Crusader's Legacy
- Thread starter SKILORD
- Start date
SKILORD
Insurgent
I shall Warman, I shall.
Thank you for the feedback. Nice to hear caring voices every now and again. Writers are very tempermental creatrures, much like cats.
Anyway, I've recently become employed and will now have to reserve my evenings for selling tickets at the local theater rather than writing (Sadly the former pays better) I will not stop writing, byt will have to do so in the afternoons (be4 the theater opens and work starts), it might slow me down a bit.
I haven't forgotten you.
Thank you for the feedback. Nice to hear caring voices every now and again. Writers are very tempermental creatrures, much like cats.
Anyway, I've recently become employed and will now have to reserve my evenings for selling tickets at the local theater rather than writing (Sadly the former pays better) I will not stop writing, byt will have to do so in the afternoons (be4 the theater opens and work starts), it might slow me down a bit.
I haven't forgotten you.
ChrisiusMaximus
Prince
Excellent stuff SKI, I popped over here to check out the other side of the story and I can honestly say it was well worth my while.
As ever and as I always tell your good self over at poly this is an excellent piece of creative writing and were very lucky at poly and here at CFC to have folks as talented as yourself to take the time to share with us their imagination and inspiration. Well Done and keep the goods coming.
BTW I have been registered here for months and this is my first post ever at CFC, and maybe not the last.
As ever and as I always tell your good self over at poly this is an excellent piece of creative writing and were very lucky at poly and here at CFC to have folks as talented as yourself to take the time to share with us their imagination and inspiration. Well Done and keep the goods coming.
BTW I have been registered here for months and this is my first post ever at CFC, and maybe not the last.
hew:SKILORD
Insurgent
The following few chapters are the same on each page, I dunno if i'll get back to writivg seperate pieces.
The three dieties eyed each other as rival wolves, pacing sideways in a circle, their eyes never faltered, never blinking.
Blood dripped from Shiva's sword, curved in the eastern style, the blood of Mars had yet to finish dripping. Bruises had already begun to cover him, but he didn't care now, Samaharamuti was above pain.
Blood matted Mars' hairy sides, his well used arms were red, but the blood had stopped flowing, and he walked, holding his gladius low, ready to stab at any who would approach him.
Cerrnunnos was unharmed, his long broadsword bared to the world as he held it before him with both mighty hands. Sweat had already graced his brow, but that was all that had come from his pores, his blood was unshed. Cthconic hissed as it spiraled madly about his arm, avoiding the mighty sword.
A sick, pregnant silence hung between the three, mutual hatred long hardened, a respectful disgust.
Tension mounted against it. Like a dam preparing to break it's final stand was heroic, but doomed to failure. A hateful glance shot out from Cernunnos to the Destroyer. A broadsword lifted to the sky as a war scream escaped.
-
The Army was here at long last, any stranger ould have felkt it in the air, and even if he couldn't any villager would tell him. They were screaming it from the pitifully short rooftops as things were.
Brave men with virgin arquibuses (sp?) trudged through the snow laden streets. Their muskets hung loosley at their side, great respect held them there, even as the villagers begged for demonstrations, these men had seen what the muskets, primitive though they were, could do.
The sun sat frozen in it's distant realm, it's burning rays rendered useless, it's great might dwindled to nothing by that icy dress that the earth had cloaked herself in, a wedding garment as the planet hurtled into destiny.
-
The sword fell with a collasal crash, it slippped away from the god it had missed, and watched as Shiva's blade shattered slowly, like glass feebly attempting to rally another minute from it's long dead parts, as they scattered on the ground, silvery fragments of greatness, reflections of the god that had once held them.
Shiva looked down to the scattered blade, realising his weakness he moved sharply out of the path of Cernunnos's blade. Mars hung back, watching the bgattle proceed, biding his time.
The broadsword laid Shiva on the defense, his own reflexes barlely a match for the mighty blows that swung constantly.
A blow landed to his shoulder, and a sickening crunch informed him that he was in dire straits, he didn't have time to look at his wounded arm as the next blows began to land.
There was no help in sight.
-
Gahndi's bow hung limply, impotent at his side, he held it now at all times even as he prepared to speak with his men, men who had long granted him every confidence, even as he lucked his way through his early years of war.
He turned and opened his mouth, as words prepared to come. A sick feeling suddenly took him. Shiva was somehow endangered. He could feel the immortallity of his breath slipping away, he could feel the strength of his own sides falter, and droop, his head hung low a prophecy came.
The room fell silent as the men watched him in his trance. Gahndi fell to his knees as they watched, entranced.
Suddenly, minutes after he had begun Gahndi rose up, placing a hand before him to steady the rise, a look of utmost confidence and hope in his eyes he looked to the men, seeming to adress each one in the eye, as an individual and not as a member of the army.
"Let us pray." he intoned, drooping again before the people.
-
Shiva was laying down again, swords edge lashed his side mercilessly as his shoulder screamed in the unforgettable pain of a badly broken bone.
And then it stopped.
Shiva didn't know how it came to an end, how the healing overtook him, dominating him as Cernunnos had only moments before. The blows felt light, futile. They fell, soft as raindrops as Samaharamuti found himself no longer humbled, but brought high before the perplexed Celtic god.
He picked up his blade as it reformed itself faithfully. He looked up to Cernunnos.
A hand extended calmly, immune to the flurry of blows that Cernunnos offered. The sword at it's tip glimmered the reflection of light eternal, that of a God in full control of his powers. The battle would begin again. Shiva swung the sword back and lashed down on the broadsword.
-
The battlefield had long since been veteraned. Knighted by those who bore that cross of war, baptised in the blood of those who deemed her worthy to be their final grounds of rest. Honor and Disgrace, glory and pain, all were hers to remember, the scars sat beside those wounds which still bore infection, where soldiers presently lay in wait for his foe across her dark expanse.
Celts hated. They knew not why, but deep within their souls they bore some indeterminable marking which dissociated them from that world which desired peace. Celtia had first brought forth war on this scale, war for total victory, rather than limited means of peace treaties. War was for conquest, war was for hate. War was lifesblood itself.
Arrows shot desperatly to fulfill their fleeting lives as they darted across the field. Neither side could get a grip[ on the other, through that murky mist which settled ominously above that ancient field. Flames sat idly atop torches, waiting with an infinite patience for that time at which they would be loosed.
Bows were strung on the Indian side of the field.
Gahndi peered into that murky light, the grey veil hid those enemies from him who would hide. His scout drew near to wisper in secret tones.
"The Celts draw near, They hide between the hills. The are like a snake slithering across the field."
"A snake? We shall simple have to take the hoe to them then," Gahndi frowned," where do you think they shall arrive?"
The scout pointed, the days final rays lead to a spot upon a hill where a defense could be mounted to drive itself into the very heart of an attacking force.
Yes, India would stand or fall there. He would stand alongside her.
-
The officer's sword whipped it's blunt side upon the desk.
"Are you listening, Legatus? Your position is not so high as to render you immobile."
The laid back man ignored the threat to his position. He was a brilliant officer, soon to approach Centurion's ranks. This idiot could knock him down, but he would simply rise back.
"Yeah, I guess I did hear. But it's a stupid plan."
"WHAT!" The General was enraged. He would have slapped the other man sharply for impudence with the sword in a nother nation, but this was Rome. "You shall follow my orders."
The Legatus sighed, pulling himself up and leaning over the batllefield map.
"You see the reserves here, they are unharmed as of yet. Our Catapaults cannot find their barracks. Intelligence asserts that there are reinforcements on the way for the enemy, we have none to offer," save you, the young officer thought, but he held his tongue. It was the same in his eyes anyway," We cannot, at this point, faorce a retreat upon them, I have missed nights of sleep pondering how to deliver the final strike. It cannot be done. I reccomend simply pulling back to Pompeii, taking solace in her walls and pounding them from there."
"Surrender, Retreat, these are not options for men such as us!"
He had had enough. He rose to his feet, looking Octavian in the eyes firmly, his teeth bared his words were spoken on the edge of biting.
"We, are not men of the same sort... You are a fool, and a fancy one at that. I am a realist, and a militarry Genius. You may reprimand me for not being humble. i dare you to. Because I quit. I know exactly what I am worth, and it is more than the whole Legion you brought here. I bid thee, I bid Rome, farewell."
Octavian sputtered.... "Judas.... don't...."
"I shall, I must. Fools are not for men such as I to tolerate."
Watching victory ride, it's white flag held high proudly, to the enemy camp, struck Octavian with a profound sense of defeat. Things had not yet played out. But the day was lost.
-
The swords clashed wihth thundrous sound and electric power. The two gods faced each other with utmost rage and hate, all tempering respect was lost. Mars watched in amazement as the two parried and swung faster than he could folllow. His sword was hanging low.
Blood had found it's way to Cernunnos. His hip was split open and every swing was pain to him. Blood pulsed only through Shiva's veins, he healed as he was harmed.
Suddenly they were atop Mars, the third god was caught amongst the raging fight, his gladius swiftly seeking his protection.
The Thunder raged on above.
-
The Celts had ended the prayers of the Indians. The positions had been unexpected, and the Celts had been as surprised as their opponents. Army had met army in awkward battles, arrows were slung confusedly across the lines.
Supplications, praise, all ended their journey heavenward as the battle began, as the sword rose to the hand, and the armies marched across the field towards each other. A false sense of finality pervading the air.
-
The broadsword fell upon Shiva, who began to laugh, as he had begun doing when the futile blows landed. A red streak marked it's landing. A pool of blood formed atop the skin. The curved blade began it's assault once more, unfettered by the failing of the invincibility.
