 22:03

Originally Posted by Roka

re-read this entire story recently, glad to see your still updating it from time to time

Glad you are glad

Thanks for the comment!

Chapter 48: The Fruit of Trust

Antiochos is leaning forward heavily on his steed, his eyes are dry and his front is wet of sweat. He is just standing there, breathing heavily, while trying to suppress the vicious headache and watching.
“Sire,” a voice raises behind him. The king recognizes the speaker, but he doesn't lift his gaze from the city across the plain. “Athenaios, what ails you?”
“Basileus, we cannot go on like this. The situation is becoming severe, the men are weak and soon there will be nothing left to eat. Perhaps we should put down the elephants.”Antiochos' voice seems absent, when he answers: “Trust me, Atheniaos, trust me. It's what you do, isn't it?” - “My life is yours, Sire,” is the Hetairos' stoic reply.
“So I have all the more reason to keep it safe. You are dismissed, Athenaios.

A smile plays around Antiochos' embrittled lips. His instinct has never let him down and it won't this time. The day has come that the Pharaoh's son has been lured out behind his walls.

An air of relieve surrounds the men. They are tired of idleness and welcome the coming action as a refuge from the relentlessness of hunger, a foe that can't be hit or hurt, and for them this battle is a giver of hope, something to cling to.
Antiochos rides along the line and he watches the soldiers' faces. They are emaciated and weakened, but still faithful and today their face shall be rewarded.

Terpnos, the ptolemaic Strategos, is an experienced commander, but, just as many of Antiochos' enemies have done to their own peril, he values numbers to much. A small reinforcement from downstream, turning the numbers in his favour, is enough to prompt him to test the seleucids' strength in battle.

Antiochos positions his Taxeis in a thin line. Thin, but strong enough to hold for some time. Just as many of his enemies before, Terpnos has no means to counter the king's horseman and he marches with a plan, damned from the beginning. His army is swept away and scattered into the four winds, leaving behind the Diospolis, like a fruit ripe for the taking.

From the moment that Antiochos had turned his army south, toward upper Egypt, the ptolemaic bureaucracy and military started working on one goal: hindering his campaign by denying him the supplies to feed his army. It almost worked, bringing the army to the brink of dissolution, but ironically the bursting storages of Thebes, where all the riches of upper Aigytos have been brought to, now feed the invaders' host.

Athenaios and Kratippos, another Hetairos, have started to register the supplies, suddenly made available behind the city's gates. It is a huge task and so the two Hetairoi inspect the laden magazines. “So,” Kratippos comments at the sight of a long row of Amphoras filled with egyptian wine, “first things first. The king's temper is taken care of.”
Athenaios glances at his companion. “You didn't know? Ah, yes, you were with the rearguard. The king hasn't drunken a drop of it in weeks.”

**Lysimachos** · 02-27-2011, 22:32

The next update will show you how badly I suck with pictures. It's the lack of practice, I'm sure.

Have fun.

Chapter 49: The Watch on the Margos

Over the last centuries the pressure from the nomadic barbarians against the north-eastern border of the Arche continually increased. Two pillars still hold them back: In the east, between the hordes of the Sakai nomads and the central iranian uplands stands the junior king of the seleukid house with his tribal and mercenary army. The victory against Hagana costed a bitter price, but Seleukos Kallinikos clings to the southern parts of Margiane, his right flank leaning firmly against the Margos river, that runs from south to north through the province.
In the west stands Gorgias Dahaikos, Seleukos' closest friend, guarding Parthyaia against the Dahae.

The king knows, it is only a matter of time. He knows, he will not hold the enemy for ever, but does he have another choice?

When again the barbarians come, Kallinikos lines his troops up with their back protected by the river's bank.

Again, he commands the larger force, but is aware that another victory like the last may be his army's end. A cloud of worries hangs over his head, when the Sakai position themselves in the west.

While the nomads have masterful archers among their ranks, the sheer number of missiles favour the Basileus' Iranians.

Lijugula, the barbarian commander, throws his army forward against the seleukid line.

The attack is vicious, but soon repelled by the greater numbers and the battle finally is decided, when Lijugula's heavy horsemen turn around and flee.

It is a second victory against the Sakai for the young king, but he turns back south with half the army with which he came, leaving southern Margiane behind to the Sakai.

