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1. Big showdown coming up...now? Thomas IV managed to actually be of an age old enough to have a picture!

2. Gabriel is suddenly free, but I don't know if there's gonna be an Altani story. He has sons, no? Besides, royal tribal women won't marry non-tribal men, and as a Greek, he's the very antithesis of Tribal.

3. Fish! Mmmmmmhhhh.
 
amoristan - Awww... how could I say no to that? All I'll say is that at some point we'll see Alexios die.

Though I won't say how, and besides, if he lived until the end of the AAR, that'd mean he'd be 171 years old when we transitioned to EU3! :p

RGB - 1) He's old enough to have a piccie, as well as have a temper tantrum.

2) He's got sons, and it'd take alot for him to be getting together with the daughter of his current biggest enemy.

3) My fish experience is lacking. I like catfish. And tuna. :rofl:

Avalanchemike - A union of the Komnenids and the Genghisids would create a world conquering superbaby? :p

4th Dimension - True, and believe me, I can't wait to get to Eirene!

KlavoHunter - Stirring the pot, aren't we? ;)

The_Archduke - Still haven't forgiven Mehtar? I don't think many have...

Vesimir - Or he could be so normal he could be insane... :eek: A Komnenid who doesn't like plotting, hates fighting, but only likes long walks on the beach and curling up with a good book?

Fulcrumvale - Pre-battle next update will have some explanation, but needless to say Hulagu's force is more a result of the Mongols being economical than exceptional losses--though Hulagu has lost many many troops on the campaign, some problems at home are changing the Great Khan's priorities...

Qorten - I <3 Fifth Element!

Tommy4Ever[b/] - We'll be seeing more of young Hinnawi soon. As for the Mongols, we shall see. Even if they lose, they won't go away... the Mongol Empire stretches from the Yellow see to the Roman border, it won't evaporate just yet...

FlyingDutchie - The numbers for Amol are actually alot more like what the Mongols would have really been fielding in a campaign like this. Throughout the game, I consistently upped their numbers to try to overcome the weak Mongol AI. Didn't work, so I've consistently written them as far more dangerous in the AAR than they ever were in the game. :(

Enewald - If it rained, it'd be a poor day for the cavalry, that's for sure! As for Isa, who knows? That sounds like something a Mutazelite would debate about constantly! :)



Hey everyone! I've gotten started on the next update, should be ready to post it sometime before the weekend. Also, Rome AARisen has been featured in the latest (long overdue!) edition of the Paradox Tribune! There's a slew of other fun and interesting articles in the publication as well! Thanks go to Darth Tracid for his efforts, and you all should go check it out!
 
I liked the piece in the Tribune. I think it definitely does justice to this epic of a tale. As to this newest style, I'm not so sure. Ultimately it is up to you, BT, but while it does cover more ground, I think it leaves alittle too much open. I always love coming home from work late at night and just sitting down and reading your chapter long updates. Idk, maybe I'm in the minority, but I for one do like the longer updates on one or two main characters, especially now if its Nik or Alexios (hint, hint ;)). However, I think the final sentiment is that as long as you are writing we shall be reading!

Cheers,
~Hawk
 
Well, you did say there was a later Komnenid Empress of Persia later on. Between Gabriel and Altani, I'm certain there'd be all the qualities needed for a great leader. :p
 
Okay, be forewarned, this is Messina sized. Almost split it in half, but I thought people would prefer to have the whole thing at once, instead of split apart. Enjoy!

UnitedEmpirebannercopy.jpg


Battle of Amol Theme

amolinitialsetup.jpg

June 16th, 1247

Desperta Ferro!

Clang!

Desperta Ferro!

“What in the bloody hell does that mean?”

Alexios Komnenos looked over at the source of the complaint and sighed. Tatikios, as usual, was in a grumpy mood. The King of Mesopotamia swore he’d never seen his new Megos Domestikos in anything except a grumpy mood.

“’Awaken the iron,’” Alexios said quietly, watching the Almogavars that led his new levies at work. The Spaniards, like their forefathers before them stretching back to the days of Alexios’ namesake, were busily engaged in their strange pre-battle ritual—each and every javelin was pulled into the sunlight, its tip inspected, before the point was slammed loudly into a rock or another instrument of steel.

Desperta Ferro!

“Spanish prattle,” Isaakios Bataczes added in his own moody voice. The chillarchos hadn’t wanted to awaken this morning, and in truth, Alexios couldn’t blame him. The day already promised to be dusty—the early morning heat promised this afternoon would be even worse. “No worse than your sword though.”