Cernunnos noticed, though, and so did Mars.
As did the stag, which bounded towards the finally wounded god....
The three dieties eyed each other as rival wolves, pacing sideways in a circle, their eyes never faltered, never blinking.
Blood dripped from Shiva's sword, curved in the eastern style, the blood of Mars had yet to finish dripping. Bruises had already begun to cover him, but he didn't care now, Samaharamuti was above pain.
Blood matted Mars' hairy sides, his well used arms were red, but the blood had stopped flowing, and he walked, holding his gladius low, ready to stab at any who would approach him.
Cerrnunnos was unharmed, his long broadsword bared to the world as he held it before him with both mighty hands. Sweat had already graced his brow, but that was all that had come from his pores, his blood was unshed. Cthconic hissed as it spiraled madly about his arm, avoiding the mighty sword.
A sick, pregnant silence hung between the three, mutual hatred long hardened, a respectful disgust.
Tension mounted against it. Like a dam preparing to break it's final stand was heroic, but doomed to failure. A hateful glance shot out from Cernunnos to the Destroyer. A broadsword lifted to the sky as a war scream escaped.
-
The Army was here at long last, any stranger ould have felkt it in the air, and even if he couldn't any villager would tell him. They were screaming it from the pitifully short rooftops as things were.
Brave men with virgin arquibuses (sp?) trudged through the snow laden streets. Their muskets hung loosley at their side, great respect held them there, even as the villagers begged for demonstrations, these men had seen what the muskets, primitive though they were, could do.
The sun sat frozen in it's distant realm, it's burning rays rendered useless, it's great might dwindled to nothing by that icy dress that the earth had cloaked herself in, a wedding garment as the planet hurtled into destiny.
-
The sword fell with a collasal crash, it slippped away from the god it had missed, and watched as Shiva's blade shattered slowly, like glass feebly attempting to rally another minute from it's long dead parts, as they scattered on the ground, silvery fragments of greatness, reflections of the god that had once held them.
Shiva looked down to the scattered blade, realising his weakness he moved sharply out of the path of Cernunnos's blade. Mars hung back, watching the bgattle proceed, biding his time.
The broadsword laid Shiva on the defense, his own reflexes barlely a match for the mighty blows that swung constantly.
A blow landed to his shoulder, and a sickening crunch informed him that he was in dire straits, he didn't have time to look at his wounded arm as the next blows began to land.
There was no help in sight.
-
Gahndi's bow hung limply, impotent at his side, he held it now at all times even as he prepared to speak with his men, men who had long granted him every confidence, even as he lucked his way through his early years of war.
He turned and opened his mouth, as words prepared to come. A sick feeling suddenly took him. Shiva was somehow endangered. He could feel the immortallity of his breath slipping away, he could feel the strength of his own sides falter, and droop, his head hung low a prophecy came.
The room fell silent as the men watched him in his trance. Gahndi fell to his knees as they watched, entranced.
Suddenly, minutes after he had begun Gahndi rose up, placing a hand before him to steady the rise, a look of utmost confidence and hope in his eyes he looked to the men, seeming to adress each one in the eye, as an individual and not as a member of the army.
"Let us pray." he intoned, drooping again before the people.
-
Shiva was laying down again, swords edge lashed his side mercilessly as his shoulder screamed in the unforgettable pain of a badly broken bone.
And then it stopped.
Shiva didn't know how it came to an end, how the healing overtook him, dominating him as Cernunnos had only moments before. The blows felt light, futile. They fell, soft as raindrops as Samaharamuti found himself no longer humbled, but brought high before the perplexed Celtic god.
He picked up his blade as it reformed itself faithfully. He looked up to Cernunnos.
A hand extended calmly, immune to the flurry of blows that Cernunnos offered. The sword at it's tip glimmered the reflection of light eternal, that of a God in full control of his powers. The battle would begin again. Shiva swung the sword back and lashed down on the broadsword.
-
The battlefield had long since been veteraned. Knighted by those who bore that cross of war, baptised in the blood of those who deemed her worthy to be their final grounds of rest. Honor and Disgrace, glory and pain, all were hers to remember, the scars sat beside those wounds which still bore infection, where soldiers presently lay in wait for his foe across her dark expanse.
Celts hated. They knew not why, but deep within their souls they bore some indeterminable marking which dissociated them from that world which desired peace. Celtia had first brought forth war on this scale, war for total victory, rather than limited means of peace treaties. War was for conquest, war was for hate. War was lifesblood itself.
Arrows shot desperatly to fulfill their fleeting lives as they darted across the field. Neither side could get a grip[ on the other, through that murky mist which settled ominously above that ancient field. Flames sat idly atop torches, waiting with an infinite patience for that time at which they would be loosed.
Bows were strung on the Indian side of the field.
Gahndi peered into that murky light, the grey veil hid those enemies from him who would hide. His scout drew near to wisper in secret tones.
"The Celts draw near, They hide between the hills. The are like a snake slithering across the field."
"A snake? We shall simple have to take the hoe to them then," Gahndi frowned," where do you think they shall arrive?"
The scout pointed, the days final rays lead to a spot upon a hill where a defense could be mounted to drive itself into the very heart of an attacking force.
Yes, India would stand or fall there. He would stand alongside her.
-
The officer's sword whipped it's blunt side upon the desk.
"Are you listening, Legatus? Your position is not so high as to render you immobile."
The laid back man ignored the threat to his position. He was a brilliant officer, soon to approach Centurion's ranks. This idiot could knock him down, but he would simply rise back.
"Yeah, I guess I did hear. But it's a stupid plan."
"WHAT!" The General was enraged. He would have slapped the other man sharply for impudence with the sword in a nother nation, but this was Rome. "You shall follow my orders."
The Legatus sighed, pulling himself up and leaning over the batllefield map.
"You see the reserves here, they are unharmed as of yet. Our Catapaults cannot find their barracks. Intelligence asserts that there are reinforcements on the way for the enemy, we have none to offer," save you, the young officer thought, but he held his tongue. It was the same in his eyes anyway," We cannot, at this point, faorce a retreat upon them, I have missed nights of sleep pondering how to deliver the final strike. It cannot be done. I reccomend simply pulling back to Pompeii, taking solace in her walls and pounding them from there."
"Surrender, Retreat, these are not options for men such as us!"
He had had enough. He rose to his feet, looking Octavian in the eyes firmly, his teeth bared his words were spoken on the edge of biting.
"We, are not men of the same sort... You are a fool, and a fancy one at that. I am a realist, and a militarry Genius. You may reprimand me for not being humble. i dare you to. Because I quit. I know exactly what I am worth, and it is more than the whole Legion you brought here. I bid thee, I bid Rome, farewell."
Octavian sputtered.... "Judas.... don't...."
"I shall, I must. Fools are not for men such as I to tolerate."
Watching victory ride, it's white flag held high proudly, to the enemy camp, struck Octavian with a profound sense of defeat. Things had not yet played out. But the day was lost.
-
The swords clashed wihth thundrous sound and electric power. The two gods faced each other with utmost rage and hate, all tempering respect was lost. Mars watched in amazement as the two parried and swung faster than he could folllow. His sword was hanging low.
Blood had found it's way to Cernunnos. His hip was split open and every swing was pain to him. Blood pulsed only through Shiva's veins, he healed as he was harmed.
Suddenly they were atop Mars, the third god was caught amongst the raging fight, his gladius swiftly seeking his protection.
The Thunder raged on above.
-
The Celts had ended the prayers of the Indians. The positions had been unexpected, and the Celts had been as surprised as their opponents. Army had met army in awkward battles, arrows were slung confusedly across the lines.
Supplications, praise, all ended their journey heavenward as the battle began, as the sword rose to the hand, and the armies marched across the field towards each other. A false sense of finality pervading the air.
-
The broadsword fell upon Shiva, who began to laugh, as he had begun doing when the futile blows landed. A red streak marked it's landing. A pool of blood formed atop the skin. The curved blade began it's assault once more, unfettered by the failing of the invincibility.
Cernunnos noticed, though, and so did Mars.
As did the stag, which bounded towards the finally wounded god....
SKILORD
Insurgent
Men across a foggy feild can hardly etch the outlines of their adversaries, Battle had been offered, received and played out. Nothing had come of it. Brennus had come to the front, he was tired of the impotent battle.
A nervous sweat broke across his head, for he was alone, there was no god at his side to advise him. And he had to wonder if he was still gifted, or was he fallen to the levels of those soldiers around him, did death wait upon yonder field?
-
The horseman galloped away, his message delivered, Gahndi crumpled it, tossing it down, wishing he weren't so alone among mortals.
Or should he count himself among them now?
Brennus wished to meet, to fight, a single clash of Commanders to decide the engagement, exactly what Gahndi could best exploit, if he won the enemy army would be removed to it's home, not even the optomist who beleived that could imagine Gahndi pulling back forces after a defeat.
The short sword peeered his reflection back at him as he questioned it, lacking the divine guide who had so long been his sole light, leading him endlessly as he built his Empire.
Where was Shiva?
-
Metal clashed against the floor, Shiva pulling away as the sword overburdened the Celtic God of the Hunt, Samaharamuti was not accustomed to being hunted.
Swinging his sword in circles he pushed forward against the Horned Diety. Every attack was countered, every thrust tossed aside, neither move had much effect.
Mars had fallen from battle and sat watching, dumbfounded once more by the fierceness.
-
Judas Victorisimus, or rather General Judas Victorisimus, stood befoere an army, his former commander his adversary, his motherland his foe.
