[EB AAR] The Game of the Fates (UPDATED -- MARCH 15)

[Antiochos VII Sidetes]

Prologue: A Darkened Line

They said that my father was a great man.

They said that he was just, brave, noble in battle, in peace, in administration, and in diplomacy. They said that he broke nations in twain, humbled kings, satraps, princes, before him. And to all of them he acted with the utmost nobility.

All I knew was his cruelty, his frowning, his displeasure. I was never good enough, never wise enough, never bloody Roman enough for the old bastard.

What in the name of Zeus in the Heavens does Roman mean? To be the member of a gasping, dying client state of the Phoenician Empire? To be the member of a state that had lost battle after battle to the forces of King Hannibal? What in the name of the Zeus does being a Roman mean, here in the wilds of Mikra Asia?

And when I threw these arguments in my father's face, he would shake his head. No, he would say, no. It means none of those things, he would say. It means being above the mire that surrounds you, to be honorable, to be noble, to give glory to the Republic that once made nations quake in fear of its name.

And I could never measure up that standard, half-Greek that I was, it would seem. Though he never said as much, that's what I knew: I was a mistake, a punishment sent for one night of ill-thought-out passion. Never mind that my mother was the younger sister of Ptolemaios II Megas, he of the fallen armies on the plains of the Delta. Never mind that I was spawned of the bloodlines of kings older than even the name of my father's beloved nation!

Gnaeus Flavius Decurius, strategos of Lydia and of Ionia, of Pamphylia and Caria, servant of the fallen king Ptolemy the Second of Egypt, was a hard father.

But what do all the long years of his tutelage matter, compared to the last fight? Shouted words, a woman's screams, a diatribe against which I could muster no defense...

And a flight into the night, with only the possessions I carried on my back to come with me.

Thus it has come that Ptolemy Flavius Decurius, descendant of the kings of old and of the purest Roman blood, commands three hundred Cretan and Ionian mercenaries in the army of self-proclaimed king Amyntas Anamixandrid in his daring rebellion against the buckling Seleucid Empire...

But this tale can wait for later. Lasthenes beckons; we set out to terrorize the foe once more, appearing and then disappearing into the night.

I stand, pull on my leather cuirass, and slide down my helmet.

[austinpowers]

interesting start.

[Antiochos VII Sidetes]

Thank you.

[SonOfAlexander]

Don't wait around do you? Though it was like that when you changed to Ultimus Romanorum as well...
Hmm... an interesting start. 1st person now... We'll see if it's better than Eastern Eagle, eh!? Very good anyway, eager to get more details!

[Fixiwee]

Let's see where thise one goes. Gonna follow this one.

[Antiochos VII Sidetes]

My thanks, gentlemen. I hope, as always, to exceed my previous works.

[|Sith|Duke_Spartacus]

if it exceeds ultimaus romanorum ill be trully excited. the last one was of great quality. Im confident you will pull off another masterpiece! great start.

[Ariovistus Maximus]

Oh, splendid! I get to follow one from the beginning.

[dezikeizer]

Interesting start. I'll be following this one.

[Julius Barca the Great]

Well, I'm quite excited. Another Antiochos great, beginning mere days after the second. This little bit looks good. Interesting to see your protagonist on the "bad" side, a rebellion. Unless this prologue is a poor indicator of character status. Hmm...

[Antiochos VII Sidetes]

It's a correct indicator.

[Julius Barca the Great]

Oh, good. Though after posting, I realized that, although character indication may not be flawed, my perception of said characterization could be, and most likely was. It's getting too late for this type of thinking, though. Just post another update so I can cease my interanl argument.

[sinner]

Another AAR so soon, you dont want to give us time to miss you.

[Antiochos VII Sidetes]

Chapter 1: Hymn to Ares

I walk from my tent and raise an eyebrow at Lasthenes. The Cretan shrugs and points in the direction of Amyntas's own lodgings.

"Amyntas wants you, apparently. Try to not to piss him off, eh, Ptolemy?"