**Lysimachos** · 03-07-2011, 13:34

Chapter 50: Rock Bottom

Heavy, angry steps approach from the corridor. “Deja vu,” mumbles Ikadion, cowering in the corner of the cold and dark cellar-room. The door is violently thrown open and a torch's flickering shine illuminates the chamber and the lord of the house. The stout Nomarch enters and puts the torch into a fixture next to the door. Behind him the weasel-faced man comes in and closes the door.
“So, Babylonios.” The Nomarch looks down on the picture of misery that is left of the former poet of class and epicurean.
“I hope your accommodations are to your satisfaction.” - “Indeed they are. Too much light is not good to my eyes. Thank you for asking, anyway,” is Ikadion's dry reply.
“Stand up!,” commands the Nomarch. “I've been told you were close with Sarpedon.” - “I suppose, you could come to that conclusion.” - “Then you must know him well, know how his methods and weaknesses. I can be very grateful for adequate advice,” he looks around, pointing to the naked, cold walls, “and I understand there have been times when you were used to a very different standard of living. I can make that true again.”
Ikadion smirks. “You want me to help you understand what kind of a man Sarpedon is, but you should let it go. You do not have the mind to comprehend him.”
“You dare mocking me under my roof!” the stout man shouts enraged. The sudden impact of his fist on Ikadion's jaw is so hard that a pain travels along his arm and the Babylonian is struck to the ground. Ikadion groans and rolls on his side, blood dripping from his mouth. “It is my nature, I can't help it,” he mumbles with effort.
The Nomarch stands above Ikadion, grips the long curly hair and pulls him up. “If there is anything useful at all, you better talk now, Babylonios.” - “What do you expect me to tell you?” Ikadion grunts. “He made me lose everything and by now I haven't seen him for years.” Again he spits blood and sighs deeply. “Although it doesn't much look like it right now, you are man with a code of moral convictions, Nomarchos. There are things you would not consider doing and there are other things which are even unthinkable to you. To Sarpedon, such a thing does not exist. It takes a deeply immoral man to understand Sarpedon's mind in its full beauty.”
Ikadion sinks to the ground as his hair is released. “You scum are a waste of my time.” - “You take him for weak, but his teeth are poisonous. I tell you, watch your back and beware the trickery.” The Nomarchos snorts and turns to go.
“What shall I do with him?” asks the Weasel. “I don't care, I have no use for him any more.”

(In case you don't remember who Ikadion is, check chapters 16, 18, 28 and 31)

**Pyrrhus The Great** · 03-30-2011, 05:53

Great work one of the best AAR's Ive read so far.

**Lysimachos** · 04-02-2011, 13:24

Originally Posted by Pyrrhus The Great

Great work one of the best AAR's Ive read so far.

Thank you.

I'm sorry for not checking the thread lately, but at the moment I'm a bit distracted with a Shogun 2 AAR I recently started. I haven't posted it here on the .org (yet), but if you click here, you can find it on TWC.

I'm still working on this too, but the next chapter is in a way a rather tough one, that resists getting into any useable form

**Imperator Invictus** · 04-16-2011, 14:26

Definitely in the top 3 EB AARs
I liked it, thanks Lysimachos

**Lysimachos** · 07-13-2011, 13:52

Chapter 51: A Rural Beauty

Euphorion and his cousins are in no hurry. They slowly ride into the sunset, while the shepherd Fravarti runs ahead to tell his village the news about their royal visitors. When they finally arrive, the villagers have gathered in the central place.
Fravarti, the shepherd, hurries to meet them and goes on his knees. One moment he shies away from Karda's drivelling snout, but he collects himself and addresses the royal guests.
“My noble princes, I welcome you in our midst. Please, let us take care of your horses and join us for the feast.”
The cousins dismount from their exquisite arabian horses and Euphorion magnanimously accepts Fravarti's welcome. “Rise and show us where we are seated.” - “As you wish, my prince.”

The common men stay on their knees, as the royal princes stride among them, led to their seats of honour, which are elevated above those of the villagers. The three cousins, ignorant of the lesser men's perspective, do not know it, but their visit – as much as it may be an honour – is also a curse for the lowly villagers. They dread the anger of the powerful and so they have clad themselves into their finest garments and they have prepared the finest of their foods, not to disappoint their betters.

The cousins take their seats and Fravarti carefully places himself at their feet, close – nay, too close – to the king's son's huge hound's muscular body. A number of men proceed to prepare the hind over the fireplace and an ensemble of villagers with lyre, flute and drum strikes up.
Fravarti's wife presents the guests with cups of wine and the cousins, unaware of the uncomfortable mood around them, start an unwound conversation.