Dressed in odd Indian Armor he looked at the motley crew of Medeival Warriors who now swore alleigence to him.
The Roman.
"The Time has come."
He could feel it suddenly, the time had come, the gods battle in the heavens, of which he was only partly aware, and even in that sense not fully concious, had reached a pinnacle.
The Roman was marked for greatness.
Judasa would change the face of history, through betrayal.
But who would he betray, in the end? And to whom?
A nervous sweat broke across his head, for he was alone, there was no god at his side to advise him. And he had to wonder if he was still gifted, or was he fallen to the levels of those soldiers around him, did death wait upon yonder field?
-
The horseman galloped away, his message delivered, Gahndi crumpled it, tossing it down, wishing he weren't so alone among mortals.
Or should he count himself among them now?
Brennus wished to meet, to fight, a single clash of Commanders to decide the engagement, exactly what Gahndi could best exploit, if he won the enemy army would be removed to it's home, not even the optomist who beleived that could imagine Gahndi pulling back forces after a defeat.
The short sword peeered his reflection back at him as he questioned it, lacking the divine guide who had so long been his sole light, leading him endlessly as he built his Empire.
Where was Shiva?
-
Metal clashed against the floor, Shiva pulling away as the sword overburdened the Celtic God of the Hunt, Samaharamuti was not accustomed to being hunted.
Swinging his sword in circles he pushed forward against the Horned Diety. Every attack was countered, every thrust tossed aside, neither move had much effect.
Mars had fallen from battle and sat watching, dumbfounded once more by the fierceness.
-
Judas Victorisimus, or rather General Judas Victorisimus, stood befoere an army, his former commander his adversary, his motherland his foe.
Dressed in odd Indian Armor he looked at the motley crew of Medeival Warriors who now swore alleigence to him.
The Roman.
"The Time has come."
He could feel it suddenly, the time had come, the gods battle in the heavens, of which he was only partly aware, and even in that sense not fully concious, had reached a pinnacle.
The Roman was marked for greatness.
Judasa would change the face of history, through betrayal.
But who would he betray, in the end? And to whom?
SKILORD
Insurgent
The Next Chapter, for those of you who have been dying for it. It's a refined model, thankfully. I've composed new Counter Factual and used that as a testing ground for some new literary techniques.
I may post it later, I have yet to produce a satisfactory title for it, but I can tell you that it is very good, the basic 'South wins the Civil War' model with a few interesting twists. I probably wrote it mostly out of hatred for Mr. Turtledove's 'How Few Remain-Great War Series.' Which are, in my eyes, the worst possible take on an Independent Confederacy.
But while you may care deeply about that, That is for another thread, a thread I may well anticipate, but a seperate thread regardless.
This is he story of Crusaders. This is their Legacy.
-
"Vivere militare est" He nodded to his aide.
"Ita," he nodded, "Ita Vera."
"Where will they strike next?" He unfolded a map, pointing to the assorted mountains of Rome.
The aide shrugged. Pointing at an asorted set of peaks to the north.
"That would be a brilliant move, victory there would grant them passage to the seven sacred hills. They would probably crush us with such a blow, but imagine he cost. They have no need to take a sea route, they have a border with us and I am sure their knights can reach us faster on land."
"Not if they were the troops from the Celtic front. They've declared truce and need not stay there. From there sea is the more direct route anyways. They aren't knights either, the Indians favor elephants."
The General sighed. looking at the map he muttered.
"It's over. Isn't it."
His aide nodded solemnly.
-
"We're out of nails, I'm sorry."
"Are you sure? Can you fashion nothing for my horse? We have a message to deliver."
The smithie, a fattening older felow whose white hair flew confusedly in whatever direction length would permit. His utter lack of beard was remarkable, though he unsurprisingly lacked teeth.
"We're out of nails. What is so hard for you to understand?"
"This is urgent!"
"Take it yourself then."
"I won't make it without that horse."
"You shan't rent her without a proper shoe on her. I shant apply some nonsence of a shoe. What could be so important anyway?"
He had been vowed to secrecy. Though his dark eyes parried with the thought of divulging the secret to this doddering old fool he realised that he couldn't. if he was overheard he might as well not go.
He tossed downhis hat angrily, storming off muttering.
"For want of a nail, the shoe was lost."
he scribbled it down on his pad as he dashed off to make a go at delivery on foot.
-
They surrounded him, an evil looking sort, probably not Indians, if the Indians had made it so far his message would not have helped anyway.
He wanted to run, to escape, they were mounted, he would never outrun them.
"For want of a horse, the message was lost," he thought as they ransacked his clothing, looking dumbly at the runes they could not read.
-
Roman generals did not lead from the front. It was a rare occasion that Ceaser did, but Pompey was no Caeser, he perfered things to be done in the classical, coldblooded style.
He surveyed the battlefeild, from his hill, pleased as the Romans stood strong against the Indian invaaders.
He laughed to a nearby legatus.
"Rome may well survive this after all." The smile was wide.
He turned to the battlefeild.
"Why isn't the Right flank advancing?" it was true, the knights stood still, unmoving.
"I....I dispatched a messanger sir. They should have received his message by now."
The Elephants charged the silent flank, catching the knights by surprise and overwhelming them. The Indians held a Roman flank, Pompey would shift his troops, but he already knew it was lost.
"For want of a message, the battle was lost."
-
Upon the ships the battle was perceived silently. Maps were arrayed befoere the ruler and god of India.
"The Sacred hills next. The Romans will be devastated if we burn the birthplace of Mars.
Gahndi, emperor of the Indian empire he had forged with his own two fists looked across the deep blue of ocean to the creen studded mountaintops of rome, the marks of war were apparent from even the vantage of the sea.
The quiet racket of a paddle in the water awoke him from his reverie.
"Sir, the battle is won. We seized th flank and crushed their troops. It wasa slaughter."
"On to the sacred hills then. The very heart of Rome."
"No," Shiva soothly denied them.
"It is not the heart of Rome?"
"The sacred hills. Are Rome."
-
"Empres fall, sir. We are simply the next."
Caeser glared at the advisor.
"Any chance of negotiation?"
The advisor chickled, "They play for keeps."
"So, no negotiation. No hope in heaven."
"That sums it up sir, very nicely."
"No."
:What sir?"
Caeser's eyes were aglow.
"What sir?" He repeated for good measure.
"No hope... but heaven."
"Don't follow."
"Leave then. I must speak with Mars."
Mumbling about superstition the Advisor left.
Cackles of Laughter soon followed him up the hall, it wasn't Caeser's voice, he reqalised. Too deep. Too... Godlike.
Feedback? Sorry it's taken so long.
I may post it later, I have yet to produce a satisfactory title for it, but I can tell you that it is very good, the basic 'South wins the Civil War' model with a few interesting twists. I probably wrote it mostly out of hatred for Mr. Turtledove's 'How Few Remain-Great War Series.' Which are, in my eyes, the worst possible take on an Independent Confederacy.
But while you may care deeply about that, That is for another thread, a thread I may well anticipate, but a seperate thread regardless.
This is he story of Crusaders. This is their Legacy.
-
"Vivere militare est" He nodded to his aide.
"Ita," he nodded, "Ita Vera."
"Where will they strike next?" He unfolded a map, pointing to the assorted mountains of Rome.
The aide shrugged. Pointing at an asorted set of peaks to the north.
"That would be a brilliant move, victory there would grant them passage to the seven sacred hills. They would probably crush us with such a blow, but imagine he cost. They have no need to take a sea route, they have a border with us and I am sure their knights can reach us faster on land."
"Not if they were the troops from the Celtic front. They've declared truce and need not stay there. From there sea is the more direct route anyways. They aren't knights either, the Indians favor elephants."
The General sighed. looking at the map he muttered.
"It's over. Isn't it."
His aide nodded solemnly.
-
"We're out of nails, I'm sorry."
"Are you sure? Can you fashion nothing for my horse? We have a message to deliver."
The smithie, a fattening older felow whose white hair flew confusedly in whatever direction length would permit. His utter lack of beard was remarkable, though he unsurprisingly lacked teeth.
"We're out of nails. What is so hard for you to understand?"
"This is urgent!"
"Take it yourself then."
"I won't make it without that horse."
"You shan't rent her without a proper shoe on her. I shant apply some nonsence of a shoe. What could be so important anyway?"
He had been vowed to secrecy. Though his dark eyes parried with the thought of divulging the secret to this doddering old fool he realised that he couldn't. if he was overheard he might as well not go.
He tossed downhis hat angrily, storming off muttering.
"For want of a nail, the shoe was lost."
he scribbled it down on his pad as he dashed off to make a go at delivery on foot.
-
They surrounded him, an evil looking sort, probably not Indians, if the Indians had made it so far his message would not have helped anyway.
He wanted to run, to escape, they were mounted, he would never outrun them.
"For want of a horse, the message was lost," he thought as they ransacked his clothing, looking dumbly at the runes they could not read.
-
Roman generals did not lead from the front. It was a rare occasion that Ceaser did, but Pompey was no Caeser, he perfered things to be done in the classical, coldblooded style.
He surveyed the battlefeild, from his hill, pleased as the Romans stood strong against the Indian invaaders.
He laughed to a nearby legatus.
"Rome may well survive this after all." The smile was wide.
He turned to the battlefeild.
"Why isn't the Right flank advancing?" it was true, the knights stood still, unmoving.
"I....I dispatched a messanger sir. They should have received his message by now."
The Elephants charged the silent flank, catching the knights by surprise and overwhelming them. The Indians held a Roman flank, Pompey would shift his troops, but he already knew it was lost.
"For want of a message, the battle was lost."
