[EB AAR] The Legacy of Megas Alexandros

[Sunbird Alkibijad]

So when's the next update man, we both seem to have stalled completely? I've finally managed to start the next chapter, check it, maybe you get inspired to answer me with an update of your too?

[Lysimachos]

I don't trade in promises, but the next chapter already has the mind-boggingly huge amount of 13 (in words: thirteen!) lines, so I think I can claim to make good progress

[Sunbird Alkibijad]

Hehe, good to know man! I made 2 updates in last few days, I'm surprising myself, IT'S SHOCKING!

Can't wait for the update!

[Scutarii]

Good to hear you're making progress, Lysimachos. I need to read this AAR to the end.

[Rex Basiliscus]

This is the best AAR I've read so far What is your goal with the Seleucids? Alexander's empire? And when is the next update coming?

[Lysimachos]

Well, well, the amount of lines has more than doubled since my last post
I think an update will be ready in the next one to three days.

I don't have a real goal that I'm trying to achieve; there are some things that I want in, but apart from that I'll have to wait what happens The long term goal of the dynasty is of course to fulfill the Legacy of Megas Alexandros, respectively what I interprete it to be

[Kallum]

thanks to your great AAR I have found EB as well and I thoroughly enjoy it So another thanks and + rep keep up your great work

[Lysimachos]

thanks to your great AAR I have found EB as well and I thoroughly enjoy it So another thanks and + rep keep up your great work

Hey, thanks, it's a pleasure

By the way, It seems like I get more comments if I don't post, so I decided to keep it that way

Not, of course.


I'm not completely satisfied with the following chapter, but I was in need to get something posted and waiting would have delayed the update for yet more days, so here we go

Chapter 38: At the Neilos

The army has travelled over a wide and flat plateau, but at its edge an astonishing view opens itself. Below Antiochos' men the ancient land of Kemet lies, the valley of majestic Neilos, the awe-inspiring king among the rivers, who has come the long way from unknown lands even beyond Nubia, where the dark-skinned people dwell. Uncounted numbers of small sails see-saw on the slowly flowing waters which are bordered by fruitful soil, lush green palm groves and outspread acres, from which the bread-basket of the east is filled.
Some scattered cheers sound from the leading parts of the army and spread, when the soldiers learn from the news that the scarce and dusty plain has been left behind and the rich land of Aigyptos lies right below them.
But there is one man who is in no cheerful mood, for he knows that although the enemy's wealth seem to be in reach of his hands, he knows that in reality the challenge is still to come, for the heart of Ptolemaios Philadelphos' kingdom lies beyond the protection by the Neilos' wide and deep waters and is secured by the king's best soldiers and the vast manpower that he is able to command.

The Basileus gathers his officers before the owl-light falls. "Companions," he calls out, "We shall not be fooled by our easy advance." Antiochos stands among them, the setting sun enclosing him in a fiery red halo. His eyes seek contact with the ones watching him and his voice is insistent.
The men, some if them seasoned commanders themselves and notably older than their king, hang on every word, as if he has bound his spell again. The euphoria which was dulling their minds has given way for the necessary concentration.
"Our scouts have reported enemy spotters regularly over the last days. Our adversary is aware of every move we make, while we still don't know what he has in store. It is imperative that whatever action we take, it has to be planned and executed with care. We are far from any reinforcements, while those of the foe see no end."
The king pauses, giving the obvious time to become realized.
"We might be able to supply ourselves for a while on this bank, but I am sure that Ptolemaios has taken care not to leave too many reserves back where we can access them easily. To feed the host and to win the war we have to defeat the river first."

The next day the army proceeds to descend into the Neilos' down. The men soak in the rich air and marvel at the soft and fertile black soil, but safety remains an illusion. On the river float warships observing every step they take and beyond the waters lies the camp of Demophon, the Galatian Boar, with his now reinforced army. More disquieting news are soon to follow: a second army in the north, hiding behind fortifications.
Again, the king calls upon his council of officers.

