[RS 2.1a Roman (Auxiliary) AAR] Legacy Of The Father [COMPLETE]

[McScottish]

Not nit-picking but would Salonae have been snowy, wouldn't it have a Mediterranean climate, so more likely wet in winter? Artistic license I guess.

Are you still using RS2 for this, if so I was wondering how you are game playing with the Eastern and Western sides?

Anyway, excellent as ever.

Firstly, yes. You're probably right, but I take such things not into consideration!

As for your second question, I am. I'm using RS2 still and simply playing the Eastern and Western halves of the empire as separate theatres. Titus (in-game character and AAR character both) is representing the head of the east and Publius the west. I'm basically just playing them as different halves, though in the campaign of the game they're still just one empire.

[McScottish]

The Story So Far... – Summer 624 A.U.C to Winter 625 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“So you're telling me that you swam the full breadth of the Danuvius, in full armour and bearing all your arms, then you clambered out and onto the eastern shore, before making ready with a bow, shooting an arrow into the sky and then releasing a second arrow after it to split the other arrow in half?”

Avidius translated all of this with the ease and skill of a man who took his occupation very seriously, taking his time over it so that his brother understood exactly what I had said. When he had finished, his eyes turning back to me, those of Berengar also caught me in their gaze and a wide-mouthed grin slightly softened the scarred features of his face for a moment.

“Géa,” he grunted, confirming the story his brother had been told to tell me, “sóþsagu.”

What he had essentially told me was that his story was true, but I, of course, did not believe it in the slightest. Although, if I was to believe it, I would believe it only because it was Berengar claiming it, and he looked like a man who could prove his claims with ease.

“You both talk so much shi-”

I was cut off in my denial of their shared story by the arrival of a shadow to our fireside, falling across me from behind and blocking out any light from the waning winters sun. It was cold enough as it was, the fire rather pitiful, and this only incensed me further.

“Centurio Laenas, Publius Augustus wishes for you to attend the gathering he is holding in the praetorium. This is not a request.”

The man who spoke to me, an Alpini by the looks of him, at least he must have been in my mind, stood behind me dressed in the uniform of the Ala Tertiae Thracum and bearing the customary long-bladed spatha of his profession. He wore no markings of rank, nor of identification, but if he spoke for Caesar then I had no choice but to follow him to the large praetorium which Publius had placed within the centre of his mountain encampment.

Without a single word exchanged between us, we strode over the slowly freezing ground for over half an hour, clambering up a mildly steep slope and my backside growing very nearly as cold as the heart of Medusa and twice as numb.

Two steely-eyed Praetorians watched us carefully as we approached, their eyes moving little beneath their helmet rims, blue shields painted with the ornate symbols of the Praetorian Guard were leant against their thighs whilst a hasta spear was clutched in the hand of the opposite side.

As we got closer, our faces and uniforms easily recognisable, the previously crossed spears were drawn back and two salutes given us in unison. It was a right, to be saluted as a senior officer though I was greener than Ceres hair, that never seemed to lose its pleasurable impression on me, massaging my ego like a highly skilled Parthian courtesan. One of the many privileges that came of being the Emperors closest advisor.

Inside the tent I was greeted by a number of smells, sights and sounds, such as the wave of warmth that hit my face and exposed limbs as I entered and the stench of something, or some one, quite barbarous indeed. Speaking of which, both on either side of the highest seat in the praetorium, and placed at intervals around the inside of the tent, stood the stocky and long-haired figures of the Chatti Guard.

This elite corps of men, made up of Chattian exiles and runaways from their previously Boii occupied homelands who had sought service with the empire instead, protected his august caesar with their lives wherever he went and in whatever situation he got himself into. If they were to be compared to the now soft Nervians of Titus, well, their superiority was never in question from me.

“Laenas, good of you to join us,” spoke Publius Augustus from his high chair upon a recently constructed dais, the area before him clear of furniture, the entire scene looking more like that of a king or a Hellenistic tyrant than of a Roman Caesar.

“Supreme Augustus,” I said with a precise salute, “Nobilissimus Caesar,” another salute to Publius the Younger, sat on a lower but no less grand chair on the right hand of his father. A gesture noted by all who saw it, never to be forgotten who was the ruler of the Roman Empire and who was his chosen heir by blood-right and succession.

When I turned to take up my position amongst a gathered crowd of high-ranking men, both politically and militarily represented, the Alpini who had bought be to the tent was gone and the buzzing of the assemblies speech was slowly dying down.

“Gathered Romans and friends of Roma, behold!” Half-yelled the Emperor, raising himself from his seat and clapping his hand together, the finely made toga he wore folded about him shifting this way and that with every movement of his body.

From behind the dais and seat of power were dragged a number of figures, each chained by their hands and feet but not enough to obstruct their movements entirely. For prisoners still needed to walk, did they not?