-
Upon the ships the battle was perceived silently. Maps were arrayed befoere the ruler and god of India.
"The Sacred hills next. The Romans will be devastated if we burn the birthplace of Mars.
Gahndi, emperor of the Indian empire he had forged with his own two fists looked across the deep blue of ocean to the creen studded mountaintops of rome, the marks of war were apparent from even the vantage of the sea.
The quiet racket of a paddle in the water awoke him from his reverie.
"Sir, the battle is won. We seized th flank and crushed their troops. It wasa slaughter."
"On to the sacred hills then. The very heart of Rome."
"No," Shiva soothly denied them.
"It is not the heart of Rome?"
"The sacred hills. Are Rome."
-
"Empres fall, sir. We are simply the next."
Caeser glared at the advisor.
"Any chance of negotiation?"
The advisor chickled, "They play for keeps."
"So, no negotiation. No hope in heaven."
"That sums it up sir, very nicely."
"No."
:What sir?"
Caeser's eyes were aglow.
"What sir?" He repeated for good measure.
"No hope... but heaven."
"Don't follow."
"Leave then. I must speak with Mars."
Mumbling about superstition the Advisor left.
Cackles of Laughter soon followed him up the hall, it wasn't Caeser's voice, he reqalised. Too deep. Too... Godlike.
Feedback? Sorry it's taken so long.
SKILORD
Insurgent
The metallic clang stung his ears. It was all he had left to offer. He had plotted long with Caeser to perfectr his surprise. He had apparently failed, he cracked a grin as his body, a body he supposed now, fell to the floor. Mortality was a funny thing.
Shiva's curved blade finished the swing, as the Gladius enchantingly rolled away from the limp hands, a hypnotic noise followed in it's wake.
"Ah, how the mighty have fallen."
The new voice took Shiva by surprise, Mars grunted his last breaths in stammering confusion. Shiva turned his head.
Cernunous grinned back at him.
"Again?" Shiva asked. A perplexed glare reflected back from the craggy horned face.
It became apparent that Cernunnuos had regained his bearings. His eyes lit up and he spoke.
"No. No, of course not. We are both tired. I would rather crush you when I recover."
"You trust me?" Samaharamuti asked, grinning.
Mars grunted for the last time and then lay dead, blood seeping from his lips. This caught the attention of the Indian and Celt for a moment before they turned to each other.
"No, I don't. But I trust my sword."
Shiva nodded.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing really.Just came to watch the show. I suppose we shall meet again?"
"We don't have to."
"But we must. Do you think that the process can be stopped. In the end, there can be only one. You know this as well as I. I don't relish the thought of fighting you, I saw you and Mars. Peace has no hope. Not until one stands, uber aelles, as Tiw would say."
Shiva frowned.
"One day perhaps. But I have the Romans to deal with first"
"Deal as you must. It is right to kill the godless ones. It is the way of the godless to die."
-
Marcus Secundus had once been an advisor to Caeser. No-one before him, though the crowd was massive, would have ever guesssed this. His toga waas unstained, much like a preists.
Marcus was no preist.
"There is no god." His voice boomed before the masses. Who took aghas looks upon their faces. He stood before the Great temple, tat first building Caeser had built in Rome. Marble veins bled slowly away from the wound which took it's daggar of a pulpit upon them.
"Mars is dead, and Mars alone was God. I call you people to see this. We shall stand tall, We need no petty god to govern our affairs!" His fist was raised to the heavens, defiantly.
"Your like have come before. You have always been wrong."
Marcus eyed the stranger in the crowd, a sneer in his visage.
"Mars hsa always struck them dead," He raised his arms away from him, baring his chest to the sky, "If you live, exhalted Mars, then strike me down for the blasphemer I am."
Silence swept across the expectant crowd, a few near the front backed away, fearful.
Nothing happened.
His arms fell.
"Do you see?"
The crowd stared dumbly, a man cried out,
"He lives!"
Marcus frowned.
"Thank you captain obvious."
The man smiled proudly and turned to the crowd, "I'm a captain!" he exclaimed, leaving to spread the good word.
Marcus sighed. He had lost momentum to the fool.
"So join me my freinds. We shall worship none, we shall build swords rather than temples. We shall defend our homeland ourselves, not ask the pity of a dead god."
Cheers rose with fists matching his own. The very heavens shuddered at the volume.
-
"What do you think your doing?"
Marcu looked up from his papers, "So the king makes housecalls now?"
Caeser sighed, uncomfortable, "We make exceptions when our kingdom stands threatened."
"Don't worry." Marcus put his pen back to the parchment and turned his eyes away from Julius.
Caeser shook his head quickly, surprised.
"What do you mean."
MArcus looked up, pity in his eyes for the ignorant.
"Your day is over, naught can be done. Surrender yourself to destiny and enjoy what remains of your life."
Caeser sneered, "My life is eternal," he took up his Gladius, "Much unlike yours."
Marcus lazily pulled a knife up and slid it across the king's arm. Blood came forth excitedly.
Marcus looked up.
"Leave this house. I shall grant you a Kingdom as long as I\it pleases me."
Caeser stammared, backwheeling for the door.
"I still have followers." He turned and ran for his chariot.
To the swinging door he muttered, not bothering to look up from his writings, "So does Mars."
-
"We've met stiff resistance to the East sir."
"Legions? Pikes? What do the Romans hae left?"
"It seems to be peasants. An army of them."
Judas shrugged, "What of it? Simply slaughter them."
"They are building lines, crude soldier work at best, but they fight and die. We die as well, general, and they have many more than we."
"So? Bring the catapaults and use those. It should frighten them off."
"Their determined sire. And besides, our artilarry has fallen behind, it would take weeks for it to catch up on the unpaved dirt and mud. Our supply lines are broken, they would have no direction to go in. We cannot get the catapaults."
"We shall win. They are only peasants."
"They have a rallying cry, can you explain it for me?"
Judas sighed, "I must be off to fight real armies, what is it?"
"Deus Mortuus Est" (NB: My Latin if foggy, I didn't take it this year, methinks the cases and declensions are right, correct me if not)
"God is dead." with this he turned and left, not bothering to remember it.
-
A daggar their banner, swords unsheathed, they marched with ironically religious zeal.
"Deus Mortuus Est!" shouted from very marching tongue. The heavens quaked and the mountains shivered. With every raised sword and torch came another chance at freedom, another loss worth dying for. The numbers swelled, the mob of romans marched on angrilly. A storm on the horizon.
The armed masses had found a strength they had never known before.
God save the Kings.
Shiva's curved blade finished the swing, as the Gladius enchantingly rolled away from the limp hands, a hypnotic noise followed in it's wake.
"Ah, how the mighty have fallen."
The new voice took Shiva by surprise, Mars grunted his last breaths in stammering confusion. Shiva turned his head.
Cernunous grinned back at him.
"Again?" Shiva asked. A perplexed glare reflected back from the craggy horned face.
It became apparent that Cernunnuos had regained his bearings. His eyes lit up and he spoke.
"No. No, of course not. We are both tired. I would rather crush you when I recover."
"You trust me?" Samaharamuti asked, grinning.
Mars grunted for the last time and then lay dead, blood seeping from his lips. This caught the attention of the Indian and Celt for a moment before they turned to each other.
"No, I don't. But I trust my sword."
Shiva nodded.
"What do you want?"
"Nothing really.Just came to watch the show. I suppose we shall meet again?"
"We don't have to."
"But we must. Do you think that the process can be stopped. In the end, there can be only one. You know this as well as I. I don't relish the thought of fighting you, I saw you and Mars. Peace has no hope. Not until one stands, uber aelles, as Tiw would say."
Shiva frowned.
"One day perhaps. But I have the Romans to deal with first"
"Deal as you must. It is right to kill the godless ones. It is the way of the godless to die."
-
Marcus Secundus had once been an advisor to Caeser. No-one before him, though the crowd was massive, would have ever guesssed this. His toga waas unstained, much like a preists.
Marcus was no preist.
"There is no god." His voice boomed before the masses. Who took aghas looks upon their faces. He stood before the Great temple, tat first building Caeser had built in Rome. Marble veins bled slowly away from the wound which took it's daggar of a pulpit upon them.
"Mars is dead, and Mars alone was God. I call you people to see this. We shall stand tall, We need no petty god to govern our affairs!" His fist was raised to the heavens, defiantly.
"Your like have come before. You have always been wrong."
Marcus eyed the stranger in the crowd, a sneer in his visage.
"Mars hsa always struck them dead," He raised his arms away from him, baring his chest to the sky, "If you live, exhalted Mars, then strike me down for the blasphemer I am."
Silence swept across the expectant crowd, a few near the front backed away, fearful.
Nothing happened.
His arms fell.
"Do you see?"
The crowd stared dumbly, a man cried out,
"He lives!"
Marcus frowned.
"Thank you captain obvious."
The man smiled proudly and turned to the crowd, "I'm a captain!" he exclaimed, leaving to spread the good word.
Marcus sighed. He had lost momentum to the fool.
"So join me my freinds. We shall worship none, we shall build swords rather than temples. We shall defend our homeland ourselves, not ask the pity of a dead god."
Cheers rose with fists matching his own. The very heavens shuddered at the volume.
-
"What do you think your doing?"
Marcu looked up from his papers, "So the king makes housecalls now?"
Caeser sighed, uncomfortable, "We make exceptions when our kingdom stands threatened."
"Don't worry." Marcus put his pen back to the parchment and turned his eyes away from Julius.
Caeser shook his head quickly, surprised.
"What do you mean."
MArcus looked up, pity in his eyes for the ignorant.
