[BTS] Wars of the Gods: Carthage

But Hannibal Lecter can wear people's skin like a suit. Need I say more!

My Hannibal's immortal. QED.

Pff..

FINALLY. These screenies have been sitting around my folders for a couple months now! Since my few but incredibly patient followers have waited so long, and since this is the 20th update, it's extra-long. Kudos if you can guess what happens by the title...


Hadrubal was astride a mighty steed of a horse, clopping along the stone of a granite cliff. Before him, furled across the sandy landscape like a canvas, were the hundred thousand or so soldiers under his command. "My friends! Proud Phoenicians and prouder Jews! For too long has the Christian heresy grown in these southern lands!" The soldiers shouted in agreement. "Your Emperor denied us the right to stamp them out!" This time the shouts were angrier.

"But no more, I say!" More cheers. "Despite his lofty post, he cannot deny the will of God Himself! Onward, Jewish soldiers! Onward to victory!"

The Great Southern Crusade had begun.


Hannibal's right hand gripped the arm of his throne so hard that the seat in question nearly cracked. Before him was a flailing berserker of a Sudman - Vikings, they called themselves - bellowing something in his unintelligible tongue, and the poor interpreter, a scrawny fellow of Indian stock by the name of Gandhi, trying to keep pace with the barbarian's tirade. "You must rein in these barbarians! They slaughter our people and defile our temples," Gandhi translated from the diplomat's gabbing gibberish.


Hannibal clenched his jaw. "Inform this gentleman once again that I did not authorize the foray these 'barbarians' are making into his territory," he grumbled, "and that they are too far away for me to do anything about it at this point."

Despite Gandhi's slow (but assuredly accurate) translation of the comment into the Suden language, the Viking plainly still didn't quite grasp his point. Gods dammit, Hannibal cursed mentally. He most certainly had not authorized this so-called Crusade, and, for once, that was the truth. He cursed Hadrubal's name, the traitor. Ignoring his plain denial of this idiotic endeavor, the High Priest had simply gone ahead and begged the Archduke of Spaniyah for funding of his plan. The Archduke, obviously sore because of Hannibals' rude dismissal of him some time before, had accepted, offering ships and troops for the Great Southern Crusade, as it had been called.

A few months before, a sizable force of Spaniyard fighters and the "Paladins" of Utica had slipped to the harbor in Telkhia, boarding a waiting fleet and hurrying down the coast. The Phoenician officials had noticed a bit too late and failed to stop the Crusaders' departure. When Hannibal had found out, his rage had sent one of his servants to an early grave. Shortly afterward, he'd taken over the post of High Priest from Hadrubal and excommunicated him, for all the good that did. The Crusaders were fanatics, and not even the actions of the Emperor could stop them now.


It was extremely odd how even in such a bare, sandy desert, it could be so cold. Hadrubal supposed that had something to do with the southerly latitude of this desert, but he decided to keep his mind focused on more important matters - namely, the siege of Uppsala. The Archduke of Spaniyah - ex-Archduke, he supposed - did not have quite the same fortitude. "I thought you said the weather would be warm today," the nobleman griped.

Hadrubal sent him an annoyed glance, before looking back to the Crusader forces assaulting the Viking city. "I am a religious leader, not a meteorologist," he retorted. "And besides, you should be glad that it is at least clear out this morning. Another dust storm would have delayed our attack by at least another day."

"Be that as it may," the Archduke sniffed, "I do not enjoy this weather at all."

"Stop complaining then," Hadrubal said with a sigh.

"That's no way to be speaking to someone of my post!" the Archduke protested. "I am, after all, the one who funded this venture in the first place."

"And you, your excellency, should be mindful of who is the real leader of these Crusaders," Hadrubal snapped. "At a moment's behest, they'd just as soon gut you as any of the infidels in that city." The Archduke opened his mouth to respond, but plainly found it wiser to say nothing. A miracle happens every day, Hadrubal thought sarcastically.

After the passage of an hour or so, some headway was finally made in the battle, as the masonry of the walls crumbled down with a loud crack like thunder. The Crusaders poured into the exposed section of the wall with a roar, shouting battle cries in Phoenician and Hebrew. Within they met a ragged band of Viking berserkers who, though fierce, were no match for the disciplined Jewish forces. Within the hour, the banners of the Crusade - a red Star of David on white - were unfurled down the gates of Uppsala, which soon opened.

With a grin, Hadrubal trotted forward to the city, shouting up to the defenders, "Slaughter the Christians inside! Leave no survivors!"


