[EB AAR] The Legacy of Megas Alexandros

[Lysimachos]

[EDIT June 30th 2016: Because this AAR is so old, old images have been deleted. I won't upload them again, but I have attached a pdf file that contains everything up to chapter 63, including all the images, obviously: The Legacy of Megas Alexandros - Laurel Wreath Edition.7z ]

This is an AAR about a seleucid campaign using the excellent modification Europa Barbarorum 1.1, which you can find here.

Some notes about my concept and background, which you may read before or after the chapter:
- I'm running EB on a notebook which is some years old and which has a graphics chip that is not designed for 3d, so it has some problems displaying some things. Thus there will be only few screenshots from battles (in some distances there simply are black blots instead of men) and from the stratmap itself (which is shown mostly in shades of grey and black), because it would just be ugly. As battle descriptions are mostly text, I'll try to make them a bit more colourful than they really were (in fact I autoresolve most of my battles). Scrolls are no problem, but I'm prone to forget taking screenies...
- Due to the specs of my computer I play with “normal” unit sizes (phalanx unit 60 + 2 officers). When referring to numbers of soldiers, I multiply the number from the game by 20, so that a nearly full or full stack has about 16 to 22 thousand soldiers, which is not too much for a successor's army, in my opinion. EDIT: I might change this to a factor of 40, as I have seen most people multiplying the huge unit scale by ten (and since huge equals normal x 4...).
- I think a story about a huge empire is of more interest if it is not too powerful. This has some consequences for my game:
- You may notice that I'm playing quite passively. It is possible to make some serious progress against the ptolemies in rather short time, but this is not what I want, as I have to preserve them as a strong rival, able to get me in serious trouble later on.
- The Seleucids have seen the legitimation of their rule 1. in Alexander's instruction to appoint the one as his heir who proves strongest and 2. in the makedon tradition of a military kingdom, meaning a king gets his legitimation by his assembled host (don't know if there is a technical term in english language). Thus, in contradiction to the ptolemaic practice, the seleucid Kings lead their armies by themselves. This means for me that a major campaign will only be lead by the King or his heir, who often served as a co-ruler because of the vast territory of the empire. This, in turn, has some practical consequences, as the fate of the kingdom will depend greatly on the wits and health of its king...
- I'm sure there will be some weak kings in the future, but I hope, I'll get someone who qualifies as a “Megas”, too
- I'm twisting history, but I also try to use it as inspiration or guideline (for example that military kingdom thing).
- The possibilities of the game engine are no limitation for story features
EDIT:
- I know I'm inconsistent in my use of british or american english. Please just don't bother
- I first published this AAR in the EB AAR forum over at the .org, so the readers were initially almost exclusively EB players. That mod has some unique concepts and a lot of unique traits, to which I sometimes refer. These references are of course more obvious for those who have played EB before, but don't let that hold yourself back. Such references are not that often and the AAR is understandable nonetheless, but if you want a deeper experience, just give the mod a try, it's the most extensive modification for RTW I know of and I think I have played all major mods available.

Chapter 1: Baptism by Fire

Dust is dispersed when two feet hit the ground. The feet are clad in light boots of soft, red leather, which have become gray from a long travel, as has the dark red cloak which the tall young man has wound around his shoulders. The man's beard has grown wild, as he had not allowed himself to have it shaved for several weeks, but the piercing glance of his clear and proud brown eyes reveal that this had to be a man of most noble birth.
With long, resolute steps he covers the last few meters to the height of the hill, while one of his inferiors takes hold of his horse's reins, a black arabian steed of beautiful and noble physique.
With folded arms the young man watches the plain in the south, squinting because of the burning sun of the early afternoon. In the distance a small cloud of dust reveals the approach of several horsemen.
“Oh, Strategos, our scouts are returning!” exclaimes an aide nearby. “I'm not blind!” answers the annoyed young general in a harsh voice. He turns to the speaker. “Nor am i deaf!”

The young Strategos' name is Theodoros, son to Antiochos Soter and Kleronomos Basileois of the Arche Seleukeia, since Antiochos had his first born executed for treason. The realm of Seleukos Nikator sees difficult times, now in the 42nd year of the Seleucid Era, the eleventh year of Antiochos' rule.
In the west, the conflict with Ptolemaios II Philadelphos has not yet been settled and the seleucid influence in Asia Mikra is fading, while in the east Satraps and Vassals of the Arche gain confidence in their own strength and the absence of central power and the first of them even dare to challenge Antiochos' hegemony.
Two years ago Antiochos led his men to Syria to fight the Ptolemaioi. He send his second born, Theodoros, to the east to restore order and authority in the empire's eastern satrapies, while Sarpedon, the third born, was declared Emporiarches and head of the bureaucracy and set up residence in Seleukeia on the west bank of the Tigris to secure the functionality of trade and administration while the crisis lasts.



Theodoros set out with only a few soldiers and led his men in a forced march through Media, gathering forces, poorly trained and rather a bunch of armed peasants and shepherds than an army, consisting of mostly Persians and Medians, but also Sogdianes, Armenians and even some Arachosians and Dahae.
While Theodoros traveled eastwards he ordered the garrisons in Sogdiana and Dayuan to be abandoned, because he considered them as undefendable for now, even if the Satrap of Baktria would send some of his troops for assistance.
When the army approached Hekatompylos, news were delivered that a force of Parnoi, a tribe of the Dahae, nomads and pillagers who were living in the steppes east of the Caspian Sea, had been marauding in Astauene and setting siege to Asaak for some month before marching west through Hyrkania. Although Theodoros knew his army was lacking troops for a line of battle, he ordered the march through the mountains down to the hyrkanian coast to confront the incursors, without some rest for the exhausted soldiers.

“Strategos! We have come to late, Zadrakata has fallen!” The scouts belonged to Theodoros' arachosian cavalry, one half of his light cavalry. The other half were Dahaen, on whom he rather kept an eye, mistrusting them in a fight against their brothers from the Parnoi, as they owed loyalty to Theodoros' coins at best.
“No,” Theodoros answers, while mounting his horse, “we are just in time. We will descend upon them, while they are still celebrating their victory, drunken and tired of fighting. And with the guidance of the gods we will teach them how a descendant of Seleukos deals with betrayal!”

