Of Destiny and Duty: A Galatian AAR

**the man with no name** · 12-09-2009, 02:00

Originally Posted by Ariovistus Maximus

1. Did you find the story hard to get into due to the Crusader-Galatian plot duality?

2. Do you think that this little explanation would have helped you get into the story better, or that it will help you to understand the upcoming story better?

3. Is it too much of a spoiler for readers who are just beginning?

1. I understood it right away.
2. The latter.
3. Probably.

**Ariovistus Maximus** · 12-09-2009, 05:15

Thanks guys!

I just realized that I haven't updated yet this month.

I'll get on it soon.

Finals week coming, and then 3 weeks off before next semester.

**Ariovistus Maximus** · 12-27-2009, 05:49

Ah, I have been such a bad boy. Still haven't updated this week. But wait no longer, here comes the update!

**Ariovistus Maximus** · 12-27-2009, 05:49

Chapter XXXIV - Revelation

Kyros was nearly overwhelmed by the pervasive stench as the King led him lower and lower into the prison quarter of the palace complex. He was writhing in anger, yet felt powerless. What could he do against such power? He, a cripple. Whatever form his revenge might take, it must be complete. It would have no value if he and his brother did not live to enjoy it, after all.

Kyros struggled to keep up with the king; one could only go so fast with one leg and a walking stick. He felt lost in the labyrinth of tunnels. What is so urgent that the King would preempt the Council to show me?

After an eternity of walking, the King apparently reached his destination: a grimy old cell. Mithridates produced a key ring, selected a key, and shoved it through a rusty lock in the door. The lock clinked open, the door jiggled free, and Mithridates swung the door widely.

“Come and see,” he said, a look of pleasure and expectation on his face.

Strange; Kyros thought. His face always reveals a plot working in his mind.

Kyros struggled to adjust his senses to the dark, dank room. He could barely make out, slumped on the floor, the figure of a man. A hunched, shriveled old man, who had spent a few days too many out of the sun. He got up, or attempted to, at least. After several tries, he managed to wobble to a stand.

But for all his cuts and bruises, there was no mistaking him.

“Father!” Kyros felt as if he had been transported to another dimension. How could it be?

He ran over to his father, catching him as he nearly toppled at the surprise of his son’s voice. He, too, had presumed his sons dead. Certainly he had never thought to expect them at the palace.

The two embraced; both too filled with emotion to speak. Kyros shot a glance over at Mithridates. The King had a look of satisfaction on his face befitting a philosopher who had just won an argument, or a predator that had cornered its prey. His plan was, again, a resounding success.

“I trust I have your services, young Kyros. And your loyalty, what of that?”

Kyros considered for a moment, still clutching his father.

“You have my services, my lord.”

Mithridates smiled his crafty smile and stroked his chin.

“That’s good. That’s very good. I dislike men who give their loyalty on a whim, or from a moment’s gratitude. They are all too easily persuaded in every direction. Now, young man, you shall follow me to the Assembly, and we shall see about your father’s accommodations.”

A snap of the King’s finger brought a jailer directly. Moments passed, and Kyros found himself following the King back to the Palace, and his father being assisted elsewhere. He still had no idea what to think. Every few moments he glanced around expectedly to find his mother; surely she must be in this dream as well. But it was not to be. Insidious

The young man, filled with new life and vigor, but still an underlying reluctance in his new position at his conqueror’s side, made his way to the Council meeting. A good day was ahead.

**Ariovistus Maximus** · 12-29-2009, 04:55

Chapter XXXV - The Council

The grandeur of the spacious Council Hall overwhelmed Kyros. Topped by a gilded dome, the room reminded him of the amphitheatres of Athens. Several oval-shaped tiers of seating, enough to accommodate several hundred, were centered upon a large platform. Mithridates strode to the lectern on the platform and prepared to address the assembly.

Kyros was most interested to find how this conference would proceed. Would it be a meeting of the foremost statesmen of the land, each a representative of his native province? Or would it simply be a gathering of servants, to make their report to the King and receive his commands for the coming season?

