INES Ib: Novus Ortus

[Kal'thzar]

The Fort was a dry place, Adils had survived the last years although when word arrived that the Bachirians threatned his home, he had been moved to a fort near the front lines. He had been assigned to get supplies one day, and he had taken a week.

This was not because Adils was scared of these zealous Arabs, no, he had gone to secure help, he had pleaded with members of his family, some had agreed, most did not wish to help, or could not. All in all he had managed to get another 20 men, no 21, this last man, Lather, had been bullied into it by his wife, he was a scared man however, he might run at the first sign of trouble. Adils knew the Aegyption Officer would have him assigned to some safe place, away from trouble, away from where he could spread his fears.

He ended up buying grain from a man called Aagen, A merchant from Thebes, he had smiled and welcomed buisness with the army, and enquired as to how life was, they talked for a bit Adils worried about the Bachirians, Aagen had smiled again and said that "In this, we stand together,". This had suprised Adils, he did not expect such nobility of person from a trader, a Ctha'rist one at that. Some of his family were also suprised. It cast the conflict with the Aegyptions in a new light, but it also sublty changed the conflict with the Bachirians.

When he returned to the fort, its population had grown somewhat, this was due to a small entrouge for a man named Khaba, an Officer of the Temple Guard. And more Recruits, apparently he was not alone in asking family, those few that had agreed to help protect what mattered to them had grown into those who would not see what mattered to them threatened.

Adils met Khaba again when the new recruits were practicing with their weapons, Khaba oversaw them. Adils and Khaba had a duel. Adils was beaten, but Khaba smiled at him, impressed by his effort. "You are an able soldier, I respect you for that, and with that alone you have my respect,".

Curious fellow.

Khaba moved on a bit later, he was returning to Aegypt, apparently he had some buisness to attend to.

Adils remained in the fort, with the recent influx of men he had been promoted to Sergant, due to his experiance and the good impression he made with Khaba. The Resident Aegyption Officer had smiled and congratulated him, Khaba was hard to please.

OOC: I hope that this was lets me have Adils promoted to a higher rank

 

[Imago]

Me, Kalthy and LittleBoots? Whose orders were the longest?

Yep for the names of the players.

Oh your Perfectionist, definitly yours.

And Kal guessed right for the second part.

 

[Contempt]

The Great Khan was dead. His death came upon the twilight of the conquest of the nations that opposed the great Khan. The Mongolian-Tibetan Confederacy ruled both the Steppe and the Middle Kingdom in all but in name. Japan retreats across the sea, and the Sillense prepare for their last stand.

Yet the Great Khan is dead, and the Generals of the Empire have gathered, leaving their respective campaigns in the hands of capable liutenents. They come to Karakorum, to the Kurultai of Sucession.

A great number of warlords from both Tibet and Mongolia, along with a few prominant pro-Mongolian statesmen were gathered in the cold steppe, in the open space in the center of the nomadic capital. A chair of white felt was laid out in the center, and beyond it, a simple throne.

From a tent, the twenty six year old Temujin walked proudly into the large gathering of warlords, followed by Bhrikuti, the daughter of Songtsen Gampo, the mad king of Tibet, from whom Temujin inheirited the Tibetan lands (although he continued to serve his father, as he was still heir).

He smiled at his supporters, already knowing the outcome.

"I move to elect Temujin, heir of Yesugei the Brave, to the throne of Khan!" yelled one major warlord. With a roar of approval, the group recorded its vote by breaking nearby civilians ear drums. An easy smile broke upon Temujin's face, and he promptly sat upon the white felt chair, as was custom.

The warlords raised him up into the air three times upon the chair, before carrying him around the entirety of Karakorum. When the march was over, they laid a golden sword at his feet.

Raising it up into the air, Temujin declared to his generals, "I declare myself the heir to Yesugei, and Khan of the Mongol-Tibetan Confederacy!" Pointing his sword at the Chinese representatives, they stepped forward, knowing their part.