Alexios grinned slightly at the comment, as his friend Bataczes seemed to take every moment he could to tease the King about his royal weapon. Pyroglossa was truly a kingly weapon, fashioned in manner the Latins called a ‘bastard sword,’ as it was halfway between a true longsword and a two-handed greatsword. As with any royal blade it’s grip and pommel were ornately decorated, and the blade itself was of the finest steel, made in the Toledan fashion, but impurities had managed to penetrate the steel during the process. Other than the slight orangish-red hue, the blade was fine. Alexios remembered how his father had almost sent the weapon back in anger, but the then 16 year old had been taken by the odd hue and insisted on keeping the sword—the first time he’d stood up to his father and won, he remembered. His smile grew, as he started to draw the blade out to look at the distinctive patterns along its length yet again.

pyroglossacopy.jpg

“Had it sharpened for you last night,” Bataczes nodded to Pyroglossa with a grin. “You can put it away and stop playing swords before we’re good and engaged, Majesty.”



“So, back to the battleplan?” Alexios offered. Both his principal gave a final, suitably Roman huff towards the grimy Almogavars, before turning to their master’s boot, and the lines it slowly drew across the dusty plains.

“Our lines,” Alexios muttered, drawing three lines, before moving a few inches and drawing three lines opposite. “The Mongols. Now, my cousin wants us to take the left,” the royal boot went back to the Roman ruts in the dirt, “and ride left, as fast as we can. The Mongols aren’t stupid, they’ll follow to screen us from flanking their line. Now, since we have more horse, Gabriel thinks if part of the flanking force—Tatikios,” Alexios nodded, “me, and the Grigoroi turn hard back in…”

“’Effin hell,” Tatikios bit his lip and muttered. “They’ll be frickin’ ‘effed up the river.”

“Gaugamela,” was all that Bataczes added.

“Gauga-what?” Tatikios looked up. “Bloody Bataczes, murmurin’ things! Speak up!”

“Gaugamela,” Isaakios pointed to the lines in the ground. “Alexandros Megas. That’s Gaugamela.”

“And who won this Gaugamela?” Alexios raised an eyebrow and smirked slightly.

“Alexandros Megas was involved. Who do you think won?” was all Bataczes beamed in reply.

amolromanplan.jpg

==========*==========​

“It’s going to be tough today.”

Altani snorted at the understatement, and glanced over at its source. Tokhtamysh Khan, Khan of the Turcoman, lord of the ulus of Guyuk, as well as Altani’s husband, caught his wife’s noise of derision and chuckled.

“Tough thanks to Ariq Boke,” Altani spat the name of the new Khagan without an ounce of reservation. When Ogedei had finally died in March of 1246, the Mongol Empire was thrown into confusion. Unlike his father, Ogedei left no clear successor, and immediately the great khans formed camps around Ogedei’s two heirs apparent – Berke Khan and Ariq Boke. The resulting kurultai had been fractious at best, pulling Hulagu from Persia for six critical months, as well as four of his precious tumen. The Roman beast stirring had meant Hulagu was forced to race back, with only one of the missing tumen—and his departure meant victory for Ariq Boke, the candidate he’d worked so hard to oppose.

As a result, Ariq Boke had commanded Hulagu to return half of his tumen to Mongolia for reassignment in China—China! Altani snorted at the thought. The main battle of the Mongols was here, in Persia, not in far away China! The Song were on the run, near defeat! The only reason Ariq Boke could want with four of her father’s badly needed tumen was to weaken the chief supporter of his brother and great rival, Berke!

Altani knew her father knew this as well. “We’ll make due, and turn our disadvantage into an advantage.” It was how Hulagu Khan always responded to such a challenge, and after all, it’d been Hulagu Khan, not Ariq Boke, who had conquered India with barely 40,000 men! So it would be, here today, that Hulagu would finally crush the Roman with the same number of men.

The Khatun looked out across the dusty fields towards their enemy, immediately seeing his deployment. It was plain as day. By the concerned look on her husband’s face, Tokhtamysh saw it as well. Altani smiled slightly—her husband was a feared commander, a man she respected unlike many in the Mongol horde who needlessly clucked and whined when they should have been sharpening their arrows. Now, the memory of her tears on her father telling her of her arranged marriage to him—necessary to gain the support of his powerful tribe of Turcoman, and their invaluable 5,000 riders—made her almost laugh. She’d been foolish then, and she’d grown to love the gruff, quiet man. Where Altani was brash and loud, Tokhtamysh was thoughtful. No one, however, could question his bravery, or his ability. Above all, he respected Altani for Altani—Hulagu only two nights before had commented the two were inseparable, physically and mentally.

tokhtamyshcopy.jpg

“They’re going to ride for the flanks. Hard,” Altani finally broke the silence. It was what she would have done. The Romans had many horsemen, and nearly double the Mongol number. Add to that the Roman Emperor had shown an ability to think like a Mongol…

“Hit them in the center?” Tokhtamysh spoke aloud what his wife was thinking. “Your father’s plan, is it not?”

