For God, For the Empire (Closed)

[Highton]

1299
Ein, Capital of the Pobfénix Empire

The Emperor sat on his throne as various subjects of the mighty Fenixian Empire came before him to speak before, for the most part, leaving empty-handed. It was always the same– they would enter the room, bow before the Emperor, they would make some form of proposal, then the Emperor would usually send them home. It was a difficult time for Eckhard, the Emperor, who was dealing with division across the Empire. His realm now stretched across the Strait into Collandris and was continuing to grow. This rapid expansion had its disadvantages and many parts of the Empire treated each other as enemies. There was nothing truly unifying the Fenixian Realm– much was divisive including language, religion, and geography, and the Empire, which had been declared only three decades earlier, could already have been on its last legs. Something needed to change, thought Eckhard, as dozens of subjects tried to bring their petty problems to the attention of the throne. A servant approached the Emperor, bowing as was customary, and not looking his in the eye at all. “This next group brings a proposal they claim will unify the Realm… I think it is certainly worth a listen,” he said quietly to Eckhard. Eckhard asked where they had come from, and he found that this group had come from the small fishing village of Alexandria a few miles north, but had strong connections to Ceretis.

“Let them in,” Eckhard said, “anything, really, at his point, to save the Empire.”

Seven monks entered the throne room and bowed to the Emperor. They had brought with them a bag carrying a few thick books which Eckhard could not quite make out. These people were fascinating… they were small in stature but appeared determined. The Emperor invited them to speak.

“Your Majesty, good day. I hope we find you in good health on this fine day,” said the monk in the center, Vincent of Alexandria. Uncharacteristically, Eckhard nodded, allowing them to speak uninterrupted. “We believe that this book could be the solution to the dividing Empire. Your people are divided over religion and cannot agree over any moral topic. Within a few years this will tear Pobfénix apart.” He held up the book– a Courantist Bible. “With God on your side Pobfénix will be a formidle power with a united people.” In short, the monks, known as the Alexandrians (Order of Alexander) tried to convince Eckhard to convert the Empire to Courantism. After asking many questions, Eckhard was convinced that this would be the solution. At this point, he likely did not know that this decision would allow the Empire to survive a further century. In just two hours, a group of Alexandrian monks had changed the course of Fenixian history– the Strait’s mightiest power now had God on its side.

 

[North Timistania]

1304, The Essalanean Steppe

It was spring when they arrived in the lands of the Karg, the bitter cold of winter was giving way to the brief window of warmth and growth that marked a time of harvesting, full bellies, and new life. The Alexandrians had crossed sparse grasslands and unforgiving tundra, guided ever southward and sustained by faith in their god.

Following the signs of horse and cattle, they came at last to the encampment of clan Karg, immediately challenged in guttural Sudengots the strangely dressed travelers had given the sentries pause when they had responded in a language, not at all dissimilar

'We seek an audience with your lord' the monk's leader had responded, his speech was an oddity, more refined than the ancient speech of the clans, but still definitely Gotic and very much understandable

Thus were the outsiders led into the tent of the karg chieftain, it was a realm of bizarre sights, within men and women mingled freely, drinking, singing, quarreling and wrestling. On a raised dais in the centre of the hall sat Thurderic, chieftain of clan karg and the man the Alexandrians had sought.

He was a striking figure in his 30th year of life, his features were not handsome as much as they were imposing. His eyes were icy blue and his face was strongly boned with a nose that had been broken and reset many times before, his chin was prominent and a well oiled and braided beard flowed from it, he was bald other than a topknot, a long lock of blonde hair hung down the side of an otherwise shaved head.

Thurderic drank fermented mares milk from a horn as the monks approached, he regarded the strangers with a mix of curiosity and indifference, he leaned forward in his seat and gestured to the monks.

'Who are these unhorsed you bring before me?' he asked the guards who seemed unsure themselves

The leader of the monks stepped forward before the guards could answer and spoke once again in the unusual speech he had used when answering the sentries

'My lord we have traveled from the great Fenixian empire to bring you most joyous news!' the monk said in an excited tone

'Mares giving birth and enough food to last the season are good omens to me stranger, what care I of some unhorsed lands news!?' he replied apprehensively

The monk gestured to one of the men accompanying him, a strange tome bound in black leather and gold was produced and handed to the leader who took it in both hands. Holding the book aloft he spoke in a loud and reverent voice as he addressed the chieftains hall.

'We bring the gospel of the one true God and with it, a pathway to salvation, eternal life and freedom from sin await the faithful!' the monk said his voice heavy with zealous excitement

Thurderic pondered the monks words for a moment, most of it seemed somewhat similar to something a priest of Ziu might say, albeit more flowery in tone then any Essalanean scripture. The strangers were an oddity but so far had not proven particularly offensive, he pondered sending them on their way but relented, they would make good amusement during the coming festival he thought with a grin.

