Note: this is my first 'tale of war'. Comments, advice, especially style-wise would be appreciated.

It had been a long and glorious millenium; as far as any could hearken back, the empire of the Celts had stood strong, a giant among rivals who sought to break it's will and release it's grip upon precious resources.

The lands of the Celts were vast; originally shared with French and German aggressors, a few French cities ringing the northeast edge of the continent were all that remained. In the mists of time, as men say, the Celts were the first to find and use the precious iron deposits in their nearby mountants. Glorious were the Gallic Swordsman who pounded from the hills, their rushing footsteps causing the very earth to tremble in their passing. Strong were the mighty stone walls surrounding Berlin and the other German cities. Now those walls are a memory, torn down by mighty hands and replaced by marketplaces, temples and peace. What was once the Germans are now wholly Celts, both in culture and greatness, and Bismarck is but a foe of legend.

One age melted into another, and as our influence expanded, it was slowly revealed that there were limits to our borders. What our scholars had always assumed to be an endless expanse of Panagea was not. To our scholar's best estimates, we had conquered less than half of the world! And thus our wise men began researching ways of using the shore, defeating the water, crossing the ocean until we could draw our maps complete and lay claim to the entirety of the world - and visit suffering on the French whose existence we tolerated with gritted teeth.

But then the strangers came.

As dusk faded into nighttime along the southwestern coast of our nation, the treacherous Galley approached. Using a deserted beachline, the enemy unloaded iron-clad horsemen, using the jungle terrain to hide their presence. Before long, their spy, cravenly hiding behind the guise of an 'envoy', presented himself to me.

"We of the Zulu have noticed you cute Civilization. You will give us access to your Saltpeter or face the consequences!"

Saltpeter was one of our most glorious assets - and one of our most preciously guarded secrets. For many years, the French had tried to bargain for our supply, having none in their own territory. Now it became clear that these Zulu scum had none, either. There was only one way to answer such a bold admission of Zulu espionage.

"VAE VICTUS!" With that, I ran the envoy through with my sword.

The silence that followed was crushed by the thunder of charging Knights.

(To be continued..)

"To the walls!" rose the cry, as the enemy charged from his concealed jungle positions and rushed towards the city of Dresden. Before this day was done, the inhabitants of this once German city would do honor to their new rulers, the Celts.

A hundred muskets were raised to a hundred shoulders, and on my command, the shining armor of the enemy Knights was punctured by a hundred balls of shot. Men screamed. Horses whinnied and collapsed in soil that had been churned to muck. But still the Zulus came, their stupidity second only to their futility.

The first wave broke there on the outskirts of Dresden city. Our brave Musketmen were forced to resort to their bayonets. Celtic blood sullied the ground for the first time in generations. The invaders withdrew, but not without giving - and taking - a heavy toll.

I clenched my fist. Without orders, driven purely by the anger in my soul, the gates of Dresden swung open and my finest division of Knights from Entremout charged forth in a counter-attack. The Zulu scum were soon corpses beneath the hooves of my glorious personal guard.

I had them crucified where they had fallen, as an example of all who defy me, and commanded two new divisions of Knights to sweep the jungle coastline for more Zulu scum that may lay in hiding. Over the coming days, months and years my men encountered many Zulu divisions who stole ashore in the dark of night, seeking to test me once more. Each time they were slaughtered as they disembarked, my glorious Knights swarming them before they could melt like cowards into the jungle.

In the spring of 1457 I recieved word from one of my port cities. The first of our Caravels was, at last, prepared. On it were my master map-maker and two of my finest troops, including my personal guard. Their mission was simple: find the Zulu scum and return the insult they have visited upon us.

In the cool summer sun of this world our Caravel struck with success. Coastline was sighted a short trip from our port city! The Zulu had lain, like the traiterous bastards they are, just beneath the distant horizon in a direction we had never sought to sail. As always, the Gods looked down on us favour and our vengance was at hand!

The keen eye of my best map-maker, aboard the Caravel Brennus I, was the first to notice - two crews of Zulu workers, resting lazily in their tents. A day of sloth, no doubt. The Brennus I crew resolved to remedy this pathetic situation.

Two Knight troops landed in daylight on the open plains just east of Zimbabwe. To the north-east, the lazy workers had realised the danger and began to flee towards their capitol. Too late! In a daring move, my first division swept in and captured both worker teams, herding them to where the second division was setting up a defensive position. Before long, the crack of whips and cries of Zulu workers attested to their first night of truly hard labor, as our forces set them to building a fortress for our use within sight of their own capitol.

