Of Destiny and Duty: A Galatian AAR

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Hey guys! I've been considering a problem recently, and I think my readers need a little more information.

Now, I have been thinking lately that my AAR may suffer a bit from a rather confusing plot line in the beginning.It has a dual plot line, which makes for a rather confusing first page. You don't usually expect to read about Crusaders in a "Galatian" AAR. Although I have long planned the fusion of these two stories, it is only now coming together, and that might be a bit confusing to those of you who can't read my mind.

So now, I shall explain, and hopefully you will gain a greater understanding of the thrust of this story, which I hope will in turn enhance your enjoyment.

Whien I read a story, it is important to me that it feels realistic. And, when I write, I want you, the reader, to feel like this really could have happened. When you read the account of Kyros, I want you to feel like you are in the museum reading something that really happened.

But, if that is the goal, it doesn't make any sense just to pop up with a story about Pontus. I mean, who finds an ancient manuscript detailing the history of Pontus in their back yard?

So I felt that just starting with Pontus would be much too abrupt. Now, a Crusaders Diary; that isn't too far-fetched. A lot of medieval documents survive today. After all, they've gone through a lot less than an ancient Pontic diary.

Thus, the Crusader's story is actually a vehicle to present the history of Pontus. It gives the Pontic story greater depth, context, and authenticity.

But that still doesn't explain the "Galatian" part. This shouldn't be as foreign as the coexistence of Crusaders and Pontics, so I'll be brief.

My other goal in writing is to be unique. I don't want another cut-and-dried account of a RTW campaign. The way I figure, if you want that, you can play it yourself.

But a story about a Galatian; that is something new. And how I weave the stories together, you will see as you read on.

Now, one lesson I have learned here is that I need to explain these things by degrees. Well, I shall add it to the vast list of other refinements I hope to make to my technique.

I hope that this opens your eyes a little. I will also put something like this in the beginning, in order to give new readers a little less of a shock. Thanks guys!

Now, I have a couple questions for you.

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?

Oh, and don't miss chapter 33.

[gamegeek2]

The plot duality is fine. You're doing great - keep doing what you're doing.

[the man with no name]

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]

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]

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

[Ariovistus Maximus]

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]

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.

SEE NOTATION AT BOTTOM


The map will be labeled soon, but unfortunately the computer I am on does not have the requisite software.

Purple = Pontus
Grey = Seleucids
Orange = Egypt
Turqoise = Pergamum

The rest aren't important right now. I will fix it up like a proper map soon.

“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]

Lovin' it.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

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.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Chapter XXXVII - Death over Again

I rubbed my eyes, trying to awaken at least enough to determine our progress. I could see the Italian coast on the horizon; truly a beautiful sight. I was in awe that I would leave Constantinople behind. So long had it been apart of my daily routine that I had begun to accept my fate in its walls as a fact of life.

But now, to realize that I might live! It was inspiring! I felt truly alive for the first time in years.

After landing in Venice, I put up Godwin in a monestary where he could rest and regain his strength, and went thence to see the Archbishop of Venice. I was sure that our testimony would be of value, seeing as we were one of the few to survive the seige.

I made straight to the city Cathedral. After shoving my way through a crowd tormenting two poor souls in the stocks, I managed to speak with one of the Bishop's men to grant an interview.

"A survivor of Constantinople, eh?" Said the man with a hint of suspicion in his voice. "Yes, we have received a few already."

I was surprised at this, and inquired as to their names, hoping that I might know some of them.

"I do not recall their names. But you might have recognized them as you walked through the square," the man said as he gestured nonchalantly to the crowd at the stocks.

At that moment, my heart sank. To narrowly escape death in Constantinople, trudge across the countryside, take a ship to report to Church authorities, and now be condemned a coward.

Suddenly I was slammed in-between two armed guards and dragged away. I protested, pleading with them to at least let me tell what had happened, but to no avail. I was dumped into a shoddy cell.

My soul nearly burst in anguish. HOW, God could you plunge me into such despair? I know not how many times I emplored the Lord to take pity on me, a wretch in prison. But in that cell I remained. At least I had not been given time to tell them about Godwin, nor had I told anyone at the monestary of our journey.

Remained, at least, until I was dragged out again to face the tender mercies of the mob. I was locked into the stocks beside the two I had seen earlier. I got a good look at them, too. They were not from Constantinople. I am a keen judge of men, and I could see that these men had not seen combat, much less lived in the hellish misery of Constantinople.

