A Time for War - A Europa Barbarorum AAR for the Kingdom of Pontos

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Chapter 3 - An Army Divided



Mazaka
Spring, 256 B.C.

Wood splintered as iron struck the gates.

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Dionysios watched as the people of Mazaka scrambled through the city streets. Women and children cowered in their homes while men grabbed their spears, donned their helms and raced to the walls

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A large militia had been raised on the command of the Basileus, and his orders could not have been more prudent. An army from Seleukeia had besieged Mazaka for three seasons, and now they moved to recapture the city. Dionysios sneered. As a Kappadokos, he had been chosen to govern the greatest city of his homeland by Ariobarzanes himself, and he would rather die then give up that honor.

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Dionysios cursed. His fool of a brother in law had traveled with an army to Bithynia, determined to capture a city which held no ill will towards the Kingdom of Pontos. Dionysios had begged Mithridates to remain in Kappadokia, but his cries fell upon deaf ears. The Koiranides was never one to listen to advice, but how could he ignore the obvious threat of retaliation. His hands clenched the shaft of his kontos. Dionysios' anger had festered since the siege began, but it was too late to hope for any assistance from his brother.

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Soldiers thirsting for blood tore down the palisade walls which had been hastily constructed to defend the city, and the levies readied themselves for the inevitable struggle.

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The forces of Seleukeia flooded through splintered wood, a deluge of men and metal longing for gold and glory, but the pantadapoi of the city held them off. A well aimed sarissa found the unprotected neck of an enemy. A strong arm forced a spear tip through the breastplate and into the beating heart of an attacker. A phalangite fell bloody to the ground, his Phrygian helmet shattered, cleaved apart by a single blow from a warrior's axe.

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As the levies battled for the center of the city, Dionysios prepared himself. Fastening his helm and steadying his kontos, he rode behind the soldiers, shouting encouragement to the men who fought for the glory of Pontos, searching for a hole in the enemy line.

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His eyes fell upon the soldiers guarding his left flank, and Dionysios knew it was time for action. The levies had managed to push the enemy away from the breach in the city walls, and the attackers looked ready to break rank and flee for their lives.

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Sounding his horn, Dionysios gave the order. "Into the breach, kinsmen! Give them no quarter!" he called, his voice rising above the clamor of iron and bronze and dying men.

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The enemy broke before the fearsome stampede of the kinsmen cavalry. Dropping their arms, they fled from the field with the kinsmen close behind...

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...but the chase ended abruptly. With a furious charge, Zeuxis Lykikos brought his hetairoi into the fray. Dionysios dropped as a xyston thrust overhead. Deftly avoiding a fatal blow, he grabbed at the xyston with his free hand and lashed out at the rider, his blade carving past the bronze and between the ribs, and the man fell dying from his mount. The smell of blood filled the air, and he watched a kinsmen scream as iron bit into his forearm, severing the limb with a sickening thwack.

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The screams of his men awakened memories long forgotten, and time stood still. He remembered the sight of blood, the mangled limbs, the smell of emptied bowels and piss stained tunics. The capture of Mazaka had been a bloody affair, and Dionysios knew the price of victory all too well.

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Six years had passed since he entered the battle with fifty kinsmen, men who swore to die for him, and forty two men had been forced to fulfill their vows that day. Forty two companions who never returned to their wives and sons in Amaseia.

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A resounding cry brought him to his senses, and he saw the remaining hetairoi flee before the might of the kinsmen cavalry. "Nike! Nike!" his companions cried. A kontos had managed to penetrate the hardened bronze armor of Zeuxis, and the once proud strategos lay lifeless in a pool of his own blood.

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The death of their commander shattered the morale of the men fighting for Seleukeia, but as they turned to flee they became caught by the hoplites that broke through during Dionysios' charge. Spears greeted the soldiers from both sides, and panic descended upon them. The men of Seleukeia became sheep, the Pontikoi levies became butchers, and their bleating echoed through the narrow streets of Mazaka.

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The enemy lay broken before the gates, and the corpse of Zeuxis rotted in the fields. The city had repelled the vicious assault, but Dionysios knew in his heart that the nobles of Seleukeia were hungry to devour Kappadokia and her people. This was only the beginning.

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The Palace of Mazaka
Winter, 256 B.C.

Ariobarzanes called for his servant to stoke the hearth. The young Kappadokos bowed and hurried to find kindling for the glowing fire which illuminated the chamber where the Basileus dined on roasted goat and red wine. A snow storm descended upon the city of Mazaka, but the temperament of the public felt far bitterer than any winter gale. The people of Kappadokia were of hardy stock, but surviving two sieges in one year was a difficult stone to swallow.