The red sun has just risen above the hills of Hyrkania, to greet the new day. Its light is reflected by the points of two thousand and four hundred pikes, carried by Theodoros' levy phalangitai, the light troops, nearly one and a half time that much, advance before them, on the flanks the light cavalry from Arachosia and the Dahaens, behind them the Strategos himself, accompanied by his own Ile, somatophylakes of makedonian descend.
Reluctantly had Theodoros refrained from attacking the day before: too tired his men, too late the day. But now he was ready to teach the Parnoi their last lesson.
Theodoros wears his fine armor which marks him as the general, but not yet his helmet, because it obscures his view. The Parnoi have assembled behind the palisade, which still shows the breaches that were cut in the assault. These breaches now shall be used against them. Theodoros' troops outnumber the enemy, but he suspects the Parnoi to be better fighters individually. Luckily, they are not able to use their horse archers to best efficiency, as they are trapped behind the walls.
Shouts sound from the first ranks. The enemy has begun to shot at the approaching Parsoi. The army comes to a halt and the battle of archers begins, while the pikemen, levied and poorly trained, nervously await the things to come.
Volley after volley is fired over the palisade and the Thanvare Pahyadag and Shuban-i Fradakhshana seem to gain the advantage over the less numerous Shivatir-i Pahlavanig and Daha Baexdhzyntae who can not exploit their mobility. The air is filled with the sound of arrows beeing loosened, for a time which seems endless. But finally, silence falls on the battlefield.
A break, a tension which almost hurts, nature itself seems to hush, no bird's song is to be heard. Only the heated air seems to whirr, entangling the soldiers' minds, making armor and weapons a heavy burden – then, another signal. The phalangitai are ordered to advance.
The Auletai play the flutes, governing the tact of the pikemens' lockstep. The Taxeis move forward in tight formation, they slide over the grass like wooden rectangles on a table. The distance shortens, the Phalangitai approach the gaps left in the palisade.
But then, it happens: The untrained men lose their step when entering through the breach, the formation gets confused. The Verkhana Kofyaren, lightly armored infantry armed with axes, pour into the gaps in the formation, ruthlessly hacking their way through the terrified pikemen.
At another breach in the wall, the phalanx has managed to enter the city, but the parnoi general, Harasp e Dahaen, throws his heavily armored cavalry into them.
The battle now is on a knife's edge. The young prince sends his skirmishers into the fray: all or nothing. The general's Ile closes up fast, there: an opportunity for a charge – Xyston lowered, tension – and clash. The light hillmen burst asunder as the wedge of iron cuts through them, like a trieres with full drive cuts through the waves. Hillmen go to the ground, to the right and left, trampled by horses, impaled by lances. The charge slows down – Xyston dropped and Kopis released – slashing left and right – blood, blood, shouts, crying, iron, blood – everywhere, nothing else. Suddenly a commotion: the horse, the fine, the beautiful Arabian, bucks – the reins are loose – grasping – slipping – falling. Noise, blood, shouts, iron – everywhere, nothing else.
Theodoros is on his knees. Noise, heat. Sensation fades away – the noise quiets down, the vision is blurred, only the whirring heat beyond the helmet remains. The delirious mind wanders. Theodoros watches himself, this morning, on his horse, in front of the troops. They looked up to him, waiting for his encouragement, waiting for a straw to grip to avoid decline, in their first battle. Looking up to him, the Kleronomos Basileois, in shining armor, worth more than they can imagine. He watches himself talking, not hearing a word. He tries to remember what he told them. He spoke about the gods, about faith and the confidence in the aid from the gods. He spoke about Seleukos, who is Apollo's mortal son and whose grandson he is. Then, he told them to say their prayer and they kneeled down. If we have faith, we will prevail. Then he hears something. Quiet, far away, but slowly growing louder. A scream, maybe. Then, the sound of metal, hammering on metal. Shouting, fighting. Blood. With a strong impulse Theodoros darts upwards – a man tumbles in front of him, the chest breaking open with a stream of blood, giving way for the tip of a Kontos, thrusted with might from horseback. It is the man Theodoros blustered yesterday. No time to think about. Act fast. A leap, a grip, a strong pull. The armored rider is irritated, strongly leans to the side, tries to find his balance. The prince drops the Kontos, now he gets a grip at the rider's arm, another pull and a hard slash into the face. Merely a glimpse of time is gone when Theodoros draws himself onto the horse.
Finally he has some overview. The streets are still in chaos, but only few are still fighting and the battle is won, at a high price.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 2: Prize of the day

The man quickly ascends the bank where the greatest tent marks the center of the encampment. He is clad in expensive armor and in his hand he holds a helmet decorated with two plumes. The guards at the tent salute him and lead him through the entrance.
The tent is huge and parted in several sections, each of them big enough to shelter a Pentekostys. The man, having been in the bright sunlight, blinks, until he can see more clearly in the semi-darkness of the tent. It is highly decorated with fine weapons and armor, furs of a white bengal tiger, a leopard and an asiatic black bear and excellent artistry in painted clay, gold and silver, from India and all over the seleucid realm.
In the center sits his king, Antiochos, son of Seleukos and descendant of Apollo himself, called Soter – Saviour – because he defeated the seemingly invincible galatian hordes, ruler of an empire that stretches from the Aegean to the borders of India. He sits there, concentrated, fingers at his temples, surrounded by clerks and secretaries. One of them is slowly reading some figures to his king. Antiochos beckons him to stop, as he has sighted his Somatophylax entering the tent.
“Philippos, my companion in many battles. What is your desire?”-”The city has send a delegation. They wish to negotiate.” Antiochos slightly nodded. “I will meet them outside. But let them wait. I won't be summoned by slaves.”-”As you order, my king.” Antiochos waves away the clerks and calls for the Pais basilikos, the royal page, to put on his best armor.

