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Author Topic: Era 2, The Disunity  (Read 3230 times)
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« on: September 25, 2008, 14:00:57 PM »

Emperor Fenix, heir of one of the Five Families-Creators, Leader of the Imperian Council, was sitting at the far side of the huge table... observing the thousand years old conclave dissipating.
And he could do nothing about it. Not by himself.
The Great Members gathered for the first time this year, to decide how to stand against the new nomad invasion.
The time was more than right. The harsh winter and no less spring were working in favor of the free kings.
The barbarians were struggling to reclaim their positions, but they were losing the initiative. The emperors were successfully intercepting most of their convoys, causing them significant life losses. The nomads were exhausted.
It was the time for a decisive counter-offensive, which will push the Steppe Sons back in to the sea... and everything will be over.
But, alas, the pride and ambition were always the curse with which all aristocrats are born.
Felt the barbarian weakness, the kings and queens began to believe they could deal with them without anybody's help.
Despite the fact that same "weak" steppe dogs had already started to slightly strengthen their positions on the east. 
Despite the fact that some of the Members of this Council were not present.
"Why? Because they are captives in the nomads camp! And because their empires had already gone!"
The loss could be felt. Deeply.
Fenix bitterly remembered his long life friend - the Aiarian Empress. The cold logic and sharp mind of the kingly Sovereign had always been the tools with which she could calm the Council. She had always brought up indisputable arguments. Everybody listened to what she was about to say. And everyone respected her.
"She was powerful!"
And what about the recent extremely heavy blow upon this Council - the capture of the Empress-Knight.
The warlike Daughter of the Spear was the blade which carried the fighting spirit of this Council. She was the Warrior who was able to all those emperors into battle. She was the only one capable to plan and conduct the decisive counter-offensive on the east.
Fenix sighed, listening with half of his ear the debates which had turned into some childish quarrel in a sand box. 
Without the reason and the blade... this Council was nothing.
'I cannot allow myself to spare any more soldiers to watch your back', emperor Fight was shouting, 'I am at the edge of my capabilities already! The winter was cruel not to barbarians only!'
'In that case I am already dead', Emperor Skeletan replied vigorously, 'You all have easy time in the far west! And the darned nomads are almost in my back yard! You are obliged! You are all obliged to send your armies to the east. If you do not do so - forever shall my curse by yours!'
'You keep forgeting, my dear Skeletan that not all the sarans died last winter! The southern forests are still overwhelmed with them', Chingiz hideously spoke, 'If you go with all our armies to the east... half of them will reach you. Though I doubt any armies will survive!'
The tall, skinny emperor turned and looked at the mongol murderously.
'We all know... who leads the nomads, Chingiz. We all know... Who is the First among their equals. And we all know... why you would never raise your sword against your fellow countryman!'
Chingiz was out of control. He slowly stood up, trembling with anger.
'I... am a lawful Sovereign and heir of one of the most ancient royal families in the land of Imperia! The right to rule my ancestors was given from the families you all here come from! I will slain on spot any one of you, who challenges my imperian insignia!'
Several other emperors started shouting and stood up for Chingiz's side. Others formed a group along Skeletan.
The Disunity was a fact.
And... the news about the nomad Amazon, invading the lesser eastern provinces... was left behind.
The Great Emperors... had more important matters to attend to... than some... insignificant nomad attack.

Eighth wave results:

Imperian Fortresses destroyed: 18
Defenders' victories: 173

Nomads killed: 1385482
Imperian soldiers killed: 139587

Petsmart threw up cross the ship's star board... for a thousandth time probably.
He started wondering weather something had left in his stomach at all.
The violent sea was throwing the small ship in all directions like a rag doll. The rain was pouring heavily and the visibility was only few yards. Despite the captain's protests the Horseman refused to remain in his quarter.
He would turn it into a pigsty.
He preferred throwing up outside, in the rain.
"I hate sailing!"
And he hated the fact that he was summoned back into this Mother forsaken place again.
The memories of the warm tent in the Steppe, the careless patrolling along the Wall, the sporadic encounters with the border wild tribes... made the case even worse.
The letter, carrying Xaoc's krest, was telling nothing more than the necessary, as usual:
"A new campaign has begun in the land of Imperia. I need my Horseman. Immediately."
The oath was making him oblige.
He was still serving under his Lord's banner. The Steppe Wolf was holding his life in his hands. And he had to fulfill his... "request".
Despite the hellish dissyness Petsmart smiled.
"It is no request at all. It is on order!"
He managed to suppress the next stomach convulsion and tried to spread his legs at maximum, like the captain recommended.
And then he say the black eastern shores of the free land.
A second lated he heard the look-out's cry:
"Oh, Mother, how, in the world, he manages to stand on this mast so long?"

The ship somehow was able to dock and Petsmart was met by two guards who escorted him straight to Xaoc's tent.
The Chieftain of the Horde was losing no time.
No more time for cursing the Fate, which was definitely not on Petsmart's side.
He had returned here again, where everything was alien to him.
And, above all, he had to spit his blood for it.
He did not see the fresh and smelly... animal pile, in which his boot stepped, at all.
"I hate this place!"

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