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Draining his glass, Ariobarzanes began to recall the events which brought him to Mazaka. The first siege had been beaten back by the bravery of the Pontikoi militia, but the assault left the city in a precarious position. A letter from Dionysios arrived at his palace that spring, urging the Basileus to reinforce the city, and Ariobarzanes felt compelled to acknowledge his son in law’s request. His support could not have come sooner. Within weeks of his arrival, the Basileus found himself surrounded by a Seleukid army, and he knew that the four hundred men who marched with him would be desperately needed to repel the attackers.

The sound of footsteps disturbed his thought. The Basileus looked up, expecting to see his servant enter the chamber with more firewood, but Dionysios appeared in his stead. Pulling out a chair and pouring an extra drink, Ariobarzanes motioned for his son to come and share his meal beside him.

“Hail, Basileus! I am truly honored to share your company.” His speech was stilted, and he awkwardly grabbed the silver rhyton from Ariobarzanes’ outstretched hand. Sniffing the dark red liquid, he gave an apprehensive sip.

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Ariobarzanes frowned. Dionysios was never one to forget his manners in front of the Basileus, but the king wasn’t interested in flatteries tonight. “Sit down and finish your drink. You fought like a man today, and I’ll be damned if you start acting like a womanish deserter in front of your father!” Recognizing his temper, the aging king composed himself. “Excuse me, Dionysios. Perhaps your king has had too much to drink tonight.”

Taking a deeper sip, Dionysios sat down in the chair besides Ariobarzanes. “There is nothing to excuse, Basileus. You have won a great victory today. Surely you’ve earned your wine tonight?”

“Yes, perhaps I have. Tell me, what are the soldiers saying about me tonight?”

Dionysios smiled. “To be honest, they didn’t believe their Basileus was capable of such feats of strength anymore.”

Ariobarzanes stared blankly at Dionysios, and the young man’s smile disappeared as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Finally, after a long moment, the old man erupted in raucous laughter. “So they didn’t think I had it in me, eh? Thought their old king was too pampered to fight for his kingdom anymore?”

Dionysios’ smile returned. “No doubt they made the same mistake as poor Euteles.”

The Basileus scoffed. “Poor Euteles? His fortune is likely worth half our kingdom!” He flashed a vulgar grin. “Or perhaps it was worth half our kingdom?”

The playful remark finally brought laughter to the stoic Dionysios. “I’ve heard the kinsmen tell the story a dozen times already, but I’d like to hear it from you, father.”

Easing back in his chair, Ariobarzanes swallowed his third glass of wine in a single swig. “You remember when we separated during the battle?”

Dionysios nodded. “You ordered me to assault the enemy rear while you chased off their cavalry.”

The Basileus continued while pouring himself another draft. “Chase wouldn’t be the word I would use. The hetairoi fought like madmen, and none of the enemy fought with more valor than Euteles Demetriados Assyriakes. Even as hetairoi died around him, his iron xiphos cut through our kinsmen, and his mighty shield deflected the strongest of blows. Jahan and Khorvash fell before him, and even the mighty Navid was wounded by his awful fury.”

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Dionysios leaned forward while the king took another sip. He paused, and stared into his cup for a moment before continuing. “I couldn’t stand the sight of my kinsmen dying before me. I knew that I had to act, but I won’t lie to you. I was terrified.” His voice had become a whisper. “I prodded my horse and charged behind him with my kopis held tight. If I had missed my mark, I wouldn’t be here today, but thank the gods for watching over me. My aim found the opening in his armor, his unprotected neck, and I brought down my blade with all of my strength. I felt the iron cut straight through his collarbone, breaking his upper ribs and opening a horrible gash.”

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“I watched the blood pour out from his wound, and he turned with a look of surprise on his face. It was then that our kinsmen startled his horse, which reared and threw off its mighty rider.” He drained his final cup. “He was dead before he even touched the ground.”

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For awhile they sat in near silence, listening only to the crackling embers of the dying hearth. Finally, after a long while, Ariobarzanes stood. “Thank you.”

Dionysios raised a cautious eyebrow. “Thank you for what?”

The Basileus sighed. “For being the man that I find worthy enough to call my son.”
 
Your narration is really good. As in, quite excellent! Please continue to regale us with your exploits! The way you write is very immersive, and my interest in seeing the future fate of your good kingdom is surprisingly and wondrously high. You have me hooked.
 