Not much later the sun has retreated into her resting place and Fravarti announces: “My noble princes, now the maidens of our village will perform a traditional dance in your honour, if you please.”

Euphorion is just about to end a sentence, when he looks over to where three young of the village start to move to the rhythm, performing a centuries old persian dance for their community's royal guests. He loses his thought and himself, when his gaze meets the deep, dark eyes of one of the girls. The world fades away and only she remains and the rhythm guiding the movement of her tender body. Euphorion breathes heavily and only slowly comes back the awareness of his surroundings, after the young women finished the dance and went off. At first his voice failed him, but then he touches Fravarti at the shoulder and asks: “Who is that girl, the third one?”

The pupils in the shepherd's eyes widen in terror. Hesitantly he responds: “She is Esmet, my only daughter.” - “Esmet.” Fravarti's heart beats wildly in his chest while he watches the prince's gaze wander off into the distance. Then it breaks out: “I will not have you make her your whore,” he gasps, but as their eyes meet his heart almost stops. What madness has befallen me?

Euphorion bends down towards the shepherd and whispers: “It takes courage to talk to me that way and I appreciate courage. Fravarti the shepherd, I promise you, I will court her and I will make her my princess and there is not a force in the world that can stop me from doing so.”

(for context see chapter 47)

**Populus Romanus** · 07-14-2011, 15:27

Good to see work started on this again.

**Lysimachos** · 07-14-2011, 21:10

Originally Posted by Populus Romanus

Good to see work started on this again.

Indeed. I had a blast starting to write again yesterday, I couldn't really stop myself. I just don't want to post too much at once. :-)

**Lysimachos** · 07-15-2011, 06:34

Chapter 52: Swords and Spears

As always, a grim stone face hides the Basileus' thoughts and feelings from the world around him. He never was prone to talk more than necessary, but in the last months the soldiers witnessed their king becoming close-lipped. Giving up the wine mitigated his mood swings, but it didn't seem to better his mood in general.

Antiochos spends much of his time walking the streets of the city, which for now provides the base for his army: Diospolis Megale – the great city of Zeus, Thebai, formerly the proud capital of upper Aigyptos. It is a city beyond its former glory, a shadow, a reminder of transience. Is this what aggrieves the king? No longer is he a young man. What ambitions are still locked in his taciturn heart? So close to everlasting greatness – two weeks by boat to Alexandreia, where the Seleukid's Nemesis, Ptolemaios Philadelphos, reigns, two weeks to the grave of Alexandros.

Alexandreia is the mirror image of Diospolis: A rising star, a blooming flower and for Theos the scene of revenge and the gateway to eternal glory. With Philadelphos defeated, who could dare and resist the Seleukids' iron fist? The prize of a lifetime, so close, but still so far away.

“What is it that bothers you, Kratippos? Speak your mind,” commands the king. “Basileus,” begins the Hetairos, “the men have greatly enjoyed the opportunity to rest, but there is talk. They wonder, why we remain here and don't take action.”

Antiochos nods understandingly and turns to Athenaios. “My friend Athenaios, tell me about the situation of our supplies.” - “Sire, we have great amounts of food at our disposal. We could easily afford a campaign of considerable length.”

Again, the king nods. “You see, Kratippos, my friend, an army is nothing without food and water, but food and water are nothing without an army. Coming here, we have lost many of our men, too many. Still each of them is worth three of our enemies, but Philadelphos' reserves are more than thrice our numbers. To win the war, we don't need more bread, we need more swords and spears and men to wield them.”

Antiochos pauses, as a patrol passes and salutes their king, their living god of war, who walks among them.

“The Nubians are no friends of Ptolemaios and neither are the Aithiopioi. And also many Machimoi have only to gain by supporting me. Unlike my forefathers have the Ptolemaioi never bothered to make their people one with the people they rule. They mimic egyptian customs, but they will never be egyptian. I am heterogenes, a bearer of both greek and persian blood. I am the living testament to the unity of the great peoples, to the dream of Alexandros. The Machimoi know that. Under Ptolemaios they can never be more than lowly servants, but under my rule they can become Satraps, Generals or Princes. We raise them into our army and then, then we will march down the Nhile.”

