the year is 1230. it's not a particularly notable year throughout europe. farmers farm. warriors war. kings do whatever it is that kings do and all is fairly normal in the known world.
in the muslim world great men rise and fall and their kingdoms and aspirations with them. the egyptians fight the turks, the turks fight the byzantine and the byzantine fight the egyptians. all is normal in the world.
near the straits of gibraltar, the spanish and the almohads contest lands that have been contested for hundreds of years and all with little change. peasants groan and wives weep over fallen husbands, and all is normal in the world.
in the north, the danes rest after after a lengthy and weary attempt at furthering their lands. the novgorods sweep south only to be repulsed time and again and all is normal in the world.
but now, as the year progresses towards another winter, rumors begin to circulate among the lands. wild rumors. rumors of something stirring in the east. farmers are deserting their farms and moving west with great speed ...and fear.
rumblings from governors in the east about bandit raids and men on horses pounding through their provinces reach all the way to the west. something is stirring. something is making the cattle restless and the steppe animals flee. something...
scouts are sent east. they do not return. ships are sent to eastern ports. they do not return. a low, dull rumbling begins to rise on the eastern border and dust clouds form like towering thunderclouds over the steppes.
and as the year turns new, the rumbling rises. the dust grows nearer. the rumbling turns to thunder and the dust to a wall of rushing confusion. the thunder becomes discernable like the pounding of hooves on solid rock, growing and pounding and heard for miles. the wall of dust rises to meet the sky and as the deafening roar comes ever closer and just when you think the hurricane of dust will overtake you, forms begin to show themselves. closer they come. and closer yet, till one can make out horses, thousands upon thousands of horses and as they rush westward one sees riders on the horses, but not just on a few here and there, but on every horse
the plains are wide. one can see for miles in all directions, yet to the east, one can see nothing but this giant wall of dust, made from the hooves of thousands upon thousands of war horses and riders in strange garb. the wall is now more than dust; it is horses and warriors in endless numbers, riding with an easy grace and flowing like a river gone wild across the plains. everything in their path is trampled. nothing stops this..., this..., horde
the mongols have arrived.
a rider is quickly dispatched to the west, and more to every other corner of the known world. word spreads like a summer brush fire through dry grass. some scoff. some cringe. others pause their own wars, knowing that something is wrong in the world that once was 'normal'.
scouts finally begin to get a count on these new arrivals. a full 33 armies or horse archers, steppe cavalry and heavy cav are spread out across a thousand mile stretch, covering 4 full eastern provinces. the numbers are staggering. an estimate is finally made of 21,500 seasoned, battle-hardened men and horse. a 'horde' is too small a word.
the egyptians, turks, russians and novgorod are immediately hurled from their once proud land holdings like so much chaff in the wind.
no king, no emperor, no sultan has anything with which to defend themselves from such grandiose numbers that come not just in numbers, but in quality as well.
4 nations immediately stagger back under this massive onslaught, throwing pitiful handfulls up against this massive wall in a vain attempt to slow it. the mongols chuckle and hold their ground.
castles, that once defended great nations, fall like pebbles in a pond, the ripples of which send terror across all of europe and the holy lands. none are prepared. all are shocked.
the year turns. the horde stands ready, waiting, as if for a signal, while nations scramble their emissaries to see if these 'barbarians' can be negotiated with...or bribed. no one is foolish enough to send what was once called 'armies' against this mass of man-flesh and horse-flesh.
all wait. where once there was the crashing, pounding, thundering of hooves, now all is deadly quiet, the quiet one hears just before he dies.
***********************************************************
that is a recent scene from my campaign. indeed, 33 FULL stacks of mongols showed up in my game in 1231. 33. the count was roughly 21,500 men on horse. there wasnt a single infantryman among them. they did take 4 provinces immediately and now are sitting, doing nothing that i can tell. just sitting. it's really quite impressive :)
K.
Bookmarks