Four months later, Hadrubal's mood was considerably worse. Yet again, he was encamped outside of a city. But this time it was in the freezing highlands outside of the Viking capital, Nidaros, and he had no company this time, save for a pair of swordsmen. The Archduke had taken an arrow to the eye on the long trek between Uppsala and Nidaros, dying soon afterward. Though the slow-witted noble had hardly qualified as a source of intelligent conversation, Hadrubal found the silence rather unsettling.

More unsettling still was the fact that half of the Crusader army had been annihilated in the battle for the city. What remained of the Crusader army sat boredly outside of the city, pounding away with one or two catapults in vain. Hadrubal glared balefully up at the keep in which the Viking lord Ragnar dwelt, from which a Christian banner, blue cross on a red field, flapped in the gray skies.

Suddenly, a loud creaking noise fell across the battlefield, leading Hadrubal to blink in befuddlement, looking around for the source. His gaze went to the city's gates in disbelief. They were opening. The Crusader army, too, laid still, looking on in shock. From the gates marched a veritable army of archers. With dread, Hadrubal watched as they raised their bows. The Crusaders were about to be finished off.


The archers let loose a volley.

A black cloud, like deadly hornets, first rose, and then fell rapidly down on the Jewish forces. In one dreadful instant, half of the soldiers were mowed down, falling with a scream. Regaining their senses, the remainder cried out, turning tail and retreating directly away from the city as the archers readied another attack, marching forward.

Moments later, the swordsmen ran in a panic past Hadrubal, their silver armor clanking as they went as fast as they could, the lightly-armored archers following at a fast pace, still firing even as they ran. Hadrubal's horse bucked slightly as the former High Priest looked down indignantly at his men as they routed. "No! You fools! GET BACK AND FIGHT!"

A stray arrow (perhaps not so stray as he thought) struck him in the side, and he fell off his horse. The terrified animal dashed away along with the fleeing Crusaders, leaving the stricken Hadrubal to bleed on the ground. Glancing fearfully back behind himself, Hadrubal saw a less organized host run past the ranks of the archers. Mere Viking peasants, armed with household implements, apparently intent on meting out their vengeance on the Jewish invaders. In a panic, Hadrubal stumbled to his feet, trying to limp away, but soon the peasants neared him. He fell.

As they beat away at him, stabbing at his flesh, he gazed up to see that shadowy figure from the Temple, who had promised him so much. "Help!" he shouted hoarsely. The peasants did not even seem to notice the presence of the man, who almost seemed to smirk.

"I fear, your holiness," mockery expressed through one word alone, "that your usefulness has run its course." The figure waved a hand dismissively. "Farewell, Hadrubal." The figure stood, watching in macabre glee as the Vikings continued to beat Hadrubal to death.

Over the next month, the Jewish crusaders who had fled the battlefield were hunted down as they tried to flee to their stronghold of Uppsala, which itself was soon reclaimed by the Sudmen.

No Jewish fighters yet remained in all of the land of Suden. The Great Southern Crusade was over.

enjoyed it, its nice to see another story back from the dead.

Thankye. \m/ I'll be playing this save a bit more over the weekend and getting another update or two from it.

I still like this story

Hey, I'd almost forgotten about this! Nice going!

Lol. Blame it stupid underling.

More more more

Don't mind if I do!


Snowflakes fell silently on the middling town of Tacape, blanketing the cobbled streets in a fine coat of what almost seemed to be dust. Muhammad knew that the pale yellow tinge to the snow was lended by desert sands to the east on the mainland, which wafted up into the clouds and westward, toward the Great Sea. This winter had seen especially dry air, and hard times had fallen upon the small farming communities north of the city, but such matters were not truly on the young Arab's mind at the moment.

The island of Sabratha - not its original name, truly - lay to the west of the Phoenician land of Khind (formerly India), perhaps a hundred miles off the coast. Due to its isolated position, the Arabs of this island, as the natives were called, had little contact with the outside world, other than with Christian missionaries, until a Phoenician fleet had sailed into the harbor of the indigenous town of Tacape, annexing the whole of the island into the Phoenician Empire. That had been some centuries before, and while the island was thoroughly Phoenician in loyalty, there was still a distinctive Arabian quality to it which separated it from the Carthaginian heartland.

Muhammad turned a corner into the main square of the city, where a large crowd stood eerily quiet, awaiting him. The Arab hurried up a small set of steps onto a platform which stood in the center of the square. Turning to eye the crowd, he began his speech, speaking in Arabic. "Friends! Believers!

"I have just received word," he stated, brandishing a piece of paper, "from the Emperor, in Carthage. He says of our predicament," taking a moment to adjust his eyes to the letter's Phoenician, "that he 'believes the Arabs in general, and the Muslims in particular, to be a trustworthy and wholesome people. They should not be denied the right to spread the word of their faith abroad. So speaks the Emperor.'" Muhammad folded up the letter, giving the crowd a moment to cheer at this news.