**Lysimachos** · 07-18-2011, 19:16

Chapter 53: Ill-Fated

South, further into Iran, into the province Aria is Seleukos Kallinikos headed with his army. Behind him, the Sakai warbands. Thank the gods, they don't seem to be in a hurry: The Sakai could move quicker, if they wanted and they hit hard when they want to. A depressing sight indeed: the marching host, by a hair eluded destruction – for now.

Kallinikos, who rides at the front of his host, notices a rider, who quickly catches up and passes the marching army. Bad news, without a doubt, sighs the junior king. He turns his mount and awaits the messenger, who dismounts from his exhausted horse. Seleukos watches the man catching his breath, before he commands: “What evil tidings to you bear, messenger? What ghastly shadow do you carry to darken this hour?” - “Sire, I ride by the command of the Satrapes of Parthyaia. The Dahae have marched on Hekatompylos and met us in battle.”

“So spit it out, man!” grunts the king impatiently.

“Sire, the battle was badly lost and Strategos Gorgias has fallen.”

“Is all lost then?” whispers the king with a feeble voice.

“The enemy warlord has been wounded and the army has turned back north. The city is safe for now, Basileus,” explains the messenger, but his king doesn't listen any more. The one person in the world whom he called his friend was gone. He feels a great emptiness inside. But this is not the time to mourn! “I see you in the afterlife, my friend,” mumbles Seleukos.

With a sudden outcry of anger he pulls his horse around. “Aspianas!” he shouts and the courtier, who has served the Seleukids as an emissary many times breaks away from the entourage and awaits his king's command.

“Aspianas, I need you to ride to Baktra. If we want to survive this, we can't allow us to keep on sulking, but we must work together. Bring Theodotos my offer: I pledge to recognize him as Basileus and sovereign over Baktria and in return I ask for active military support against the Sakai. Eat and drink now, but then ride day and night. We are but a breeze away from toppling over.”

(To avoid confusion: The Aspianas mentioned - a diplomate - is not the same as the one in the battle screenshot. They just incidentally share names.)

**Vasiliyi** · 08-07-2011, 01:13

Finally caught up! Its been a good read, and I had to go back and go back and refresh myself. Im looking forward to more.

**Lysimachos** · 08-16-2011, 08:01

Originally Posted by Vasiliyi

Finally caught up! Its been a good read, and I had to go back and go back and refresh myself. Im looking forward to more.

I'm glad to see you are still following. I hope the inconsistency of my posting here is not too much of a bother.

**Lysimachos** · 08-18-2011, 15:09

Chapter 54: For the Realm

“My Master,” the eunuch carefully whispers in Sarpedon's ear, who indignantly shakes his head and looks up from his desk. “What is it now?” - “The Pharaoh has requested your presence. A little bird told me, this request was issued on behalf of your... friend...” - “I see,” mumbles Sarpedon through his finely trimmed beard.

The two hurry down the far reaching corridors of the palace. Philadelphos has been a benevolent host to Sarpedon, but it is never a good idea to let a king wait. As they reach the Pharaoh's audience chamber the eunuch dutifully stays back and the seleukid king's brother proceeds alone. Ptolemaios, marked by the signs of his age, awaits him seated behind a massive marmoreal desk. To the table's right hand side sits the Nomarch, who acknowledges the newcomer with his most scornful look.

“My dear guest,” the Pharaoh begins to speak slowly, ”I hope you are well. A proposal regarding the nature of your sojourn in these halls has been brought to my attention and I choose to hear your own thoughts on the matter.” He turns to his right and signals the Nomarch to take the floor. “Would you mind to reiterate what you told me?”

“It is my pleasure,” states the stout man, while rising from his seat. “We are at war, my king, and the enemy stands deep inside the realm. While we, the members of the court, ... appreciate the presence of your guest, we cannot forget, that the empire is in a time of need. One thing, which it needs especially, are educated noble men to lead its taxeis into battle. I could, in fact,” – he rests his gaze on Sarpedon – “use a gifted man like our guest here in my own staff. I believe, his service for the mutual cause would provide him with an excellent opportunity to show his gratitude for savoured hospitality, which already lasts several years.”

This is all you can do, amusing, but pitiful. Sarpedon imperceptibly shakes his head. “What say you,” addresses him the old king.