Altani nodded. “Wait till they run to the flanks, then hit their center hard and fast.” She pursed her lips, squinting slightly. “I count ten banners of Roman infantry—I’d call it 30,000 or so. And that blasted Roman face is in the middle, father was right,” she sighed. The Roman Emperor had always ridden into battle with a giant banner depicting someone’s enormous face hovering over his army. Altani turned back to the third person present, “Are you sure, Mar,” Altani mispronounced the man’s title, and winced slightly, “that the face isn’t magic of some sort?”

Mar Sabrisho IV, Catholicos of the Church of the East, shook his head. “It is merely a depiction of the Christ, milady. A banner, a rallying point no different from that of white eagle on your banners.” The old man, plainly of Persian descent, smiled wryly. “I have no doubt the schismatics and heretics under it believe it will protect them, but we who follow the words of Saint Nestorius know differently.”

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Altani nodded firmly, then glanced at her husband, who quietly bowed his head. Tokhtamysh’s tribes were converts to this version of Christianity, a fact that had nearly spoiled their marriage before it could be cemented. However, once it became readily apparent that these “Nestorians” were vigorously opposed to the Romans, calling them heretics and unbelievers, Hulagu had pressed even harder for the marriage. Altani found their teachings interesting, even inviting the head of their Church, fleeing from persecution in Roman Baghdad, to reside in Samarkand, capital of her late brother’s ulus.

That thought made her look down as well. No one could have said that Guyuk and Mongke weren’t brave warriors, and they’d fallen as such—Mongke leading the troops that stormed the walls of Yazd early in the invasion, Guyuk later during a skirmish with a Roman commander outside of Sari, a man who rode into battle with a banner covered with crosses and blue waves of water. When the Khatun, joint heiress with her husband to her brother’s lands, looked up, she spotted that banner, far off on the Roman left at the head of one of the vast Roman wings of cavalry.

She growled. She’d wanted to be on the Mongol right to be the one to charge that man, to kill him with her own hand. Such was the way—blood for blood. Her father would have none of it, though. He wanted her and her depleted tumen just left of the center, ready to curl around the Roman right as soon as the Roman horse inevitably raced to the flanks.

Such was the plan for this battle—a race between Hulagu’s charging riders and the Roman flanking forces. If Altani could curl around the Roman center and break the Roman Emperor before his flanking forces could find the Mongols in the inevitable dust-storm that would be raised, the battle, perhaps the entire campaign, would be over. Hulagu Khan would prove why he was a true successor to the formidable Genghis, despite the efforts of Khagan Ariq-Boke…

mongolbattleplan.jpg

==========*==========​

Alexios no longer had to fight the urge to wince when the trumpets blared and the drums began to thunder—quietly, the King wondered if that made him a veteran. Alexios pulled his black charger Brontos off to the left, and spurred him to a trot away from the the main Roman line.

He looked to his right. The Mongol cavalry, off in the distance, was already doing the same. Alexios went to a canter. Behind him, he could hear the noise of thousands of horses going to canter, two full tagmata of cavalry lurching towards the north and east. He looked right again, as dust raised by thousands of hooves started to obscure the enemy. They too were up to a canter, and for a second, the King thought he saw the man at the front of the Mongol column staring at him, just as he stared at the Mognol.

For some minutes, the King would ride, then glance only to find the enemy doing the same. When Alexios spurred his horse faster, the Mongol responded. When he slowed, the Mongols did as well.

It was like he had a shadow.

Alexios wanted to turn and shout to Bataczes, ask him if they were far enough around. But the noise of hooves drowned out everything save the loudest drums and trumpets. Instead the King looked, watched, just as he knew whoever the Mongol opposite him was doing.

The were following, just like the Emperor had hoped.

Alexios coughed—the dust was growing thick surprisingly fast. In only a few moments the King could only barely see shadows to his opposite, specks amidst a sea of yellow-brown. Alexios looked behind—how far had they ridden? Half a mile? A mile? He wasn’t sure. He tried to remember how much time had passed by—ten minutes, perhaps? He started to look back to Bataczes, but he stopped himself. The chillarchos wouldn’t be able to hear him anyway. Now was as good a time as any.

The King raised his kontos into the air, then looked behind him. Amidst the gathering dust, he saw Tatikios and the Grigoroi doing the same. To his left, his eyes caught Bataczes and the other tagmata following suit as well. The signal was given, Alexios would lead the way.

He dug his spur into the right side of his charger, yanking the reins hard, with all the strength he could muster. Brontos neighed in protest, but pulled hard right. Both spurs to the flanks, and the charger was leaping forward again, full gallop, this time in a new direction. By the neighs of protest behind him, the King knew the entire rest of the Grigoroi were following behind him, a wedge of lancers…

…directly into the Mongol flank.