"Your day is over, naught can be done. Surrender yourself to destiny and enjoy what remains of your life."
Caeser sneered, "My life is eternal," he took up his Gladius, "Much unlike yours."
Marcus lazily pulled a knife up and slid it across the king's arm. Blood came forth excitedly.
Marcus looked up.
"Leave this house. I shall grant you a Kingdom as long as I\it pleases me."
Caeser stammared, backwheeling for the door.
"I still have followers." He turned and ran for his chariot.
To the swinging door he muttered, not bothering to look up from his writings, "So does Mars."
-
"We've met stiff resistance to the East sir."
"Legions? Pikes? What do the Romans hae left?"
"It seems to be peasants. An army of them."
Judas shrugged, "What of it? Simply slaughter them."
"They are building lines, crude soldier work at best, but they fight and die. We die as well, general, and they have many more than we."
"So? Bring the catapaults and use those. It should frighten them off."
"Their determined sire. And besides, our artilarry has fallen behind, it would take weeks for it to catch up on the unpaved dirt and mud. Our supply lines are broken, they would have no direction to go in. We cannot get the catapaults."
"We shall win. They are only peasants."
"They have a rallying cry, can you explain it for me?"
Judas sighed, "I must be off to fight real armies, what is it?"
"Deus Mortuus Est" (NB: My Latin if foggy, I didn't take it this year, methinks the cases and declensions are right, correct me if not)
"God is dead." with this he turned and left, not bothering to remember it.
-
A daggar their banner, swords unsheathed, they marched with ironically religious zeal.
"Deus Mortuus Est!" shouted from very marching tongue. The heavens quaked and the mountains shivered. With every raised sword and torch came another chance at freedom, another loss worth dying for. The numbers swelled, the mob of romans marched on angrilly. A storm on the horizon.
The armed masses had found a strength they had never known before.
God save the Kings.
SKILORD
Insurgent
"Internal dissent would see the shattering of the Ceaser's regime into fragmented factions, many blame him, for failing to re-establish order, as the major catalyst in the coming revolution. Indian forces continued to ravage the countryside as the newfound glory of the masses began to shine and the reactionary forces of the Ceaser, calling themselves the 'Crusaders' fought desperately."
-The People's History of the People's Republic of Rome, Volume 1, Before the first Republic.
-
Burning feilds.
As he stood before them he wondered who had set the fire, noone would ever know, he guessed, though there would be attempts to blame ones enemies. Personally he suspected the Republican Revolutionaries, they were the only ones lacking the scruples which bound both the Conservative 'Crusaders' who refused to beleive that their way of life had fallen, and his own Indian forces, who were far to respectful of Roman civilians, from what he had seen, though it was possible that their respect towards his former countrimen was staged for him.
God it hurt to go home. He shot his eyes towards the heavens, wondering if any God indeed heard him, whether Shiva had adopted him or if he still stood under the juridstiction of a now dead Mars.
An aide tapped him on the shoulder, having approached from behind.
"Sir, the Romans come again."
Judas wondered if the man even remembered anymore. Had his Roman features faded in the presence of the Indians so much that he could no longer be recognised?
"Bring out the troops."
The aide looked down, "Sir, they are unarmed."
Judas glanced at the nervous young man, testing him for the courage to stand by that farce.
"They will be easier to kill."
"Women, sir, and childeren.?"
Judas stood at once, "What do they approach for."
"They come to protest the traitor, or so they chant."
"Where....." Judas looked again at the burning feilds, memories of those feilds, on brighter days when smoke did not choke the sky, returned to him, a tear blessed his cheek," Where are we?"
"You know that sire, Cumae."
Judas dropped to his knees, sobbing, wishing that his father's feilds would somehow stop burning, that somehow... somehow it would all be over, a terrible nightmare, and he would come to his senses back in Pompeii with that idiot general. God, what had he done, what had he done?
-
Grunts responded to the galley-master.
Axes sat quietly near the long benches, oars rowed steadily ahead against the tide. Not a word escaped the Norse lips.
"Odin shall smile upon our axes, he shall stand beside us, men, we shall stand like Gods upon the feild, we shall crush the enemy once and for all."
"We shall eat the feast of champions, we shall take the sword of victors and smite the king of their false nation down."
The reply was perfect, each rower had prepared, memorising those lines in the great academy of warriors, in Trondheim. The men were ready, and the officers were proud.
The captain's usually solemn head appeared, grinning to the gsalley master.
"Land ho."
-
"And so we go. Ships into the mist of the future, ever carried by forces beyond our knowledge to places beyond our control."
"Perhaps you, Ragnar." Odin laughed, "I am master of my own destiny."
"Are you though, you have no fear of things beyond your control?"
"Beyond my control, old freind?" Odin's laughter continued, "I am a God. I am the force mortals refer to as beyond control."
Ragnar grinned feebly back at the diety who had befreinded them when he had been but a cheiftan and Odin but a child-god. They ruled now, hand in hand they had crushed every opposition, their Berserkers defeating the followers of the other sects, uniting the nation under a single rule, their own.
"Are you sure we're in the right? With our attack and all?"
"No," Odin shook his head, as unconfident as the King, "I am unsure. They have fought more than we, they are better at it than we can hope to be, but they are off gaurd, that is our only hope. We must seize their ciies and destroy their means of fighting back."
"Are you sure they are a threat."
"They wish to conqure the world my freind. Peace treaties are meaningless in this world. Always are we at war, with everyone."
"But are you sure them? Surely the Romans are a geater-"
"Yes, the Roman threat of this.... Republic.... it is a great danger to us both. But you see, the Romans fall a little more each day at the hands of the Indians, to fight them is pointless for surely they will fall. We shall destroy both while they are weak, rather than only Rome. And by the way," Odin pulled forth his knife, "Never again are you to refer to me as Shirley."
-
Musketballs came across the feild, the smoldering ashes were crushed beneath the boots of the musketmen.
Their black and red banner surrendered their purpous, but it didn't take that to determine that they were Republican warriors, the Revolutionaries were the first to effectively use the musket, and even still they held a monopoly in it's use, though most nations held the technology.
Judas stood before his army, the crack troops of the Indian forces. Lances and sheilds held ready as the Cavalry, mounted upon their signature elephants, prepaared the charge.
"Right Flank reports engagement sir."
Judas nodded, as he had expected. Gone were the mob tactics of the revolutionaries, experience had brought with it a respect for the higher calling of strategy and order. It was mostly due to this revelation that the Roman EMpire, though Empire no longer, was now dominated by the Republic.
"Order a charge from the left."
"Scouts report the taking of positions to that side, it's what they expect."
"Then have our flank attempt to flank them and order the Elephants to mak a go at the offesive they mounted to the right."
"It would expose our center to them sir."
"They're huddled down, it's a gamble I'm wil ing to take."
Torches lit the night sky. As to the heavens he cast his hopes, let me die here, Shiva, let me one final peace. A burial in my families tomb, a proper respect for a defender of Rome.
The people of Cumae were resoundingly monarchial, after long conversations with his parents he had convinced them to forget the kingdom lost to them and take up the banner of India. Rome was dead to them, buried in the muskets of the revolutionaries. It salved his soul to know that he would not be accounted a traitor by them, bt rarther a defender of the old regime, a monarchist to the end.
He could not forgive himself though. His family may see all his guilt absolved, but it was in no sense that way. Were he truely as they thought he would be a Crusader, like his brother, but he was not, h was a traitor to Ceaer, his king.
"Lord, let me die. Make me face no more days."
"Left flank reports a smal victory to their flank, they seem to be retreating."
A pause.
"Retreating... where?"
It was with that phrase that musketballs tore the night, tearing shreds into the center, into the midsts of command.
"Return fire, bring the reserves to the center immediately toss it all in their face."
Judas took up his sword, his gladius, rcently curved in the Indian style, a style which was used in Rome by theives and highwaymen.
Bursting forth from the tent Judas forced the men around him to form a flank, striking at the revolutionaries, whose bullets had been expended, leaving them with swordplay, an art far more suited for the Indians.
A Roman,weilding a musket as a crude bludgeon, charged Judas, who sidestepped and slit his stomach.
"I shall go to Hell if I must, but I shall provide an honor gaurd." he muttered, slicing into every struggle for every scrap of land. Devastating the Roman front, when not through his own efforts, through the inspiration his distaste for life provided the men with.
The Romans fell back slowly, dying on every inch, but fighting for the right to die on that inch, and no furthur back.
"Right flank reports their victory sir, the Romans retratd backwards this time," a lopsided grin was the mark on the aides face. Bloodsoaked Judas looked to the younger \man.
"Aye, so be it."
Crawling back to his tent he collapsed to a dissapointed slumber.
-
Boats were unloading silently at the dock, Axes, men, stood ready before the ships, delicate prayers lifted the spirits to anticipation.
"Let us go."
They stole away through the streets, towards the Barracks where a sleeping army awaited them. "Blow the door." the door was rammed and laid low.
Pikes greeted them, though the men wore no armor. Axes began to swing feircely into the group.
Suddenly shreiks greeted them from the other side, the other Berserkers had managed through the wooden walls and were attacking from the rear, the baatle was lost to the Indians.
"Surrender!" was the shout on every Norse lip.
There was no reply, but the stabs and cries of battle of the Pikemen.
"India has no stomache for war," a Berserker grinned to the General, after the battle was over.
"No," but he was not so sure, not a single pikeman had surrendered and if that was any indication he loathed the thought of meeting the people in the morn.
"We should pray."
"For what? Victory is secured!"