Too late, the Zulu forces realised their folly, and swept from their cities to attack. Sallying from the fortress under construction, our brave Knights counter-attacked and held the Zulu slime away from the workers under duress until the fortress was completed. In perfect unision, the Brennus I, accompanied by the new Caravel Bleu Entremount, unloaded squadrons of Knights and the Musketmen of Dresden, still fresh from their victory in the past year. At the same time, the second division of Knights quickly herded the workers onto the Brennus I, where they were whisked away to spend the rest of their lives as slaves in the glorious Celtic empire.

Our foothold on the Zulu continent was not without it's sacrifice however. The first division, my glorious personal guard from the battle of Dresden, was caught out of position skirmishing in front of Zimbabwe. The Zulu traitors surrounded them and, as they tried to withdraw to the safety of the fortress, the best and strongest of my knights were slaughtered. But their defeat paved the way for a great victory - the fortress had been established and the path to Zimbabwe - and revenge - was visible.

As the year came to a close, the foothold gained in strength. A steady stream of supplies and defenders constantly reinforced the fortress. My map-maker conducted secret meetings with elements of the Zulu underground, and, using previously known information from the French, managed to assemble a map of the Zulu lands that would be critical in the years to come.

As 1458 began, a brief lull in the fighting allowed the bodies of our brave soldiers to be recovered by the fortress personnel. I had them placed upright in their armor on the walls of the fortress, a reminder to all who approached of my personal guard who had died to ensure it's walls were erected.

(TBC..)

Nice writing style - very cool story!

A map thumped down onto the table.

"We have them." It is the words that I, and my empire, have been longing to hear.

My cartographer - that is his "new name" - had recently returned from the latest exploration of the Zulu lands. He had circled the Zulu continent in a Frigate, as there was no cease fire in effect. Our troops hold position in the fortress, its walls battered by waves of bloodied and futile Zulu attackers.

Since the previous year the great Celtic empire had made a number of critical advances. We had recently discovered metallurgy, and our newest creation - artillery which the wise men called "Cannons" - were on their way to the Zulu homeland to stand with my personal guard in defense of the fortress. I had had these fired at the Zulu slaves that we captured, as a means of testing them, and the resulting explosion sounded for all the world like thunder! Indeed, those weakling slaves acted as though they had been struck by the heavens, flying every which way in many and varied peices. I recall laughing, and clapping one of the nearby wise men on the shoulder. Such a demonstration of our power must be deployed immediately.

But then the Bleu Entremount had returned from the distant Zulu lands, and on it, was my map-maker bearing news of an important discovery. "Iron deposits, Mr President!" he exclaimed, calling me by that dastardly name I had taken in order to keep the citizens well fed. "Here, by Zimbabwe, and there, on the far coast!" I, in all my brilliance, did not immediately see his point. "They only have two deposits, Mr President!" Two deposits - for an entire nation. It was a message from the gods themselves.

Snow swirled in the air as the Bleu Entremount docked off the Zulu coastland. Not far from our position, the fortress loomed, cannons and musketmen ringing its walls. Bells tolled, announcing the arrival of their Emper.. President. Behind me, an old friend disembarked.

"Corwyn." We gripped forearms. Corwyn was a childhood friend of mine - we had trained together in the ancient arts in our youth. He was part of a shrinking, but grimly traditional faction of Celtic culture - those that clung to the old ways and still used a sword and shield. Tattoos on his face squirmed into a new position as he gave me a hideous but memorable grin.

"Brennus, my old friend. Where is the rousing battle you promised?" For the first time in nearly five hundred years - and quite possibly the last time ever - I would have a need for the Gallic Swordsmen. My cartographer had determined that the iron deposits were vulnerable. A small, fast moving force, one willing to isolate itself far behind enemy lines, could strike at the iron deposits and roads leading to and from the resources. If successful, we could strip the Zulus of their supply of iron.

"It is that way," I gestured with one hand, waving to the southwest. "My cartographer estimates it is at least a year's travel across country... deep behind their lines."

"But what of the supply at Zimbabwe?" He, too, had seen the maps and realized that the second iron supply lay within Zimbabwe's sphere of influence. No matter. "I'll take care of Zimbabwe," I grinned back at him, mirthlessly.