Antiochos steps out of the tent, into the sunlight that is reflected by the polished metal and makes him shine himself, a true warrior king, helmet on his head, Kopis by his side and the scars on his skin bear witness of countless battles.
“Ah, Philippos!” he calls the Somatophylax who is waiting there, holding the reins of the Basileus' horse. The leap onto the horse reveals the strength which the king's body still possesses, but his eyes seem tired. Antiochos leans down to the side where his bodyguard stands. “Philippos, tell me, how can a man bear the wish to be a king? It is no gift, it is a burden, which the gods put on my shoulders to test my strength.” Philippos silently looks up to his king. Then, after a moment, he, who knows that Antiochos had to have his own first born son executed for treason, speaks in a light voice. “I have fought in many fights, side by side with you, my king, and maybe there will be the day that I will give my life to protect yours. I can not, and no other man can, help you bear this burden, but I will do anything to prevent you from perishing under it, as I have sworn and will do again if you deem it appropriate.”
The two men look at each other in silence, until Antiochos straightens up. “So let us finish this.”

Antiochos slowly rides through the camp. In the south the Polis of Tarsos on the Cydnos, most important settlement in Kilikia, is to be seen. Antiochos had several reasons to lead his host here, away from Syria. Who controls Tarsos, controls Kilikia and Kilikia has some passes, broad enough to march an army through them, into the center of Asia Mikra. Antiochos still has the wish to dominate the rich region, but without a direct route from Syria the only connection would be through Armenia. The kilikian coast offers several harbors and an intact port under control of Ptolemaios situated in the back of Syria would always pose a considerable threat. At last, Antiochos had hoped that Ptolemaios would recognize the importance of Tarsos for his enemy and send an army, so a decisive battle could be fought, because the war in Syria has become sort of a stalemate.

A trumpet's flourish announced his coming. The delegation is waiting on the camp's drillground, surrounded by guards, who form a cordon for their king. Antiochos slowly approaches and examines the emissaries, a dozen men, civilians, no one in military attire. He stops his horse some meters away. “So, what is this about?”
The party's leader makes a step forward and takes a bow. “My name is Cratippos Pisidikos, Basileus. The folk of our city has send us to speak with you. We are here to negotiate the terms of surrender.”
“Negotiate?” Antiochos leads his horse so its head is only an arm's length away from the emissary's emaciated face, then he leans forward and calmly begins to speak: “You want to discuss terms, so I'll tell you my terms: You surrender or you will die. These terms are not open to negotiations.” He pronounces every syllable of the last word with emphasis. Then Antiochos looks over the scared faces of the delegates. He raises his voice.
“You are forgotten, none will come to save you. I will stay here, slaughter your lambs and harvest your grain and it will nourish my soldiers. I will stay here until the hunger makes you eat your dead. I will stay here until mothers will relish the flesh of their own children and I will sit here and watch, drink persian wine and eat rhodian olives and the breast of a syrian dove. I will hold court in front of the gates to your city until therein no single man will have the strength to take another breath!”
After these words he turns his horse towards the cordon and leaves the delegation behind. Silence falls on the square, only the clapping of the horse's hooves and the wind, blowing from the sea, remain.
“Wait, Basileus! We accept your terms! Please, show mercy!”
Antiochos again turns back and with a cold smile on his face his gaze rests on Tarsos, prize of this day.

[molls]

Again and again I am amazed with what beauty and detail some authors write their AAR. And you sir are one of them! The intro and the battle were great!

[Lysimachos]

Again and again I am amazed with what beauty and detail some authors write their AAR. And you sir are one of them! The intro and the battle were great!

Thank you for the kind words

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 3: A family reunion

The Margos is calmly streaming southward. Beyond the river lies Antiocheia Margiana. There seems to be a huge conglomerate of tents situated between city and shore, tents of many different sizes and workings. Small columns of smoke rise among the tents.
Theodoros is unsure. He has ordered his horsemen to stop a few miles south of the river, when he spotted the camp. He is waiting, thinking about whose encampment it could be.
Theodoros turns around to the Ilearches of the Arachosians. “Send some of your men to have a look. We have to know who is sitting there.”-”As you order, Strategos.” Theodoros watches the officer picking a hand full of men from his Ile.

In the bloody battle at Zadrakarta Theodoros had lost half of his infantry. The other half he left behind to secure Hyrkania and only took the cavalry with him to reach Margiana as soon as possible. He had not found much rest since his father had appointed him responsible for the eastern provinces, so the prospect of a night in a bed was tempting and further delay a serious threat to his well being.

The Arachosians quickly return. “Strategos! They are no soldiers, but refugees. They say the Sakai have overrun Sogdiana and crossed the Oxos.”-”Oh, well, refugees.” Theodoros feels a bit silly, because a bunch of fugitives worried him so much, but does not allow himself a thought about the Sakai.

The horsemen march through the streets, lined with watchers. At the front rides the Kleronomos Basileois, surrounded by his Somatophylakes, attired in expensive armor under their dusty cloaks.
The nomad riders make the people uneasy, too many have lost loved ones to warriors like this, men of the steppes.
Theodoros and his men approach the main square, where the seat of the satrap is situated, who certainly is informed of their arrival. The governor's house is a piece of greek architecture, as are most of the public buildings in the town. Antiochos had issued the rebuilding and renamed the settlement which had been known as Alexandreia for some years.
Theodoros dismounts and commands his Ilearchoi to follow him. The three men ascend the steps to the residence. The guards salute and an officer bids Theodoros to follow him.

“Ah, Theodoros. It seems the young man i knew has become a proud warrior.” It is Achaios, brother of Basileus Antiochos, uncle to Theodoros and father of Laodike, Theodoros' young wife. Theodoros does not know him well, but he remembers that the brothers are quite different in character, Achaios being less ambitious, determined and serious than his father.
Achaios has become old, but in his eyes still twinkles the wit of an uncorrectable libertine. Theodoros takes a slight bow, suitably showing respect. “I greet you, my uncle. You seem to be well. I bid you to accord my soldiers a warm meal and a bedding.”-”This shall of course be granted.” Achaios beckons one of his officers to fulfill, who leaves with Theodoros' Ilearchoi.
The king's brother rests his hand on Theodoros' shoulder. “Now you come with me.”