I chuckle and nod. "Anything for you, dear Lasthenes. Just make sure the Tigers are ready for anything when I return. I'm sure mighty king Amyntas has more dirty work at hand for us." I turn and begin the walk towards the center of the campsite.

Men have inquired as to why my regiment is known as "Ptolemy's Tigers"; most wonder what a tiger even is. The idea was first planted in my head ten years ago, when I was a mere boy of fourteen, and a traveling animal-tamer showed off his beasts. One of them was a huge, black-striped orange cat said to come from the far East. I gasped as I saw it rend a huge ox into pieces.

So when I formed my company six years later, I named them as such. The ferocity of that beast is present in my men and I would have them remember it.

As I walk, I look about me at Amyntas's army. It is a small affair, not over fifteen thousand men; his recruiting sergeants and generals desperately grasp for more men, sending urgent summons all across the Mediterranean, to the Greek leagues, to mighty Epeiros, to the resurgent Makedonians. I glance leftwards at a laughing group of Egyptians, no doubt come to escape the chafings of Phoenician rule. I had to hand it to Amyntas; he had done much with little.

However, I know not if his father would be pleased at what he is doing; I know my father would not be. Animixandros was of a different generation; he knew that Seleucid suzerainty might be no bad thing for a Syrian kingdom on the border with a massive empire. And so it was; the great king Antiochos II, called Theos, came southwards and fought the Carthaginian Hannibal to a standstill outside of Pelusium.

But things change, it would seem. The Seleucid empire is no longer the Guardian of the East, no longer the colossus it once was. Even before Antiochos was killed in battle against the Baktrians, rebellions had begun to flare. Antiochos's son was thrust into a position that would have defeated great and noble men...

And Seleukos II was no great man.

Yet it is something of an epitaph that a dying state is able to send forth the army that arrays itself against us, even as it thrashes and perishes.

Forty thousand men make up the imperial army, all of them battle-tested veterans from Seleukos's ill-fated Armenian campaign. They are good warriors and good men; I've fought alongside some of them. Their general is a competent leader named Nicanor. Nicanor is a true servant of his House, having been a general in Antiochos II's mighty Pontic campaign; he knows what victory is and how to achieve it.

Yet his army quakes in fear of me.

I set aside my musings as one of Amyntas's royal guards nods to me in recognition and lifts the tent flap. I step inside.

"Well, Amyntas? What do you request of me?" I inquire.

Amyntas is seated at an old wooden desk, poring over mystical and complicated documents I have not the slightest interest in. He looks up and smiles.

"Ah, polemarchos Ptolemy. I have a task for you."

I smirk. "Another raid on their supply line?"

Amyntas shakes his head. "No, I think not. Something more daring and useful this time, I think. I want you and your company to make your way to the enemy encampment and I want you to infiltrate their stables."

I nod. "This can be done. And why do you wish this?"

Amyntas looks at me as if were a fool. "To let kill or let loose all of their cavalry mounts, of course. Now, go! I want to crush this Nicanor tomorrow. I have more important things at hand; the Nabataean Arabs are massing at Petra and this army is needed in the south."

"It shall be done." I turn and exit the tent.

An hour later, my warriors and I set out from the camp and make our way stealthily across the ten miles separating our army from theirs...


As we approach the west side of their encampment, we notice that the pickets are lax; several are visibly intoxicated, sitting around a campfire laughing. The remainder look bored and lean on their spears idly.

In such a state is the discipline of the Seleucid army.

As we approach, I look at Lasthenes and nod. He motions for fifty men, picked warriors all, to follow us.

I raise a hand and ten Cretan warriors step forward and draw arrows, nocking them on their bows; they loose, and the drunk fools sitting around the campfire slump to the ground, several arrows in each of them.

I heft a javelin, mark out my target, and throw; the sentry spins, clutching at his throat, blood fountaining outwards like one of those strange geysers that erupt from time to time.

My men put away or drop their missile weapons and draw swords, designed specifically for close work in the dark; we quietly skirt the edge of the camp until we reach the stables.