Would Mithridates espouse the great governmental philosophies of the day, or would he cling to his despotic Persian roots?

Finally, the King began to speak. “Greetings, honored representatives! The gods have seen fit to grant us a fruitful season. So fruitful that I think soon we shall not need their favors any longer!

In but a few years’ time, I have forged out of these chaotic times a Kingdom; one that our neighbors cannot afford to ignore.

I bring other news: the conquest of Galatia is complete! Our enemy, having been thoroughly discomfited in battle, leaves us the masters of that land.”

Kyros felt intensely uncomfortable as he felt the whole room’s gaze fall upon him. They all seemed to scan him; their inspection paused at the observation of his missing leg. But it passed as Mithridates moved on to other topics.

“As I said, our rise to power in this region have made us a force to be reckoned with. This is a mixed blessing. True, it shows that we have achieved what was thought to be impossible; but the road does not end there.

Our power is such that it only attracts the jealousy of those under us, and the apprehension of those that are greater. If we stop to rest and congratulate ourselves, we will be overtaken by the mighty, and undone by confederations of the weak. This is no time to rest. I will not rest until even confederations of the mighty bow before me!”

Mithridates paused for the Council’s applause before moving on.

I have prepared for this body something very special. Something that, I believe, will open your eyes.”

At Mithridates’ gesture, a group of servants worked a lever to unfurl a great woven map hung from the ceiling, large enough for all to see.

“This, councilors, is the current state of my dominion, after the completion of the Galatian campaign. It will, I hope, embody for you the words I have just now spoken. We have achieved much, but greatness is yet to be grasped.

“Now, I will hear the wisdom of this body.” Mithridates motioned to one of the men in the first row. An elderly Greek rose from his seat.

“The people of Phrygia praise you, my lord,” he began. “They celebrate daily as news of success abroad reaches their ears.

The region flourishes. Phrygia has been known as the Kingdom’s breadbasket, and we confirm this reputation once again this season. New structures and innovations spring up everywhere.

Our produce grows fatter by the day, and we are pleased to report continued expansion and innovation in agricultural methods. By this we hope to continue to provide a steady stream of food to the rest of the Kingdom.

There is but one request that I bring here today; the people grow concerned at our small garrison in our capitol: a mere 3,000 men. Being as we are on the frontier, bordering Pergamum and Lydia, I would request that additional troops be sent.”

The elderly man nodded to the King and sat down.

Next, a man with distinctly Eastern features addressed the room.

“Cappadocia also feels the growth and prosperity of the whole nation. Drawing from the resources flowing in from the rest of the land, we are expanding our recruiting base. The city of Mylitene, the core of the Kingdom’s army, is even now in the process of enlarging the barracks there. We are also fortunate to have received skilled men of war from both Greece and Persia, who will train our new recruits in various methods of combat. Our prosperity also draws the attention of armorers and metalworkers into the area.

As long as supplies flow in, my lord, men and equipment will go out to protect the Kingdom’s ever-growing borders.”

This continued for some time. One by one, the representatives of each province accounted their progress to King Mithridates.

Kyros was partly disappointed at Mithridates’ complete control over the process, but was also impressed by its efficiency. The system seemed to be modeled upon the Persian Satrapy, with each governor possessing some degree of autonomy. This great assembly, however, vastly improved the institution’s efficiency.

The hours passed, and finally the assembly was adjourned. Kyros’ next question, he thought as the delegates milled out of the room, was to his own role in this machine of state. Did Mithridates really intend to make him the representative of Galatia?

Kyros felt overrun with confusion; so much had happened all at once. What, he wondered, had become of Artan? Did he know that his father was alive?

**gamegeek2** · 12-29-2009, 07:23

Lovin' it.

**Ariovistus Maximus** · 12-30-2009, 15:14

Chapter XXXVI - Reunion

Whop. Another unfortunate recruit whirled wildly from his blow, tripped, and planted his face in the sand of the arena.

Artan’s cudgel made contact with yet another opponent’s helmet. This was followed up by a cut to the knees, which sent the poor man flying through the air. Artan would have beat him senseless if not for the fresh guards who charged him from the rear.