The two men rest on divans while one slave fills goblets with wine and another one massages Theodoros' tense neck. Achaios begins to speak. “You may not have heard news from the Basileus. He has taken Kilikia. Bustling as always, he is.” A faint smile flits around his lips.
“That is excellent news, but maybe you want to tell me about less good ones.”-”Ah, yes. We have some trouble to retain order in the province. We have called back the garrisons from Sogdiana and Dayuan, as you have ordered and now the Sakai have taken control. They obviously have a pact with the Parnoi, as they have been spotted to move together through the province. My scouts tell me, the Parnoi and Sakai are not far from the city, but i did not have the forces to confront them.”
All this bloody excitement is not to Achaios' liking, being a man of women, wealth and wine, not of weapons.
Theodoros waves the slave away, takes a big gulp of his wine and lays back. He closes his eyes and sighs. “I have brought a strong troop of cavalry. Maybe this will give us an edge. We will have to draw up a battle plan. But first, I'll have a shave.”

Once again, Theodoros rides ahead of his horsemen. He has designed a daring plan.
Achaios leads the infantry, a strong phalanx, assisted by light infantry, a dependable force, but not flexible enough to precipitate a decisive battle with the riders of the steppe. This is now Theodoros' task.
He sends out his own horse archers. They are harassing the Parnoi, provoking them to follow, to leave their infantry behind. The parnoi cavalry is drawn far away from their footmen. Then, the trap begins to close. Theodoros' Arachosians engage the enemy light cavalry, his Somatophylakes the armored Dahae nobles. They are not meant to win this fight, being outnumbered by the Parnoi, but they hold their ground, pin them down until Achaios' men arrive, quickly coming up and the fight turns in favor of the Greek. It is an intense battle, the steppe riders fight fiercely, but finally they are crushed and only few survive.
No time for rest, yet: Theodoros gathers his men, leads the cavalry in between the Parnoi infantry and their Sakai allies, who approach from the north, to force the Parnoi into another direction.
Now it is Achaios' turn again: The Phalanx quickly defeats the segregated men, while the Sakai are hesitating. They have come to late to save their allies and now they are isolated, too.
The two generals direct the army along a slope toward the riders from the east. A short exchange of arrows, a resolute push forward and the Sakai retreat, seeing no perspective in a fight.

While Achaios took care of the battlefield and the recovery of the fallen, has Theodoros kept the retreating Sakai under surveillance for some time, to make sure that they won't come back to soon.
The cavalry again joins the victorious army, as it is marching through the gates. Achaios awaits his nephew, his eyes show respect.
“You have fought well and proven bravery. My brother has to be glad to have such a son. My own sons all are useless gamblers and philanderers, just like me.” He brakes out in resounding laughter and turns his horse towards the gate.

[Hesus de bodemloze]

my god a real peace of art this is. well done. +rep

[Lysimachos]

my god a real peace of art this is. well done. +rep

Thank you very much. At the moment updates will come often, as I'm just copying them over one after the other.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 4: A syrian night (R-rated...)

The sun is still high on the sky, heating the plain and reflecting in the gentle waves of the Orontes.
A hand full of cloaked riders is cantering across the bridge, down the road. They hurry, they don't pause, ride on imperturbably, as if the change of day and night depend on it.

It has become late, the sun is bent for her deserved rest, only the upper heights of Silpios are still bathed in red light. The travelers have luck, the Alep-gate is not closed, yet. They move through the gate, don't dismount, still hurrying on. The riders gallop through the colonnaded alley, the axis of Antiocheia on the Orontes. They don't spend a glaze on the city's artistic architecture, they don't let themselves be drawn into the humming, heated summer night life of the metropolis, but push on, along the main road, then to the west, onto the island where the outline of the royal palace rises into the night sky.
The guards address the approaching party, but quickly back away. The riders dismount, one is quickly ascending the steps to the mostly unlighted palace, while the other three take the horses' reins.

A young woman in a young night. She is standing at her patio, looking down into the garden, where a fountain is quietly bubbling. Nature is lethargic of the day's heat, which is fading slowly.
The gracile fingers of her left hand run through her long, unbound hair, which is dark as ebony. Her immaculate body, white as alabaster, is covered by a cape of silk, which has traveled a long way from the east until it became her gown.
The young woman is closing her eyes. The sound of the bubbling fountain, chirping crickets. Rustling of drapery. This is wrong. She opens her eyes, shuddering. She does not dare to move.
The sound of calm breath. Quiet steps. She feels the sweat running along her spine.
She knows, someone is standing right behind her, his breath touching her neck, she feels the presence, almost a touch. With a fragile voice she speaks: “You should not be here, you don't know who i am. My king will be relentless.” A soft, calm laugh, only the width of a hand from her ear.
The tip of a tongue touches her earlap, running along it. Her heart almost stops beating.
The man is whispering: “I am your king.”
The tension falls, unspeakable relief. Antiochos kisses her neck, gently turning her around.
“My king, you are back. An emissary has come to...” He stops her speaking by kissing her lips, then pulls off her cape, revealing the impeccable beauty of her young body. He kisses her chest. “I know that.” Antiochos goes down on his knees, his hands fondling her back, kissing her belly. She shudders, as his lips and tongue feel their way down and a deep-drawn sigh escapes her lips.

The palace is awakening. The morning has not come, but noise is growing, torches are ignited, the king has ordered to wake the emissary. The king? He is here? How is this possible?
Antiochos has not been expected before the next week and now he is here, in his capital, in the middle of the night, surrounded by three of his most loyal bodyguards.

Antiochos awaits the emissary. His mood is great, he feels as young as ever, relaxed in mind and body, despite the long travel, while the delegate from Alexandreia is bleary-eyed and depleted. He has effort to stay upright and seems as if he would sell his king in exchange for a bed.
Antiochos grins. Perfect conditions for fruitful negotiations.

Several hours later, the sky is already brightening in the east, the ptolemaic emissary is on his way back to bed, walking on his last legs. Peace is signed between the two most powerful of the Epigonoi, Ptolemaios II Philadelphos and Antiochos Soter. Kilikia and Koile Syria, apple of discord in this war stay under seleucid rule and Ptolemaios guarantees independence for the Kyrenaika, where Magas rules, son-in-law of Antiochos.

A truly wondrous night, in the great city on the Orontes.

[Hesus de bodemloze]

haaa yes well done.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 5: Defeat in Victory

The sky is dull. A moderate breeze is blowing from the east. Theodoros is squinting. The daylight hurts his eyes, not because the sun would be gleaming, which it doesn't, but because he still has a serious hangover and the new day still isn't welcome.
This farewell banquet has been a little too much for sitting upright on a horse.