Their cheeks were plump and round. Their eyes lacked the deep-set, empty look of men who had not slept well in months. And certainly if they had fought in Constantinople, they would have died; for they were two of the plumpest, weakest "soldiers" I had ever seen. They had falsely proclaimed their survival, expecting to be hailed as heroes. I had come with no desire of my own, to report to the Church authorities what had happened.

Now the three of us were to be punished alike. Probably by branding, so that all men would know our cowardice. This would be like a living death. Neither Christian, Muslim, or Jew would bid us entrance to his house. Indeed, he would not have anything to do with one who was branded, except for abuse, which was acceptable and even encouraged.

For my part, I was finished. There remained no purpose to existence, except to bear the shame of others. I steadfastly determined that my last destination after being set free would be the nearest river I could find. I hoped that not even Godwin would ever hear of me again.

[J.R.M]

Ahhh. Im back at last, so is good to see this havent finished yet, great updates i see, keep´em coming. BTW Happy new year to all.

[gamegeek2]

[the man with no name]

We're reaching a negative point in both parts of this AAR. No surprise at all, that it remains so good.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Chapter XXXVIII – Branded

“Be it hereby proclaimed by his Worship the Archbishop of Venice, that three cowards, who forsook their God-given duty to defend His holy city of Constantinople, shall be branded forthwith, that all may know their cowardice. Let all men shun their company and treat them as the infidel, that by their earthly suffering they may be granted forgiveness after this life.

Francois of Gascony, Owen the Welshman, and John Kerrich: may God grant your spirit passage into Heaven by virtue of your bodily misery.”

I saw the Archbishop himself shuffle onto the scene. He made his way towards me. As he knelt to the ground to get a good look at me, I felt as if his eyes had pierced my very soul.

“You did not tell me that another man was to be punished today,” said the Archbishop to his nearby aide.

“Well, your worship,” the man responded awkwardly, “you instructed us to treat any other such men as we did these two.”

“Ah, so I did. Good work young man. Still, I wish to speak with them before the sentence is carried out.

Tell me, my son. Are you a servant of the church?”

“Yes, your worship.”

“Then how is it that you did not make the ultimate sacrifice in its service?”

“I was prepared for it, my lord. For many months I had looked forward to the peace of death. Yet I escaped it, for I was taken down during the battle. When I awoke, the struggle was over; I saw the Turkish standard flying from the Cathedral. Still…”

John caught himself. In his emotion, he almost mentioned that his desire to survive was grounded in the hope of saving Godwin.

The Archbishop rose slowly and shuffled over to an aide. After exchanging a few hushed sentences, the man of God motioned a guard to release John.

“I know not whether your words or true, or if you are merely a skilled liar,” the Bishop said as John arose. “But the captain there tells me that you have the look of one accustomed to war. I believe your case is worthy of taking a second look.”

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Thanks guys. This update is kinda short, but I will update tomorrow as well. The story comes to me in definite parts, so my chapters are almost like scenes in a movie. My ability to bring them together will, I trust, improve over time.

Also, the Crusader's story has been somewhat of a challenge lately; it happens periodically that I just hit a wall of sorts. However, it's just a matter of time before I work through it.

[gamegeek2]

Keep it going.

[STuNTz2023]

I haven't been on the forum in a while, and it was the first time seeing your AAR. Just read the whole thing, great work!

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Thanks.

I've been very disorganized lately, what with school and all. What I need to do is get a schedule going. I plan to update once a week, instead of updating whenever I feel lead.

I won't say when my next update will be, 'cuz the only thing I seem to do consistently is miss deadlines.

[the man with no name]

Glad to see an update. Though it may be short, it appears to be vital to the plot.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Hey guys!

I have just returned to this site after... quite some time. I get HTTP 500 errors each time I try, so I thought the site must be down again. I got a subscription update today though, so I thought I'd follow that link instead.

So I'm back and I will post updates soon.

[kpatterson14206]

How did you manage to get the Audei into Galatia? Did you try a migration (really hard)? Or did you edit the files to start there (tell me please :D) ?

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Welcome to the org kpatterson.

The EB mod gives Ancyra to the Aedui. For my purposes this was unnecessary though. I mostly created the situation with custom battles.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Oh my word I'm so bad! I've forgotten to update for like a century! Shame shame shame.

Well, let's just recap: things have been going quite slowly on the AAR front lately, but on top of that I rather carelessly forgot to post what I'd written here. So you'll at least get a few chapters all at once. So sorry about this folks. :( On a brighter note, I do believe I'm making a bit of a comeback, so don't despair for this AAR yet!

