Once upon a time, there lived a fierce tribe of people, on the Scythian steppes. They were called Sarmatians, no one rivalled their riding skills. Their fame was wide-spread, besides respect this also called for hatred from other tribes. Cause no one liked to hear that those people, that live in huts and had no home, were the best.
The leader of this tribe, was named Sadukus. He was weary of the danger this fame had called for. And he gathered the best and strongest men of his tribe, The Sarmatian Knights. They were the elite of the elite, they were trained from infancy to be nothing but soldiers. The mighty steeds they rode, they had catched and tamed them when they where still young. They had no better friend than their horse, they even slept together.
300 Sarmatian Knights gathered around a campfire in the Warriors Hold. Also Sadukus was there, he was about to tell his men about their mission.
Sit and drink, party and don't sleep, cause it might be your last true Sarmatian night. Tomorrow we'll ride towards the morning son, and leave our families behind. Why, you're all thinking, well, i'll tell you why. The Romans are advancing, they are a fierce warriortribe. Their lands stretch from the far west to the lands of those treacherous Parthians. They've heared of our fame and skills with horses. Now they are offended because they can't stand that someone is better than they are in something. They've already felt how it is to die due the steel forged by socalled "Barbarians". Our spies told me our ally Scyrulus have been killed by his own son, but the Dacian Berserkers have carried the day.
more coming soon