The Chinese representives laid a silver sword at his feet, and Temujin grasped with his other hand, "And with this, I declare myself Emperor of Yuan, Master of All Under Heaven!"

With a mighty roar, the warlords and civilians cheered, and Temujin sat down into his throne. Motioning for silence, he brought an Iron Faced Demon from the side, where he was holding an important object with great reverance on a small cushion. Taking the object, Temujin raised it high into the air.

A silence overtook those in attendance, as they beheld the completely Black Mask, a mask made from the darkest obsidian. The moment held, before Temujin slowly put it onto his face, putting his fearsome helmet on to keep the mask in place. In his simple throne, his helmet and mask made him seem like the very element of fear and power.

His strong, deep voice carried as he cried out his next proclamation, "I now declare myself Khagan [1] of the Iron Face Empire, the invicible union of All Under Heaven, and the Northern Horse herds! Our empire will forever grow, for as long as our armies are strong, and strike fear into the hearts of man! By the will of the Eternal Blue Heaven, so mote it be!"

It was silent for but a moment, but then, a resounding cheer rang throughout the capital. For a long time, the steppes were just a group of warring tribes fighting amongst themselves, and the Tibetans were united, but disunified underneath weak kings. Yet now, both of the Northern peoples had an identity. They were the Iron Face Empire.

They were the Masked. They were Demons.

[1]: Emperor, or King of Kings

 

[Kal'thzar]

Khaba had been sent home, under orders of King Kheti, and for what? To train nobles, to train insuffrable fools. To Train these pompous jackass's.

Three orders had been founded, He was training men who had joined the ranks of the Mythic Dawn; Knights of.

They were pious men, The Perceptor, the former abbot, new title, same job, had been a military man, who had turned to Amon-Ra. Now he had found a way of mixing the two together. He had begun an order of Knight-Priests. Using the Abbeys and its related lands and money to fund the change. Lastly he had petitioned Knig Kheti. He who was most connected to God. He wished to know if this sin was not too great, not too much. He had been granted allowance, on the circumstance that he put this profit to good cause.

He Already knew that this would be going to a good cause. He began to loan money out to people. Some nobles had already borrowed some money. One poor love-struck fool had borrowed money to buy some silk, ahh Youth.

He next began to expand the monks. Khaba was brought in to train the men, on how to be the best, or at least better than most, few could match Khaba. Minor nobility sent their men to gain Presitge and honour. Those who nobles who were threatned with destruction pledged their families and lands to the Order. Major Nobility, those powerfull few rarely sent men to the Orders, only when a family member was disgraced were they forced into this exile. They were the worst to train, but they could be moulded.

These men were also religious men, deeply religious. As they were taught in combat, they were also taught in scripture, in theological matters. They were taught that the other religions, they could not be forced with a sword, the armies, the men, could be swept aside. But as Amon-Ra is all, and all is Amon-Ra, they were taught they all worship Amon-Ra anyway, they just need this revealed to them. And like a child who is learning to walk, you encourage it, you do not hit it, lash out.

The Orders Grew, and flourished, a lending service put to good deeds.

OOC: I hope to create an NPC, basically one of the Knight orders, make them a buffer zone between myself and whatever remains of the Trinitists.

 

[The Major]

3 pm's of orders

thats 30 000 characters.... my god....

ooc: Farow how long have the orders you've been sending in been? Mine are probably about a page in word... then again i am not the HCE or Aegypt...

 

[Imago]

ooc: Farow how long have the orders you've been sending in been? Mine are probably about a page in word... then again i am not the HCE or Aegypt...

Yours and his are about equal.

 

[Contempt]

The Iron Face Empire​

 

[Kal'thzar]

Looking good.

I need to figure out my next step of Evolution.

 

[Perfectionist]

3 pm's of orders

thats 30 000 characters.... my god....

Not three full PMs, so somewhat less than 30,000.