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Chapter XXXIX - Duel

I spent the night in a miserable little hole in the ground; it reminded me of the cell in which old Timosthenes lay in captivity. At least the Archbishop had some measure of faith in me; all was not lost. I felt that God must yet sustain me; I could not survive the past three years for nothing.

In the morning, they dragged me back into the Archbishop’s chamber. Here he had assembled a group of holy men in order to come to a verdict on my case. But still it seemed that they could not decide whether I was God’s servant or the devil’s. It seemed that nothing I said could convince them.

Finally, they called me forward.

“John Kerrich, it is beyond the threshold of man’s ability to divine the truth or deceit of your speech. Therefore, it is the determination of this assembly that you shall face trial by combat. God shall fight for the righteous; if your heart is pure and your devotion true, He will fight for you.”

With that I was dragged back out, but this time they took me to an armory. They weren’t wasting any time. Never mind that I had spent a few days and nights in prison, with little to no food, or that I had been in flight from the Turks for months before, or that I had suffered the misery of Constantinople years before that. Such ills meant nothing; I was to face a strong, well-toned warrior of the church regardless of my condition. Indeed, I truly would need God’s help to accomplish such a feat.

The warm mist of sleep drained away as the guards shook me awake. Today I would fight. They fitted me with weapons and armor earlier. I had at least had a day in-between of exercise and proper nourishment; that would count for something, I hoped.

Warrior that I am, I have never understood trial by combat. I have always been taught to hone my skills and trust my own instinct. If I failed in this, I would die; I learned to accept this simple truth in Constantinople. But here I was thrust into combat basically unprepared, so that God could fight for me. Whether by His hand or mine the work was done, I shall never know.

I was given a few moments to fit myself and to pray. Pray I did; with every fiber of my being I petitioned God to sprinkle me with whatever grace was left for me. Then I arose, grasped my sword and shield firmly in hand, and went out to meet my adversary.

The sun overwhelmed me as I stepped out into the light; it took me a little while to regain my composure. There were a few clergymen and a small crowd of passers-by assembled at the scene. Finally, I came before the Church’s panel of officials, and the ceremony began.

“John Kerrich, by order of his Grace the Archbishop of Venice, and in the name of Almighty God, you are to face the trial of combat. May God grant mercy to His true child. It is only fair, master Kerrich, that you know that the others who were tried with you have met their deaths on this very field. I pray that you were not party to their sin. Have you any final words?”

Fine words and pretty speeches would do nothing for me here. Instead I shook my head, and steeled myself for battle.

“In that case,” rumbled the cleric, “Let the fight begin!”

No sooner had I turned around than I saw my opponent charging straight for me. It was all I could do to dive out of his way and avoid being crushed before the fight even started. I waved my sword wildly as I tried to get up, hoping to hold the enemy back just long enough to get up. But this man would not be dissuaded; he came at me again and again.

I knew in an instant how an anvil must feel as it is battered by the hammer. The Church’s swordsman was relentless. After what seemed like an eternity of perpetual blows, I caught a blow square on my shield and shoved him off. I felt the old rage of battle – which I had happily not experienced for many months – seep back into my mind. I remembered Godwin; I struck a blow for him. I remembered those cursed Turks. I struck a blow against them. This single adversary became an effigy upon which to pour out many years of pent-up wrath, for oh-so-many things.

I managed to catch a good glimpse of my opponent. He was certainly a servant of the Church, as I had been. He was equipped, and seemed to have been trained, in the Templar style. Furthermore, he was no amateur. The Church had certainly seen fit to ensure that my survival would be the result of God’s hand.

We went on. I managed to hold my own; even I was surprised how my fighting instinct returned. I suppose that such force does not easily leave a person after years of nigh-perpetual combat and strain.

My instinct may have been intact, and my mind may have been fit, but my body was neither. I simply could not keep up sustained fighting. I had to do something. My mind journeyed back to the days at Constantinople; I had an idea.

As the Templar swung another mighty blow, I ducked. The blade whizzed over my head. Moving quickly, I side-stepped and struck a blow at his legs. Surprised, the soldier toppled to the ground. I moved back and caught my breath.

My adversary was certainly a veteran soldier, but he evidently had not fought in the Near East. The Arab soldier was nothing if not mobile; I remember how I had very nearly lost my life, early on in my first campaign, to such tactics. The Templar was visibly disgruntled by them as well.

Another memory flashed to mind: the Galatians! Those fierce warriors certainly knew how to intimidate the enemy. Perhaps, I thought, I might take a lesson from them as well. The enemy was surprised and confused; next it was time to intimidate.

