"Lance and Ice"-A Tale of the Hippus

Flanker123

Chieftain
Joined
Apr 17, 2009
Messages
5
Hello folks,

I know I have a newbish post count, but I am a huge fan of FFH (I've been playing since it was first released). My go-to civ has always been the Hippus: I've always loved the horselord/mercenary vibe of that civ.

After reading the Civopedia entry for Tasunke (in what I believe was the WildMana or RiFE modmod) I was inspired to write a little piece of fanfic about the Hippus serving as mercenaries for Auric Ulvin and the Illians.

So over the next few weeks I'll be posting this tale "Lance and Ice" in small increments, that is, if there is enough interest in me continuing. This is really just a product of me being an underworked and over-imaginative college student :)

My story is based on Nikis-Knight's Erebus map, found here: http://forums.civfanatics.com/showthread.php?t=247328

It's also based on some of my playthroughs and various bits of lore courtesy of the Civopedia. Hope you enjoy!


The story begins immediately after a Bannor force (using Hippus mercs) crushes a Clan army. The story follows Tasunke and his loyal band of veteran mercenaries all throughout Erebus, culminating in them being hired by Auric Ulvin and the Illians...
 
Spoiler :
Horns bleated into the air and drums reverberated through the night. Funeral pyres lit up the sky: the celebrating victors reveled under the glowing embers of their enemies, the reviled Orcs of the Clan of Embers. Toasts to fallen comrades and distant homelands were offered up, and the ale and wine flowed freely.

Or at least that was the state of the raucous camps of the jubilant Hippus mercenaries. Amongst the neatly organized rows of tents in the camps of the Bannor, the celebration of victory was much more somber. Thousands of uniformly clad spearmen knelt before Confessors, who moved between the ranks, hearing and absolving the sins of the victorious army. Priests of Junil raised their hands high and swung censers that trailed sacred incense over the bodies of the fallen. Chanters and monks struggled to keep their voices from being drowned out by the drunken revelry of their Hippan mercenary allies.


At the center of the Bannor camp, Tasunke and his second-in-command, Ostanes, strode past the ranks of praying troops and entered into the command tent of the Bannor force. The large tent was sparsely decorated, save for a few icons of Junil. At the center of the massive tent sat the table of the war council: covered in scrolls, maps and letters. Standing around the bulk of the table, the generals, high priests and archmages of the Bannor whispered and jabbered excitedly. Victory had been won, Tasunke noted, but he could tell the Bannor had still further plans.

Tasunke could tell as much from the map on the table that showed blue arrows thrusting deeper into Clan territory, indicating that the offensive would continue even after this crushing victory. His eyes narrowed: his contract with the Bannor had been to scout for and fight alongside the Bannor legions as far as Rantine’s Rock. Any further push would require extensive renegotiation. And Tali knew that the previous contract and campaign had drained the Bannor’s coffers, so how could they possibly hope to pay for another?
Ostanes smiled: his twisted scar giving his smile a brutal dimension. Raising an eyebrow, Tasunke asked “Why the joyful face, friend?”

“Nothing, sir. Just remembering the last time I was in a tent this big.”

Tasunke chuckled. “The last time you were in a tent this big...hmm, that must have been the contract against those crazed clowns outside of Jubilee, if memory serves.”

Ostanes nodded and sighed, his voice thick with nostalgia. “I remember it like it was yesterday: Loki and that bizarre cabal of jester mages had convened for some twisted carnival, and me and Big Dane snuck up on ‘em, pulled the tent poles down and waded in for the slaughter.”

“Well don’t be pulling this tent’s poles down, soldier,” Tasunke murmured. “Our contract is precarious enough as it is.”

“Don’t think I haven’t been tempted, sir,” Ostanes murmured back as the two Hippan horselords took their place at the council’s table.

The leading Bannor general, a squat, ugly little woman whom the Hippan lancers had mockingly nicknamed “the Dwarf Queen” scowled at the mercenaries. There was little love lost between the hardened, zealous Folana and the mercenary horsemen she had so begrudgingly hired.

“You are late. This meeting began a half hour ago. Where were you?”

Ostanes leered. “You know us Hippus. We try to keep both our enemies and 'friends' off balance.”

A Confessor alongside Folana raised his nose imperiously. “No doubt filling their stomachs with swill and their eyes with foul, heretical music.”

“I suppose that’s better than filling our stomachs with that rotten water you supplied us with,” Ostanes shot back. “Or filling our ears with your oppressive, dreary chants.”

Tasunke raised a mailed hand to cut him off. “Enough. The purpose of this council is not to bicker over drinking and revelry. But perhaps it is,” Tasunke looked to Folana. “For we were not informed of the purpose of this meeting.”

With a wave of her stubby arm, she shooed the nameless Confessor away. He skulked into a corner where he closed his eyes, his mouth moving in silent prayer.