He understood immediately, and gestured to his men. Six full platoons of Gallic Swordsmen disembarked, their near-naked bodies seemingly immune to the chill at this time of year. He was to have only his tribesmen for companions. My knights would see their own battle, soon enough.. at the gates of Zimbabwe.

The tattooed warriors, last remnants of our ancient heritage, melted silently into the night.

(TBC...)

The swordsman screamed as the arrow thumped into his chest, just below the collarbone. He crumpled, falling beneath the feet of his brethren, who streamed downhill at the Zulu longbowmen who ringed the base.

"FOR BRENNUS!" screamed Corwyn, leading his men downhill into the very teeth of their opposition. Another volley of arrows cut down the men around him, but more often than not, the well-trained Gallic Swordsman took the arrows on their shields instead of their hearts.

In an instant he was among them, blade cleaving flesh as it was designed to do long before he was born. The Zulu archer cried out, clutching at the wound in his arm, and Corwyn brought his blade around in a short arc, catching his opponent in the throat. The Archer gave a loud gurgling noise and collapsed, freeing Corwyn to spin and find his next opponent, the madness and disarray of battle taking over...



Blood droplets formed dew on the thin blades of grass as night fell. The Gallic swordsmen had been victorious, but at great cost - more than half their number fallen to a Zulu unit of longbowmen. But they had held, and the Zulus had been denied this hill of iron. Again. Corwyn wiped his blade on a fallen body and took a deep breath.

"What of the other units?" Corwyn shouted, looking to his second in command. The solider, newly promoted due to the heavy losses, was atop the hill, staring to the south. "They move southwest, and make good time dispite being harassed by the enemy!" Turning, the man added, "But we are approached by several longbow units from their city!" The situation looked hopeless. Corwyn's men could not hold another attack from the brutal longbowmen - let alone several. It was time to leave.

"Light the signal fire for Brennus! We begin a fast march to the southwest! Travel lightly!" His orders were relayed, and soon every man able to do so was on his feet, sword sheathed. The few too wounded to run would stay behind, to die fighting the enemy in a critical deception. Corwyn led his men southwest at a fast trot.



"Signal fire from the west, Sir." Our Gallic Swordsmen were leaving. It was Corwyn who came up with the idea of taking the iron resource near to Zimbabwe, making a daring strike very near the capitol. It forced the enemy to draw Iron from it's second, distant deposit - which played right into our hands. It was now up to us to ensure that Zimbabwe had no time to reestablish it's mine on the near resource. I set aside the business of governing an empire for the evening.

"Ready every Cavalry unit in the fortress. We ride out with the dawn."



The winter of 1458 brought a glorious victory for the Celtic empire. In a stroke of brilliance, Corwyn led his Gallic Swordsmen to the south, striking critical transportation routes surrounding the Zulu's second iron deposit. In one fell swoop, we had isolated our enemy from Iron.

At the same time, Knight units from Berlin, Dresden, Entremout and a number of other large Gallic and formerly German cities combined into an army under the command of their President and Commander In Chief. Approximately 20 units assaulted Zimbabwe at the same time as our Gallic Swordsmen severed routes across the Zulu lands. Although staunchly defended by the Zulu Impi, Pikemen, Spearmen and Knights the city eventually fell to our overwhelming pressure and collapsed. One half of it's population rose up in resistance of our glorious occupation, and to their own disgrace, refused to submit to our dominion. They were summarily executed as traitors to the Celtic empire.

This example struck fear into the hearts of the Zulu, who begged us for peace. As a rider to any peace treaty, the surviving Gallic Swordsmen were granted safe passage from their positions deep inside Zulu territory. They arrived at the gates of the liberated town of Zimbabwe as heroes, and dispite having lost many of their bretheren, including my childhood friend Corwyn, they remain true of spirit and loyal Celts.

For the loss of my friend Corwyn, who died to a traitorous arrow in a heroic rearguard action, I can only say this: you will be avenged. I will occupy this continent and bend these people to my will in your name. But I am afraid my revenge may have to wait: our scientists have discovered a new resource they call "Coal" and it seems that the only deposits lie in territory held by the French. In your name, I shall take possession of their Coal, and bleed their country dry until they beg our dominion and lordship. Glory to the Celts, and to Brennus, their leader!

Great writing style!!! Keep up the good work!

Actually, uh, i'm done, since that's where my game ended!