"For those destroyed by demons of their own design." A dreamy look in his eye, the general saw the nightmare spread before him.
Suddenly he wondered if it was such a good idea, there was an almost audible hum in the air, the hum of a giant turning it's attention on a gnat.
Lord help us, the General prayed.
-The People's History of the People's Republic of Rome, Volume 1, Before the first Republic.
-
Burning feilds.
As he stood before them he wondered who had set the fire, noone would ever know, he guessed, though there would be attempts to blame ones enemies. Personally he suspected the Republican Revolutionaries, they were the only ones lacking the scruples which bound both the Conservative 'Crusaders' who refused to beleive that their way of life had fallen, and his own Indian forces, who were far to respectful of Roman civilians, from what he had seen, though it was possible that their respect towards his former countrimen was staged for him.
God it hurt to go home. He shot his eyes towards the heavens, wondering if any God indeed heard him, whether Shiva had adopted him or if he still stood under the juridstiction of a now dead Mars.
An aide tapped him on the shoulder, having approached from behind.
"Sir, the Romans come again."
Judas wondered if the man even remembered anymore. Had his Roman features faded in the presence of the Indians so much that he could no longer be recognised?
"Bring out the troops."
The aide looked down, "Sir, they are unarmed."
Judas glanced at the nervous young man, testing him for the courage to stand by that farce.
"They will be easier to kill."
"Women, sir, and childeren.?"
Judas stood at once, "What do they approach for."
"They come to protest the traitor, or so they chant."
"Where....." Judas looked again at the burning feilds, memories of those feilds, on brighter days when smoke did not choke the sky, returned to him, a tear blessed his cheek," Where are we?"
"You know that sire, Cumae."
Judas dropped to his knees, sobbing, wishing that his father's feilds would somehow stop burning, that somehow... somehow it would all be over, a terrible nightmare, and he would come to his senses back in Pompeii with that idiot general. God, what had he done, what had he done?
-
Grunts responded to the galley-master.
Axes sat quietly near the long benches, oars rowed steadily ahead against the tide. Not a word escaped the Norse lips.
"Odin shall smile upon our axes, he shall stand beside us, men, we shall stand like Gods upon the feild, we shall crush the enemy once and for all."
"We shall eat the feast of champions, we shall take the sword of victors and smite the king of their false nation down."
The reply was perfect, each rower had prepared, memorising those lines in the great academy of warriors, in Trondheim. The men were ready, and the officers were proud.
The captain's usually solemn head appeared, grinning to the gsalley master.
"Land ho."
-
"And so we go. Ships into the mist of the future, ever carried by forces beyond our knowledge to places beyond our control."
"Perhaps you, Ragnar." Odin laughed, "I am master of my own destiny."
"Are you though, you have no fear of things beyond your control?"
"Beyond my control, old freind?" Odin's laughter continued, "I am a God. I am the force mortals refer to as beyond control."
Ragnar grinned feebly back at the diety who had befreinded them when he had been but a cheiftan and Odin but a child-god. They ruled now, hand in hand they had crushed every opposition, their Berserkers defeating the followers of the other sects, uniting the nation under a single rule, their own.
"Are you sure we're in the right? With our attack and all?"
"No," Odin shook his head, as unconfident as the King, "I am unsure. They have fought more than we, they are better at it than we can hope to be, but they are off gaurd, that is our only hope. We must seize their ciies and destroy their means of fighting back."
"Are you sure they are a threat."
"They wish to conqure the world my freind. Peace treaties are meaningless in this world. Always are we at war, with everyone."
"But are you sure them? Surely the Romans are a geater-"
"Yes, the Roman threat of this.... Republic.... it is a great danger to us both. But you see, the Romans fall a little more each day at the hands of the Indians, to fight them is pointless for surely they will fall. We shall destroy both while they are weak, rather than only Rome. And by the way," Odin pulled forth his knife, "Never again are you to refer to me as Shirley."
-
Musketballs came across the feild, the smoldering ashes were crushed beneath the boots of the musketmen.
Their black and red banner surrendered their purpous, but it didn't take that to determine that they were Republican warriors, the Revolutionaries were the first to effectively use the musket, and even still they held a monopoly in it's use, though most nations held the technology.
Judas stood before his army, the crack troops of the Indian forces. Lances and sheilds held ready as the Cavalry, mounted upon their signature elephants, prepaared the charge.
"Right Flank reports engagement sir."
Judas nodded, as he had expected. Gone were the mob tactics of the revolutionaries, experience had brought with it a respect for the higher calling of strategy and order. It was mostly due to this revelation that the Roman EMpire, though Empire no longer, was now dominated by the Republic.
"Order a charge from the left."
"Scouts report the taking of positions to that side, it's what they expect."
"Then have our flank attempt to flank them and order the Elephants to mak a go at the offesive they mounted to the right."
"It would expose our center to them sir."
"They're huddled down, it's a gamble I'm wil ing to take."
Torches lit the night sky. As to the heavens he cast his hopes, let me die here, Shiva, let me one final peace. A burial in my families tomb, a proper respect for a defender of Rome.
The people of Cumae were resoundingly monarchial, after long conversations with his parents he had convinced them to forget the kingdom lost to them and take up the banner of India. Rome was dead to them, buried in the muskets of the revolutionaries. It salved his soul to know that he would not be accounted a traitor by them, bt rarther a defender of the old regime, a monarchist to the end.
He could not forgive himself though. His family may see all his guilt absolved, but it was in no sense that way. Were he truely as they thought he would be a Crusader, like his brother, but he was not, h was a traitor to Ceaer, his king.
"Lord, let me die. Make me face no more days."
"Left flank reports a smal victory to their flank, they seem to be retreating."
A pause.
"Retreating... where?"
It was with that phrase that musketballs tore the night, tearing shreds into the center, into the midsts of command.
"Return fire, bring the reserves to the center immediately toss it all in their face."
Judas took up his sword, his gladius, rcently curved in the Indian style, a style which was used in Rome by theives and highwaymen.
Bursting forth from the tent Judas forced the men around him to form a flank, striking at the revolutionaries, whose bullets had been expended, leaving them with swordplay, an art far more suited for the Indians.
A Roman,weilding a musket as a crude bludgeon, charged Judas, who sidestepped and slit his stomach.
"I shall go to Hell if I must, but I shall provide an honor gaurd." he muttered, slicing into every struggle for every scrap of land. Devastating the Roman front, when not through his own efforts, through the inspiration his distaste for life provided the men with.
The Romans fell back slowly, dying on every inch, but fighting for the right to die on that inch, and no furthur back.
"Right flank reports their victory sir, the Romans retratd backwards this time," a lopsided grin was the mark on the aides face. Bloodsoaked Judas looked to the younger \man.
"Aye, so be it."
Crawling back to his tent he collapsed to a dissapointed slumber.
-
Boats were unloading silently at the dock, Axes, men, stood ready before the ships, delicate prayers lifted the spirits to anticipation.
"Let us go."
They stole away through the streets, towards the Barracks where a sleeping army awaited them. "Blow the door." the door was rammed and laid low.
Pikes greeted them, though the men wore no armor. Axes began to swing feircely into the group.
Suddenly shreiks greeted them from the other side, the other Berserkers had managed through the wooden walls and were attacking from the rear, the baatle was lost to the Indians.
"Surrender!" was the shout on every Norse lip.
There was no reply, but the stabs and cries of battle of the Pikemen.
"India has no stomache for war," a Berserker grinned to the General, after the battle was over.
"No," but he was not so sure, not a single pikeman had surrendered and if that was any indication he loathed the thought of meeting the people in the morn.
"We should pray."
"For what? Victory is secured!"
"For those destroyed by demons of their own design." A dreamy look in his eye, the general saw the nightmare spread before him.
Suddenly he wondered if it was such a good idea, there was an almost audible hum in the air, the hum of a giant turning it's attention on a gnat.
Lord help us, the General prayed.
SKILORD
Insurgent
The slamming of the door revertabrated through the barracks, the cursing of the soldier who had slammed the door would follow.
His comrades rushed to his frenzied form, as he chanted, frightened until an officer arrived.
"What the hell is wrong?" There was no kindness in the demand, only a coldness
"Dear.... Dear Lord," his face was pale, and for the first time blood was noticed on his arms and neck, "We're surrounded."
"So soon? I didn't imagine that Gahndi could conceive a ccounter so soon.... unless...."
"They fight like no men I've seen before."
"How could he have known!" the officer was frustrated, pounding his fists to the table.
"He didn't," the soldier was finally oriented enough to look about and answer.
"What then? How is there an Indian army out there."
"The people."
A cockeyed glare was the only response
"We have, evidently, stumbled upon a city unique in the aspect that there be no man woman or infant unwilling to lay down their very lives for king and country."
"It is inconceivable."
"Look for yourself."
The door was opened, the proud repl of stones and arrows left little doubt that the conquerers were beseiged.
"May Odin perserve his followers."
-
"Is there no just God left to attend the lives of the pious?"
He was standoing before his son's grave, which was placed before the feilds which Judas had so loved as a boy.
"Calm yourself," his wife's voice was shattered by sorrow and oft presented tears, left a profound strength which only the dfeated may hope to acheive.
"Calm myself? No Man should ever bury his son. There is no justice when I loose both sons to the same mighty beast of a war."
"Antonious lives," her tone spoke of forlorn faith.
"He is dead to me now, and soon to the world, as are all his hopeful kind."
"At least he beleives in something. What is a man's life if it presents no faith to the world?"
"What life is it that death is a final mercy?"
He toyed with his daggar. Tossing it, hypnotised, from hand to hand before his barren heart.