Thank you! I really appreciate the encouragement, and I don't intend to stop anytime soon. I think I've had more fun writing it than I have had playing it!  :grin:

I'll probably have to write in a major defeat sometime soon to keep things interesting, maybe in the next chapter or two. Hopefully the enemy A.I. will oblige.
 
No-no! Write what happens! If it so happens that your own tactical prowess completely destroys the AI, resulting in a quick or slow rise to power, that's what you write about! I'd love to see world domination. :smile:
 
Moose! said:
Thank you! I really appreciate the encouragement, and I don't intend to stop anytime soon. I think I've had more fun writing it than I have had playing it!  :grin:

I'll probably have to write in a major defeat sometime soon to keep things interesting, maybe in the next chapter or two. Hopefully the enemy A.I. will oblige.

I think it's interesting enough without defeats  :grin:
 
Chapter 4 – The Ghosts of Winter



The forests of Phrygia
Winter, 255 B.C.

The great pine forests were still. A dusting of snow had descended upon Phrygia at dawn, silencing the footfalls of Makarios as he crept careful through the underbrush. He was grateful for the freshly fallen snow. It made his prey that much easier to track.

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He stopped. Slowly, Makarios reached down and grabbed the javelin at his side. His heart raced. He was only a boy, but he was eager to prove himself. He drew his arm back easily. He had practiced a hundred times before. “I can do this,” he thought to himself, “I’ve been training for this all year with the men of Ipsos.” Holding his breath to steady his aim, the young boy released the javelin upon his unsuspecting foe. 

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“Kybele be damned!” Makarios spat. His aim was unsteady, and the wooden dart plunged harmlessly into the snow. Startled, his prey fled to the safety of the forest, leaping over the brambles with effortless grace. The young boy hurried to retrieve his spear. It could take hours to track the young doe, and if the snowfall continued, he might lose the trail entirely. Cursing his aim, he ran into the forest, desperately hoping to catch a glimpse of his elusive quarry.

A stinging pain brought tears to his eyes as he tumbled blindly through the woods. Branches reached out and flogged him mercilessly, and his pauper’s rags gave little comfort from their lashes. Bloody and bawling, he stopped to catch his breath when he noticed a strange form upon the frozen ground. It was no larger than a buck, and covered in a thin layer of snow. Bending down to get a closer look, Makarios pondered over the identity of the contorted figure.

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The young hunter drew back in horror as he recognized the grotesque sight which lay upon the frozen ground before him. The man’s eyes had been pecked out, along with his ears and lips. His pallid flesh tried sloughing off his decaying body, but the winter’s cold had frozen it in place. Makarios reeled, and was sick. Wiping the snot and and bile from his stubble, he saw another figure behind him, and another.  He rubbed the tears from his bleary eyes, and saw that these three figures were not alone.

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A handful, a dozen, a hundred more shapes came into focus. Men, cut and twisted and broken, all of them, thousands of them, frozen in place, as far as his eyes could see. Some of them had swords clasped tightly to their hands, while others were stuck with the broken shafts of spears and arrows. Everywhere he turned, there were more to be found.

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Crying, he ran through the icy graveyard, stumbling over severed limbs and parts which had been hacked off like pig scraps. He began to recognize larger shapes, horses, lying scattered among the corpses. Some of the bodies lay in a dozen pieces, while others rested as if they were merely asleep.

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Suddenly, his foot caught a root, and he fell to the ground. With bloody hands, he pushed himself back up, and found himself face to face with a naked man. He was strung up, between two trees, ropes bound tightly to his wrists and ankles, and the flesh around his bonds was rubbed raw. Makarios couldn’t read much, but he knew the two words that were branded into the man’s stomach. “Seleukid dog,” he read aloud, his voice trembling. Even more terrifying was the symbol burned into his chest, a crescent moon beneath an eight pointed star.

Retching again, Makarios ran south, matching the speed of fabled Pheidippides. His sides burned and his heart felt as if it would burst from his chest, but the cramps in his sides and legs were far less painful then the memories of the forest.

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The great pine forests were still. Somewhere, a crow cawed in the distance.

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Phrygia

Arsames scowled. He had allowed the Koiranides to convince him once, but he wouldn’t be swayed by Mithridates’ temper again. His nephew had hollered and hounded him for hours, urging him to march upon the Seleukids before they managed to reach Nikaia, and Arsames wisely consented. Attacking the forces of Arche Seleukeia in the open had been a great success, but to continue the attack would leave Nikaia undefended. “I am sorry, Koiranides, but I will not concede. Our army will march home today. We have won the battle. Let us enjoy this victory!”