'Well, that does sound rather promising, not sure why you can't just call Ziu by his name though' Thurderic said with a smirk

The monk was about to say something but Thurderic raised a hand and silenced him 'We are preparing for a great spring festival to celebrate the return of life to the steppe, you and your fellows are welcome to stay for this, if your good news is of substance you have the time until the festival to prove it' Thurderic said rising from his throne

And so the Alexandrians began their work spreading the gospel to Essalanea

 

[North Timistania]

1304, The Essalanean Steppe

Spring descended upon the steppe, the first stirrings of precarious life filling the seemingly barren plains, predator and prey abounded, the carrion birds grew fat on the cycle of death below. Spring had come and Father Vincent knew only fear.

In his many years of service to god, Vincent had walked among countless tribes of men, he had brought the gospel to barbarian kings and merchant princes alike, but these Essalaneans were a different breed altogether. There was something primal about them, they were shaped by the savage homeland that they had claimed for themselves.

Vincent's frequent conversations with Thurderic had proved lacking in progress, the quietly assured theology of the Courantist faith seemed to hold little interest for the chieftain, time and time again Vincent would assert the word of god as proof of his faiths superiority, time and time again Thurderic would shake his head and point.

'The glory of Ziu is to be found in the world outside priest, not in the pages of a book' Thurderic would say his tone brooking no argument

Where eloquent words had brought kings to their knees elsewhere, here in this land of untamed beings actions spoke far louder than words. Vincent prayed nightly to god for guidance and strength, his theological conversations were getting nowhere and the younger monks were beginning to grow belligerent. The brothers that had accompanied him across Craviter had only ever known the power of the word, they did not understand the delicate game they now played, and they certainly could not comprehend the idea that any man could resist the beauty of the gospel.

And yet, the Essalaneans did exactly that, their own pagan god, the endlessly quoted Ziu, would not be denied reverence. The Younger monks had begun to cause trouble, tired of stalled progress, he had been forced to intercede when they had nearly caused blades to be drawn, preaching that a woman's place was in the hearth alone had not been well received amongst the female bondsmen.

Vincent prayed to god that the path he had set the leader of the Alexandrians would become clear, he knew that the Lord had a plan for all things, he only prayed he could reign in the young brothers before they doomed the entire expedition with foolish action.

************************************************************************

Thurderic rose early on the day of the festival, he rode out onto the steppe and greeted Ziu's rising disk as it bathed his face in warm light. The winter had been a hard one and he was looking forward to a day of revels, his people would feast, sing and drink with abandon as they welcomed the months of abundance.

He was proud of his clan, the Karg had long been Essalaneas fiercest, they survived in a harsh land where few could have endured, they had taken the rocky and barren lands of central Essalanea and against all odds, they had thrived. Ziu had blessed their adherence to his ways with life and today he would give offerings to his lord for such boons.

As he rode back towards the camp he could see the smoke of cooking fires and hear the sounds of the waking hours, women and men singing as they went about their chores, children laughing as they ran between grinning adults and even the old Atta strumming his four-string gently. the Yurts were lined with the colourful banners of celebration and the platform in the centre of the camp was being prepared for the revels to come, Ziu's statue was standing arms outstretched, Thurderic grinned and urged his horse on.

'Fine day my lord!' Atta said in a warm voice, the old bard never pausing from his strumming

'Indeed it is and once the sacrifices are made the day will be even finer, I had Dag bring a barrel of ale back from trading with the Volkmann' Thurderic said with a wolfish grin

'Wonder who will faceplant first?' Atta said with a mischievous look

'Korg?' Thurderic replied

'Korg' Atta agreed with a smirk

Both men chuckled, Thurderic clapped the bard on his shoulder and moved on, he could already hear the strange visitors causing trouble. The elder of the bunch, Vincent, was arguing with a younger priest named Hugo at the foot of the platform.

'IDOLATRY!!! IT IS A SIN!' Hugo yelled pointed accusingly to the statue of Ziu

Vincent raised his hands trying to quiet the incensed monk 'Calm yourself Hugo! You risk everything with your outbursts! trust in the lord's plan and be silent!' he said in a stern voice

Hugo lowered his head in submission, but Thurderic caught the look of defiance in the young man's eyes as all eyes turned towards him. Thurderic regarded the gathering with a raised eyebrow, first looking at Hugo before locking eyes on Vincent.