Whoever was the Mongol shadowing them now had a choice—they could chase the shadows of Alexios through the murk, and they’d have to blow their horses trying to catch up with the Grigoroi—or they could keep shadowing Bataczes and the remaining cavalry tagmata still racing to the north. Either way, the Mongols would be taken by the flank.

But such things were far from Alexios’ mind. The young King instead focused on making Brontos go faster, faster, and keeping his fearful heart from beating its way out of his chest. He hoped, prayed, that he’d turned at the right time, instead of charging off into the dust blind and alone…

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==========*==========​

Emperor Gabriel bit his lip.

Despite the fact he knew the dust was going to obscure the enemy, he still peered into the growing gloom, trying to see what was happening. Every few moments he was tempted to curse, as the enormous banner of Christ the Redeemer, a gift from the people of Antioch, billowed in the breeze, blocking his view. He would’ve ridden forward, save he was as far forward as he could get—if he rode any further, he’d bump into the back of the archers of the Basilikon Toxotai! The only reason he’d taken his position this far forward was to see, and if that damned banner…

There! Gabriel grinnsed slightly, as he caught glimpses of Alexios’ cavalry riding hard and fast to the north, and some cavalry headed back to the…Gabriel paused. Yes, they were going south and east. Good, his cousin was coming around. With any luck, maybe he’d hit the Mongol flank as planned.

With even more luck, he’d fall even as his men broke up the Roman attacks.

That thought made Gabriel smile even more.

“Majesty!”

That piercing call snapped Gabriel out of his momentary mirth. It’s source had already galloped to the Emperor’s side, red cape billowing behind. Gabriel frowned. Strategos Dragases was a veteran of the North African Campaign, the first Persian campaign, the Hejazi invasion, and the Eternal War. The old man was unflappable. For him to ride up with eyes wider than a fresh skoutatos on the first day of battle…

“Mongols!” the old man said breathlessly, his finger jabbing into the murk directly ahead of the army. “They’re coming straight at us! Cavalry fanning to the flanks!”

“Cavalry to the flanks?” Gabriel’s frown deepened. Damn! The Mongol hadn’t sat still like a terrified rabbit at the Roman’s lurching outwards for his flanks—he’d lunged forward! And if his cavalry was stretching outwards…

“We’re flanked,” Gabriel heard his uncle, the famous Thomas Dadiani, say grimly.

“How many?” Gabriel asked, now looking into the deep darkness directly ahead of his position at the center of the army. Between palls of dust, the Emepror thought he could make out figures, horses moving, growing closer. Gabriel frowned—those were officers. If he were Hulagu, he’d send the levies forward in the murk. Using the dust as cover, they might close with the Roman skoutatoi before the Roman archers could rip them to pieces like had happened at Neapolis, Rayy, and countless other battles.

“Many,” was all Dragases said. Gabriel pursed his lips, looking back to the north. He couldn’t see Alexios any more, nor any of the northern cavalry. By the glance he saw, it looked like Alexios was aimed to slam into the Mongol flank… but Gabriel didn’t know how long it’d be exactly before his cousin got there! Five minutes? Ten? More if Alexios was off, and got lost in the dust…

“We need time,” Gabriel said grimly. “How fast are they coming?”

“At the quick, by the glance I got,” Dragases added.

“They’ll be on us in minutes!” Dadiani growled.

Gabriel nodded. Time! Time to distract the Mongols, do something to keep them to extending their cavalry out till it wrapped around the Roman lines in a deadly embrace. Time for Alexios, and time for Gabriel’s other surprise…

He reached one, simple conclusion.

Do what your opponent least expects.

Without a word, Gabriel spurred his charger forward, through the ranks to the front of the infantry line. So the Mongols were going to flank inside his own flanking forces? Gabriel watched as those Mongol horsemen closed far more quickly than he had ever expected. Very well. He’d advance into their grip, hit them before they were ready! Knock them about for five, maybe ten minutes. Maybe have the archers launch several blind volleys to make the Mongol think he’d been seen. He hoped that’d be enough of a delay for Alexios to arrive… if not…

Tagmata will advance!” Gabriel called over his shoulder. The Emperor looked at his ancient, surprised uncle, then Dragases, and flashed a smile. “Do what they least expect? They’re coming for our flanks. The thing they’d least expect is for us to merrily advance into their embrace!”

“Because marching into a flanking attack with no cavalry support is suicide!” Dadiani snapped. Several skoutatoi looked up at the famous Thomas Dadiani, eyes wide. Gabriel glared at his hotheaded uncle, then the skoutatos in question.

“It’ll throw them into confusion!” Gabriel barked. “Bardas!” the Emperor barked to the nearest chillarchos, “When I give the signal, I want the Basilikon Toxotai to give me five flights of arrows, no more, no less!”