*****​

The scouts had returned two hours ago, bearing the news that a Byzantine force was bearing down on them. Since then, they had been feverishly preparing. Lothar was digging a ditch, to repel the damned cataphracts, when the cry of 'enemy sighted' went up. He immediately abandoned his work. Throwing away his shovel, he climbed out of the ditch, retrieved his pike and fell into rank. There was then a slight pause before the Byzantines appeared, in which Lothar considered the situation. The thousand men of Lothar's division, fresh volunteers mostly, had been marching to the Danube when they heard that they had been cut off. A messenger had been dispatched to the nearest large concentration of friendly units, but Lothar knew that no help would come in time. They had no choice but to fight. The officers, at least, were experienced and had drawn up the men on the edge of a clearing. The Byzantines would come out of the forest on the other side, and would have to charge up a slight rise to reach the Celts. Lothar had been in many battles, and he liked their position.

His thoughts were cut short as the Byzantine army loomed out of the forest. Lothar cursed as he looked at the enemy. There were at least two thousand of them, and cataphracts were prominent among them. He turned to look down the line, and saw the man next to him, no more than a boy really, shaking with fear. “Don't be afraid lad. I've been in worse places than this and come through,” he said encouragingly. “Really?” asked the boy in a quavering voice. “Sure,” Lothar replied, with a confidence that he did not feel. “Look, their cavalry aren't any good against us pikes, and their infantry can't stop our archers. We'll be fine.” The boy settled a bit, and Lothar turned his attention back to the Byzantines. They had begun to advance, in one long line, cavalry at the fore. Lothar smiled. Apparently they thought tactics would be wasted on the Celts. The Byzantines closed to four hundred yards. Lothar heard the officers at the rear, telling the archers to prepare.

At three hundred yards, the Byzantine cavalry charged. Lothar heard a dim cry of 'loose!' and a volley flew over his head into the oncoming Byzantines. Some of them were surely struck, but to Lothar it seemed that they came on undamaged. At one hundred yards, they paused slightly, and Lothar wondered why for a moment. Then from behind the screen of cavalry came a hail of arrows. Lothar cursed. They must have had some horse archers hidden in the main group. Not many, not enough to really damage the Celts. But they were raw troops, not veterans, and the sudden arrows scared them. Some were killed, others dropped their pikes, and others stepped out of formation. The result was that the Celtic pikemen were not presenting the solid mass of steel that was intended, but were disorganised. Lothar kept his wits, as did the boy beside him. He was aware of the chaos around him, but stayed focused on the Byzantines, who had resumed their full tilt charge after the arrows were fired. The front rank of lancers cleared the half finished ditch, and Lothar braced himself. At the last moment, the horse in front of Lothar tried to shy away from his pike, preventing the full force of his charge from hitting Lothar. Instead, the horse impaled itself on Lothar's pike. The boy at his side was not so lucky. A lance struck him in the face. Lothar looked at him and cursed, then took in the battlefield.

The Byzantine cavalry charge had broken the Celtic formation, but not without bad casualties. Many horses were dead, and many others were now surrounded by Celtic troops and trying to escape. Lothar ignored them. Their work was done. The Celts were disorganized, and now the infantry would clean up the rest. Lothar turned around, to see the mass of the Byzantine infantry closing. He tried shouted at the men near him, to try to rally them to face the new threat, but was not very successful. The Byzantine infantry struck the Celts while many of them were still looking at the cavalry. The Celts were pushed back. Lothar killed one Byzantine as he was fighting another man, threw a dropped javelin at another and cut down another as arrows rained down, but he knew it was hopeless. The fight had turned into a brutal, unorganized melee, and in a few minutes the Celts would all be dead.