"You know," his voice was softer now, leaving the spite behind, "Judas wished to be a farmer. What does it take for a man to turn warrior from that walk?"
"Judas was meant to be a warrior, so is Antonious."
"So we bred these men, we raised them and placved our own good effort into them that they may noblely kill themselves. I want no more of a life so cruel."
Though the daggar plunged into his heart he felt none of the mercy he had so wished for. Life's cruelty, it seemed, was no stranger to the realm of the dead.
Closing his eyes, with what tears remained seeping through her clenched lids she mused, the tears her only reply,
"Why must war be man's sole occupation?"
-
He wore the ancient armor of a Legionairre and a short sword to boot, but the leg plates were a new addition, being important for the mounted warriors which carried on the tradition of Rome, of true Rome, of Mars and Caeser.
He leaned on his lance as his horse performed an assortment of duties it couldn't perform while they moved.
"Hurry the hell up."
Antonious Victorissimus was a warrior, from his most ancient ancestor to his brother his lineage, his personal tradition was of war, not horse-tending. And yet it was doubtful that the Generals cared, even though they couldn;t spare a man at the front the Crusaders could still afford to leave him tending his horse while they went on.
"Done?" he asked the beast impatiently, it nodded to him and snorted in reply, "Damn thing."
Mounting it and lashing his lance on he rode it hard to catch up.
As he slowed the horse around his comrades he looked about to catch up on the lost conversation.
"You know what I love about war?" The speaker was older than Antonious, but still young enough to have said the utterance he had overheared.
"What?" the older, less idealistic men asked, their wanderings had brought them further and furthur from whatever veiw they were preparing to hear.
"If there is indeed, Peace in our times, then what do our children have to look forward to?"
"What of the present for those children if you are killed?" Antonius asked angrily.
An older soldier laughed," These men argue of children whom haven't got any of their own."
"I may not have fathered children, but I've certaintly made a better go at it than you could ever have been capable of," Antonious shot back.
Offended the older man lifted his riding lance, "You worthless flearidden..." his words were cut short by the sound of marching.
Lifting his hand in a plea for silence the officer wispered, "Revolutionaries."
The dreaded utterance spread through the hearts of the soldiers, likely the musketmen would outnumber them, and they could not strike at such a distance as the republicans.
"I say we make a dash for it, we can escape." The leuitenant who uttered this did not seem afraid, he had little concern for the lives of the men or himself, he only wished to perserve the forces of the King.
"I say reconnoiter," the officer cut in, "You," he pointed towards Antonious, "Find out how many we are faced with."
A trot to the top of a nearby hill found him a suitable location to witness the march of the armies.
A sea was spread out before him, their marvelous standards and standard weaponry made it duifficult to identify them as the revolutionaries, where were the disorganised peasant bands which had once roamed the nation, the massive force before him was no likeness of the disorganised peasants. They were warriors now.
He turned to report back, trotting away feircly.
"Likely a thousand, poissibly more." The Crusaders numbered maybe a hundred, likely fewer. The Commander nodded.
"WE retreat. Do not offer combat."
The horses turned, leaving an ominous echoe of hooves in their wake.
His comrades rushed to his frenzied form, as he chanted, frightened until an officer arrived.
"What the hell is wrong?" There was no kindness in the demand, only a coldness
"Dear.... Dear Lord," his face was pale, and for the first time blood was noticed on his arms and neck, "We're surrounded."
"So soon? I didn't imagine that Gahndi could conceive a ccounter so soon.... unless...."
"They fight like no men I've seen before."
"How could he have known!" the officer was frustrated, pounding his fists to the table.
"He didn't," the soldier was finally oriented enough to look about and answer.
"What then? How is there an Indian army out there."
"The people."
A cockeyed glare was the only response
"We have, evidently, stumbled upon a city unique in the aspect that there be no man woman or infant unwilling to lay down their very lives for king and country."
"It is inconceivable."
"Look for yourself."
The door was opened, the proud repl of stones and arrows left little doubt that the conquerers were beseiged.
"May Odin perserve his followers."
-
"Is there no just God left to attend the lives of the pious?"
He was standoing before his son's grave, which was placed before the feilds which Judas had so loved as a boy.
"Calm yourself," his wife's voice was shattered by sorrow and oft presented tears, left a profound strength which only the dfeated may hope to acheive.
"Calm myself? No Man should ever bury his son. There is no justice when I loose both sons to the same mighty beast of a war."
"Antonious lives," her tone spoke of forlorn faith.
"He is dead to me now, and soon to the world, as are all his hopeful kind."
"At least he beleives in something. What is a man's life if it presents no faith to the world?"
"What life is it that death is a final mercy?"
He toyed with his daggar. Tossing it, hypnotised, from hand to hand before his barren heart.
"You know," his voice was softer now, leaving the spite behind, "Judas wished to be a farmer. What does it take for a man to turn warrior from that walk?"
"Judas was meant to be a warrior, so is Antonious."
"So we bred these men, we raised them and placved our own good effort into them that they may noblely kill themselves. I want no more of a life so cruel."
Though the daggar plunged into his heart he felt none of the mercy he had so wished for. Life's cruelty, it seemed, was no stranger to the realm of the dead.
Closing his eyes, with what tears remained seeping through her clenched lids she mused, the tears her only reply,
"Why must war be man's sole occupation?"
-
He wore the ancient armor of a Legionairre and a short sword to boot, but the leg plates were a new addition, being important for the mounted warriors which carried on the tradition of Rome, of true Rome, of Mars and Caeser.
He leaned on his lance as his horse performed an assortment of duties it couldn't perform while they moved.
"Hurry the hell up."
Antonious Victorissimus was a warrior, from his most ancient ancestor to his brother his lineage, his personal tradition was of war, not horse-tending. And yet it was doubtful that the Generals cared, even though they couldn;t spare a man at the front the Crusaders could still afford to leave him tending his horse while they went on.
"Done?" he asked the beast impatiently, it nodded to him and snorted in reply, "Damn thing."
Mounting it and lashing his lance on he rode it hard to catch up.
As he slowed the horse around his comrades he looked about to catch up on the lost conversation.
"You know what I love about war?" The speaker was older than Antonious, but still young enough to have said the utterance he had overheared.
"What?" the older, less idealistic men asked, their wanderings had brought them further and furthur from whatever veiw they were preparing to hear.
"If there is indeed, Peace in our times, then what do our children have to look forward to?"
"What of the present for those children if you are killed?" Antonius asked angrily.
An older soldier laughed," These men argue of children whom haven't got any of their own."
"I may not have fathered children, but I've certaintly made a better go at it than you could ever have been capable of," Antonious shot back.
Offended the older man lifted his riding lance, "You worthless flearidden..." his words were cut short by the sound of marching.
Lifting his hand in a plea for silence the officer wispered, "Revolutionaries."
The dreaded utterance spread through the hearts of the soldiers, likely the musketmen would outnumber them, and they could not strike at such a distance as the republicans.
"I say we make a dash for it, we can escape." The leuitenant who uttered this did not seem afraid, he had little concern for the lives of the men or himself, he only wished to perserve the forces of the King.
"I say reconnoiter," the officer cut in, "You," he pointed towards Antonious, "Find out how many we are faced with."
A trot to the top of a nearby hill found him a suitable location to witness the march of the armies.
A sea was spread out before him, their marvelous standards and standard weaponry made it duifficult to identify them as the revolutionaries, where were the disorganised peasant bands which had once roamed the nation, the massive force before him was no likeness of the disorganised peasants. They were warriors now.
He turned to report back, trotting away feircly.
"Likely a thousand, poissibly more." The Crusaders numbered maybe a hundred, likely fewer. The Commander nodded.
"WE retreat. Do not offer combat."
The horses turned, leaving an ominous echoe of hooves in their wake.
SKILORD
Insurgent
Oars plowed the water, sowing a harvest of destruction to be reaped when the Vikings arrived at Dacca to reinforce, some said to reconqure.
"Land Ho!" the lookout cried. The torches of the rioters made themselves apparent with the mighty smoke that rose above the houses.
"Good lord," the captain murmured, watching the angry smoke rise in protest. He turned to his aid, a man more adept at ground strategy than himself, "We kill them all. Regardless of whet they who have been waiting may say, we have to kill enough to stop them. It's the only way to deal with people like that."
The aide nodded curtly, "It will give us a bad name."
"Certainty, but better to be victors than vanquished cowards."
Another nod replied, "We should start strong, I say bring the archers to clear a landing for us, then brutalize the mob."
It was the Captains turn to nod in agreement, "Bring the Archers," he commanded.
Bows were drawn tight, arrows cocked readily, prepared to let a mighty death into the crowd. The Gatekeepers of war stood to open their charge.
"Fire!" came the order, and off shot the arrows, troublesome though the peasants may be, they were only mortal, and soon cleared back from the arrows, leaving only the dead and their sobbing families behind.
"Prepare the charge!" dozens of axes held in dozens of hands were lifted as the determined Berserkers prepared their charge.
A thud, the boat slapped the dock.
"Charge!" the captain shouted, Vikings poured into the poorly armed masses, axes rended the flesh of the Indians, the common man no longer mighty, shrank back, the docile servant once more. Hundreds fled, turning as one and becoming so trapped in itself that it was laid to the mercy of the cold iron of the axes.
Pale-faced survivors would come to lust for death, but they held no envy for the dead in that frightened moment. In the hours of slaughter that followed each of those who would come to beg Shiva to lift their burden of life hid like children, for those who didn't soon perished.
-
"I rend, I tear, I conquer," Marcus spoke proudly at the front of the armies, marching on to conquer.