'I trust you have things in order priest?' he said firmly

'All is well lord, my brothers sometimes forget themselves in their passion for theology' Vincent replied reassuringly

Thurderic nodded, giving Hugo one final, disdainful, look before moving on

'These outsiders are becoming a nuisance, the sooner the festival finishes the sooner I can send them on their way...maybe the Volkmann will appreciate their chatter more' Thurderic thought with a grin as he imagined Giselric struggling to deal with the outsiders

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The camp was like a scene from an old pagan mosaic, Vincent thought as he observed the wild revels filling the formerly tranquil camp. Men and women drank ale and fermented mares milk until they became unconscious, fights and wrestling were applauded by amused spectators, men and women who were unwed danced in wild circles with one another. The practice of consummating springs arrival with any willing partner was especially disturbing, Vincent uttered prayers for endurance as he watched all manner of pairings slip off into fields or tents.

The old bard known as Atta was playing an aggressive sounding tune as the clan danced with abandon around him. Vincent could make out some of the words, it described the god Ziu fighting a great black bear for the fate of all life, it made Vincent shudder as each lyric was uttered with guttural joy from the old man's lips, it sounded demonic to Vincent.

Thurderic and his Wife Hessila sat upon thrones at on the platform overlooking the event, in between husband and wife stood Ziu, the stone figure of a bearded man with a severed hand gazed down with vacant eyes upon his worshippers. Thurderic stood as the song reached its crescendo and ended, raising his hand he called for silence.

'My people! today we celebrate the gift of survival, Ziu has blessed us with a new year of glorious life, as we look to one another and give thanks let us also never forget that it is our faith in the lord of the eternal steppe that sustains us, therefore let us now bring forth the sacrifices that they might be pleasing in our gods eyes!' Thurderic said in a booming voice, his speech was met by roars of approval

Drums began to play as priests of Ziu led a menagerie of sacrifices by ropes with their remaining hands, goats, antelopes and even a large horse numbered among the doomed assembly. But it was the final offering that drew a gasp from the assembled monks, a man stripped to the waist was brought forward in chains.

'Walla of clan Hochvolk! you fought well in battle against us, we grant you the honour of attending to lord Ziu in the Seelewald!' Thurderic said addressing the male sacrifice, he poured some of the ale from his horn as he did so

The tribal high priest a man named Ansila stepped forward, his snow coloured hair trailed down his face in long unkempt locks and he had both his severed stump of a right arm and his left raised, a dagger was held in the left hand, clearly marking him as the executioner.

'Brothers and Sisters of the clan! today we honour Ziu with blood and flesh, let us raise our arms and voice....' the elderly priest was cut off by an enraged voice before he could finish

'ENOUGH!!!! this is heresy! can you all not see? this Ziu is nothing more then a demon who deceives you into doing his bidding! let this man go! for god's sake show mercy and forsake this devil!' Hugo had mounted the platform and was presently undoing all the weeks of trust the Vincent had built

Gasps and shocked silence filled the crowd as all eyes turned towards Hugo and his fellow monks, Vincent felt the eyes of angered Essalaneans lock upon him like a thousand daggers. Thurderic rose from his throne, he seemed oddly calm as he walked towards Hugo, he stood before the young monk for a moment regarding him with cold silence, and then he struck the monk with the back of his hand causing Hugo to stumble.

'Is this how you repay your hosts!!!' Thurderic roared hauling Hugo up by his throat

Thurderic drew his sword and stared menacingly at the whimpering Hugo, he turned to the crowd and spoke in a cold voice

'He wishes us to free Walla? So be it! I will not kill the Hochvolk!' Thurderic said pointing with his sword towards the bound man, the crowd regarded their chieftain with confused silence as he stood on the platform sword in one hand and monk gripped in the other

'What in gods name is happening!?' Vincent thought his heart pounding fearfully

A moment that seemed to last an eternity passed, then in one swift and brutal motion, Thurderic drove his blade through Hugo's chest and hurled him to the foot of the statue as he gurgled and bled to death. Prising his sword free from the dying monks still twitching body he turned and pointed its bloodied tip at the remaining monks

'I will not kill Walla, but I will give Ziu countless more sacrifices instead! Kill the Unhorsed! but leave the old man alive!' Thurderic roared

What happened next became a flurry of screams and fists as a horde of enraged clan bondsmen descended upon the monks with feral aggression, He could hear his comrades being torn limb from limb as the Karg bludgeoned, beat and stabbed them to death as their shrieks filled the night air. He tried to utter a prayer to god as he felt himself being hauled up by countless hands.

'Lord...Deliver Us from Evil!' he begged as he struggled to utter the words

A fist descended and he screamed as the world faded into unconsciousness.