"Now!" I whisper urgently. We charge forwards towards the ten or so guards sitting near the entrance to the hastily-constructed stables. They stand; one of them shouts in alarm.

We have little time.

I run towards the one who shouted, blade ready. I bring my sword downwards in a powerful cut; the guard parries with his spear and kicks me in the gut. I fall to the ground, the wind knocked out of me. He stabs downwards; I roll out of the way, slashing at the unprotected back of his calf, my sword biting deep. The man falls to the ground, crying in pain; I stand up and drive my sword through his throat.

I look over at the rest of my men, and nod in satisfaction. They know their craft. As the last of the guards is dispatched, the remainder of my warriors enter the stable with burning brands; they begin their brutal work.

At the sound of angry shouts, my head turns sharply to the left; a knot of nigh-on one hundred Seleucid warriors run towards us, wearing hastily-grabbed bits of armor.

"Lasthenes! Keep them busy! We're almost done!" I shout.

Lasthenes nods grimly, and orders his Cretans about; they launch vollies of arrows into the Seleucid ranks. Men fall, clutching at the shafts sent through their chests or necks. Scattered arrows and javelins fly back at my men; one soldier, a hardy Karian, falls backwards with a javelin thrown straight through his eye-socket, his face a bloody ruin.

The Seleucid soldiers rally as an officer among them directs their rage; they cease their missile attacks and draw spears or swords, charging towards us, the wrath of the House of Seleukos made over in small.

The stables are well and truly blazing now. It is now time for my company to make their exit.

"Men! Fall back to the meeting point!" I yell. They respond quickly, all fifty of them sprinting with Lasthenes and I out of the camp.

The Seleucids follow...

Javelins sail past us, hitting the ground in front of our quickly-moving feet. The man next to me stumbles and falls; a missile thuds into his back. I curse and keep running.

The Seleucids are a mere ten feet or so behind my rapidly-dwindling company, ready to pierce our bodies with their cruel blades.

We see the last row of tents, and run through it out into the open plain.

The Seleucids follow, screaming in rage, blades readied to strike us down...

And from the edges of the encampment spring two hundred of my Ionians, armored in ekdromoi panoply, leather cuirasses and large shields complimented by sturdy helmets and stabbing spears. They form a small phalanx and charge, ramming into the sides of the pursuing Seleucids with a crash of leather and metal on flesh. The imperial warriors turn and fight desperately, bravely, but it is not enough. The last few easterners fall to the ground, gore-encrusted spears falling from their hands.

We jump onto our waiting horses and ride at full speed back to our encampment, secure in the knowledge that we've completed a difficult task well.

For on the field tomorrow, no bold kataphractoi, no charging Companions, no spinning Tarentines shall assail the Animixandrid army.

And we shall show them that the time of Seleucid hegemony is over.

[sinner]

A bit of a commando style, I like it.

[dezikeizer]

Sounds like a trick ancient commanders would definitely use. Great as always.

[Julius Barca the Great]

Quite the character, in comparison to your other two primary protagonists. Sneaking about, setting enemy encampments alight. Makes for an interesting read. Well done on the opener, you definitely have my attention!

[Antiochos VII Sidetes]

A bit of a commando style, I like it.

Thanks. I thought the switch would be interesting. Glad to see it paid off.

Sounds like a trick ancient commanders would definitely use. Great as always.

Thanks! I'm gratified to see that it's plausible.

Quite the character, in comparison to your other two primary protagonists. Sneaking about, setting enemy encampments alight. Makes for an interesting read. Well done on the opener, you definitely have my attention!

Well I can congratulate myself; that's an achievement. Thanks for your comments as always, JB!

[SonOfAlexander]

Amazing... As they said, very like commandos, a real feeling of WW2 patrols But exactly what an ancient commander would have done, although i havent heard of it that often. Anyway, back to 1st person like eastern eagle, but already it is slightly different... your character here is more like Nevitta I think, whereas Ptolemaios Philadelphos was far more a Syagrius Looks like one hell of a trilogy - that is assuming it won't be even bigger!

[Antiochos VII Sidetes]

My thanks. And hopefully it will be!