Almost a year has passed since he arrived in Antiocheia-Margiana and met his uncle. The following months he spend by training new warriors, by improving his own skills and by accompanying Achaios on excursions through the province, occasions on which he learned of the sweet margianian wine and made friends with it.
Sometimes he thought about his wife Laodike and children, who still were in Seleukeia, but Achaios, who had experience with living at the edge of the world, taught him how to feel comfortable with how the things were and at large Theodoros was well.
However, there were some duties waiting for him. Parnoi still were raiding seleucid land and Theodoros felt that his father would expect him to do something about it. So he decided to force them into submission, again.

The army has left Antiocheia-Margiana in western direction, marching deep into the land of the Dahae. People leave their homes, soldiers avoid a fight, while the seleucid host is slowly crawling forward like a centipede, through the meager country.
Theodoros has been informed, that a powerful leader has his headquarters in a town called Nisa. This is where he heads to, in order to deliver a decisive battle, against the barely tangible dahaen horse armies.

Finally, after a long journey full of privations, Nisa is in sight. It is a small settlement, even without any defensive structures. Still, no sign of an enemy army.
Theodoros has ordered his Arachosians, who have proven themselves as reliable scouts, to explore the vicinity, before taking offensive actions, but they have found no sign of a trap.
The phalanx slowly marches forward. This should be no long fight, only a small garrison has been reported. But it smells so wrong! How can the Parnoi let them strike so deep into their land without even giving a fight? Theodoros is calm in appearance, but in turmoil inside, deafening himself against the uncertainty with a hearty draft from his wineskin.
He watches his men overcoming the few enemies. Only a young warlord and his guard put up a harder fight – an opportunity to through himself into the heat of battle, where he will have no time for worries. Theodoros spurs his horse, leads his Somatophylakes into the mids of the fight, without any sense of danger. He hacks his bloody path through the enemy, inwardly unmoved, emotionless, until not one enemy is standing anymore.

Theodoros is still suspicious, he still fears a trap, so he takes drastic measures. All food found in the city is confiscated, all men estimated fit for military service sold into slavery. Theodoros is awaiting the enemy and a battle, his battle, but the Parnoi deny it.

A shame. They don't follow how it should be, they don't abide by the rules of warfare, how civilized people would do. How can someone stand this mess being sober? Have the gods deserted me?
“Strategos!” A shout disrupts his foggy thoughts. “Strategos, the town is burning, we have to leave. Do you understand? It is burning everywhere. I'll get you out of here.”

No general, no army had the courage to meet Theodoros in battle, but women and old men fought on. They have put their own town on fire, on several places. A conflagration started and thousands decease in the flames.
An army, defeated, but not in battle leaves behind smoking debris. The morale is low and the supply is short and now they fear battle, fear the host that has to be there, in the steppes, waiting for their weakness.

Hunger and austerity mark the men's faces. They have suffered on the long march that began when their supplies burned down, in the mids of the Dahaen's lands. Every day, they suffered thirst and hunger, every day they had to fear the enemy might descend upon them, until they saw the walls of Antiocheia-Margiana and they realize: he did not come. Theodoros, a shadow of his former vigour, leads the army into the town, defeated victors.
Courtiers welcome him and he dismounts his horse. “I have to speak with my uncle, as soon as possible.” Unease is increasing around him. “Strategos, the satrap Achaios is dead.”
A twitch appears in the corners of his mouth. Then, he slowly ascends the steps to the residence.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 6: When lightning strikes

It is time. Time to return to a place, where a name has been made for oneself.

Sixty-six years ago Megas Alexandros passed the Kilikia Pylai, the kilikian gates, before descending into Kilikia Pedias, where he fought the battle of Issos. Now, another host came through the Pylai, in opposite direction, coming from the fruitful plains and heading into the mountainous Anatolia.
It took a whole week until the army has completely traversed through, because the Pylai are just wide enough to let a packed horse pass. The chariots and heavy equipment had to be disassembled, transported by mules through the constriction and then put together again.
It was a cumbersome transgression, but soon the plateau opened and the Taurus lay behind them.



The Basileus ton Basileon has assembled a strong army which he now leads into Asia Mikra and a contingent of armenian light infantry and cavalry who traveled along the persian royal road from Sophene add to its strength.



Antiochos is on his way into the heart of Asia Mikra. Once he has defeated the galatian hordes in a memorable battle where the battle plan of Theodotos Rhodios and sixteen elephants saved the day against the overwhelming numbers of the Barbaroi. The galatian advance had been stopped in this battle, the Greeks from Asia Mikra saved, a victory that gave him the name of Soter, the saviour.
Now is Antiochos again on his way onto the peninsula, one of his greatest days in his mind. He always knew about the importance of this region for the prosperity of the kingdom, but he has not been able to impede the loss of influence, until only a narrow strip of land from Kappadokia through Phrygia to Lydia remained. Antiochos plans to get a firmer grip on the peninsula again.
To achieve this, he has mobilized a grand army and his first strike will be directed at the Galatians, who rule central Anatolia and who have to be dealt with by anyone who tries to dominate Asia Mikra.



Early morning's mist still hangs in the slender dell. The men silently move forward. They are Armenians and used to mountainous terrain. Still without a sound they leave the cover between the hills and pour into the opening fields forming a crescent around the settlement that lies dozily in front of them. The circle closes, as the speed increases. In ghastly silence the men overcome the guards, break into the town, ingress the huts and houses, do their bloody work, screened by the horsemen who hunt down anyone who tries to escape.
Like a lightning's strike have they come over Tavium, main settlement of the Trokmoi, on of the three galatian tribes, cutting of the tribe's head.

With the aid of local guides did Antiochos lead his men through concealed valleys, hiding his approaching army despite of its size, until it was to late for the Gauls to unite in resistance. The Trokmoi don't pose a thread anymore and the seleucid King heads for Ankyra, where the Tectosages dwell.

Ankyra is the largest settlement of the galatian invaders, the seat of their three tribes' council. Although the Tectosages have received word of the intrusion it has been to late to call for help from the Tolistobogioi who live in the west and to muster a large army.