************************************************************************
'Wake him!' Thurderic said coldly

A bondsman tore the sack from Vincent's head and slapped his face, the monk woke with a start as he regarded the Karg that surrounded him

'Awake at last priest' Thurderic said in a mocking tone

'Why did you spare me?' Vincent asked confusion evident in his voice

'A great offence was committed last night, I intend to send a message to your fellow unhorsed, and for that, I need a messenger' Thurderic said motioning to the white horse that Vincent was tied to

'And what message am I to give' Vincent asked fearfully

'Tell your emperor to leave Essalanea well alone, we do not need your god or your weak unhorsed ways, tell him to stay away, oh and one more thing' Thurderic said pausing

'What is it?' Vincent asked

'If I ever see a priest of your god upon Ziu's holy steppe again, I will kill them on sight' Thurderic said

The strung up bodies of Vincents Comrades that hung listlessly in the centre of the camp were all the evidence that Thurderic was not lying. Vincent nodded and at that Thurderic cut the ropes binding him.

'Ride north priest, you will soon be beyond the steppe, I've given you enough food and water to survive if you are not greedy, go now and do not return' Thurderic said smacking the horse upon its rump

The Essalanean steed bolted off into the distance, in time it would carry vincent back into the lands of the empire, weeks of gruelling travel back to civilization took their toll and he was a shadow of a man when he finally returned to Fenixian lands.

In 1305 at the border of the empire Vincent of the Alexandrians died of exhaustion and illness when on his deathbed he was asked about the Essalanean mission he said only one thing.

'Those devils will only come to god by the Sword!'

 

[Highton]

1305
Ein, Pobfénix

“My lord!” yelled the aide, sprinting into the Emperor’s throne room. “I have terrible news from the eastern border! Vincent is dead!” Eckhard stared at his aide blankly. “What about the others?” he asked, referring to the other Alexandrians that Vincent traveled with… “Gone. Nowhere to be seen. They say Vincent did nothing but fall to the ground and mutter the words ‘Those devils will only come to god by the Sword!’”. Eckhard’s face dropped. “They were slaughtered,” he thought as he sat back on his throne and held his head in his hands. “What have they done…”

Eckhard knew that the mission had failed. The Essalanean pagans would not convert to the one true religion. But this did not mean the Essalaneans were not mighty. They had ousted a group of Fenixians, killing all but one. Privately, Eckhard was terrified of what the actions of the Alexandrians could cause. Would the incident which was rumored to have occurred the beginning of a domino effect which could lead to war? Equally, Eckhard was angry. He was angry that the leader of the Essalaneans had ordered the execution of over a dozen of his subjects. But he knew that under the leadership of Þurderic, Essalanea could cause considerable damage. Oh, what had those darn missionaries done? The Empire needed to be ready, just in case.

Eckhard ordered a messenger to come to him. “Our mission to Essalanea has backfired horribly, messenger. I must send you to the border towns of Nola and Calabria. Notify the leadership in those cities that they need to be prepared. If there is an attack from the south, they will be the first targets. Tell them to mobilize their troops. Decades ago Nola proved a difficult town for my father a few decades ago. But now, the entire Empire’s fate will rest on how Nola will fare.”

 

[North Timistania]

1305, Vosgotis, The Essalanean Steppe

Thurderic approached the pyre torch in hand, the fur wrapped corpse of Hathus Rugen lay atop the mound, the hands that gripped the sword seemed pitifully small, as though the entire body had shrivelled down to just bone. Behind Thurderic, Gilseric Chief of the Volkmann was delivering a stirring eulogy, men listened intently as the Volkmann praised the prosperity of the dead High Chiefs reign.

'He always did have a way with words' Thurderic thought before lighting the pyre and stepping back

Flames roared across the funeral pyre consuming everything on it in a sea of smoke and heat, Hathus Rugen vanished into the fire. Thurderic uttered a prayer for the deceased wordlessly, the assembled clan warriors beat their weapons against their shields in a low rhythmic motion both to deter evil spirits and to announce to all that a son of Ziu was returning home.

'He was a good man, but a snake bite? shitty way to die' A booming voice said far too loudly, Thurderic turned to see Beremud, chieftain of the Hureg grinning like a fool

He was a big man and the furs that covered his body made him seem more like some forest beast than a man. The great bear of the southern steppe seemed to be making every effort to resemble his namesake animal, that he had made a rare trip south was both a sign of the respect Hathus had commanded and of the gravity of current events.

'Didn't think you were coming Hureg" Thurderic said with a slight smile

Beremud gave a toothy grin exposing a full mouth of sharp white teeth, he wasn't a handsome man by any estimate but he was imposing, he had a long mane of greasy black hair and a fat rounded face, he regarded the funeral with narrow mischievous eyes, like some trickster god come to sow chaos.

'Weather is awful this time of year, was a good excuse to leave the south' Beremud replied

Thurderic nodded but did not reply, he was deep in thought, the Hureg chieftain had been correct about one thing, dying by a snake bite was a very unlucky way to perish. Rumours spread across the steppe of Ziu showing his disfavour with the current high chief, of an offence needing to be punished. Thurderic knew of the rumours but he had no desire to engage in such idle gossip.