Damned zealots, Tasunke cursed as Folana responded:

“The purpose of this meeting is simple. To discuss plans for a renewed offensive and for a renewed contract.”

Ostanes looked uneasily at his commander. Tasunke’s second knew full well that their contract had expired and that the Bannor’s treasuries and military strength were depleted. Though the last battle had been a decisive victory, the Bannor had sacrificed almost a third of their infantry against the Orcish horde. Such a force could hardly be called upon to strike further into Clan lands. The Hippans thankfully had suffered far less grievous losses: the undisciplined Orcs had fallen like wheat before a scythe under the onslaught of veteran lancers and horse archers.

“A renewed offensive?” Tasunke asked. “How do you plan to undertake such an endeavor when a third of your foot lie dead, along with over half of your mages?”

The Bannor Archmage, a sullen man named Ilros, bristled at Tasunke’s mention of the mages’ losses. A ferocious, suicidal assault by Clan wolf riders had torn the Bannor mage contingent to shreds. It was the loss of so many mages and their healing magic that had led to even further casualties amongst the common troops.

“Furthermore, how do you expect to pay us? We all well know that your coffers are hardly in the position to shell out enough money for a contract to invade further into Clan territory. We are mercenaries after all, not zealots who require only the promise of eternal paradise as pay for military work.” The entire council bristled at that comment.

Folana’s indignant glare intensified.
“Despite our casualties, we will march forward because we have little choice. We have dealt these scum a harsh blow. We must capitalize,” her fist slammed on the table. Scrolls and maps tossed about from the impact. “If we do not continue our push to Braduk the Burning and end this scourge once and for all, these vermin will continue to breed and pour into our lands. The risk of further casualties in another campaign far outweighs the risk of further Orc incursions into Bannor lands.” The other Bannor council members nodded in agreement.

“And as for your pay, we are willing to offer you a third of the treasure looted by the Orcs when they sacked Trinity. That trove of gold and trinkets resides in Braduk: and that shall be your pay.”

Both Ostanes and Tasunke barked a harsh laugh. Tasunke spoke, his voice tinged with derision. “You wish us to lead your forces even further into Clan lands…lands, I may add, that are infested with all manner of foul Orcs and Orc-kin, lay siege to the most defended Clan stronghold, take that stronghold…and our reward is a few meager Bannor trinkets that we have to spill immeasurable blood to obtain?”

Folana nodded. “Yes.”

“Well our answer is as blunt as yours,” Tasunke answered. “No.”

Ostanes grunted with approval. The other members of the council looked at each other uneasily.

The Confessor stepped forward once more. “You foolish, steppe-born mongrel. Do you realize what you are doing? You are abandoning a Holy Crusade of Junil at a crit-“

Spitting with disgust, Ostanes cut off the Confessor. “Of course we realize what we are doing. We realize that we are abandoning a foolish campaign with little chance for success and thus little chance of a payout.”

“If you abandon Junil’s cause and stray from the path,” the Confessor growled back. “You will be regarded amongst the Bannor as enemies. We will view you in the same light as the very Clan you have warred against for the past year.”

“Your forces will be lucky to even leave their camp alive,” Folana sneered. “Your men are practically surrounded by our forces, and they are already inebriated out of their little barbarian minds. The survival of your force is now your new reward for joining us.”

“Inebriated?” Ostanes muscled, tattooed neck craned back and he laughed, his laughter booming through the tent. “You think you can best Hippans just because they’ve had a little wine? Why don’t you ask those who have faced against us in a tavern brawl how effective we are in a drunken fight, lass.”

The council gasped as their general was called a “lass” by a mere mercenary sub-commander.

Well, thanks Ostanes, Tasunke thought. So much for salvaging this debacle…as if there was any hope for salvage from the start. I should have listened to Rhoanna, he thought. She had advised against signing on for this particular war.

“Folana,” Tasunke growled as he and Ostanes backed away from the table, hands on their still-sheathed blades. “You could perhaps try to take our camp as reprisal for us not backing you. But think of the losses you would take. My men are fierce fighters, as you have seen throughout this campaign. Either you can let use leave in peace and you can continue on your foolhardy invasion alone, or you can storm our camp, lose another third of your foot and be annihilated within the next week by the horde.”

Folona’s eyes flicked over the rest of the council. All of them but the Confessor nodded subtly. “Very well,” she barked. “Leave. You have six hours to strike camp and leave our sight. If you are within our sight by then, we shall consider you our foe.”

Tasunke and Ostanes at least reached the tent’s exit after what seemed like an eternity of tension. The two horselords spun into the night, making their way quickly to their camp.

“Ostanes, old friend, consider yourself lucky they’ve already paid us. If you had jeopardized our original contract with that tongue of yours…I’d have to cut it out.”
 
Really interesting and well written story I barely wait for more it kept me interested until the very end.
 
Top Bottom