Erasistratos, royal physician, is standing beside Antiochos' resting place. He is urgently addressing his king. “You have to stay in bed. If you go into the rain it may be your death and it won't even need a weapon. Look, you can't even stand on your own!”
Antiochos laughs, a laughter that turns into a dry cough. “I am here to lead my men and i will do that. I won't give in for a slight cold like this.”
Erasistratos is silently watching, while Philippos, the king's most esteemed retainer, helps Antiochos to stand up, the latter with a mien of defiance.
Supported by Philippos he slowly walks towards the tent's exit, step by step. Antiochos addresses his Taxiarchoi and Ilearchoi: “Come! Come, my warriors! Let us show the men that their king will not be defeated by a fever!”
A cough shakes his body, makes him halt for a moment and Erasistratos hopelessly shakes his head.

The Basileus has mounted his horse. He is tightly packed into a thick cloak, hardly sitting upright, while the pouring rain is running down from his helmet. His confidants worry, but the soldiers' spirits lift, as they see their Strategos seems well and is leading them into battle himself.

The army moves forward, approaching the gates. It doesn't not take long until the rams break through and the Pezhetairoi enter the town's rain-sodden streets, overwhelming the outnumbered and outclassed Galatians in a quick fight.

Another victory against the Gauls has been won and the threat seems finally averted and Antiochos Soter, shaken by fever and on the brink of death, receives the obeisance of the remaining galatian warchiefs.

[HunGeneral]

This is veryy good.
Kepp writing your doing it great

[Lysimachos]

This is veryy good.
Kepp writing your doing it great

Thank you! The next chapter is somewhat simpler, but the quality will increase again later.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 7: Pamphylia

Antiochos has stayed in Ankyra about half a year. His illness forced him to refrain from traveling, but he had other reasons, too. Antiochos has learned of the ferociousness of the gallic barbarians and he knew well the quality their warriors possess and he knew that they could pose a dangerous threat if independent and united, but also a great asset to any commander.
In the past months he had called the warchiefs to Ankyra, where he observed them thoroughly to learn their strengths and weaknesses. He cautiously engineered a hierarchy among the chiefs, playing them and their kin off against each other. A balance was installed that would ensure the loyalty to him once the army would be lead away, because in the end the strong would benefit from obeisance to Antiochos and would do what they can to preserve the set status.

The time of departure came sooner than expected. A message has traveled fast from over the seas. Ptolemaios II has violated the peace treaty by sending troops against Magas Kyrenaios, Antiochos' son-in-law and ally. Luckily, he had no success, yet, but the king was in need to take action.

Antiochos led his army southward, after arranging the last necessary matters, along the Taurus into Pamphylia. This region was subject to Ptolemaios, but little resistance was offered and the army soon reaches Side, the last ptolemaic stronghold in Asia Mikra. The town is unfortified and, although the ptolemaic Strategos has gathered all troops from the province there, defended by poorly armed and trained soldiers.



Despite this, they fought brave and many attackers lost their lives.



Ptolemaios II Philadelphos has to be unsatisfied with his generals, having lost all of his minor asian holdings in the course of few years.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 8: Call of an ally

“Keraias. Tell me what business has lead you here.”
Keraias Pergamou Mysiakes is a rather young man, considering his position. Being intelligent and charismatic he has drawn the king's attention in early years and was sent to Pella, to the court of Antigonos Gonatas, the ruler of Makedonia, in these days Antiochos' most important ally.
“I bring word from Basileus Antigonos of the house Argeades who had summoned me to his chambers to deliver your divine greatness, Basileus ton Basileon, his bidding.”



Antiochos is waving aside. “Come to the point. You do not have to flatter me, as I am the one for whom you are speaking. Do never forget this.”
Keraias slightly tilts his head in acknowledgment. “Basileus Antigonos asks his ally for help in a time of need. The Greeks don't accept his hegemony any longer and have formed a coalition under leadership of Athinai and Sparte, which has inflicted several defeats to Antigonos' army. The soldiers of the so-called Koinon Hellenon are standing in Thessalia this very day and at the same time is king Pyrrhos of Epeiros pestering him. Antigonos fears for his kingdom and bids you to send help. In return he promises assistance against Ptolemaios, once he has room to breath, again.”
Antiochos stood up from his seat and slowly walked past Keraias. He is looking down on Sardis, where he had lead his army to resupply. He planned to march into Karia, where the important city of Halikarnassos was an ally of Ptolemaios.
Antigonos Gonatas was the son of Demetrios Poliorketes and thus the brother of Stratonike, Antiochos' wife, but relations had little value these days. More importantly was Antigonos a significant ally, increasing the safety of Antiochos' minor asian holdings considerably.
The Koinon Hellenon would also be able to provide the Ptolemaioi with naval bases all over the Aegean, thus posing a dangerous threat that would outweigh any victories that could be achieved in Kilikia, Pamphylia and Karia. A victory over the athenian and spartan armies could well be a decisive blow, causing the coalition to fall apart.
“Keraias, go to Pella once more and tell my brother Antigonos the following: He shall not worry, for the Arche Seleukeia will grant him as much support as it can. He shall soon expect an army, if he sends a fleet to meet my forces at Ephesos to secure the crossing.”

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 9: In Thessalia

The army marched along the old Persian Royal Road to Ephesos, where it boarded a small fleet of Kerkuroi. Guided and protected by makedonian ships they sailed across the Aegean, along the northern shore of Euboia and into the Pagasitikos Kolpos, the gulf that is enclosed by a tongue of land which stretches from the east of Demetrias in southern direction.



Instead of sailing to Demetrias, in the vicinity of which athenian forces were said to be active, the army disembarked in the port of Halos in the region of Phthiotis, in southern Thessalia.
Local commoners told them that an athenian army has taken position near Demetrias and was trying to force the garrison to surrender, so Antiochos ordered to march north along the coast to meet the enemy and relief the city.
Antiochos' scouts ascertained the enemy's troop strength and he secretly send a messenger through the greek position into the city of Demetrias to arrange for a joint attack on the besieging army.



The athenian and spartan soldiers, by far outnumbered, are commanded by Doros Aithalidos Attikos, son of the famous athenian statesman Chremonides. The makedonian garrison is under command of Krateros Argeades, the king's brother.