“I present to you, my comrades, a number of the enemies of Roma who would dare to challenge us but who, instead, have been bought before me.”

There were five of them, some certainly warriors of the Dacii, and at least one seemingly more regal than the others in bearing.

“Getius Per Troesmis, emissary of the Dacian king and people. He who refused to grant us tribute and possession of Aquincum, as well as the province of Pannonia Superior. So here he is,” the bearded and emaciated diplomat was slammed to his knees and shortly followed by four others, “Asteropaios, Ciconus Per Cebonie, Eumolpus, all generals of the enemy who seeks to drive us from our new found lands,” it was then that the more majestic, certainly better fed and more muscular than the others, was bought in and refused to kneel, a German stepping forward and hammering the butt of his spear into the back of the mans knee.

“Look upon the face of Dacian royalty, the barbarism and savagery only too clear to we who know the true ways of civilisation. The rather hubris named...Prince Ares of Dacia.”

Many around the room snorted into their half-cut wine, others moved in for a closer look at the five prisoners of war, I simply stood in what could be considered the metaphorical 'shadows' of the grand tent and sought to see what happened next.

I did not have to wait long...

No sooner had Prince Ares, aptly named when one considered his size matched that of Berengar, amongst others, his full red beard certainly giving him the appearance of an angry God of war, been forced to his knees than he was back on his feet again. It was a manoeuvre that very few men, let alone civilised men, are capable of, leaping from a kneeling position, but he managed it in a single thrust of his trunk-like legs.

With so much gloating and satisfaction coming from the collected Romans, it took them too long to even realise that an enemy was free in their midst, Ares lashing out to strangle a nearby senator with his creaking and rusty chains, the mans neck breaking before anyone could stop the enraged Dacian blue-blood.

He must have known however, how could he not have, that there was no escaping from such a display of aggression and violence. Even as he bolted for the rear of the tent, two Germani stepped before him and bludgeoned him with the bosses of their hexagonal shields, hitting him repeatedly so that he could neither keep his balance nor orientate himself properly. The four others Dacians had not followed his actions, all having been grabbed by two Germans each.

“Kill them,” spat Publius the Elder, “kill them immediately and in my majestic presence.”

The Chattians had no qualms about killing, whether Romans or other foreigners, only Getius calling out in Latin to release him and spare his life...it availed him none. All five were pierced by many spear thrusts, heads cut from shoulders with swings of Germanic longswords, before being displayed on wooden stakes along the approach-way to the praetorium.

“Now that that business is concluded,” he said with a grimace, once the corpses had been removed, “let us get back to that which is at hand.”

I shall tell you what was at hand at that moment, for it is important for you as the reader to know, and it was this.

Our army had been split before we had began the siege of Sarmizegetusa Regia, a legion taking itself et auxilia eius as well as further independent auxiliary forces to each of the most prominent Dacian fortifications and fortified settlements. Their sole duties to starve or storm the inhabitants into submission, the fate of those within to be decided by the Emperor as he saw fit.

The Praetorian Guard, at full legion strength, along with the Chatti Guard, had been building siege machines throughout the winter, ever since we had reached the area surrounding the mountain stronghold of the Dacians. It had been bitter work in the winter, hands freezing and fingers turning black, but we had managed to construct rams, siege towers and to dig a tunnel that would allow us to undermine a major section of the wall. This last part had been the hardest of all, days and days of digging and toiling into a mountain face, more than any but the bravest and strongest could bare.

Once all was ready, we would storm the walls of the fortress whilst our Emperor watched, enemy deserters informing us that the capital did not hold the Dacian king, but that it did hold a number of elite, well armed and well armoured Dacian warriors who were charged with giving their lives in the defence of the city. We would need to kill every single one of them if we were to gain utter victory and dominion over the people of the temple-fortress.

There has also been military victories, our forces not marching through Pannonia Inferior and Dacia entirely unopposed, yet, as Publius was heard to say, “these rustics are so inept.”

A cavalry millaria is made up of approximately one-thousand cavalrymen, usually auxiliaries taken from peoples with a fine tradition of horsemanship and led by Roman officers. It is commonplace, as they are the best-of-the-best of the empires cavalry, to station only one millaria within each province of the empire and use them only when it is entirely required, leaving the main duties up to the more standard alae or less skilled horsemen of the more numerous cohors equitata.

Publius Imperator had bought at least six, thousand-strong, formations of Thracian auxiliary horsemen to this campaign and, thus far, it had been they who had been gaining all the glory of military victories. Some, such as the millaria of Gnaeus Varro, had been severely mauled by constant Dacian assaults, but they still went about their duties as true Romans should.

The forces they had faced, that any of us had faced this far into the campaign, had been comprised mostly of bearded farmers wielding clubs and knotted pieces of wood, interspersed with some semi-regular infantry formations and at least one or two of more heavily armoured and formidable Dacian troops.