"No arrow has been shot, no spear thrusted and no shield shattered, yet has Ptolemaios taken position to deal his first blow," proclaims Antiochos with hoarse voice. "If we try to cross the river we will be driven into the water from two sides, but if we turn against the northern detachment, the fleet will be used to quickly strike in our back, before we can overcome the defenders."
Conciliatory he raises his hands. "But we are far from lost! Too convinced of my eagerness to fight is he, too confident in the temptation of offering me battle, to close all gates of his country."
His speech has become very low, but everyone around listens with care not to miss a word.
"A day, when destiny is written, has come, but this time, this time I do not choose the call of thunder, but the cloak of the thief, to accompany my move."

[Kallum]

The AARtist formerly known as Kallum

lol mate

anyway nice update looking forward to the battle

[Lysimachos]

anyway nice update looking forward to the battle

Battle? Did someone say battle?

[Juvenal]

I do hope you realise that you have many more readers than just those who post on your thread. I notice you have over 4,000 views now.

A story as accomplished as this deserves to be completed. The Basileus and his heir are now so well developed as characters that to deny them a resolution to their saga would be almost a criminal act! (I'm sure there is something in the European Convention on Human Rights proscribing the cruel and unusual punishment of non-corporeal minorities. )

I fervently hope that you have not lost momentum. I have experienced such in my own writing, but found that playing the campaign gave me fresh ideas even after I had thought that everything had become boring and predictable.

Anyway, I have faith in your ingenuity, especially after you managed to create an entire chapter (13) from the trait-lists of Antiochos II and Sarpedon!

Well done for your splendid creation.

[Lysimachos]

Thank you, I'm honoured by your encouragement. I still have too many plans (including the sons of Seleukos Kallinikos, the younger of whom isn't even born at this point of the story ) to let this die, although it may take a sleep now and then.

By the way, I've just written the first words of chapter 39

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 39: The Early Bird Catches The Worm

Wood is creaking rhythmically while the stream is gently dandling the vessel on its waves. The sun already has risen above the eastern plateau and the light of her rays carefully feels its way through the curtains hanging from the shelter on the ship's deck. A thin finger of light touches Demophon's nose and its tickling provokes a loud sneeze, pulling the Galates out of his doze.
In an eye's blink he is fully awake. In a smooth motion he rolls over the slave girl by his side and with the feet first on the wooden ground. The Boar slips through the curtains and at the sight of the sun immediately frowns. "Why haven't I been waken?" he calls out and one of his officers approaches. "Commander, there hasn't been a reason. We haven't received any news."
Demophon grunts. "That doesn't feel right. He is not the man to just sit and wait there!" With wide steps he takes the distance to the back side of the ship, where the captain shares the idleness of his crew. "Bring us closer to the shore, quick!"
Unrest and anger rise in Demophon's heart, while he waits for the oarsmen to move the vessel against the Neilos' powerful flow.
The captain raises his arm, pointing on white awnings visible among the palm groves at the eastern shore. "You see, sir, nothing changed!"
An angry, piercing look hits him from above and the large general grunts scornfully at the Machimos. "Send a boat to Ankhwennefer's camp. He shall investigate this."

Some time goes by, way too much for Demophon's liking, until another ship comes up the stream, the oarsmen rowing with brutal speed. Quickly it catches up to the Boar's provisional command ship, carrying the anticipated message. "Commander! They are gone! All gone in the night!"
A furious roar sounds over the rhythmically moving waves, discharged from the huge Galatian's lungs.
"Return to Ankhwennefer and tell him to advance and secure what ever they left behind!" he shouts over to the other ship, which immediately falls back, when the oars are lifted from the water and the stream takes the vessel with it.
"And you," Demophon turns to the egyptian captain, "call two ships to go upstream at once to warn every garrison along the river." His light blue eyes follow the course of the king of rivers.
"Then we will cross. We have to buy time, time for the upper kingdom to mobilize."

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 40: Lessons


A young man strides along the lanes between the encampment's tents, the light of fires and torches reflecting in his keen eyes. The heat of the day has been driven away by the chill of the night and he has wrapped a dark green Chlamys, a short coat, around his shoulders.
The Hypaspistai guarding the king's tent salute him and he enters through the curtain that is functioning as the door. "Basileus," he respectfully addresses his sovereign, who thoughtfully reclines on a divan.
Antiochos Theos wears a simple Chiton and the tent also is sparsely decorated, shadows dance on naked tarpaulin, thrown by the large fire in the middle of the compartment.
"Sit down, cousin," the king speaks and watches his visitor.
"Sire." Antiochis, eldest son of Andromachos, the Satrapes Persikos, gathers his coat and takes a seat on a chair cushion face to face with the Basileus.
"I have completed my walkabout. The watch has taken positions as instructed and is alert."
Theos silently nods. His eyes are moonily directed in the distance, as he sips at his goblet. In the past days Antiochis has noticed that the king waters his wine, due to the increasing shortage in the army's provisions. It might not be for the worst, after all.
The befalling silence is disturbed only by the crackling of the fire eating away wood.