"Truly, friends, Allah, glorious and exalted is He, has smiled upon us! He grants us the great lands surrounding His most holy of cities, and now he grants the inhabitants of other fair lands the opportunity to become faithful Muslims, as well. As He spoke in the Qur'an," holding up the book in question, "we shall spread His word to the far corners of the earth! Allahu akbar!"

The crowd answered his cry. "Allahu akbar!"

And here's some expanded universe stuff for you too, I guess.

LANGUAGES OF WARS OF THE GODS: CARTHAGE

PHOENICIAN: The first records of the Phoenician language are found in the form of cuneiform writing discovered in a cave among a series of hills to the northwest of what is now Carthage, inscribed upon a bit of pottery. The writing reads: "HE WILL BE PRAISED", and seems to mark the grave of an early Carthaginian nobleman. The language is Semitic in origin, distantly related to the proto-Arabic languages and the Maladechai tongue of the so-called "Sea Raiders" from the North.

Originally known simply as Carthaginian or Punic, the tongue was renamed for the Empire in which it was spoken following the Battle of Madrid. At the time of the most recent update, Phoenician is spoken across the northern half of the eastern continent (Rabhasia) and even penetrates into the northern territories of its southern neighbors. Phoenician functions as the effective lingua franca of the continent, and all learned individuals are expected to learn it.

MONGOLIAN: The second most prominent language in Rabhasia, Mongolian belongs to the Asiatic group of languages, and is distantly related to the Japanese language of Mongolia's eastern neighbors. The language has remained essentially the same since the nomadic ancestors of the Mongols first settled on the plains of the Rabhasian interior, with a few loanwords from Phoenician as the only foreign elements.

Mongolian is often seen as a barbaric sort of language to its neighbors, but the ever-proud Mongols care little for the opinions others have of their speech.

JAPANESE: An Asiatic language, Japanese is estimated to have diverged from Mongolian around 6000 BC. There are a number of similarities in nouns and sentence structure which show Japanese's link to its linguistic cousin, but beyond that, Japanese has little similarities to its neighbor. Since the Shogunate became effectively an autonomous province of the Phoenician Empire, an increasing number of Phoenician loanwords have crept into the Japanese language, and it seems that Japanese may itself one day die out.

SIOUX: The Sioux language has yet to be seriously studied by linguists, largely due to the reclusive nature of the Sioux Confederacy. Enough is known, however, to prove that it is a linguistic isolate, unrelated to any of the continent's other native tongues. The divergence between Sioux and the tongues of its neighbors has to go back at least 10,000 years.

SUDEN (VIKING): The Suden language perhaps has an even worse reputation than that of the Mongols for its brutish sound and barbaric tendencies. It is distantly related to the languages of the former Spanish and Rhomanian Empires, though the great distance which separates the land of Suden from those extinguished nations is considerable. It's now thought that the area south of modern Carthage was the original heartland of these "European" languages, from which they spread southward all across Rhabasia. The languages intermediate between those northern "European" languages and Sudenland were then displaced by Asiatic and proto-Sioux tribes, leaving only the European heartland and the isolated Vikings to maintain their linguistic heritage.

SPANISH: A European language distantly related to Rhomanian and Suden, Spanish records still survive in the archives of Telkhia and, to some extent, Carthage. It seems to have been a very lyrical language, though the true tone of the language has been lost for almost a thousand years, if not more. The Spanish language fell into a steady decay after the Burning of Spain. The words from the tongues of those who greeted the Phoenician settlers a few centuries later were mere ghosts of those spoken by their ancestors.

SPANIYAN: That said, though, enough of a distinct linguistic character remained in the former region of Spain, even as it lay fallow for a period of centuries. The Phoenician introduced by Carthaginian settlers when contact was re-established breathed new life into what remained of the Spanish language, creating a pidgin tongue, a sort of Euro-Semitic language which is unique on the continent. The language is still common in Matrit and Salunah, although Phoenician is taught to all Spaniyan speakers at a young age.

HINDI: Though at first glance Hindi seems, like Sioux, to be unrelated to other Rhabasian languages, closer inspection reveals a connection to the European languages going back thousands of years. The complex society crafted by the Indians stood the test of time, and Telkhia was, for a time, the most populous city on the planet. Thusly, when the Indian Empire was attacked and annexed by Carthage, enough of a stable population existed in the area to make a strong presence of the Carthaginian language impossible. Though that language has had a lot of influence on modern Hindi, the Christians of Telkhia, especially, have kept the language of their forefathers alive in essentially the same spirit.

The language is common in the former India, downriver in Hippo, and to some extent in the colony of Sabratha and the magic city of Hadrumetum.