"But what have we before us? Who must we conquer?"
"The old ones, the monarch and his men."
"Caesar is dead."
"Yes, that is so, but Octavian carries his tradition."
Marcus Secundus held himself proudly now, where he had once advised that dimwitted Caesar he now ruled in his place, and for all his talk of fear and suspicion he knew that the Crusaders were mostly dead, dead or dying, if not in body then surely their souls shivered at the lives they were forced to. They were the revolutionaries now, and their cause was lost. Rome was a Republic.
"First Council." a messenger addressed him, and receiving his acknowledgement proceeded to speak, "Cumae is fallen."
Marcus nodded wisely, "It is good. But the people tire of the war."
Any man who had not spent the days locked in the palace knew that for truth, times were hard in Rome, noone was to be trusted.
"Ask the Despot of India for a truce. Go, now."
"It is done, First Council."
-
Celtic forests are likely the most peaceful places in the world, which is why Brennus had insisted on the construction of one near his palace, rivers were diverted, trees planted, rather than moved, to keep a natural feel. The gardeners had complained that it would take too long, but Brennus loved his forest, and as the gardeners had withered and died he had watched Celtiae grow with the Forest, the forest was a monument to immortality, a temple to Cernunnuos and Brennus both in many ways.
Sitting, legs crossed, in the forest Brennus breathed deeply of the crisp air, the myriad smells of the artificial wild. His sword sat beside him, as curious animals watched from a distance.
"We must proceed," the unexpected voice of Cernunnuos opened his eyes, without shock he turned his head to the deity.
"I know," Brennus nodded, "I propose the Germans."
Cernunnuos shook his head, "Tiw is expecting something, he is slowly coming to understand what a dangerous world this is and he is forcing Bismark to arm the men."
"Everyone else," Brennus stood, "Is already prepared," Brennus walked over to find a deeper region of the forest, "Besides, he will soon be too storng to cope with."
Cernunnuos followed him, "I want Rome." It was with unexpected urgency that this escaped his lips, which was a mild shock to both Brennus and himself.
"Rome? Haven't the Indians killed them yet?"
"No. The Romans have faith."
"Faith? But no God. I am unsure that we wish to join the Indians if they have failed so far."
"You do not understand. The Romans have faith in themselves, they are rediscovering something lost to humanity long ago, and it will destroy all we hold dear if we don't strike them."
"What are they finding?" Brennusgrabbed at this, clenching for something he could use.
"It's of no use to you."
"But I want to know."
"It takes time to tell."
Brennus spread his arms, "We have time."
Cernunnuos sat down on a log, exhaling he began, sensing he would hear no end until he revealed what it was that the Romans had rediscovered, "The first man, when he sprung forth, was a God."
Brennus chuckled, "A lesser god to be sure."
"Yes, a lesser God, but in many ways also the greatest. Because of his faith. Faith feeds us Gods, and with the faith of Man we are capable of greatness. But this man had faith in himself. He beleived that he could do as he pleased, and he built cities monuments to make the very heavens shudder. And he begat children, and when he did that, we shivered in fear. Because mighty as he was, an Army of such men could shake the foundations of what we had created.
"But we were fortunate, the Gods who this man brought to teach his children taught them reverence, not simple respect, reverence. These men were without faith in themselves because they were taught from the start that they were lesser, that they didn't matter. And so we placed kings above them to be the culmination of all their faith, one true man in the sense of the first."
Brennus nodded eagerly.
Cernunnuos continued, "But In Rome this has gone awry, Man once again feels himself worthy, feels free. If we don;t stop this, all that we have built is for naught."
Brennus nodded, "To Rome."
And so the forces of reaction mounted their assault on the brave new world they saw in Rome.
-----
A bit short, but of Quality
"Land Ho!" the lookout cried. The torches of the rioters made themselves apparent with the mighty smoke that rose above the houses.
"Good lord," the captain murmured, watching the angry smoke rise in protest. He turned to his aid, a man more adept at ground strategy than himself, "We kill them all. Regardless of whet they who have been waiting may say, we have to kill enough to stop them. It's the only way to deal with people like that."
The aide nodded curtly, "It will give us a bad name."
"Certainty, but better to be victors than vanquished cowards."
Another nod replied, "We should start strong, I say bring the archers to clear a landing for us, then brutalize the mob."
It was the Captains turn to nod in agreement, "Bring the Archers," he commanded.
Bows were drawn tight, arrows cocked readily, prepared to let a mighty death into the crowd. The Gatekeepers of war stood to open their charge.
"Fire!" came the order, and off shot the arrows, troublesome though the peasants may be, they were only mortal, and soon cleared back from the arrows, leaving only the dead and their sobbing families behind.
"Prepare the charge!" dozens of axes held in dozens of hands were lifted as the determined Berserkers prepared their charge.
A thud, the boat slapped the dock.
"Charge!" the captain shouted, Vikings poured into the poorly armed masses, axes rended the flesh of the Indians, the common man no longer mighty, shrank back, the docile servant once more. Hundreds fled, turning as one and becoming so trapped in itself that it was laid to the mercy of the cold iron of the axes.
Pale-faced survivors would come to lust for death, but they held no envy for the dead in that frightened moment. In the hours of slaughter that followed each of those who would come to beg Shiva to lift their burden of life hid like children, for those who didn't soon perished.
-
"I rend, I tear, I conquer," Marcus spoke proudly at the front of the armies, marching on to conquer.
"But what have we before us? Who must we conquer?"
"The old ones, the monarch and his men."
"Caesar is dead."
"Yes, that is so, but Octavian carries his tradition."
Marcus Secundus held himself proudly now, where he had once advised that dimwitted Caesar he now ruled in his place, and for all his talk of fear and suspicion he knew that the Crusaders were mostly dead, dead or dying, if not in body then surely their souls shivered at the lives they were forced to. They were the revolutionaries now, and their cause was lost. Rome was a Republic.
"First Council." a messenger addressed him, and receiving his acknowledgement proceeded to speak, "Cumae is fallen."
Marcus nodded wisely, "It is good. But the people tire of the war."
Any man who had not spent the days locked in the palace knew that for truth, times were hard in Rome, noone was to be trusted.
"Ask the Despot of India for a truce. Go, now."
"It is done, First Council."
-
Celtic forests are likely the most peaceful places in the world, which is why Brennus had insisted on the construction of one near his palace, rivers were diverted, trees planted, rather than moved, to keep a natural feel. The gardeners had complained that it would take too long, but Brennus loved his forest, and as the gardeners had withered and died he had watched Celtiae grow with the Forest, the forest was a monument to immortality, a temple to Cernunnuos and Brennus both in many ways.
Sitting, legs crossed, in the forest Brennus breathed deeply of the crisp air, the myriad smells of the artificial wild. His sword sat beside him, as curious animals watched from a distance.
"We must proceed," the unexpected voice of Cernunnuos opened his eyes, without shock he turned his head to the deity.
"I know," Brennus nodded, "I propose the Germans."
Cernunnuos shook his head, "Tiw is expecting something, he is slowly coming to understand what a dangerous world this is and he is forcing Bismark to arm the men."
"Everyone else," Brennus stood, "Is already prepared," Brennus walked over to find a deeper region of the forest, "Besides, he will soon be too storng to cope with."
Cernunnuos followed him, "I want Rome." It was with unexpected urgency that this escaped his lips, which was a mild shock to both Brennus and himself.
"Rome? Haven't the Indians killed them yet?"
"No. The Romans have faith."
"Faith? But no God. I am unsure that we wish to join the Indians if they have failed so far."
"You do not understand. The Romans have faith in themselves, they are rediscovering something lost to humanity long ago, and it will destroy all we hold dear if we don't strike them."
"What are they finding?" Brennusgrabbed at this, clenching for something he could use.
"It's of no use to you."
"But I want to know."
"It takes time to tell."
Brennus spread his arms, "We have time."
Cernunnuos sat down on a log, exhaling he began, sensing he would hear no end until he revealed what it was that the Romans had rediscovered, "The first man, when he sprung forth, was a God."
Brennus chuckled, "A lesser god to be sure."
"Yes, a lesser God, but in many ways also the greatest. Because of his faith. Faith feeds us Gods, and with the faith of Man we are capable of greatness. But this man had faith in himself. He beleived that he could do as he pleased, and he built cities monuments to make the very heavens shudder. And he begat children, and when he did that, we shivered in fear. Because mighty as he was, an Army of such men could shake the foundations of what we had created.
"But we were fortunate, the Gods who this man brought to teach his children taught them reverence, not simple respect, reverence. These men were without faith in themselves because they were taught from the start that they were lesser, that they didn't matter. And so we placed kings above them to be the culmination of all their faith, one true man in the sense of the first."
Brennus nodded eagerly.
Cernunnuos continued, "But In Rome this has gone awry, Man once again feels himself worthy, feels free. If we don;t stop this, all that we have built is for naught."
Brennus nodded, "To Rome."
And so the forces of reaction mounted their assault on the brave new world they saw in Rome.
-----
A bit short, but of Quality
bewareofgnomes
Back Again
good story skillord SKILORD
Insurgent
Thnx BoG.
SKILORD
Insurgent
Yeah, but it's startin to get really busy at the Theater, so I'm havin a little trouble finding time.
Cspiffy148
Chieftain
Outstanding story! Really great work. Are you gonna finish it?
Jake5555555
Warlord
- Joined
- Feb 23, 2004
- Messages
- 149
This is a great story. The many gods and people starting to think for themselves reminds me of a Harry Turtledove book. I can't seem to remember what it was called, but I really enjoyed it.