"Basileus, allow me a question." Some minutes have past in silence, before the young man finally speaks out again. The king's eyes focus on his young visitor and his mouth produces a muted, approving sound.
"The enemy is closely following all our steps, always almost upon us. Shouldn't we attack, before they can reinforce themselves? You don't seem to be bothered by their presence in our back, instead rushing the army further up country. Why is this?"
With a sigh Antiochos sits up, stretching his arms. "Why is General Demophon following us so closely?" - "He is trying to impose pressure on us."
Antiochos nods and slowly raises himself from the divan, forcing his young cousin to stand up as well. "So, what's he going to achieve with that?" He is staring into the fire, watching the flames.
"Perhaps he is trying to push us into a trap," speculates Andromachos' son.
"No." The king decisively shakes his head. "There is no trap. Our turn south has not been anticipated or else we would have met an army already, but there is none, not in the range of weeks. Demophon doesn't try to push, but to hold us." The fire's dry heat hurts Antiochos' eyes and he turns toward his cousin. "He is following in close distance to pose a constant threat, in order to force us to adapt and to delay our progress. Once he realizes that it isn't doing much good, Demophon will attack, I have no doubt."
Theos slowly lowers himself on the divan. "And then, we will teach him a lesson."


Spit fizzles in the fire. The huge Galates brings himself onto his feet. "So let's just do this. At dawn we'll be upon them." Taking a deep breath, the general's hands close in front of his face and slowly slide over his shaven skull, before resting behind his neck.
"We will prey on them," the older Galatian answers, a man who has been a brother to Demophon for years, not by parents' blood, but by the blood they shed together in battle. Gaisio's broad and leathery face is adorned with a long, diagonal scar, still marking where once a blade split his nose. His hair is ash-grey, falling untamed down his shoulders.
Demophon looks up, his grinning teeth reflecting the fire. "Make sure the men are ready." - "They will be, commander, they will be."
Gaisio already is, the warrior's heart that is beating in his chest longs for the fray, but he also knows, the day of the deciding battle still is uncertain and he may need to wait for the time to come, when he himself will fight in battle with his brothers in arms.


A new day is born and under the warm, red light of the morning's sun the battle lines are closing in on each other. Despite the Boar's ruthless resolve, the men on the field have little doubt about the outcome of the day. Too few are rallied among his banner, too hardened the seleukid king's veterans. The men don't know they were not led here to win, but only to inflict as much damage as possible. They march into battle, in hope their commander's plan will soon unfold and turn the tide. They march and they die, die to buy someone else the time to sharpen his blade, die under the merciless shower of kretan arrows, die on the pikes' tips of seleukid Pezhetairoi, die by the lances of the Hetairoi, die beneath the indian beasts in their rage, while their commander silently watches and rearranges his hand.

[Lunchbox]

A well written update and return to a excellent AAR,

Im glad this one is alive again, Keep up the excellent work

[Lysimachos]