The months since the missionaries had disrupted the spring festival had seen the steppe grow restless, storms wracked the sky and warriors sharpened their blades instinctively, the great priests in their oracle caves muttered the same words constantly 'Revenge' and the warriors of the clans waited for one to lead them in that task.

As the two men watched the flames grow, Thurderic wondered how much longer before those demands for vengeance turned to action.

 

[North Timistania]

'Enough! the course of action is clear!' Giselric yelled slamming his fist on the stone table for emphasis

The death of Hathus Rugen had finally opened the floodgates of debate, the outrage that had followed the spring rites being desecrated had finally boiled over into talk of war. Hathus's death had been taken as an omen that the god of the eternal steppe was displeased with inaction, the clans intended to rectify that displeasure.

The arguments in the great hall had raged for the majority of the evening, The Rugen had demanded that nothing less than a holy war be declared against the outsiders, the Volkmann meanwhile wanted to raid the border and demand concessions from the emperor.

'You would have us bargain with these infidels! they desecrated our lord's rites, the only thing I wish is to see their blood run in penance!' The Rugen chieftain snarled

Gaila had been acclaimed chieftain of the Rugen mere days earlier but already she showed the zeal and grim determination that her clan's rulers were famed for, she had a point too the unhorsed had indeed committed an act of desecration and if the clans did nothing it would likely happen again.

'And if we anger the empire and bring down their full might upon us!?' Giselric countered

The Volkmann chieftain was an oddity, lanky and lacking much in the way of muscle he relied upon his immense charisma and skill with words to turn men to his side, Giselric was known as the 'silver tongue' with very good reason. The expression of barely contained frustration on his narrow features suggested that he too had no desire to back down.

'Unhorsed? We are the greatest warriors in the world Giselric, We could break these imperials one thousand times over! let them come!' Beremud chimed in, the last part caused the entire hall to erupt in cheers and roars of approval

Despite all the chest-thumping and boasts the room was in an utter impasse, there was no high chief to end the dispute. Sensing this all eyes turned to the Karg chieftain, he had been watching the debate in complete silence and now people wondered if he knew something they did not.

'Thurderic! what say you!? Should we simply throw ourselves at the empire?' Giselric said addressing him in an imploring tone

Thurderic scratched his chin and then after a pause replied 'We have seen first hand what they intend for us, those monks were but the first of many, more will come if we do not act' he said grimly

'So you are siding with Gaila then! you want a holy war!' Giselric yelled almost spitting the words

Thurderic held up a silencing hand 'It's simple, they will keep coming to try and convert us until we dissuade them of that notion, we cannot bargain with this empire and its priests, they thrive on talk and inaction, we have to send a message or they will return and in a far more obvious fashion' he said laying out their options in no uncertain terms

'What we need' Beremud said in a booming voice 'Is a new High Chief!' raising his sword as he spoke

'Who then? you?!' Giselric said with a mocking smirk

'Don't be ridiculous Volkmann, that chair is bloody uncomfortable' Beremud replied with a sarcastic tone

'But the fact remains that we lack a high chieftain' Gaila said coldly

'No' Beremud said in a determined voice 'We do not, let's be honest, Giselric is good with words but a poor warrior' Beremud said silencing the angered Volkmann chief before he could speak

'I care nothing for ruling beyond my clan in the south and you Gaila, honourable though you seem, are not more than a few days into the rule of a clan' Beremud said moving around the room to regard each chieftain

'Who then?' Gaila asked her tone insistent

'Thurderic avenged our desecration in the spring! Thurderic punished the infidels and I pledge the Hureg to his cause for the coming war!" Beremud said raising his sword in salute

Gaila rose and stared at Thurderic intently for what seemed like an age 'You have the look of destiny about you Thurderic and you have proved you can do what must be done, the Rugen stand with Thurderic!' She yelled raising her lance to join Beremud's sword

Giselric stood drew his own sword hesitantly 'The others trust you, and if you can keep the empire and their god out, then perhaps I can as well, the Volkmann shall stand with Thurderic!' he said raising his sword

The crowds began drawing weapons and raising them in salute, the shadows of warriors and steel flowed across the walls of the great hall as torches flickered in the darkness, one word was repeated continuously as the chants grew louder and rose until they were a great roar.

'Thurderic! Thurderic!! Thurderic!!!'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LGFX4Nccq9U

 

[North Timistania]

1305, Calabria, Fenixian Empire

Like a terrible flood, they surged out of Essalanea and advanced northwards, 100,000 trueborn sons and daughters of Essalan set upon the path of conquest. So many horses thundered across the open plains that a vast cloud of dust and flies could be seen approaching from miles away, Meginland was the first to suffer at the hands of this vast host.

