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Author Topic: Twenty ninth wave.  (Read 2520 times)
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Oton
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« on: August 15, 2008, 13:50:57 PM »

General Petsmart wanted to go home.
Everything here was foreign to him. He did not see anything that could make him want the same thing as his Masters or the other Commanders wanted. Let alone seeing himself as a conqueror or a ruler of this Mother forsaken place.
What good there is in being a King? King of what? Of land, soaked with blood? Of kingdom which would ever keep the horrible memories of millions of people slaughtered?
"This is not my war."
It had never been, actually.
Petsmart was a true Steppe Son - born on a horse, riding through the seamless fields, the Steppe land giving everything he needs, the sky being his blanket during the cold nights, his horse - his only true friend.
He yearned to go back where he was feeling somebody. Where he could by in peace with himself.
"And if this bloody war will help me go home sooner, I will be the biggest fool on this world if I do not make everything within my powers to help it end faster!"
War? What war?
The Chieftain of the Horde had sent him to kill civil population again. Senior citizens, women and children. And no matter how important his reasons were (Xaoc rarely stated reasons for his orders at all, he was just ordering and expecting those orders to be followed without questioning) for this attack, they were all nonsense to Petsmart.
"We kill their mother, fathers and children... they retaliate by blinding our soldiers and making us kill them. We do not scare them. On the contrary - we make them even more raged and furious, filling their hearts... only with hatred."
The memories from the last battle with the imperians woke the pain in his back again. The arrow had stricken him bad and when the weather got worse, the pain was unbearable. Today the weather was fine and hot. But he did not need bad weather. The memories were bad enough.
"Will this horror ever end?"
The Horseman clenched his teeth and drove the thoughts away from his mind. He lifted his hand and ordered out loud:
'March!'
The eighty thousand strong infantry stepped on the field and spread out in a wide line. The Imperian elite army was standing on the way of the nomads and the city. It split in two, letting the dreadful guardians forward. They started to form their hideous rhomboids, spinning the short spears in their hands.   
"The figures are on the chess board. The first move is mine."
'Forget the guardians! Archers will aim at the pikes', the Horseman yelled and gave a sign to the cavalry to ready itself for a charge.
Because... if that first charge was not successful... the today's battle... would end pretty soon.

Twenty ninth wave results:

Successful pillages: 2196
Defenders' victories: 467

Nomads killed: 28701870
Imperian soldiers killed: 4686099

Civilians killed or taken into slavery: 30144909

Petsmart, the Horseman, became a Marshall.
And he asked immediately to be released of duty.
He did it with his head proudly up, expecting to be executed this instant.
Instead of executing him, Xaoc honorably discharged him, proclaiming his deeds for the Horde and appointing him Commander of the Eastern Borders of the Steppe. The Chieftain was wise enough to keep things as diplomatically as possible. He needed Petsmart's cavalry.
Other troubles occupied the Steppe Wolf's mind.
'Do you miss your arm', he asked Oton who, as usual, was squatting in front of his tent, sharpening his sword. It was a difficult task only with one hand, but the fact only raged him more, which was good, because the rage was chasing all his thought out.
'I have one more left, My Lord', the Butcher replied, slightly bowing, without stand up.
Xaoc sat on the ground beside him and looked at the port. Petsmart's ship was about to sail off any minute now.
'I have lost two fine generals', Chieftain of the Horde spoke thoughtfully.
'If you were winning every time, how could you really know you win? Losing is necessary to help us realize when we win. One can not exist without the other.'
'And I thought you were just an ordinary grunt', Xaoc smiled, 'It was you who gave Flinstoun the wine with the herbs?'
'Yes', Oton left his sharpening stone and looked at his Supreme Commander's eyes.
The Steppe Wolf only folded his, without saying a word. He knew why the bloody one had done it, though he rarely understood the constant madness the Butcher was.
He took Oton's sword. Passed his thumb slightly through the blade and cut it off immediately. It was very well sharpened. Just like its owner - a blade made to kill.
'Tomorrow I will go to finish what I have started', Xaoc stated, testing Oton's sword balance. He pointed it carelessly at the Marshall's face, 'It is time to end it all, don't you think, Butcher?'
The bloody Commander grabbed the blade with his left hand and drew if off along its all blade. The brightly red blood gushed out, raining down the grass.
'We shall slaughter them all, Chieftain! There will be no one spared! Not a single soul! I swear on my blood!'
The mad radiance in his eyes had returned.
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