A well written update and return to a excellent AAR,

Im glad this one is alive again, Keep up the excellent work

Thanks

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 41: Days of Despair


Led by a rugged, dusty track half a dozen men ride toward their destiny. As rugged is the surrounding landscape, rough hills covered by meagre grass and poorly grown bushes.
The horses are lean and weak and so are the men on their backs, wrapped in dirty coats, bearing the history of their travel in matted hair and written in dark rings around their eyes.
"Off the road! Quick!" barks the man at the front, turning his horse to the side, off the pitiful path and into the barren land, where the other horsemen unhesitatingly follow.
In the west, whereto the track leads, a cloud of dust slowly grows at the horizon, signalling the approach of a larger group.
While crossing a slope the second rider catches up. "Won't they see our trails?" - "They will," the first one grimly answers. "But only if they look for them."
The man turns around and then leaps from his horse. "Dismount here and make the horses lie down!" With some quick steps he runs up to the ridge where he hits the ground to watch the road.
A moment later the second rider crawls up beside him, releasing a suppressed groan.
"It is good to have you here, Gorgias," mumbles the man and Gorgias Dahaikos answers in a low voice: "My ancestors come from these lands. It seems there is still something left from it in my blood, my king."
Silently the junior Basileus and his right-hand man lie upon the hill, watching a host of several hundred horsemen passing by. Their spare horses are laden with goods and a considerable number of the men bears signs of a battle, not long ago.
Seleukos Kallinikos buries his face in his hands. His body is shaking, the travails and privations of the last weeks finally breaking his resistance, taking their toll. His voice is feeble, barely audible. "It is over. There's nothing we can do. So futile."





Grey clouds obscure the sky, chilly wind comes down through the gorge. A forgotten place, left alone by all but who seek reclusion. Two wanderers slowly ascend the gravel covered inclination. They are disguised with hooded cloaks, assisting the cumbersome ascension with wooden staffs.
A lonesome homestead, almost leaning against the rocks for protection from the wind, is what they are heading for.
An elderly man steps out of the enclosure, a steadfast grip around a sword. "What is your business here, strangers? If you come for robbery, you'll have to buy it with your blood," he calls out.
The two strangers hold their advance till one steps forward, recognizing the shield in the man's hand as the one of a Pezhetairos. "We are no robbers. I'm a makedonian myself, like you. All we seek is a place to rest for the night. And we have silver." Some coins sparkle in his hand, which emerges from the shadow under his cloak.
The older man closely examines them. They don't look trustworthy with their wildly grown beards and their dirty cloaks, but their eyes look tired and matt, too matt to hide falseness from him.
Slowly he lowers the sword. "Your silver is worth nothing out here. But a roof over your heads you shall have tonight and a hearty soup, if you wish."
The stranger slides the coins back in the pouch at his belt. "We are grateful for your kindness, good man, a kindness that life has not often bestowed on us in these days."
He points his hand towards his companion. "This man's name is Gorgias and I am..." He slightly hesitates, just enough to be noticeable, before he finishes: "... Demetrios."
"Very well, Demetrios. My name is Akakios and I welcome you to my home."

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 42: A Fateful Farewell


"Come, sit down." Akakios points toward his fireplace. "I'll put the cauldron over the fire."
Gratefully Kallinikos and Gorgias alight onto the tamped floor, trying to shake the exhaustion out of their limbs. They have been bereft of the comfort of a warm place and a roof for a long time indeed. An odyssey led them to Akakios' home and it is far from over yet.
Only few survived the massacre which Artabarzan's troops inflicted upon the army and the following flight. Then, the king and the last of his men tried to reached the supposed safety of the Hyrkanian Wall, but soon they had to realize that Hyrkania, the province which nestles up against the south of the Caspian, with its capital Zadrakata has already been overrun. Filled with despair, the small group turned east, up into the hills of Astauene, but they had not seen the worst of it: In an ambush they lost the last of their companions and their horses to a gang of ordinary robbers.
Trying to avoid attention they finally found themselves in front of Akakios' humble home, a harbourage in an unimagined site.


Akakios without haste takes a seat on a small and simple stool. A groan escapes his mouth and a hand involuntarily moves to his lower back, but obviously he overcomes the pain and begins to observe his rugged guests.
"I have chosen this place for its quietness and solitude, but it is a necessity sometimes to have a talk, just to preserve a sound state of mind. Rarely I travel down to the next village to trade and even more unusual are visitors. So, would you mind telling me about yourselves?"
The two guests trade quick glances and Seleukos reluctantly starts to speak. "We are merchants and were on our way to Asaak, when we were robbed."
Their host slowly lifts his brows. "I see." Encouraged by this reaction, the young king continues his tale. "Sadly we lost our way thereafter, because our guide has been killed."
"In all your misfortune, you must have been very lucky, as those robbers have left those magnificent swords in your possession," Akakios retorts in a calm voice. Kallinikos and Gorgias again glance at each other, obviously concerned this time. Telling tales wasn't among their greatest talents, after all.
"You know, young man," Akakios continues, now watching the water in the cauldron, "you bear a striking resemblance to someone I once served with, or rather served under."
Kallinikos intuitively covers his forehead with a hand, turning his face into the shadow. "I, uh, I get that a lot."
The older man slowly nods. "I'm sure you do. But enough of these pleasantries. Not long ago, when I went to the village to barter wool, I met some... merchants not much unlike you. They had uncomforting news from across the ridge and I'm quite sure, you'd like to know. The gate to the north has fallen and the Satrapes of Margiana is slain. And Theodotos, his colleague in Baktra, claims that the dynasty of Seleukos has failed to protect the Hellenes of the east. He now calls himself a king and accepts no master any more."





