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Author Topic: Era 2, The Soldier  (Read 3690 times)
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« on: September 26, 2008, 13:55:07 PM »

I grew up right in the eastern corner of Zaron empire, in a little village, located beside the border.
My father, may his soul rest in peace, was the village blacksmith, and my mother... well, I was only seeing her once or twice an year, because she was working as a servant in the Imperian court.
Other children had always envied us, because my mother was sending us half of her wages each month - 10 golden krones and we lived an opulent life.
My brother and I were always well fed and our father dressed us well. It was hard for him to manage two sons, the blacksmith, along with the other family duties. The people never stopped talking - It was not right for a man to live without his woman and bunch of other things they were sayng.
We were still very young when we started helping him with the blacksmith.
He wanted for us to be able to read and write, because he had not that chance. In holidays, when the blacksmith was closed, he used to send us to the priest, so he can "educate us". My brother loathed those "meetings". He was always talking how he would become a great warrior one day and he would serve under His Majesty's banner, splitting his blood in his name. And the great warriors... do not need to read and write. They are busy enough commanding men in battle.
Poor man, he died of fever 10 years ago.
He never made it to become a great warrior.
I remember my mother mostly by the joy she was bringing into our house when she was coming home. She was coming for a few days only, but she always bringing wondrous things from the court yard. All host of children used to come into our house to see what did my mama bring from the Impire. They were asking here again and again how the Great Lords live - the Masters of our lives. It was a normal thing. After all - we lived in one of the furthest corners of the state and all the news came to us through traveling traders, ambulants and bards. We were simple villagers, people which considered the very thought about war as a myth. The wars we waged... were mostly against the nature, which could ruin the crops and... the village tax-collector who had the habit of getting on our nerves when we needed money.
That was our life. And we all liked it.
Until the barbarians came.
And killed my mother.
And instead of mourning her... I enlisted as a volunteer in the imperian army.
So, here I am - an year and a half later, commanding men into battle, who die fighting the nomad scum. And the only thing I pray to the Gods... is for them to give me the strength to slay the last steppe dog and revenge for my mother!

Ninth wave results:

Successful pillages: 458
Defenders' victories: 244

Nomads killed: 4709602
Imperian soldiers killed: 1074030

Civilians killed or taken into slavery: 1900468

Flinstoun - The Wild, The Great nomad Leader, one of the Legendary Steppe Generals, was barely standing kneeling in front of his Chieftain.
The wounds on his back had never healed. The salt had eaten the tissue and the Leader was suffering from constant infection. The sawed back skin was rejected from his body and an unbearable stench was floating from his swells covered back.
And still, the Wild one kept on living. He kept on fighting the agony of pain.
Because... he could not imagine... dying like that. Not him.
Despite the treason he deserved more honorable death.
So... he gathered the last pieces of courage and dignity he had left with... managed to wear his best armor. exited his tent and headed to the Xaoc's one on his feet only. The nomads who he was passing, looked at him astonished. Every other man in his place would have died a long time ago. The General had spent all the winter in his tent, no able to even stand up. But here he is now - walking with his head high, his face made of stone, wearing his gleaming General armor, with which he usually led men into battle, overcoming the hellish pain. A true nomad General. Many of the soldiers who had served under his command, saluted. A quiet words could be heard here and there:
'Strength and honor, General!'
'Lead us into battle again, Flinstoun!'
'We will split our blood in thy name, Wild One!'
Everybody was present into Xaoc's tent. Friends and enemies. Allies and rivals.
Flinstoun knelled, bowed his head and asked his Chieftain for an honorable and just death in battle.
Xaoc stood up and stated:
'What will be the War Council's decision?'
A long silence was kept in the tent.
After several minutes Oton stood up first:
'Let him fight!'
Robust followed, who also agreed Flinstoun to be allowed to command again.
One by one, the other Generals also raised to support the Great Nomad General.
The Steppe Wolf obliged with his Leaders' will and ordered Flinstoun to engage the enemy, leading the Horde once again.
The Wild One regained his honor and marched for the battlefield for the last time in his life.
Once again, he could look his soldiers in the eyes.
« Last Edit: September 29, 2008, 16:56:53 PM by blues » Logged

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