RHOMANIAN: A European language, Rhomanian has a strong written tradition, but today is spoken only by traditionalists and the few nationalists of the former Byzantine Empire, a minority language in its own heartland. And even then, modern Rhomanian is heavily influenced by Phoenician. Despite that, though, Rhomanian has had a large influence on Hebrew, as the Jewish religion can trace its origins to the paladins of old Constantinople (now Qoshtant).

KHMER: A long-extinct Asiatic language, distantly related to Mongolian and Japanese. The destruction of the Khmer heartland, modern Qampuqiyah, was so total that almost the entire population of Yasodharapura (now Iasotapor) was wiped out, leaving only old records to attest to the Khmer language.

HEBREW: Hebrew is perhaps not a naturalistic language, as it is never truly spoken at home, but is among the most significant languages of Rhabasia, due to its status as the liturgical language of the Jewish faith. Though it is a Semitic language through its Phoenician roots, Rhomanian has had an undoubtable influence on Hebrew. The holy city is, after all, Qoshtant. The language itself has left an imprint even on the offshoot religions of Judaism - that is, Christianity and Islam.

ARABIC: Arabic is a Semitic language which can trace its history for thousands of years to the Arab inhabitants of the island now called Sabratha, but Hebrew and Phoenician have made a large impact upon its usage.

MALADECHAI: The native name for the tongue of the Semitic "Sea Raiders", this language is attested to in a few records in Carthage and Qoshtant. However, it seems that the Sea Raiders are long extinct, and their language with them.

Very well written as normal, the rise of Islam will be fun to read!

This is excellent stuff, keep it coming Grue

General Olaf said:

This is excellent stuff, keep it coming Grue

Click to expand...

Yes keep it coming

Very very good.

Thanks for the praise, everyone! Another update should be coming tonight.

"Right this way, your majesty," Philosir called, holding a torch aloft as he moved further down the corridor. Hannibal followed close behind, glancing around the dark and dank interior of the corridor, located somewhere under the hill upon which Carthage sat. Hannibal could tell that these ruins beneath the city were old. Very old. They'd certainly been here for thousands of years before Carthage was built, though who may have built them was a mystery even to the Immortal.

There was something else about them that captured the Phoenician Emperor's attention. The tunnels had a character to them that was palpable. Something about them he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Something evil.

"What precisely is this place, Philosir?"

The high shaman and head of all magical affairs replied to his sovereign, "We believe this to be a temple of sorts, left behind by those who dwelt upon our world before we did." Hannibal pondered that for a moment, thinking back to his 'youth', as an Immortal understood things. Of tales that before the Immortals another, more powerful race had once governed the universe. He cast aside his idle thoughts to hear Philosir's explanation. "There's a deep well of power beneath these ruins that can't be accessed from the city above. Our demonstration will require these magics to make an... adequate impression."

"And what, pray tell, is this demonstration, Philosir?"

The shaman smiled. "You shall see shortly, your highness."

The corridor opened up into a larger chamber, lit with torchlight. It was hewn with perfectly squared corners. In the center were four columns, arranged around what appeared to be an altar. On top of the altar, a desiccated corpse - certainly a grimmer sight than Hannibal was anticipating.

At Philosir's cue, four shaman moved to the altar from all sides, lifting their hands toward the body. In complete synchronization, a black cloud of magic drifted forward from them as they began to chant, filling the air around the corpse with a hazy appearance. This went on for several minutes before Philosir turned to Hannibal. "You are adept with the arts yourself, your majesty. What do you say you help us finish the ritual?" Hannibal wanted to say no, but felt himself being almost drawn forward, standing in front of the altar.

Raising his hands in kind, he felt that dark energy flow through him, until at last a release - and the corpse stirred. With an awful creak of moving bone, it lifted its head, and spoke in a raspy voice. "I live again... only to ssserve the Emperor."

"And that, your majesty, is the power of necromancy." Another smile. "Wonderous, is it not?"

Hannibal looked down at his hands. There he could not argue. "Yes. Wonderous."

Wonderous. So why did it feel so wrong?


Half a world away, Nakapi, high priestess of the Hindu faith, jolted awake. She blinked a few times, batting away the spots filling her vision. Something was terribly wrong - though she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Standing, she walked over to the temple's balcony, looking down upon Cuzco, capital of the great Incan Empire. With a sigh, she took in the sight.

A lesser priestess approached her. "Something troubles you, your holiness?"

Nakapi frowned. "Nothing," she shook her head. "Nothing at all."

Enjoying the story immensely I especially like the extra layer of flavor you added with that little appendix about the languages.

Thanks. Sometimes I can't resist the urge to expand on the universe I set stories in.