Antiochos, confident in the number and quality of his troops, choses a conventional lineup. The center of the formation is formed by the Pezhetairoi, an almost impenetrable core. The immediate flanks are protected by the Iudaioi on the left and the Thureophoroi on the right. The wings itself are formed by light infantry and the cavalry, on the left the armenian light horsemen and on the right, at the position of honor, rides the Basileus himself with his Somatophylakes and the Prodromoi.



(Yes, this is how a battle looks on this machine...)

Soon it becomes apparent that the plan does not work out exactly as supposed: The Makedonians yet engage the enemy, while Antiochos' Phalanx is still far away from the fighting. Luckily, the athenian commander choses to leave the field, seeing an unavoidable defeat coming.



Antiochos leaves the infantry behind and at the head of his cavalry he pursues the last athenians who had the misfortune to be unable to keep up with the main forces. Not much time goes by and the engagement is over, the Athenians and Spartans retreating up-country, while seleucid and antigonid Makedonians meet and shake their hands.





And here a map of the Arche Seleukeia, while Antiochos is on his expedition in Hellas, 264 BC:

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 10: The house of Apollon

Antiochos meets Krateros on the field, where they just have defeated the troops of Doros Aithalidos. “The King expresses his gratefulness for your immediate reaction. You also have my gratitude, as maybe i would be dead or prisoner by nightfall, if it wasn't for your intervention.”
Krateros looks old and exhausted, leaning forward on his horse and dark circles show around his eyes. “My brother is in the north right now, fighting Pyrrhos' men.”
“I have heard of that. You may send him the message that my soldiers will aid in this war, as long as it is necessary. I will march to the south to provoke a decisive battle against Athinai and Sparte, so Antigonos can direct his full attention to Pyrrhos, while the Koinon Hellenon for now shall be my concern.”
Krateros is nodding. “I will tell him. May the gods be your shield, Basileus.”

Antiochos leads his army south along the coastal road. The towns and cities on his way open the gates and welcome him as a guest. They have heard of the army he brought and they fear his might.
The soldiers are well fed and meet no resistance on their march through their forebearers' lands, but in Phokis Antiochos turns southwest, instead of entering Boiotia. The king seeks guidance from Apollon's oracle in Delphi, the ancient city below mount Parnassos.





Antiochos is standing in front of the temple, in the pediment of which Apollon is depicted, in company of Leto, his mother, and Artemis, his twin sister.
The mighty king is clad in simple garment, nothing distinguishing him from an impecunious pilgrim. Just like any other Theopropos – one who asks the oracle - he has washed his hair in the sacred Kastalian Spring that emanates from the ravine between the Phaedriades, two cliffs at the southern slope of the Parnassos.



Then he has walked up the Sacred Way through the sanctuary, carrying laurel leaves, and brought a black goat that has been examined by the priests and sacrificed at the altar which once has been build in black marble as a gift from the Chians.

A priest beckons him to follow and Antiochos slowly walks up to the temple that is build with six by fifteen columns by the architects Spintharos, Xenodoros and Agathon.
Antiochos, lead by the priest, passes the Pronaos - the anteroom of the building - and through the central hall. In the walls are sayings of wise men carved, guiding the lives of those who take heed.
The Cella – the hall – houses an altar of Poseidon and one of Hestia, with unquenchable fire.
Behind the hall is the Adyton, the backmost part of the temple. A golden statue of Apollon, the host of this santuary, is located there and steps, leading down to the chamber of the Pythia, where Antiochos follows the priest.

The ceiling is low and Antiochos has to bend down. He blinks to see in the dim room.
The Pythia is wearing a hooded cloak, her face hidden in the twilight of the Adyton, a laurel branch in her hand. She is sitting on a tripod seat that is located over the chasma, a crevice from which the pneuma - the breath - of Apollon is emerging and filling the Pythia with the god's spirit and the room with steam.
Beside her stands an eggshaped stone that is covered by a carving of a net: the Omphalos, which marks the navel of the world.

An unfamiliar odour is filling Antiochos' nostrils and he has difficulties to concentrate and see clearly. The priest who lead him, whispers in his ear: “You may now ask your question, wanderer.”
Then he steps back into the shadows and leaves the king, now a humble supplicant, with the Pythia.
Antiochos tries to gather himself, arranges his words and after some time, the amount of which he has no awareness, he speaks.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 11: The Fate of Nobles

When Antiochos returned from the oracle, he seemed aggrieved with thoughts. He gathered his Taxiarchai and Ilearchai, still in his pilgrim's garment. He gave the order to prepare for march.
“We have no time to waste. Athinai is waiting for us and we shall not disappoint her!”

Two routes lead from Phokis to the east: The southern one along the Korinthiakos Kolpos and the northern one through Chaironea and Aliartos, at the southern banks of Lake Kopais.
Antiochos chose the northern route and soon the army reached Thebai, the once great city of Boiotia, which has been destroyed by Alexandros and rebuild by Kassandros, the son of Antipatros.
The seleucid army still didn't meet any resistance, had to much fear and had seen to much bloodshed in the last years and even decades.
The soldiers were confident in the strength of their army and in the wits of their General, but their leaders were worried. Among the high officers it was obvious that Antiochos' mood has darkened after his attendance of the Pythia's augury, but he kept undisclosed what she had revealed to him.
While the host turned to the south, crossed the Kithairon mountain range east of Plataia and the certainty of a coming battle grew, the officers were conversing in secrecy.

The sun sets over Attike, bathing the sea of tents in red light, turning it into a sea of blood.
The camp is situated some way from Eleutherai, the fortress that is the northernmost outpost in Attike. A handful of men has gathered outside, talking.
One of them, a tall but rather lean Hellene, speaks in a low, yet authoritative voice.
“It is foolishness to disregard the words of the gods! We all see his behavior! He must be knowing that he is leading us to certain death. There is no other explanation. We are one day away from Athinai. We have to stop this now or it will be to late!”
Another man, clad in the armor of the Basileus' Hetairoi, steps forward from the shadows.
“Enough! As long as Antiochos is King his word is law. Dare you challenge his judgment!” The tall man spits on the ground. ”Ah, Philippos speaks, the King's favorite lap dog. Where is your leash?”
Philippos comes closer, laying the hand on the haft of his Kopis. He calmly answers. “Go ahead, Menedemos, speak forth and i will slay you where you stand.”
The two men stare at each other silently, the others have backed off, enlarging the distance.
“Oh well, Menedemos, you have bereft me of the pleasure to shed your blood. It would have made some things easier for you, you know, as in Hades you won't have to worry about an omen. But i can promise you one thing, you fool, tomorrow you won't march into battle.”