Cities and villages were offered a simple choice, pay tribute and allow the clans to pass or to be wiped from the face of Eras. Those settlements that chose the latter by resisting were the sites of terrible slaughter, the burnt-out husks of ruined buildings a testament to the ruthless ferocity of the Essalaneans. Before long they had cut a swathe through Meginland and arrived at the border of their true foe, the Fenixian empire and their false god.

By this point, the fearful victims of their advance had bequeathed the clans a terrible new name, the blood
red banners of the Karg led army stirred the imaginations of frightened survivors and they began to call the Essalanean force 'The Scarlet Horde'


Pierre Kaplan was a proud man, governor of Calabria by imperial appointment and devoted to the cause of both empire and god, he believed in the nation that he had a hand in governing and he was enamoured with the writings of the Alexandrian order. To live in such times was invigorating, with empire united under one god it seemed as though anything was possible. The reports of pagan hordes advancing on the borders seemed utterly inconsequential, how could they stand against an empire with god upon its side?

He was confident that rumours of an all-conquering horde were nothing more than the frightened tales of ignorant peasants. His generals were certain that the savages were incapable of organising themselves into a cohesive force and even if they could do so what hope could they have against the mighty walls and armies of the Fenixian empire? When Eckhard had sent word of a possible attack, Kaplan had raised his army and called up the militia, but he wondered privately if the emperor was jumping at shadows.

'Probably some bandit raid blown out of proportion' chuckled one of the generals as they poured over the map

Calabria was far to the south and straddled the border with Meginland if the barbarians intended to enter the empire they would have to get through its defences first, something that Kaplan intended to prevent with decisive planning.

'How many men do we have stationed at the border?' he asked

'Four hundred my lord, with more in reserve here if need be, assuming these barbarians show up at all we shall be ready' one of his generals replied tapping the spot on the map for emphasis

Pierre was weary, it had been a busy morning and he was eager to rest before any other hectic matters made that impossible

'Eckhard has me wasting good men watching shadows' he thought irritably

'It sounds as though everything is in order' Kaplan said with an approving nod

'Rest assured my lord there is no great concern, the men at the border will likely be deterrent enough and assuming these scum actually give battle our walls and garrison will make short work of them' one of his advisors replied, it all sounded comforting

'Very good, I shall retire now gentlemen, do inform me if anything of importance occurs' he said turning to leave, finally, he would have the chance for a rest

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Kaplan awoke in the early evening to frantic pounding upon his chamber doors, he rose from the bed and quickly pulled his robe around his rotund frame

'Who dares to disturb me at this hour!' he thought grumpily as he rubbed a hand across his bald head and tried to appear somewhat awake

'Enter' he said pouring himself a glass of wine

'This had better be good' he thought irritated by the interruption

A messenger in mud-splattered livery entered and hastily bent the knee, he was panting with exertion, had he run all the way to Pierres apartments?

'My Lord Governor!' the man said addressing Kaplan in a breathless voice

'What news messenger?' Kaplan asked as he sipped his wine

'The garrison at the border my lord! its...' the messenger began

'Its what!?' Kaplan snapped cutting the man off

The messenger stared up at the governor with a look of fear in his eyes 'Its gone my lord, we have the sole survivor in the audience hall ready to report' the messenger replied his voice clearly shaking

Kaplan dismissed the messenger and dressed hurriedly, he suddenly felt far less reassured by his general's assessments

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The soldier knelt with visible pain as Kaplan entered the hall, he was a pitiful sight to behold, his armour and body were caked in blood and dirt and his face bore countless scratches and bruises. It was the soldier's eyes however that was most unnerving sight, they seemed to stare off into the distance for what seemed like an eternity.

'My lord' the man said coughing up blood as he spoke

Kaplan winced, the man was clearly wounded, perhaps even fatally so, he motioned for the soldier to rise, he did so gratefully.

'They say you are the only survivor of the border garrison?' Kaplan asked trying to sound confident

'Aye my lord, the barbarians spared me' the soldier said grimacing in pain as he did so

'What happened?' Kaplan asked fear rising in the pit of his stomach

'They happened...' the man said trailing off

'They!? spit it out man' one of the generals snarled patience exhausted

Kaplan raised a hand to silence the general, annoyed by the intteruption 'was it the clans?' he asked gently

The man nodded fear in his eyes 'it was sir, they butchered the entire garrison, surrounded us and killed everyone' he said his voice strained from both pain and exhaustion

'How many were there soldier?' The general asked, more politely after a warning look from Kaplan

'Thousands...there were thousands...' the soldier said eyes wide with horror as he remembered the sight

'You must be mistaken' the general replied 'there's no way...' Kaplan silenced the general again