“My lord, as you know, I am not a military man. My value in your court lies elsewhere. I have eyes and ears in every harbour, in every city and on every trading route. My services here can be invaluable, but in the field I have no access to my contacts, while in battle I can't contribute anything more than the next man. I do not like to brag and far be it from me to presume myself more than a puny tool, but sending me away means cutting out one's own eye.”

Philadelphos looks back and forth from one rival to the other. “You are, of course, both right,” he reflects, inciting expectations in both men. “I would greatly appreciate your service as an officer,” he addresses Sarpedon and the Nomarch's corners of the mouth start pointing up. “But I do value your contributions from here.” The smile fades from the Nomarch's broad face. “I would also miss our delighting conversations.” A suppressed grunt sounds from his right. “Therefore I shall grant both your wishes to the same extent.”

The two men watch the Basileus with confusion, while he leans back graciously. “Scribe,” he calls and from the back of the chamber a dutiful servant hurries to his king's side. “Let it be known that, by order of Pharaoh Ptolemaios Philadelphos, Beloved of Amun, Chosen of Re, and so on and so on, henceforth Sarpedon of the house of Seleukos is appointed commander of the royal household guard. Royal seal, yadda, yadda,” he waves the servant away.

For a moment the Pharaoh squinches up his face. “From now on you will serve me both as an officer and a master of spies. Do I have your fealty, Sarpedon of the house of Seleukos?”

Sarpedon notices with satisfaction the deep sigh coming from the Nomarch and he takes the liberty to construe the Pharaoh's expression as an impish grin. “As always, oh gracious lord, my loyalty is all yours.” - “You are then dismissed, both of you,” the king rises from his seat, looks his two subjects in their eyes and with sudden energy and sharpness in his voice he ends the meeting: “I shan't have any more of this matter!”

**Arthur, king of the Britons** · 08-23-2011, 17:16

Just finished reading the whole thing. Simply wonderful, keep it up.

**Lysimachos** · 08-25-2011, 18:03

Originally Posted by Arthur, king of the Britons

Just finished reading the whole thing. Simply wonderful, keep it up.

Thank you! New chapter coming up!

**Lysimachos** · 08-25-2011, 18:04

Chapter 55: Passion and Pride

Euphorion diligently inspects his image in the polished silver mirror. He pauses shortly, only to proceed by carefully aligning his hair. He is a vain young man and a special occasion demands special care. Time has past since he first met Esmet, the shepherd's girl. It became habit to secretly ride out to her village. Now he would finally elope and make her his wife.

He breathes deeply before he forced himself to turn away from the mirror and rush to the door. He peeks into the corridor to the right, then to the left – and jerks back as a grim, fat face stares into his. It is the grey, old Satrapes Andromachos, a nephew of Antiochos Soter and appointed as Euphorion's guardian by Antiochos Theos.

“Excellency, what brings me the honour?” the young man stammers.

“Where do you think you are going, young man?” Andromachos hisses and lays his heavy hands on Euphorion's shoulders and pushes his young cousin forcefully against the wall. - “Wha..., what are you talking about? I wasn't going anywhere.”
“Don't what me, son, do you take me for a senile fool? You damn well know what I'm talking about!” Euphorion turns his face away, when he feels drops of the old man's spit on his skin.

“Tell me, are you out of your mind?” Andromachos, who is known for the soft hand, with which he rules the Satrapy, raises his voice in anger.
“If your father learned I'd let you do that, he'd spill my guts and do worse to you. You have the blood of the king, you are a commodity for him to give and only for him. How dare you presume to steal from your father and run off to marry yourself to a damn shepherd?”

“I love her,” Euphorion barely gets through his lips, earning only an angry grunt from the Satrap of Persis. Andromachos pulls him to the door and pushes him into the chamber. Euphorion struggles to maintain his balance, but before he can turn around, he is pushed again and narrowly avoiding a table he succeeds to support himself against the wall.

“Love,” Andromachos spits in his ear. “By the hound of hell, what do you think you know about love? You are still a boy who just found out how to use his cock. She may be your favourite plaything, but that is all she is and you will find another one. No one denies you that, but get that foolish idea of marriage out of your stupid, empty head.”

The Satrap turns his cousin around and stares in his eyes. Euphorion looks away and whispers: “I understand. I will not marry her. Just let me arrange for the wedding to be cancelled.” - “Oh, don't you worry, I already sent someone to take care of that. I must, however, make sure that you learn your lesson. You will never see her again, are we clear on that?”