“Five flights?” the chillarchos asked, confused. “Where should we aim them, Majesty?”

“Directly ahead, high angle!” Gabriel pointed. There! Another glimpse of some men on foot. About three hundred yards now? “Ready Bardas?”

The chillarchos finished barking orders, and as the air filled with the rustle of the most feared archers in Persia nocking arrows, the man grimly raised his hand. Gabriel nodded, then mimicked. The Emperor waited, praying for brief glimpses of the enemy in the murk, before finally slashing his hand down.

“Loose!”

Gabriel watched grimly as a black flight of arrows lofted up from the Roman line and disappeared into the murk. The Emperor tried to listen above the noise of the men grabbing more arrows, and their kentarchoi barking orders. He thought he heard screams and yells on the wind, but he wasn’t sure.

“Dragases! Prepare to advance with spears to the front, missiles behind!” the Emperor barked a second later as the whistle of yet another volley of arrows leapt into the murk. “Double quick!” the Emperor added hastily. Yes, get the skoutatoi running—a wall of spears at speed slamming into the confused Mongol troops. That‘d throw them into confusion as well!

“Madman,” Gabriel thought he heard his uncle murmur. The Emperor frowned again—Dadiani had been a stick in the mud the entire campaign, always questioning his nephew’s commands.

“Oh, and uncle?” Gabriel added sourly.

Dadiani looked back at his supremely confident nephew and glared.

“Tell Kosmas and Gennadios to refuse their flanks,” the Emperor said coolly. “Don’t want the Mongols having an easy time riding around us.” His uncle seemed slightly relieved at the command—but that didn’t improve Gabriel’s mood. The men in the front ranks had heard Dadiani’s comment, and were visibly worried. That wouldn’t do.

“Tagmata form on me!” Gabriel barked as officers bellowed orders and the skoutatoi prepared to do something entirely unusual in the Komnenid military manual—charge. The Emperor turned his horse, and glared at the infantry below him. “You will follow your Emperor into battle, and we will take down the Mongol! On my command, we’re going to charge them! We’re going to drive them straight back to the depths of Hell they came from!” Gabriel yanked his horse the opposite way. “On my command, you’re going to charge, and you’re going to scream like demons! You’re going to fight like the Devil himself is lighting a fire under your ass! And you will kill many Mongols, just as I!”

Drums and trumpets sounded, rolling like thunder in the artificial dark. Overhead, the orange remnants of an angry sun glared down. Gabriel turned his horse back to the now plainly visible Mongol line. There they were! Their ranks looked ragged, their men advancing only slowly.

“Tagmata advance!” the Emperor drew his sword. Slowly, the order radiated down the line. For a moment the world breathed, and then the thunderous clank of thousands of mailed boots hitting the dirt rumbled into the air. Then again. Again.

But Gabriel glowered even more. He heard no noise over the roar of an army marching forward. “Scream damn you!” Gabriel shouted over the rhythmic clank of the infantry line marching forward on the quick. “Scream!”

The Emperor heard one tentative cry, then another. Then another. One kentarchii in unison lifted their voices into the air—a high pitched, alien, warbling noise. Another echoed, then another, until finally the whole Roman line was screeching, screaming, partly from bravery, mostly from fear, as it lumbered into the deadly dark…

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==========*==========​

Hulagu Khan reined up his horse, and like his commanders, his eyes looked about.

What was that unholy noise?

All the Khan could see were shapes in the murk ahead, but he heard the loud yells of some of his levy commanders echoing across the plain.

The Romans are advancing!

Hulagu blinked once, twice, before rubbing his eyes in disbelief. Was the Roman commander coming to meet him? With no cavalry, no support? Had the Emperor Gabriel turned into a lunatic?

There had to be a trap, Hulagu reasoned quickly. The Romans, from his years of fighting them, were anything but incompetent. There was a ruse, a stratagem going on. But what?

The Roman cavalry that galloped north… some of them had to be returning. That had to be why the Roman Emperor launched such a foolish attack! It was a diversion!

Hulagu’s next thought turned to who he could call on. Altani’s troops were on the opposite flank, and already engaged. No, they wouldn’t do. What about his own Keshik bodyguards, one thousand strong? Were they truly needed for the flank attacks?

Hulagu looked off towards the advancing Roman line in the gloom. Chagatai’s half-tumen was still on the Mongol right, that meant the Roman left would be hit by at least 4000 riders.

No, the Keshiks weren’t needed for the flanking attack. Altani and Chagatai would be more than enough.

From there, the decision was simple.

Keshiks!” Hulagu called, “Form on me!” The Khan turned his horse to facing the north, and through several sharp hand signals, directed his commanders to deploy their men in a wedge behind him. Fingers lashed out at ten men, who galloped into the murk ahead—they would be the eyes of the Khan, looking for this new threat.