'Now...why did they let you live?' Kaplan asked trying to sound calm, inside his heart was thumping with fear, all the morning's assurances seemed to be vanishing

'To deliver a message sir' the soldier said weakly

'And what was that message' Kaplan asked

'They told me to say...that they are coming...and we can either surrender...or die' the soldier said, the words sending a chill down the spine of every man in the room

'They are coming' The words had a terrifying directness to them 'God Preserve us' Kaplan thought silently uttering a prayer

 

[North Timistania]

1305, Calabria, Fenixian Empire

They come in the night, torches piercing the sheet of inky darkness, at first only one or two flames can be seen but then more and yet more fill the horizon beyond the walls of Calabria until it glows orange as though the sun were rising.

On the walls above fear spreads like a sickness, frightened whispers and prayers fill the lips of the young and untested, officers try to keep order but it is to no avail, the Essalaneans are coming and they bring terror with them. The older veterans mumble oaths and sharpen their blades, they know a bloodbath when they see one.

Below the sounds of pounding hoof and feet have become deafening, horns and drums can be heard alongside them and a low guttural chant fills the air as it leaves the lips of the thousands of invaders below

ZIU ZIU ZIU!!!!

It is repeated endlessly and grows louder with each passing hour,

the hearts of fearful men pound like hammer blows with each new roar, ​

captains bark orders and struggle to be heard over the cacophony

"Make ready!" the officers yell as the message spreads across the city, Calabria is besieged

below in the city proper the horror of coming war grips the populace, doors slam shut as elders haul screaming children indoors, church bells ring in a warning and the streets empty of all but the armed and the destitute.

In his palace, Pierre Kaplan hears all this and kneels in a cold sweat, he prays in a shaking voice to the Messiah and unto god

'Lord deliver us from the Godless Clans!!!'

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Thurderic gazed up at the walls of Calabria with a strategist's appraising eyes, they were sturdy-looking things but their defenders few and untested, the information he has extracted from those captured at the border had been invaluable and now he would use it to crush the men of the empire.

'Imposing looking thing isn't it? pity the men hiding behind it won't be much challenge' Beremud muttered with a wolfish grin

It was true that the unhorsed built great city and walls of stone to defend them but Thurderic considered this their greatest weakness, the obsession with fortifications made the men within less daring, they preferred to hold rather than fight and it was that lack of courage that Thurderic intended to exploit.

'Perhaps Beremud, but this Calabria is but the first city we shall bring low' Thurderic replied

Behind him the creak of wheels and the panting and heaving of slaves filled the night air, great siege towers were hauled forward by rope and brute force, this was how Thurderic would gut the city of Calabria, by bringing the ferocity of clans to the walls above.

'Let's inform our hosts of our arrival' Thurderic said raising a hand

At his signal, tens of thousands of horse archers began to ignite their arrows, an already vast sea of torchlight grew brighter still as they did so. He breathed in deeply and muttered a silent prayer to the lord of the eternal steppe.

'Great Ziu in your name I today bring punishment down upon the unhorsed, bless my arrows and favor my sword' He thought his eyes closed in reverence

'Lord we are ready!' a bondsman signaled

Thurderic opened his eyes and with a booming voice yelled 'Archers! LOOSE!!'

A sea of burning arrows filled the sky and shrieked towards the defenders on the walls above, the siege of Calabria had begun.

 

[North Timistania]

1305, Calabria, Fenixian Empire

The sky above is alight with fire, veteran soldiers grip their blades with white-knuckled hands, below the horde's advance. Guttural chants and warcries fill the darkness like the baying of demons from hell, drums pound in the distance announcing the coming of the pagans. They charge in their thousands, men and women in furs and paint, they shriek like the souls of the damned as they swarm towards Calabria's wall, veterans fire arrows, recruits shake in terror.

The slam of ladders heralds the arrival of the bloodletting, Essalaneans ascend with killing iron in hand. Men are hurled from the walls by the defenders, ladders are booted back sending them toppling with their screaming occupants in tow, but still, they come as though unending in number. The slaughter begins in earnest as the first pagans cut their way onto the ramparts, they hack and scream and gut with wild abandon.

Any order is soon lost in a haze of screaming, stabbing and bloodlust, men who have campaigned at the emperor's behest for decades are cut down in mere moments. Faced with certain death some fight more fiercely, others weep, pray or beg, only to be hacked to a bloody mess by the barbarians. Men mutter prayers as they thrust their spears at the heathen, they call out with terror-stricken voices for salvation, but the Messiah does not answer.