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Mithridates fumed. “We should move now to besiege the city. The path to Ipsos is open to us, but it will soon close if we do not act! Our enemies lay scattered before us, their shields broken, their corpses rotting.”

“I have made my decision, and I will ask you to respect it, nephew. Don’t forget that your father named Arsames as governor of Nikaia, and not Mithridates.” The look on the young prince’s face told him that his words had struck a blow. Arsames was only three years older than Mithridates, but he knew that the young prince bore the fool's wisdom and lion's temper of a much younger man.

Mithridates’ voice dripped with bitter contempt. “I’ll remind you that you are speaking to the heir and namesake of our great Ktistes, and I demand I be addressed as such.” His body was taut as a bow string, his hands clenched at his sides.

Arsames bowed with mocking adulation. “I never meant to test you, Koiranides. You know I hold your noble counsel in such high esteem, but I must deny your request. We cannot lose Nikaia to our enemies in Phrygia.”

Daggers flew from the Koiranides’ stare, but he had no more words for his uncle. Sulking, he departed from his uncles’ tent. Arsames breathed a sigh of relief. His nephew might be a fool, but he was a dangerous fool. Arsames could only hope he would remain a friendly fool.





Phrygia

The kinsmen thundered through the forests of Phrygia.

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Mithridates smiled as he rode alongside his cousin. Artaxerxes Herakleotes was a much better companion than his cowardly uncle, and the two shared laughter and drinks and stories each night with their comrades and kinsmen. They had departed after Arsames retreated to Nikaia, riding east towards Ankara together. Though weary from their battles, they were encouraged by their victories, and their hearts were filled with purpose. Scouts had reported a Seleukid scouting party, led by Spitamenes Adanon Kilikikon, eldest son of a prominent house in Damaskos, and if Mithridates could not deliver a city to his father, then he would certainly deliver the head of this dog who dared to defy the kingdom.

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The Palace of Ipsos
Spring, 254 B.C.

The strategos was afraid.  Captain Hippomachos had seen this fear before in men, and he watched in silence as his commander became a weeping woman. The man trembled when he spoke, and spoke all throughout the night, sometimes a whisper, and other times a piercing scream. In court he had been indecisive, and in camp he had been distant. Antiochos Soter Herakleias Pontikes, strategos of Phrygia, governor of Ipsos, son of the mighty Basileus, was afraid.

Hippomachos had urged the strategos to send more troops north, but Antiochos refused to leave the city with a smaller garrison, and Hippomachos knew that his brothers were lost. The captain argued to reinforce Spitamenes, but Antiochos refused his request. When a young hunter named Makarios brought word of their shameful defeat, Hippomachos organized a search for Spitamenes. Again Antiochos ordered him to stay within the city walls, and Hippomachos prayed that the body of Spitamenes would be returned for a proper burial.

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Four nights ago, the battered hetairoi had returned with Spitamenes. Hippomachos’ had thanked the gods for the capture of his body while Antiochos wept at the sight of his rotting cousin. His skin had been rubbed in scented oils by his companions, but there was no masking the gruesome stench of decay, and they couldn’t hide the fatal wounds received at the hands of the hated Pontikoi. Dragged down from his horse, he fought off his attackers before his skull had been caved in from behind by an iron club. Shards of bone stabbed into his brains, and his eyes and nose turned an unnatural shade of purple and red.

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He ground his teeth. The strategos had ordered the unthinkable. Hippomachos had argued with Antiochos for hours, but there was no reasoning with the man. The death of Spitamenes and the defeat in the field had turned the commander’s bowels to water, and now the captain was forced to plead for mercy before these upstarts who dared to attack the lands of Phrygia. Hippomachos begged the strategos reconsider. He warned that it would make them appear vulnerable. He raved that a ceasefire would leave them open to an attack. Yet here he was, staring at the enemy who sat at his table and drank his wine.

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Feeling fear in his heart for the first time since he was a boy, Hippomachos signed his name to the treaty. He prayed to the gods that the Pontikoi would honor the terms, yet he knew that this time the gods would not listen.
 
Spitamenes... "Believes he’s divine", "Intolerant of Other Gods".  :lol: Monotheists, your God has arrived!
 
folks, sorry to hijack the thread, but is there a way to unlock the NPC factions in EB? i'd appreciate it if you modding-savvy guys hit my pm, to not further derail the thread!
 
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