To his left, the Khan could hear the Chinese and Koreans screaming their own battlecries, before the smash of sword and steel overwhelmed even the shouts of men. Above the din, the Khan thought he heard a rumble of… yes! Horses! The noises of horses, directly ahead.

Hulagu Khan didn’t need the cries of one of the scouts to tell him what was coming, or what to do. The Khan lifted his saber, and as one, his bodyguards drew theirs. To the left, Altani would be flanking the Roman line. Ahead, Hulagu grinned as he spurred his horse into a charge, the Roman ambushers were about to ambushed themselves.
As the Romans appeared in the dusty clouds, Hulagu relished the look of surprise on their faces a the Mongol elite bore down. For seven years the Romans had frustrated and hounded Hulagu Khan. For seven years they avoided his tumen, and frustrated every attempt he’d made at defeating them once and for all. Today, the Roman had come into the field.

And today, Hulagu thought as he slashed his blade at the first of many Romans he hoped to fell, would be the day that the Roman Empire in Persia fell.

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==========*==========​

“They’re going!”

Sulieman Arslan stood up on his stirrups at the cry, craning his head , trying to see. The ridge his horse stood on made things a little easier, but not by much. The huge pall of dust hid everything within its grasp, but for a few seconds, the Seljuk Sultan caught a glimpse of Hulagu’s enormous banner, steadily moving toward the Roman lines.

“They are,” the Sultan agreed, his voice much quieter than his aide’s. The Mongol Khan’s banner was just large enough the Sultan could make out its tip just above the roiling clouds of dust raised by the two armies. Then, just like everything else in that chaotic mess, the banner disappeared behind yet another intervening wall of dust.

Sulieman sat back down on his mount, his haunches yelling at him for the action. His legs were tired—he and his men had ridden all night, to the low ridges south of Amol where they’d laid in wait for the better part of the day.

Prepositioned.

Normally the plan would have been considered foolish in the extreme—riding that far from the Roman lines would have meant Sulieman would have lost all contact with his allies, with no way of knowing for sure how to get back. But today was no normal day.

The dust pall that Gabriel had hoped to hide his advance, the immense storm that Hulagu hoped would allow his levies to close with the Romans, was also the linchpin of Sulieman’s own plans. For today, unlike a normal day, the battlefield could be seen for miles…

…while allowed the Turks, as long as they kept in sight of that dust, to spend from four hours before dawn to the present riding around not just the Mongol flank, but the entire Mongol army.

The normally grim Sultan smiled. They’d never see it coming. He pulled the reins, turning his horse back down the ridge towards his waiting riders. Five thousand of them, what remained of his force thrice that size that joined the Romans seven years before. Grim men, veteran men, and most importantly, angry men. Men who had lost their homes, their families, their way of life, thanks to the hordes lead by Hulagu.

Men who wanted revenge.

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“Orhan! Baibars! Mehmet!” the Sultan barked, “Now’s the time! Into the saddle!” Horses whinnied nervously as riders clambered onto their mounts, a mishmash of armor, weapons, helms. The Sultan had a moment to wryly think it ironic—in thirty years of war, the might of the Seljuk Empire had been ground to dust, but here, on this field in northern Persia, the ragtag, ill-equipped remnants would be the one to do the opposite!

“Hulagu’s going for the Romans!” the Sultan called out, for the benefit of those angry men. “He’s distracted, he’s blinded by the dust!” Sulieman walked his horse across that ridge, eyeing those men. They’d ridden for hours already, and the horses probably had one good charge left, that was it.

No matter.

“We’re going to hit in from behind! Slam the knife into his ass when he’s not looking!” Sulieman roared. “We’ll make them tremble and shake when they hear the name of our people! We’re going to make them wonder when the Turks will appear on the horizon again!”

That pall of dust marked the battlefield, but it hid everything inside. So Sulieman simply planned to charge into the pall, towards the noise of fighting. He’d hid some Mongol, somewhere, in the rear, and put them to flight.

Plunge to the fight, damn the odds.

“At a trot till we reach the dust, then show them what hell is like!” Sulieman shouted the last of his orders. The Sultan cast one last look at that pall of dust, a quick, nearly silent prayer crossing his lips.

“Remember Zaranj!” the Sultan thundered, riding down that long ridge, before his sword finally came out. “Follow me!”

As Sulieman crested the ridge, he heard voices riding, shouting the battle cry of the Turks since the days of Malik Shah.

“Allah! Allah! Allah!”

amolsecondstage.jpg


==========*==========​

Alexios’ aim had been slightly off.