Pivoting to face them, he whaled one with a swinging blow. He recovered from the attack just in time to block a swing from his assailant. The two were locked in each other’s grip. Artan toppled him with a devastating head butt.

Artan was thoroughly enjoying himself; he had already damaged three helmets beyond repair, split a shield, and put a noticeable dent in two breastplates. His Pontic trainer – the fifth one that day, as the others were indefinitely confined to bed rest – was astonished at this man’s ferocity.

The Captain of the Guard had decided to test this Galatian, to ensure his fitness to serve as his brother’s bodyguard. Trials had begun with calisthenics, in which Artan left everyone breathless. They moved on to unarmed combat, which had been the undoing of three instructors.

Finally, they brought Artan into the city arena, gave him a stout wooden cudgel, placed heavily armed guards at all exits, and brought in recruit after recruit. The fourth trainer had unwisely chosen to join in the first wave. Now, at intervals of three, troops from the local barracks were brought in, equipped with customary armor and a cudgel of their own, and sent them in. Artan was up to 35, with only a few scratches to himself.

“Apparently,” trainer number five remarked, “we have left this monster unoccupied for too long. He certainly is making up for the boredom of these last few weeks.”

Smack!

OOWWFGAAAGH! By the gods he’s a madman! Ruu-

Whomp.

The instructor winced. The officers around him nodded, a nervous look on each face.

“Any fatalities yet?”

“No sir, but we have a few pulled muscles, one man with some broken ribs, and some arm injuries. Oh, and one dislocated hip.”

“Perhaps we should give him a thinner stick,” another added. “He may presently get the idea to test the guards at the exits.”

“Yes, that will do for now, I think. Let us finish with trials for today. The bearers are getting behind and bodies are beginning to accumulate. Now, how do we get the club from him? Any suggestions?”

Finally, after a rather intense scene involving archers and a contingent of cavalry from the palace stables, Artan was persuaded to relinquish his weapon.

“Be sure to cut some grooves into it next time,” one of the assistants whispered to the trainer as Artan was led into his confinement area.

After a nutritious meal, a hesitant steward informed him that the King desired his presence.

Artan’s cadre of guards escorted him to a bright room on the upper level. He found Kyros standing before him. Artan remained silent.

“Have you nothing to say to your brother, Artan?” Kyros wondered with a pleading look in his eyes.

Still Artan remained silent.

“Then perhaps,” Mithridates’ voice boomed from behind, “you will speak with another.”

Artan turned to see… his father! He glanced at Kyros, as if to confirm that he was seeing clearly. Next he found himself in Timosthenes’ strong embrace.

With that, Mithridates left the room to leave the three men to themselves.

Timosthenes, Kyros, and Artan each sat down and hurriedly explained how each of them had come to be there. Finally, Artan glanced over to Kyros and spoke up.

“You know, father, your efforts in my brother’s education have paid off. He is already being groomed as one of Mithridates’ underlings.”

Timosthenes seemed taken aback, and looked at them both sternly.

“There is nothing to be gained here by obstinacy. We will do what we can to help our people, and that means that we must cooperate with the King for the time being.”

Artan grunted. “I am surprised to hear this from you, father. What have they been doing to you in that cell?”

“I feel for our people also, Artan.” Timosthenes continued, “But brash, unrestrained courage is futile here. Remember what I taught you, my son. A strong arm is only as good as the mind that guides it.”

Kyros joined in. “I would not be so hasty, brother. If not for my intercession, you would be dead right now. I managed to convince the King to fit you out as my bodyguard, you know.”

Artan slammed his fist on the table and stood. “Then I would just as soon be dead.” With that, he motioned the jailer to take him back to his quarters.

Timosthenes shook his head. “An unwise move, Kyros. You should know your brother better by now. A quick mind is an admirable tool, but it too requires restraint. This is not a class on rhetoric; a victory in this argument will gain you nothing.”

Kyros nodded reluctantly, and the two made their way to their respective rooms.