“They are fighting on the rise,” the horseman reported. “The battle is lost.” “Then we have no time to lose,” Charles said angrily. He called to his captains, ordering them to get the men in line. A messenger had staggered into the camp an hour ago, bearing the news. The officers at the camp had been inclined to regretfully write off the division, but Prince Charles had overruled them. Charles was not going to allow brave volunteers to be killed at the hands of the Byzantines. And so he had put a force of five hundred heavy cavalry together and set off. The men were tired; many had already been riding for days; but for Charles they were willing to move heaven and earth. They had traveled at a breakneck pace through the forest to try to reach the beleaguered Celts. Having done so much, Charles was not going to fail. The cavalry drew up in a line, with Charles at the fore, and began to advance. They reached the edge of the of the clearing, and saw the battle taking place at the other edge. Charles paused for a moment upon seeing the battle. He then gave a great cry of “For the Empire and the Trinity!” and kicked his horse into a gallop. His men echoed the cry and followed their leader. The whole force charged towards the Byzantine rear, Charles at the head.

Lothar killed another Byzantine, his fifth, but he knew the battle was almost over. He turned, and a Byzantine sword caught him in the side. He feel to the ground and put his hands over the wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. The Byzantine soldier looked at Lothar, then moved away. He could tell that Lothar would be dead within minutes. As Lothar lay dying, he listened to the sounds of the battle around. He thought for a moment that he heard a cry in Celtic from the other side of the field, but dismissed is as a hallucination. There was some sort of commotion further up the rise. He could hear Celtic voices shouting, and to his surprise they sounded happy. He than heard the Byzantines begin to shout. He did not speak Greek, but he could tell that officers were trying to get their men together. Byzantine troops began to run past him, going the other way, back where they had come from, and Lothar thought this odd. The shouting in Greek continued, and Lothar thought he heard a note of panic entering. Shortly, Byzantines began to run past him again, this time going the other way. He was just thinking that the enemy officers must have gone mad, when a cavalry man appeared in his field of vision and cut down a fleeing Byzantine. He heard more horses on all sides of him, and now the shouts in Greek had disappeared, replaced by screams. As the light finally died for Lothar, he heard Celtic voices raised in shouts of victory.

 

[BEHIND_THE_MASK]

The Iron Face Empire​

Sorta Taunting to me that the turn I had hoped would utterly kill you went so bad... That last turn before the war. I had it all planned out... I wonder wat i did wrong. Was it my armies poor quality. My strategy? It was actually quite inventive i suppose but in the end i failed.

Nice banner though.

 

[Azash]

Hope I made it

 

[Imago]

Got orders in from Azash, so, everyone sent in their orders. The update is proceeding very well. I just have half the spotlight left to do.

EDIT: Yes, Azash, you made it.

 

[shortguy]

Oh your Perfectionist, definitly yours. I had 2PM's though I referred to Tactics in previous order sets also. so maybe 2.5.

I tend not to go into excessive detail. nice stories btw.

IMO, anything over 1 PM probably includes "excessive detail," unless you've got quite the world-spanning empire. I think my longest was probably about 3/4 of one. Mine this time were pretty short, even for me, for the situation I'm in. Of course, being on the defensive--and especially with long fronts--more vagueness is necessary.

 

[Azash]

Imago: ETA?

 

[LittleBoots]

Imago, I suppose it would have been better to ask this before this turn, but do you want us to give orders all the way down to tactics? I didn't as I figured strategy was good enough (and while my orders were over 1 PM, the majority were actually domestic things). I figured tactics, etc, would be covered in army quality (of which I have the best in the world).

Perfectionist, I liked the story, but I think we'll make a slightly better showing than that Tactically, of course. Strategically... we shall see, I suppose.

Might as well get a war story up then...

 

[Kal'thzar]

Nice story (apart from the obvious god modding, I hope it was just a tool to kill off Lothar). I wonder what happened, probably celtic reserves brought in, assuming the byzantines lost their formation. And they left the Horses in the fray, and and and

Of course a lot of the above is explained by saying it was a fierce melee which didn't let the cavalry escape.

Also explains why fresh celtic reserives could defeat the byzantines.