The Roman Grigoroi hadn’t hit the Mongol lines directly at the perpendicular, like the plan had called for. Gabriel hadn’t counted on the Mongols trying to flank him while his cavalry played the wings. Neither Gabriel nor Alexios had counted on Hulagu Khan to be waiting for Alexios’ flanking force, either. Thus the Grigoroi slammed headlong into the Keshiks, both parties at full gallop.

Amidst the dust, confusion, and cries, all hell broke loose.

Pyroglossa hacked the arm off of the first Mongol Alexios closed on, but even as the King spun around to face another threat, he could see his Grigoroi were in trouble. The Mongol horsemen reacted with devilish speed, and for every Mongol that was cut down, it seemed two Grigoroi fell as well.

Alexios had seen desperate fights before—unlike Sari, he consciously knew he had to fight tooth and nail this day. Gone were any worries about how the rest of the army was doing. The immense clouds of dust acted as a curtain, making the struggle between the Grigoroi and the Keshiks intensely personal. The King could see only ten or fifteen feet in front of him at any moment, just enough to duel with the nearest Mongol, and little more.

Blades swung, screams hung in the air. There was no way Alexios could tell, amidst the screams and the sounds of steel on steel, who was winning, or even if he was anywhere near the rest of his men. All he could see was a Mongol here, a Grigoroi there, and swing.

At one point the King crossed swords with a Mongol clad in gilt armor, but after three swordblows, the push and pull of battle drove the two apart… for something happened that neither man had been expecting. For a moment, Alexios thought above the tumult he caught the sound of hooves, of men, but he couldn’t be sure.

Then, out of the gloom, came a cry that sent shudders down Alexios’ spine. It was a cry he’d only heard in stories, in tales of the Megas of the Megaloprepis, a cry that he’d never heard in his two years in Persia.

Allahu akbar! Allah! Allah! Allah!

Thundering, rolling, screaming through the murk. Alexios spun his horse around, searching, looking. Where was it coming from? It was only then he noticed the Mongols starting to back their steeds away, searching for the new noise, while the Grigoroi looked about with absolutely predatory smiles on their faces.

“’Effin time the Sultan gets here!” Alexios heard Tatikios’ voice from somewhere above the din. The king had only a moment to recognize the words before the clash of swords and screams of horses reached a thundering crescendo, as five thousand Turks, silken banners fluttering in the dusty wind, erupted from the pall of smoke. The King only had a moment to glimpse their eyepatched leader, before they fell upon the confused Mongol host.

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Altani hissed a curse, and yanked her horse around again. Before her lay her bane—the refused flank of the Roman army, which had refused itself yet again in the face of her charges.

“They’re like rocks!” she heard Tokhtamysh complain, reining up alongside her. The princess pulled off her helm, and wiped sweat from her brow.

“Reform!” she shouted, before her eyes flashed back to the Roman lines. She didn’t need to watch her husband’s tumen—they would reform perfectly, despite their losses, she knew that. “Reform!” she barked again. “We’re going to hit a little further over, and try to come around before those bowmen can open up again! Nogai, I need…”

“Retreat!”

Altani’s eyes snapped up. Who was shouting that idiocy? The Romans were hammered, harried! They’re ranks were plainly ragged, and another charge would break them! Then she’d be rolling up the Roman army’s flank, and the day would be theirs!

“Retreat!” the voice called again, and the princess turned to see a man clad in the fine armor of a Keshik reining up hard just behind her hard-fought men.

“Who are you?!” she heard her husband roar at the newcomer.

“Hulagu Khan has been slain! Taken in the rear by the enemy!” the Keshik responded, eyes wide, blood trickling down the bridge of his nose. “Retreat! The enemy are everywhere!”

“Hold…” Altani started to yell, heart sinking fast, but the man paid no heed, yanking his horse around and digging his spurs into its flanks. Within moments, he was gone into the murk.

How?

That was the question on Altani’s mind. Amidst the dust, she’d seen her father’s banner push forward, that damnable Roman Emperor’s shoved back! Her father had been winning! Winning!

Was he lying?

Altani looked up, to where the Keshik had once been. No… the Keshiks were well trained, disciplined, and proud. He wouldn’t have run, not unless…

Altani blinked hard.

“Stay in line!” she distantly heard her busband bark, but she didn’t care. Her father…dead? Where did they come from? How did they get there? A million questions raised through Altani’s numb mind, as she felt her horse suddenly jerk to the left.

“We must leave!” she heard Tokhtamysh’s voice cry. She sensed her men closing around her as her horse broke into a gallop. On instinct she leaned forward, matching the movements of her mount. Altani was too busy looking over her shoulder into that pall of death and chaos to notice her husband pulling her horse behind his own, or her own tuemn falling in behind them. Altani, now Altani Khatun, was too focused on the one thing the murky dust could not hide from her eyes.

They had lost.

