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Author Topic: Thirteenth wave.  (Read 1390 times)
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« on: July 31, 2008, 12:19:01 PM »

"Victory tastes like blood and smells like burning flesh. Victory looks like a bended enemy look, humiliated and violated father, taken into perpetual slavery mother. Victory is death."
Xaoc had said these words for the first time 20 years ago, during the first raids to west, when Oton joined the nomad army like an ordinary soldier. These words rooted deeply into his soul and formed the chunk of ice into which his heart had turned.
The main Imperian city was burning.
Thick clouds of smoke were covering the hot sun and the stench of scorched human bodies was filling the whole vicinity and made even the tough nomads to caugh and turn their heads away from the massacre the Butcher had engineered.
The terrible nomad General devastated the lands of Imperia. 
His heavy steppe cavalry did its job and ran over millions of imperian soldiers, who dared to resist.
Free rulers' worst nightmares came true.
They knew the barbarians would go into brutal and bloody warfare, but what the Butcher did was beyond their wildest (or worst) expectations.
The were expecting Oton to hit their strongholds, but the General avenged monstrously for the blinded nomads and his cruelty was unleashed upon the civil imperian population. Those who stood to fight... were crushed. Unconditionally.

Thirteenth wave results:

Successful pillages: 865
Defenders' victories: 139

Nomads killed: 7770246
Imperian soldiers killed: 2435697

Civilians killed or taken in captivity: 6747436

The Butcher had no time to celebrate his victory. Even if he had - he would not. He noticed the newly erected tents on the far corner of the camp, but he took them for ordinary reinforcements. They were not many. Only about 300000 could fit into them. It was normal, the whole Horde was moving westwards to crush the civilized peoples once and for all and new barbarians were arriving in thousands every day.
Oton was summoned to Xaoc's tent.
The General entered and... froze.
Mony - the Second Lord of the Steppe People, the legendary and deify Father, as everyone called him, was sitting beside Xaoc.
Oton instantly dropped down to his knees, hitting the ground with his forehead.
'Looks like the Horde has its first Marshall', Mony's voice sounded cheered and joyful.
The Butcher was astonished, but he did not dare to lift his head.
'I'm not worthy for such honor...', he began, but Mony interrupted him, 'Rise, Marshall, and look your Masters into their eyes!
Oton stood on his feet.
Mony reached for the Marshall's ceremonial sword and insignias which were on the table. He gave them to Oton and ordered:
'Now we drink. And tomorrow... I will lead the attack. I brought the Sarans with me.
The Butcher knew it all now. The tents he saw on his way here sheltered the most dreadful and fearsome elite foot soldiers ever to be born on this world.
The lands of Imperia would sink into blood.

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