 

[LittleBoots]

Nice story (apart from the obvious god modding, I hope it was just a tool to kill off Lothar). I wonder what happened, probably celtic reserves brought in, assuming the byzantines lost their formation. And they left the Horses in the fray, and and and

Of course a lot of the above is explained by saying it was a fierce melee which didn't let the cavalry escape.

Also explains why fresh celtic reserives could defeat the byzantines.

However it also conveniently forgets about the infantry that were there, as well as the discipline of the army and the wariness of the commanders (who would maintain a balanced rearguard). Then again, I'm sure it was just Lothar hallucinating that they were winning to feel better about his imminent departure to Hell.

What? Shoulda been Kyrian

 

[Imago]

Imago: ETA?

I have no idea at this point, honestly. No later then 24 hours from now, certainly, but it might be quite a bit less.

Imago, I suppose it would have been better to ask this before this turn, but do you want us to give orders all the way down to tactics? I didn't as I figured strategy was good enough (and while my orders were over 1 PM, the majority were actually domestic things). I figured tactics, etc, would be covered in army quality (of which I have the best in the world).

Writing tactics just tends to invisibly boost your army quality for the turn. Whether or not you need that boost is up to you.

Nice story (apart from the obvious god modding, I hope it was just a tool to kill off Lothar).

So it's god-modding to have a single deluded Celtic belive that the Celts won a battle?

EDIT: LittleBoots beat me to it.

 

[Kal'thzar]

of course!

 

[LittleBoots]

The fog was heavy on the south German field this early in the morning. I stood quietly in the mud as the Theologos Kyriohippein Thorakis gave the blessing for battle. Standing in shining armour before the army, an iron cross adorning his chest, Thorakis had a commanding presence and booming voice. When he spoke, one knew God Himself was listening.

“Guardian Iesous, Our God, have mercy on us. Come to the aid of us Kyrians, making us worthy to rise up and fight to the death for our faith and our brethren by fortifying and strengthening or souls, our hearts, and our whole body. The mighty Lord of Battles, incomparable in power, fill our minds with wisdom and let us know the power of your glory. Deliver us, O Lord, from Your enemies through the intercession of the Self-Created God from Whence You came, and of all the Saints, Amen.”

He mounted his horse and took his place in the line of battle. It was then that He appeared. Sauntering slowly along the lines, inspecting the troops. Emmanuel, the Jews would say. God with us. Perhaps not God, but God’s Man on Earth. Alexandros was an aging man, and yet his eyes were as bright as ever. There was something of a twinkle in his eyes. He finished looking over the men and said nothing. He didn’t need to. Alexandros had shared the same tents, the same meals, the same lives as these men since the beginning of the Great Crusade. Here was a man who led the entire Kyrian world, Master of all the Greeks. For many, Alexandros was the Lord of the Earth, or at least what mattered of it. And yet here he was.

In the beginning, the men had their doubts. Alexandros was older, even then, than most of them and yet had spent far less time in the field. He had spent most of his early years in the Great Palace at Constantinopolis, running the business of the Empire from his luxurious capital. This man, they said, he’s going to get himself killed. Thanks be to God, he has not yet. Alexandros knew the minds of his men and it was his own personal Crusade to prove himself. Imagine! Lord of Earth proving himself to men like us! And yet, he did. He sat with us at meals and listened with us when the Theologos spoke. He himself delivered sermons and yet afterwards would discuss them. As if a mere mortal could debate with the likes of an Emperor! And what insights he had! To be expected, I’m sure, from the most learned Kyrian in the world. The man was practically born to the wrong century. Surely, the Great Age of Philosophy claimed him as its own. Autogenes merely allowed us to borrow him. God have mercy on us when it’s his time to return.

As we began to advance, the horse archers turned day into night with their arrows. Perhaps the Celts fear the night, I do not know. While the Kyrios protects us, however, no Greek heart will fear the Darkness.

My name is Aristippus Phillipon[1] and I am prepared to die.

“Kyrie Iesou Christe, o Theos imon, eleison imas”

Guardian Jesus the Saviour, our God, have mercy on us.

[1]Son of Phillp