After a long pause, Euphorion gives in, at least on the surface. “Yes, we are.”

“Just so we understand each other: There will be two guards at your door and they will not let you leave this chamber without my permission.”

As soon as the door closes behind the Satrap, Euphorion rushes to his chamber's window. Silently he opens the shutters and leans out. Below runs a narrow ledge along the wall. Euphorion climbs out and stands on the ledge, leaning against the wall. He takes a deep breath and starts to slowly move. Carefully avoiding to be seen, he finally arrives at his destination few rooms further. The young man quietly knocks on the shutters and after a pause again, louder this time.

Finally they open and the inhabitant discovers his visitor on the ledge. “What are you doing out there? Have you caught a fever?”

“Xenoitas, quiet! I need your help. Your father has learned about Esmet and forbids me to leave. I need to see her! Where is Miltidades?” - “He is away, running an errand for father. I am not sure, how I could help you,” Xenoitas hesitantly answers, while Euphorion climbs into the room.

“He is running an... It was him, wasn't it? Miltidades told him!” Euphorion cries out.
Xenoitas takes his cousin by the shoulders. “No, he did not. I did.” The two young men stare at each other motionlessly, until Xenoitas breaks the silence. “He is my father. I can't let him be punished for your caprices, as much as I love you.”

Euphorion breaks free. “It doesn't matter now. I have to see her,” he insists.

“Don't go,” Xenoitas implores. “There is nothing for you any more.”

Euphorion stares at his cousin, with effort processing what happens around him. He shakes his head with contempt. “What have you done?” - “What I had to do.”- “Then brothers we are no more.”

The prince climbs out again and stands on the narrow ledge. Xenoitas watches him in silence, until Euphorion sounds an outcry of anger and frustration, before painfully slowly returning into his comfortable prison cell.

**Titus Marcellus Scato** · 08-30-2011, 16:57

Wow! What an AAR. Never seen one before in which a Crushing Defeat is suffered by the human-controlled faction. Brilliant stuff! I really wish that battle had been described in more detail.

**Lysimachos** · 09-01-2011, 08:21

Originally Posted by Titus Marcellus Scato

Wow! What an AAR. Never seen one before in which a Crushing Defeat is suffered by the human-controlled faction. Brilliant stuff! I really wish that battle had been described in more detail.

Thank you. The battle was auto-resolved, so I don't really deserve the credit for the defeat (although I believe I used the auto_win cheat to make sure I lose the battle). Since it didn't have any of my (blood-related) main characters in it, I thought it wasn't fitting to describe it in detail, though it had to be mentioned to show how the Palahva grow ever more bold and dangerous.

**Titus Marcellus Scato** · 09-01-2011, 11:46

Ah, I see. I never auto-resolve land battles where an FM on either side is involved, so rarely have crushing defeats.

**Lysimachos** · 06-08-2014, 19:13

A small reminder:

Spoiler Alert, click show to read:

Chapter 56: Down Neilos

Sharp steel cuts the air with a hiss. “Maaaaarch!” A shudder goes through the ranks before they set themselves in motion, the sound of thousands of nailed soles echoing like thunder, accompanied by the nervous trumpeting of Antiochos' fearsome grey asians.

“What do you say now, Kratippos, that we march again?” - “Basileus, I'm looking forward to do what I do best, killing the foes of my king,” answers the trusted Hetairos.
A hoarse laugh sounds from the king's mouth. “I see my Kratippos has found his spirits again!” With a shout he drives his steed forward, galloping ahead, but then he turns around, with a broad smile on his face awaiting his Hetairoi catching up. “To the north,” he shouts, “to the sea, to Alexandreia!”

The host of Antiochos Theos has grown again: Machimoi, Nubaioi and Aithiopioi have joined ranks with the seleukid king. Some of them are mere mercenaries, but others fight for the prospect of advancement. The old nobility of Kemet knows that they never will be more than lowly servants to Ptolemaios, but they sense the smell of opportunity surrounding the charismatic warrior-king and those of them who dare now ride with him.

Laden with all supplies it can carry, the army quickly advances along the Neilos. At Hermoupolis, just past half way between Thebes and Memphis, the army crosses over to the western bank. The king marches past Memphis, he does not deign to give it a second look. His designs lie elsewhere - in Alexandreia – and he is not a fool in whom the ease of the march north could induce any illusion about the power that Philadelphos still wields and whether he himself has any strength to waste.