She searched her memory, trying to remember anything she could… all she could remember was her father’s banner, standing high in the murk, as that damnable river and crosses banner of Mesopotamia lurched towards it.

Him.

That damned King that took her brother Guyuk had taken her father from her as well. As Altani and the rest of the Mongol army broke ranks and began to retreat, the Khatun’s mind was filled with only two things.

Her father was dead.

And the King of Mesopotamia had killed him.

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Alexios grunted, his arms and legs aflame as he slowly climbed off Brontos. The King looked anything but regal—his cloak had been ripped off early in the fight, and his shoulder armor had been ripped away by a near-deadly Mongol sword-swing. Gingerly, Alexios took off his helm, and eagerly took in the air around him, dust or no.

“Is that the ‘effin bastard?” Tatikios muttered. The strategos was just as grimy, save his suit of mail bore huge splotches on its scales. Mongol blood, he would keenly remind anyone who asked.

“Yes,” Alexios said between breaths, before wiping his mouth. He’d never expected in his life to see Hulagu Khan face to face…well, face to what remained of a face. Some Roman mace had ruined whatever visage had once graced the Mongol Khan, as well as robbed him of his life.

“Hail to the victors!” a familiar voice called, and Alexios looked up across the sea of carnage to see a grimy, but exuberant Emperor Gabriel galloping towards them. Alexios raised Pyroglossa wearily into the air in salute, a move his cousin answered in excitement.

“What do we have here?” Gabriel barked, almost leaping off of his mount.

“Hulagu Khan,” Alexios yelled back. He was feeling dizzy. He stuck his blade into the ground to prop himself up.

“Hulagu?” the Emperor paused a moment, shock clearly on his face. “Then the war is over?” Gabriel added, voice even quieter.

For some reason, Alexios thought there was a tone of menace in those words. But for the life of him, he didn’t know why…

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So Gabriel emerges triumphant at Amol, and savages Hulagu’s army, killing the Khan in the process. Meanwhile, a new Great Khan, hostile to Hulagu and his kin, is likely to bring the Persian campaign to a halt. Yet, Altani lives, and she and her husband, a Nestorian Christian, have a grudge to bear. What happens now that the Eternal War is at an end? Find out when Rome AARisen continues!
 
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I wanted a Mongol victory.

Hopefully the Mongols become Nestorian Christian and settle down.

Anyway, I'm thinking Gabriel is now going to take his victorius army and march on Constantinople as the conquering hero and overthrow the von Frankens.
 
How long did the cavalries fight on the flanks?

And how could the archers open fire so early?

And how come the the flanking attempt of the Mongols was unsuccessful?

And are the Mongol archers not superior to Roman cavalry?
The Mongols just need to keep a bit of distance to the enemy cavalry in order to kill them, while the Romans have to use melee.

So many questions, but still a nice update. :cool:
 
Excellent as always, a wonderfully orchestrated battle. And nice cameo of the rebel yell. :D

And to go along with the idea of the Mongols going Nestorian, it would be very interesting if Northern India was conquerd and converted to Christianity by the Mongols rather than Islam as historically happened.
 
Epic update again. My guess is Altani isn't just going to let this slip, even if she has to break away from the Mongol Empire due to the new Khagan. As for Gabriel, yeah, Tommy4ever might have it right.
 
Heh. Just like at Messina, I shivered when the forces started to charge. Epic.

Shame it wasn't Gabriel that killed Hulagu. And to counter-balance the Nestorians, Gabriel must establish a christian/muslim church. Combining the best elements of both would be epic.

And btw, what are the easternmost boundaries the Roman empire would have? What is the most distant place you can imagine them controlling? Delhi?
 
That was epic. And I was sure Gabriel would fall and Alexios save the day. Was the first scene a flash forward?
 
The Sultan kinda saved the Imperials' ass. I wonder what that would do for relations. Also, theologically, wouldn't Nestorians be a good bridge between orthodox Christians and Muslims. if you'd want to create a Christian/Islam hybrid?
 
That was a Roman victory--but not, at the end of the day, a decisive one. Altani is still alive, and she still has thirty thousand troops. She might have to bide her time in India for a while, shoring up Mongol control there, but she isn't going anywhere, and so long as she lives she's going to be planning the next war with Romanion. My bets: the new Khan makes peace, Altani goes to India...and cut to three or so years later, the old Khan is dead and Altani has all the force she needs to launch another invasion of Persia. Those veteran armies aren't going to get much rest at all.
 
Thank god for a Roman victory! The constant civil wars and defeats have been getting old, i want the mongols to fear rome and her children!
 
Was a little worried about Alexios, but he pulled through. I have a VERY good feeling about the fact that you described his sword in such detail, complete with name and a "museum picture" from 750 years later. Means that's the sword of an important fellow. Probably more important than a mere puppet king...