Summoning all the energy I could, I whirled my sword over my head, and with voice booming I rushed like a madman at the foe. I heard a satisfying snap as the Templar’s wooden shield gave way to the force of my almost-superhuman cut. My enemy stumbled backward and crashed to the ground. When he got back up, I could see that fear had worked its way into his mind amongst the surprise and confusion. Clearly I was not behaving as any European soldier should; he had no idea how to counter this new fusion of fighting styles.

At that point, I knew that the day may yet be mine. Again I picked a Galatian tactic. Moving in with my left hand instead of my right, I pumped my shield into the Templar’s face. His head snapped back and he tripped backwards. Pivoting back in the other direction, I crashed my sword into his side. He very nearly flipped through the air on his way to the ground. To his credit as a soldier, his sword never left his hand. Now it was he who swung his sword blindly through the air. I still had to be careful; I had seen many a soldier die by the erratic thrusts of a dazed enemy. But I had also killed many dazed enemies myself.

I bashed the Templar down one final time by a swipe with my shield. In the fury of the moment, I yanked off my helmet and flung it into the dust. I was prepared for the final blow. It was then that I remembered my surroundings. I noticed that the Archbishop’s guards had tensed. It occurred to me that there were most likely a number of archers with bow drawn down upon me at that very moment. I noticed also that my opponent was unconscious; that would be good enough. Standing over him, I kicked him over to demonstrate that he was out of the fight. The thing was done.

My sword slipped from my hand; a cloud of dust flew into the sky. The red haze of battle cleared from my eyes, and I adjured God that it be cleared for the very last time. I had seen enough of war; I swore that I should live out my days in peace and harmony ever after my arrival home.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Chapter XL - Horrors

“Traitor! TRAITOR!” The seemingly feeble old man’s eyes glared with a furious fire. “You are a dog; worse than a dog, for you betray your master and your own people! You lick the feet of the vile tyrant-King of Pontus! You have neither the honor nor the sense of the lowest hound in the streets.”

Kyros was speechless. His mind was overwhelmed by the severity of the elder’s accusation, and his spirit was sapped by the contemptuous stares of the villagers nearby. What could he say? He hardly knew what to think himself; through the most bizarre set of circumstances he had become Mithridates’ representative in Galatia.

How could he make these people understand? How could he explain to them that the old ways had been defeated; that only the adaptive would survive? What choice did he have but to obey and serve?

But the worst thing; the reality dragged his heart into a bottomless pit of despair, was the realization that the old man was right.

Passers-by began to gather at the sound of the old man’s shrill cry. Soon there was a crowd. It was a crowd that had seen its whole world crumble. A crowd that wanted revenge but had failed to overwhelm the Pontics with their rage. They saw this vile turncoat as a vessel for their wrath. They began to close in.



Kyros shot out of his cot like an arrow from a taut bowstring. Fairly flying through the air out of fright, he slammed into the wall of his quarters. Artan appeared only seconds later with sword drawn; he urgently checked the windowsill and corners of the room, but found no enemy. He saw only his brother writhing in pain; searing pain from his fall and an intense, burning pain in his mind.

Minutes later Kyros was still struggling to breath, lying in a pool of sweat, unsure which vision was reality and which was dream. Even Artan was shaken; he kept on his guard, afraid that some dark spirit had possessed his brother.

Finally Artan dared to approach Kyros. “What is wrong, brother? You look as if you have fought with the very beasts of the underworld.

Kyros clutched him with a desperate strength that Artan had never felt before. “I am a traitorous dog! The demons themselves would spurn my company. I serve those who have reduced my homeland to rubble. I report to a man who has slaughtered countless numbers of my countrymen. I aid the ones who murdered my own mother!”

Kyros’ eyes were white and glazed; his face was pale and almost yellow. He shook uncontrollably. Artan wanted desperately to help him. He was afraid that his brother might die, yet he had no idea what he could do. No words of comfort came to his tongue. He had no reassuring wisdom to give, like his father did. He could not put the matter to rest in his own mind; he had stayed awake much of the night for fear that his own doubts would haunt him in his sleep.

All at once Artan felt a compassion for his brother that he had not sensed for years. Kyros was not the stuffy, cynical academician he had believed; his brother was a thoughtful, feeling man with many of the insecurities that he also felt. Surely Kyros could not die now; he could not give up hope just when Artan had finally discovered the real person inside.

Artan could only hold his quivering brother and hope that once, just this once, the gods would see fit to grant him his wish.

[Ghaust the Moor]

Great work Ariovistus . Likeing the update

[lmt96]

Is this AAR dead?