The enemy does not give battle, but as certain as day follows night and night follows day is he gathering, just out of sight. Not far from the great Metropolis lies a small Polis, chosen by the king for its walls. Here he puts up his banner and sets himself up in the largest manor. Here the ptolemaic armies make their first tentative approaches since the Diospolis was left behind. Swept away like vermin by the Neilos' great flood are the fools who challenge the man, determined to reforge the image of the world in war's hot blazing flames.

Antiochos gathers the Hetairoi in his humble hall. “You can almost smell the sea, can you not?” he muses with a smirk. “But now, retire and rest well, for in the morrow we will ride and have a look at Alexandreia.”

**Lysimachos** · 06-10-2014, 16:03

Chapter 57: Zeionises

“Sound the retreat,” Seleukos Kallinikos grunts through his teeth. “Sound the retreat,” his order is relayed and the horns sound over the battlefield. Another defeat – and what a kind. Granted, it may have been doomed from the start. The derisive words of the Saka emissary still are burned into Seleukos' memory. “My lord Zeionises has no regard for your begging,” he had said. “My lord Zeionises does not care whether you now fall on your swords or be killed by his warriors. My lord Zeionises will have his herds graze on your land, whether you fight him or not. You are weak and there just is nothing you can do about that.” How aggrieving to know he might be right.

Dayuan, Sogdiane, Margiane, Astauene, Hyrkania and sooner or later Aria, Parthyaia: The list of provinces fallen to one kind of nomads or the other steadily grows. For now the Basileus takes refuge in Aria. He is brooding over maps that give no answers, only headaches.

The drapes at his tent's entrance rustle as they give way to a guard entering. “Basileus, your wife is here.”

Seleukos is caught unprepared. “My wife – here?” He takes a moment to gather himself. “Send her in and leave us.”

Agathe, his wife of no longer few years, enters, looking older than when last they met, but who could be surprised? It has been years. “My lord husband,” she greets him and goes down on one knee.

“Rise, rise, my love” her king and husband implores. “What brings you here, to this forsaken piece of land?” - “I have come to comfort you in these dire times. On my journey hereto I visited nobles and cities, reminding them of their duty and my journey back I will do so again.”

Agathe gently pets the king's beard. “I also thought you might want to know about your son. He is a truly dauntless adventurer, that little one. Seleukos Nikomachos will make a great warrior one day.” - “So he will,” Kallinikos muses.

“You worry too much, my lord husband. Take this one day to think about what is good in life and you can start worrying all over again tomorrow.”

**Lysimachos** · 06-12-2014, 18:40

Chapter 58: Terrors of the Night

“It is unwise to remain out here,” insists the Weasel and his master concedes: “Perhaps you are right. Their hubris made the fools Pasikrates and Lampon into dead fools. I would not want pride make me join them.”

The Nomarch reaches out to his right hand man. “You ride to the city and organize carriages and an escort to fetch my possessions. In the morning I will take the remaining guards and meet up with Hermon, discuss strategy.”

He sighs. “It saddens me to leave the estate empty, but you have the right of it, it would be folly to remain with the enemy so close by.”

“As you command, my lord. I will need to leave soon, if I want to reach Alexandreia before nightfall.” - “Do so. I leave the details to you, you have my trust, use your best discretion.”

The master of the house retires, but sleep does not come easily and in the middle of the night he wakes with a start, finding himself exhausted from a disturbing dream in his thoroughly sweat-soaked bed. He rolls from his sleeping place, groaning.

Semi-somnolently he stumbles through the dark, to the water bowl to alleviate the distress. He moistens his heated face and sighs, when he catches an unfamiliar sound. Water still dropping from his beard, he exits into the corridor.

Wandering through the dark halls, he spots a shadow passing by. “You there, slave, what's the disturbance?” A torch's light falls on a strange face.

“Who are you?” demands the Nomarch. A fighter's instinct prompts him to turn around, just in time to see a blade flash in the dark. His left catches the attackers forearm and his right rushes forward to punch the smaller man's face – the massive golden rings crushing bone on impact. With an angry roar he pushes forward and drives the blade in the stunned attacker's own belly.

Pain surges through him when a second blade enters his back. He throws himself backwards and the assassin lets out a moan when he is squashed between the heavy man and the stone wall.

