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Author Topic: Era 2, The Nomad  (Read 3947 times)
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Oton
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« on: September 29, 2008, 15:32:22 PM »

Healthy was my mother when she gave birth to me.
Healthy was she when she gave birth to my other seven brothers.
I was ten years old when the Chief came and took me. Five more of my brothers followed me through the Warrior's Way in years to come.
The Chief left the youngest of them to continue our blood line. That was the Law. It has always been like that. And it will be always like that, in the name of the Mother. I have never seen anyone of my family since then. Ever. That is the way it should be.
Since then, till today, I serve my Chief. He serves his General. And the General serves the Chieftain himself, may the Mother blesses him.
The Steppe Wolf leads the Ever Victorious Horde for thirty years already. We have never lost a war. And we will not lose in the future. Not if the Mother protects us and guides our swords in a holy war against the whole world.  Because that is our destiny. That is the Horde's destiny - to rule the world. That is what we are born for. That is what we are chosen for. That is what we will die for.
When I started to be a soldier, not all the Steppe belonged to us. But our Glorious Chieftain led us - first to the North. Then South. The East.
The last great battle was the Wall.
The Mongol was our General;.
The eastern tribes had united under one ruler. and met us with everything they've got.
Two days have we climbed the Wall. Two days have we died in millions. Two days have we not rested, nor eaten. Two days have we killed our enemies.
And the Steppe Wolf was standing on one of the far hills, watching the Horde bleeds... continuing to send us to our certain doom. And the Mongol was his blade, his will. The Steppe Sons kept on dying. Because that is what we are born for. There is no other meaning for our lives.
The Black Marshall arrived on the third day and used his foul magic do breach the wall.
It had to be magic, because the rain was drenching the area. The earth was so wet, as it is now, here, in the land of Imperia.
And even the little children know when there is a water, the fire can not burn. And despite that... the Black Witcher from the jungle managed to create an explosion, which tore a hole in the Wall big enough for two bull wagons to pass through it side by side.
The Horde flooded the breach like a wild river in the spring. We slaughtered everyone in two hours. And the whole East knelled before the Ever Victorious. But the Chieftain was not satisfied. It was not enough for him. He did not rest. So the Sons embarked to e new, glorious endeavor. Against the last free bastion - the land of Imperia.
He promised us all immortality. Wondrous  reaches, spoils, women and heroic deeds. Here, the fate of all men will be decided, that is what he said to us. And we all believed him. We could not do otherwise. After all, he is the Undefeated Steppe Wolf, He is our Father. And the Father always tells the truth. Always.
The only difference is... those darned imperian walls... can not be claimed so easily. Even Robust's magic does not work.
It's been an year and a half since I am here.
But I am proud, because I earned the right to call myself Steppe Son. I earned it with my blood. That is what I am born for. That is what I will die for.
In the name of the Mother!

Tenth wave results:

Imperian Fortresses destroyed: 360
Defenders' victories: 342

Nomads killed: 4128106
Imperian soldiers killed: 698112

Eleventh and Twelfth wave results:

Successful pillages: 396
Defenders victories: 327

Total of nomads killed 7329059
Total of imperian soldiers killed: 2533908

Total of civilians killed or taken into slavery: 2183650

The nomad Generals were still stepping into the wet cold mud, struggling both with imperians and the ruthless weather, cursing their bad luck or wondering why the Mother continued to send them so much problems at once, each one of them according to its own temper.
Flinstoun did not find his heroic death. He did not know weather he be glad or despise the day he was born. Obviously Fortuna had different plans for him. Probably to live with his disgrace. Or maybe... to try to rehabilitate himself. So... it was probably better for him to try to ease his pain. Enough he had suffered already.
"And that... Tree Father... Robust... keeps telling me to go to his tent. He wants to cover all by back with his disgusting ointments! As if I don't smell enough bad already!"

His former rival Oton's problems were even bigger. It is all right to be said - they were double bigger.
The Butcher had barely managed one captive. Now they were two. And the whole camp was gossiping about him. Soldiers were looking at him, laughing behind his back and other Generals were openly mocking him.
He could be often seen sending his servants to look for cloth and linen. And ropes were hanged in front of his tent, hanging... women's underwear. For the first time in his life the bloody nomad leader wanted to be far away from his tent. He began to consider death into battle or... imperian captivity a far better alternative than... having dinner with two Empresses. Several times he had already wondered weather he would kick them both out of his life and give them to other Generals or sell them as slaves. Offers he had in a bulk. One of the captains offered him all his female slave, his five goats and the two chests of gold, which were all his treasures from the war... for one of the Queens. Oton had to draw his sword out just to chase the lustful, lips-licking nomad officer out of his tent, who was staring at the Sovereigns, drooling like a mad dog.
The Butcher almost begged in his mind that Xaoc would already send him into battle.
At last Fortuna showed some mercy and spared his misery by his Chieftain orders.
Oton almost flew out of his tent.
"I hope this time to fall, so I do not have to return to those... blond disasters!"

And the spring was slowly starting to soften.
The time of nomad reinforcements to arrive had come.
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