The news that Akakios delivered came as a shock and the two travellers decided there was no time to allow themselves a longer rest, a rest they longed for so desperately. And another decision has been made to rescue the empire.


"This is where we have to part, my king. I wish you farewell," Gorgias mumbles. A sigh comes from Kallinikos' throat. Abruptly he grips his companions shoulders and embraces him. "You will always be my friend, my brother. Your strength has always been my avail and I will need it again. I will not allow you not to meet me again. You here me?" He pads his friend's back and then releases him. "See you then, Gorgias."
The addressed silently nods and turns away, heading for Hekatompylos, capital of the Satrapy of Parthyaia, where he shall organize the defence against the Parnoi and their Dahae brothers.
The sadness fills Kallinikos as if it was poured into him. Here I send him away, the only friend that I have left, perhaps send him into his death, a worthless, futile death. But I do not dare to face the devils again! Cold fear grips his heart at the thought of his most memorable day, that day when he had to watch his soldiers being slaughtered by Artabarzan's skilled butchers, the day when he repaid the trust, which his father and the men who were to serve had put in him, with failure.
Silently he watches Gorgias walk away towards his destiny, before finally the young king breaks away from his idle contemplation and turns towards his own, to the east, towards the pass that will lead him over the ridge and down to the valley of the Ochos river.

[Lysimachos]

Chapter 43: A Good Day To Die


"I'm tired of this," Gaisio bawls. His speech is slurred and his motions not as firm as usual. The fires paint flickering shadows on his face and naked upper body. "I've had enough!" he growls. The grey-haired warrior reaches up with his right hand and grabs his commander's neck, pulling Demophon's head down a little. Their faces are a few centimetres apart and the men smell each other's breath. Gaisio rolls his head and distorts his scarred visage in a drunk man's grimace.
"I've had enough of watching others fight!" He raises his left hand and watches it while he slowly closes the fist and spins the forearm in a pulling motion. "I want to spill someone's blood, rip his damn guts out of his jerking body!"
A hearty laugh arises from around the two of them, they are among their brethren, Galatai, all decorated warriors, wearing their golden torques and their scars with pride.
"You will," Demophon barks into Gaisio's face, leaving drops of spit on his cheek. With a primal scream the galatian general closes his muscular arms around Gaisio, with a sudden pull unbalancing the old warrior and then hurling him away in a spinning motion, accompanied by a loud hoot from the watchers.
Gaisio absorbs the momentum with some staggering steps, then turns around and in playful rage sounding his battle cry. Demophon braces for the attack, but Gaisio's shoulder hits him hard in the upper belly and this time the taller man is caught off balance. Gaisio bounces back, unable to balance himself, succumbing to his insobriety and together they go down.
Another hoot sounds from their comrades and they both fall into a gasping laughter. Demophon turns himself around with a jerk and lifts himself up.
"Soon, Gaisio, soon you will!"





"This will be the first time that we will actually be tested," Antiochos Theos addresses his young cousin. "For the first time, Demophon outnumbers us. Today he will not fight to distract us or to pose his resolve. He will hold back nothing, because he fights to defeat me and I will not allow that, because it would be our undoing."
Again the king observes the enemy's battle formation, then turns back to Antiochis. "Now go, take your position on the left wing. This will be a day to remember!"
"Yes, Sire!" The young man's face gleams, he is proud of the command assigned to him, eager to prove his worthiness and to write history. With a yell he drives his horse forward and hurries to the left wing, his wing, in front of the assembled army.