A new day has come. Messengers have brought word of an enemy army, outnumbering the seleucid host four to three, that is lead by Areus Agiados, King of Sparte and appointed Hegemon of the Koinon Hellenon, as well as Chremonides Aithalidos, Archon of Athenai and mastermind behind the alliance.
The Basileus stands among his officers. “Today we will face what is left of the Hellas of old times. The days of the old poleis is over, once and for all. The future lies in an universal kingship formed by the best of west and east, just as Alexandros has realized.
Across this plain stands the whole might of the Koinon, lead by their most important leaders. With a decisive victory today we will crush their coalition in one blow.
They have more soldiers than we have, but i am confident. They fight in an obsolete fashion, while the core of our army is formed by professional and experienced Pezhetairoi, and our wings by skilled light horse from the east and the unequaled riders of Makedonia.”
Antiochos pauses. He looks around and straightens himself.
“I know, some of you are concerned about the prophecy of Apollon's oracle. I can reassure you, the word of the oracle is in no way bound to this day, but a message of personal loss.
I did not ask the Pythia about the outcome of this war, because in battle, I prefer take my destiny in my own hands, rather than relying on the graciousness of the gods.
So, now I request one thing of you: Share my confidence in this day and let us forge a glorious fate!”
Cheer raises and at once they stand by their King as one man, again, except for Menedemos who early this day has already met the destiny of a traitor.



The greek army is deployed in two contingents: Areus, the King of Sparte, and Doros Aithalidos, Chremonides' son and one of the most promising young Athenaioi, block the route to Athenai, while Chremonides himself leads a contingent to the left of Antiochos' forces.
This move from the numerical superior side forces Antiochos to adapt. He choses to divide his troops, too. The smaller part serves to hold back Areus' forces, while the greater part shall fight Chremonides' wing.
However, the alliance's timing is not good: Too eager are Chremonides' men for fight and won't wait for the Spartan contingent. They rush forward to meet Antiochos' line.
The Basileus sents his Prodromoi to engage the enemy cavalry, that is no match and soon thrown back. Yet they can't outrun the Prodromoi on their swift horses and are eventually overcome in close combat.
In the meantime the light troops exchange some volleys and then the battle lines close. Antiochos sends his Armenian horsemen to engage the enemy's skirmishers, while he himself at the head of his Hetairoi as well as the Chariots turn around Chremonides' flanks and attack the hoplitai from the rear.
The course of the battle seems promising as of yet, but the athenian hoplites fight with fierce resolution and Areus' men are advancing in quickstep, reducing the distance minute by minute.
Antiochos turns his Ile Basilike around to take on Areus' cavalry. He also realizes that he has to reinforce the seleucid right wing, because it is facing a determined assault from Areus' Hoplitai, lead by the fearsome Spartiatai.
The Idaioi are send from left to the right to assist in holding the line, while on the other side Doros Aithalidos is bringing his detachment around to strengthen his father's wing.
The lines are locked now, fighting for every foot of ground. Yet, the enemy's cavalry is crushed and Antiochos gathers his horses for a charge, trying to tip the scales in his favor.

It is nothing left for a general, but to fight.
The ranks are close, the xystons couched. Mere fractions of a second to the impact, but they stretch to eternities. Concentration is at its peak. Horse, man and lance are one entity, designed to kill.
Some hoplites have turned around, but too little to make a difference.
Impact, a blow, as horse and xyston meet steel and flesh, but the drive is hardly lessened. The hetairoi cut through the hoplitai like ploughshares through soft soil. Forth and forth.
Then, almost through the lines, the charge is exhausted. Let go of the xyston and out with the kopis.
Where is the Basileus? Still among the greatest of his soldiers, shouting and fighting, the impersonated warrior king.
Philippos pushes his horse forward, trying to get by the side of his lord. He turns right, blocks a thrust, slashes his kopis in the enemy's chest. Turn around, where is the king?
The hetairos fears the worst, abandons his horse, brutally hacking his way through the mass of iron and flesh.
There – Antiochos is on his back, wounded, from the ground fighting off attackers. Philippos makes his way through to him, with a strong blow felling the Spartiates who is attacking the king.
The Somatophylax shouts, calls his comrades to guard the Basileus, and they come, two handful of men, forming a circle around their master in the midst of battle.

The sun sets over a bloody plain. Philippos cowers beside his king, supporting him in an upright position. Antiochos coughs, a gush of blood pours out of his mouth.
“My friend, how often have we fought together? This time will be the last.”-”No, my king, Erasistratos will be here soon, he surely can help you!”
Antiochos shows a faint smile. A fit of coughing shakes him. His voice is feeble. “Philippos, there is one thing you have to tell my son.”
The bodyguard leans forward, his ear close to Antiochos' mouth.
The king's voice fades with his last words and the men's eyes meet a last time, before he takes his last breath.
Philippos leans forward, the king in his arms and his face is covered with dust and dirt, beside two slender stripes, where the brave man's tears take their path.



The battle is over, the Koinon Hellenon has taken a defeat, but at what costs? Only a third of the men who came to fight this day, live to tell the tale. Among the dead are Chremonides Aithalidos and his son Doros, who took their last stand and died side by side as well as Areus, agiad king of Sparte, and Antiochos Soter, Basileus of the Arche Seleukeia, and uncounted numbers of promising men of highest social rank.
Only the Barbaroi may rejoice, as the noble bloom of Greece has been lead to slaughter.

[Lysimachos]

Hey guys.
I don't expect input after every update, but in the long run it is getting quite frustrating. After more than a week with five chapters and no comment I have to realize that I obviously failed to generate lasting interest and as I'm feeling quite silly posting all for myself I've decided to put this to a hold for now.
Thanks to those who took the time to comment in the beginning.

[Hesus de bodemloze]

you are still doing a great job on your aar. maybe it is time to make a signature that is linkt to your AAR.