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Author Topic: Fifteenth wave.  (Read 1351 times)
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Oton
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« on: August 04, 2008, 16:40:28 PM »

Oton put the lands of Imperia between the two blades of a scissors... and closed it.
The Western Kingdoms shrieked by the atrocities he put them through, and even those who marched their armies to resist... were just a handful of them all.
From East to West, from North to South the roads were crawling with refugees who were slaughtered by the catching up nomad hordes.
Almost all major Imperian cities were pillaged,  laying in ruins and burned.
The Imperian rulers who dared to send defending armies were meeting the few survivors with their hearts sunk. And the news those survivors had brought, made even the bravest of them to tremble. Oton was crushing the imperian warriors, using heavily armored horsemen like no one had ever seen before.
Paladins.
If the Emperors were thinking of their enemy as an ill organized bunch of barbarians which attacks chaotically and disorderly, the Paladins made them deeply reconsider their conviction.
Crafted and skillful Generals were commanding the steppe people and were turning them into compact and disciplined formidable force, excellently trained both in siege and terror warfare. And as for the terror... The Butcher seemed to had chosen the most suitable warriors.
The lands of Imperia were severely bleeding.
And the wound... would not close soon.

Fifteenth wave results:

Successful pillages: 961
Defenders' victories: 43

Nomads killed: 5143063
Imperian soldiers killed: 1442361

Civilians killed or taken into slavery: 10285871

'Why do everyone love this... abomination', Mony was standing beside Xaoc, observing the filled with joyful frenzy soldiers, meeting the Butcher, appraising him for the smashing blow he had delivered upon the Western people, 'He throws them into the death pit, feeling absolutely no remorse, he had never loved or been loved, there is nothing in his soul at all, except never quenched thirst for blood, vengeance, brutality and madness. Why, in the name of the First Mother, they all love him?'
Xaoc did not answer immediately.
He noticed Flinstoun, along with the rest of the generals, approaching Oton to pay their respects in the formal way. The Butcher was as looking through them, though he took their hands and hugged them. He greeted Flinstoun forcibly which was kind amusing.
"They look like steppe dogs. Ready to bite each other's throat. I have chosen the right people to lead my people into war."
'Twenty years ago... we were the same', the Chieftain slowly began. He stretched his right arm and clenched his fist, 'We wanted all. But we could not grasp it. Now', he pointed at his Leaders who had formed a small group, 'This is their time. They will give us all. Or die trying. And we will die with them.'
Mony was silent.
'Why do they love him', Xaoc continued, 'For all the reasons you pointed out. They love him... because he is what he is.'
Xaoc turned his back on his brother and headed for his Generals.
"It is indeed their time."
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