It is the third time that Demophon Paraitonios faces the seleukid king. But today things are different. Today he is needed at the front and around him he has gathered his fellow Galatai, the most deadly fighters that Ptolemaios Philadelphos commands.
Antiochos has brought the elite of his empire, but Demophon has the numbers in his favour and his men are used to the unique climate of the Neilos valley.
Although a Galates, he leads an army trained in the fashion of the Makedonians and so he employs one of their simple tactics: holding the left flank while crushing the right one in order to break the enemy's phalanx from the side. And a general who wants to win, chooses his place there, among those men who he expects to deal the decisive blow.


Both armies have completed arranging themselves, like huge beasts lurking above the Nile, and almost simultaneously start to move again, like answering to an unwritten agreement between their leaders. So many battles start alike, the Phalanxes moving forward till they meet, but for those who march in the lines it is always new and threatening. But it is not the ones inside the tightly packed Phalanxes who are the least fortunate.
While those centrepieces remain in almost beautiful order, at the flanks the ferocious chaos of battle quickly sweeps aside the deceitful safety of a companion fighting close at either side.
Here fight those, who can be trusted most, and among them are both leaders, each at the right side of his host, trying to break the other one's left.


Antiochis tries to get a general idea. His responsibility is to hold his wing together. He hurries back and forth, pushing the men forward, plugging holes that open, stepping in wherever necessary.
An imposing figure catches his eye: A huge man, towering above all around him and Antiochis recognizes how they look up to him, how he poses a linchpin in the enemy's movement.
Only a blink of an eye separate the moment of this sight sinking in and the following decision. "Hetairoi, with me!" calls Antiochis and his Ile closely follows, with their strong mounts pushing aside whoever gets in their way.
Battle cry on their lips the Hetairoi forcefully break into their foe's ranks. Antiochis has his aim fixed, nothing is able to distract him, violently he pushes the horse forward.
There, the huge man, oh, how powerful his movements, how much joy he seems to find when his heavy sword comes down on his victims. He raises his arm again, someone has to await another blow - but! - he hesitates and astonishment shows on his face. He looks down and the shaft of a Xyston protrudes from his side, blood running down the wood. Demophon's sword descends on the lance, cutting a deep cleavage without breaking the wood. He tries to lift his arm another time, but his strength volatilizes and with a triumphant yell on his lips Antiochis thrusts the Xyston deeper into the Galatian's body.


Demophon feels anger and disappointment. Had it to be this way? A moment of negligence and some milksop finishing him off? He is angry, but his body refuses to react, refuses to allow the rage to burst out. The pain becomes numb and his vision blurs. At least, it somehow is a good day to die.


"Forward!" shouts Antiochis. Skewered on the top of his Xyston is Demophon's severed head and the enemy's right wing crumbles at the sight of their Strategos' untimely end. The right wing, which had been supposed to win the battle!
"Forward!" Antiochis pushes, exhilarated, euphoric in triumph. A snap sounds below him, as his mount breaks down in pain, the hamstrings in its hind legs severed with one cut of a sharp blade. Antiochis tumbles, falls. Too sudden the shock, too unaware of the things around him. The hard impact benumbs him for a moment, but a piercing pain in his belly jolts him from the drowsiness. He just realizes that a sword has been plunged into his lower body, just below the edge of his cuirass, when a hand grips his hair and jerks his head around. Two cold eyes stare into his, embedded in a broad, leathery face with an ugly diagonal scar.
"When you meet my lord in the afterlife, tell him, Gaisio has taken revenge for his death," the grey-haired warrior snarls and bares his teeth. An unbearable pain surges through Antiochis when Gaisio violently sways the blade in the young man's body and relieving unconsciousness closes its arms around him.





The warrior king looks down on the cold body at his feet and anguish suddenly rises in his chest. He kneels and carefully closes his hands around Antiochis' head. He knows, what he feels is regret, a feeling which for a long time had not been at home in his heart. But now, seeing his cousin's innocent face, now mutilated by a cramped grimace, framed by the dark hair clotted with blood and dust, something moves inside the tough man fate has meant him to be.
"I'm so sorry. I failed you, I failed you," the Basileus ton Basileon mumbles with a hardly audible voice.

[Sunbird Alkibijad]

Lovely revival man, lovely