Life in Royal Scythia has never been an easy one. Something a young Demetheriia had learned early. In Scythia only three things mattered: Your Horse , Your Woman , and Glory. Glory could only be gotten through battle. Gold, Women, Conquest. The noble leader of the Scythian kingdom had to bring all of this to his people... But how? The whole world belonged to Scythia. It was just a matter of how to conquer it.
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A nice ride would clear his thoughts. So he set out with a small group to think. Riding west the noble lord or the horse came upon a small town. Owned by a strange filthy people. The Catiaroi. "This is it!" he exclaimed before his mind could compose his royal stature. These people.... these vermin must be driven out. West is the direction in which we must march. So march he did. After years of careful preparation. The young king was to test himself in battle for the first time.
The large mounted army swept into Olbia. Killing mercilessly and after hard fighting captured the town. Demetheriia never much liked towns. He lusted for conquest and glory for his brothers. So with a quick order to put the town to the sword he departed. Never will we take prisoners. Never will anyone be set free. The world will come to fear us!
East he thought... East is where we shall go. " My lord!" came the cry from a messenger. What is it Deme thought. What could be more important than my plans for expansion? "The Cimmera! They have declared war!" Cimmera? He had never thought of the small trading kingdom to his south. Relations with them were decent. Trade flowed freely..... How could he have overlooked such a play? Over the next few days Cholis and Siraces had joined the throng.
Glory will be had! With a quick word Deme sent a rider to the Aorsoi with a demand to join in a confederation. He knew of their plight and wanted to use them to fuel the empire. They accepted and thus three cities were his to command! The Horde of the Steppe was born. He personally lead the attack on the city of Panticapeum. Seige was never a page in the book of old. Never shall the horse lords of Scythia sit outside the walls when fresh kills lay beyond them. Only the weak used walls.
Siraces didn't fall easily. It took several battles a give and take clash of ideals. A clash of men and horse. Steel on wood; Steel on bone and flesh. Along with his trusted brother Argistis, Demethriia swept down upon Siraces. Reaping the populous and imposing the glory of the horde upon the unknowing. The unwilling were re educated through death. Phangoria was next. But in his mind Deme knew Argistis could handle the burden. He was right. It fell easily.
At the age of 65 Demetheriia could feel the age creeping in his bones. Sitting in his hut in the field he knew the time was coming to relinquish his saddle to the next generation. But not yet. His tribe was at war with Bithynia, Cholis, Cartli, Getae, Ardhan, and Bastarne. And they would all be crushed. Fighting a war on every front was not going to be easy. He knew that it was only a matter of time and imagination. Only the best deserved to rule anyway. And his people, the people of Scythia, were just the people to rule the world.
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