Thurderic wades into the fighting alongside his warriors, his sword is slick with warm blood and his face better resembles the grimace of some nightmarish beast. The scions of Essalan have come to the empire, they have come for their vengeance. The brave but doomed lines of Calabrians begin to buckle as they are crushed by fear and overwhelming numbers, men at the rear drop their weapons and run with quivering hearts, but there is nowhere to flee now, their walls are a prison.

Behind Thurderic strides Beremud, the Hureg grins as he shoulders his bearded axe, his blade too has drunk deep in crimson. The two men step over the bloodied dead and observe the fall of a great city, below the invading clans haul the gates open allowing mounted kin to rush in on pounding hoof.

With arrow and torch, Calabria burns, the clans run amok as they loot, butcher and ravage the city with feral abandon. The commonfolk run screaming, many are trampled and speared, the survivors are hauled off into the darkness, slaves for the victorious clans. Smoke chokes the air and stings the eyes, blood runs across the cobbles, bodies lie crushed with expressions of horror etched on dead faces.

Calabria falls

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Kaplan stares in silent terror at the assembled masses around him, the cities nobility and clergy, the ones that survived anyway. They stand in ashen stained clothing, faces grey with soot, and they shake and huddle. The barbarians surround them, their laughter is booming and their language guttural. They gaze down at the cities elite with utter disgust, fierce children of the steppe regarding soft unhorsed with proper disdain.

One man steps forward, he is not especially tall but his blue eyes burn with the light of some terrible destiny, he walks with purpose, a man comes to break the world. The hordes of tattooed men and women part ways as this man approaches, this is evidently their leader. He strides past noble and priest alike, they recoil in terror at his passing, He comes to a stop in front of Kaplan.

It takes all of Kaplan's remaining will not to piss himself, the Essalanean looms over him with an expression of utter contempt. He utters a silent prayer in his mind to the Messiah and feels certain he will soon meet his creator for judgment.

'if only we had listened!' he rages bitterly

The savage's blue eyes shift in expression, a look of curiosity fills them, he places a hand upon his sword, Kaplan drops to his knees and with eyes closed awaits the killing blow. Moments pass in darkness, death does not come.

'Get up unhorsed, I'm not going to kill you, you are no use to me dead' a mocking voice replies in oddly practised imperial speech

Kaplan opens his eyes, the barbarian chieftain stands over him with an impatient look upon his face, Kaplan silently mouths thanks to god.

'I am Thurderic of the great clan Karg' the chieftain says introducing himself

Kaplan stammers, his lips rebellious with fear, he forces himself into a facade of composure and bows slightly.

'Pierre Kaplan, governor of Calabria by the grace of the emperor' he replies in as calm a voice as he can muster

'well, Pierre of clan Kaplan, now your life and holdings belong to me and you shall govern them at my pleasure'

'My lord?' Pierre says blinking in surprise

Thurderic rolls his eyes in irritation 'evidently the ears of unhorsed are as soft as their sword arms, you shall rule this land and see that my armies are supplied with all they require, do this and those of your people who still live may keep their lives and freedom'

Kaplan feels an exultant feeling fill his soul, utter joy at survival, it is soon followed by disgust and self-loathing.Thurderic wishes for a vassal and Pierre will willingly do all the barbarian king demands, because he would rather live then die, he knows in his heart of hearts he is a coward.

'Aye, my lord! we shall serve you!' he says falling to his knees again and extending his hands in grovelling supplication

Thurderic grasps him by the collar and hauls him up with an irritated glare

'Evidently unhorsed knees are weak as well! you are no use to me on the ground!' he snarls shoving Kaplan back

Kaplan stumbles back and takes a deep breath, he feels relief as his new status sinks in, he will live to see another dawn so long as he serves his new masters. The relief does not last, he notices the howls of complaint and the fearful pleas for mercy, he sees the fur-clad warriors haul every priest from the crowds. Monks in brown habit, the bishop in his soot-stained white vestments, even the sisters of the local convent.

'My lord?!' he blurts out in a mixture of shock and apprehension, a surge of fear rises inside as he realizes what he has done

Thurderic turns and regards him with an icy expression 'These servants of your god have done much to offend Ziu, the lord of the eternal steppe cries out for vengeance, I have no use for these ones, save as sacrifices' he says in an unnervingly calm voice

Then the killing starts and with it the screaming, some fall to their knees in gestures of prayer, most scream and beg for mercy that is not granted. The sounds of hacking and shrieking fill the chill morning air, Kaplan tries to turn away but finds he cannot, he is transfixed by the horror. He stares down at the mud-stained ground and sees his reflection gazing up at him.

He regards his bald, ash stained face with disgust, the puddle illuminates him in the worst possible light. He appears almost ghoulish in the moment, an interpretation aided by the chilling howls of the condemned. Kaplan's hands begin to shake, he feels a coldness snake down his spine.

'I am damned' he thinks in terror 'The messiah has abandoned me!'