The Nomarch stumbles, turns around. The assassin has regained his balance and thrusts his dagger forward. The blow is deflected, but the blade bites deep into the Nomarch's thigh. The big man grunts of pain while his hands close like a vice around the assassins neck. His injured leg gives in under his weight and both men sink to the ground conjoined in mortal struggle. Blood splatters the wall as the stranger's skull crashes against it. Blind rage strengthens the nobleman's arms and again and again he hurls the other's head into the stone, again and again until his strength fades and he sinks to the floor, his opponent's life long gone from this world.

**Lysimachos** · 06-16-2014, 16:27

Chapter 59: To cast a Noose

“I must admit, I am guilty of a crass underestimation. I have never seen the likes of this.” The city of Alexandreia stretches along the coast of the mediterranean sea, across the island of Pharos. Its southern side is protected by another body of water, the lake Mareotis. The western and eastern sides of the city are open to the land, but massive fortifications surround it.

“If this city can be taken without a fleet, it must be done with a wide grasp. I need to control the river and the hinterland, then perhaps I will be able to control the city. So, let us ride south again and cast a noose around Ptolemaios' neck,” Antiochos shouts angrily.

He returns to his base and breaks camp, setting out for Memphis with his army. Memphis lies not far south of the Delta, where the Neilos still runs in one stream. It was the capital of Kemet for many native dynasties and still remains to be the second largest city in Aigyptos.

The Basileus' enemies take his turn for weakness and fiercely pursue him. Their numbers are overwhelming, but they cannot succeed.

On the way along the densely populated Delta Antiochos sends out his men to makedonian Kleroi, enlisting every willing man into his Phalanx. With newly enlarged numbers he meets the defenders of Memphis in the field.

Before the end of the year, the city is taken and the king can start to knot his noose.

**Lysimachos** · 07-02-2014, 17:27

Chapter 60: Blessings of Family

The soldier winces, as lightning bathes the metropolis in white light and a roaring clap of thunder erupts in the sky right above him. It is deep into the night, but Seleukeia does not sleep. Her people wake in anguish for the tempest to move on, praying to mighty Zeus to spare their lives and homes.
So does the lonely soldier. As of now he still is protected from the pouring rain by the overreaching ceiling, but he knows, soon he will receive the message he has to carry to his lord and king, with haste and without rest. Shivers run down his spine and he wraps himself even tighter into his coat.
He feels a gentle touch on his shoulder and when he turns he looks into his steed's dark, anxious eyes.
“Here, here,” he mumbles and gently strokes the horse's forehead. Filled with worries he glances into the turmoil in the night sky, when suddenly the ground starts shaking under his feet. He instinctively braces himself and wraps his arms around the mount's neck, but the tremor subsides as suddenly as it came and – like it was swept away by Zeus' own hands – the storm is cast into the four winds. The thick layer of clouds rips apart and opens up the view unto the night sky, where the moon benignly offers his light, so unlike the brutal terror of the previous lightning storm.
The soldier respires in relief and he relishes the silence after the storm. Somewhere in the distance he believes to hear a baby cry.

The doors open abruptly and an older man in priest's attire steps out. The torch in his hand illuminates a face, red of excitement. The soldier straightens himself and turns around towards the priest.

“You are the messenger, I presume?” asks the man in a hoarse voice. - “Yes, I am,” replies the soldier and tightens his grip around the reins.

“Good. Go and tell the king he has a second son. Both child and mother are alive and healthy. And tell him this: The gods watch the boy with favour and his steps will make the earth tremble.”

* * *

“It must be the fever,” murmurs Seleukos Kallinikos. Rest can not be allowed and neither can weakness. He is struggling to remain straight in his saddle, for he cannot allow his lack of strength be seen, not now, not here.

Is it really a feverish dream, the armed host crawling down into the valley from the south? The sick junior king convinces himself that the armed men are no creation of his impaired mind and he calls out: “Who rides there? What is your allegiance?”

A small group of noblemen rides ahead of the newcomers and their leader, who must have recognized his insignia, addresses the king: “My divine Basileus, I am here to serve you,” before approaching further.

“Basileus,” he continues, “I present to you an army, raised by the nobles of Persis and Media following the call of the Queen, your wife. I do not begrudge that you do not recognize my person, for we were mere children when last we met. My king, it is me, Euphorion, your little brother.”

**Cadwalader** · 08-13-2014, 13:36

Rarely do you see someone pick up an AAR years after the last update. I enjoyed this and I hope to see more from you in EB or EBII!

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