It was also quite disconcerting that, in spite of its position as a Roman province, many Thracian warriors had been seen fighting alongside the Dacii, lending their skills as skirmishers and some wielding the dreaded rhomphaia with mortal intent. These men were struck off as 'free Thracians' or mere mercenaries, but they would not be forgotten once the campaign was over, our Emperor made that clear enough.

So there we were, Sarmizegetusa Regia squatting atop its mountain fastness like some sort of disgruntled deity, its bleak stone walls staring down at us and the rare glitter of weapons or armour once in a while. An unnerving objective, but nothing that the finest fighting men in all the empire should not be able to overcome.

But that, my friends, is yet for you to know.

- B. M. Laenas

[McScottish]

Aftermath of Battle – Winter 625 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I tried to recall all that I had seen and experienced in the last few hours of constant fighting, slumping heavily down to sit upon a piece of wattle-and-daub covered masonry that was now cloaked in ice, glimmering like a precious jewel in the dimming days sun and causing me more than a little measure of discomfort once I placed my rump upon it. Nonetheless, I could not bodily have stood for much longer, feeling within and without as if my entire being had become stupefied and lethargy taking hold at a pace swifter than I would have liked.

My helmet, a simple one of iron, undecorated but for a pair of stylised eyebrows above the rim, was placed beside me, my gladius laid across my shuddering knees with bloodstains still visible on the twin-edged blade. In a similar fashion, once I removed my hand from the black pommel of the weapon, holding it up before my eyes, I observed it moving as if agitated, quivering and jerking this way and that, my own force of will making me bend my fingers into a fist until such convulsions ceased altogether.

Memories were few, and those I had retained in my mind were quite scattered, bits and pieces of far-away daydreams mixed with the very real stenches of sweat, piss and blood. In these visions I could see my own limbs, sword and shield gripped firm, my comrades around me and the overwhelming urge to turn around and run as far away as possible as quickly as possible. Yet somehow, for all that, I had remained with my brethren and bought neither them nor myself any such dishonour and, maybe not in my mind alone, I had passed the very first and one of the hardest tests a soldier...nay, a warrior, could endure.

And I ached. I ached as I never had before, or thought possible, and it seemed to be an ache that moved from the top of my body right down to the tips of my toes, and included everything in between.

My head hummed like a swarm of bees, my eyes sore and watering, my nose running and my mouth oddly dry in such moist weather conditions as gripped the winter landscape of this foreign land. Each of my arms felt heavy, like a lead weight each, dropping uselessly into my lap and moving not from there in any quick order. Further toward the centre, my ribs certainly bruised, if not broken, by a Dacians falx which had sheared a hole into my mail and fractured a number of the carefully crafted links which made up the protective tunic of iron. Lower, below my pelvis, my thighs felt as if they had an inner fire or flame encased in their flesh, burning with every movement I made and my knees oddly stiff and fixed fast in place.

Then it happened without warning, one moment I was sitting and contemplating, and the next I was bent forward and felt the acidic tang of bile and vomit rising from my throat. A moment later and I was wiping my lips, my entire body racked with shakes, before a thud and a hammering blow to my back made me rise half-way from the splintered rock on which I was sat.

“Berengar says that you will get used to it.”

The giant of a German squatted next to me, his leaner but more educated brother simply standing and surveying the carnage around us. To our front and all around lay the bodies, or at least parts of them, from Roman, Dacian and German all.

As my mind became clearer, the purging of my body by itself having seemingly shifted something in my head, I recalled how the battle had begun for me and the part of sappers I had lead down into the deep bowels of the earth to undermine a large section of the enemies wall. It had been cramped in their, suffocating, my knuckles scraped and bleeding even as I sat and remembered, skin taken off by sharp rock and jagged flint. Even the cloak of my grandfather had suffered, parts of it torn to shreds and the overall colour more than of soot and night, rather than the chequered plaid it usually was.

We had done all we could and, eventually, the supports had been removed and we had made a hasty retreat back to the surface, where fresh air was plentiful and the light hurt the eyes if one opened them too quickly.

By the time we, myself and a number of Praetorian Guardsmen, had reassembled, the assault upon Sarmizegetusa Regia had already began. Two rams, the only rams we had, were alight and sending billowing clouds of smoke up into the sky, archers using fire-arrows having picked them off from the towers on either side of the gates before the large suspended logs could do there work and gain us an entry into the city.

Meanwhile, having the position of honour, the first cohort of the Praetorians had used ladders and were already atop the walls and battling for their lives against foes that were immeasurably superior to those Dacians that had been fought before.

Further to the right, along the wall, three cohorts of Praetorians wheeled a siege tower into position, the enemy having concentrated their forces without any thought to incursions from elsewhere. It would take the three cohorts the duration of the battle to clamber from the ground, up the tower, onto the enemy walls and then even longer to reach any sort of combat.

For a moment we were quite unsure if the undermining had worked, the wall looking as sturdy as it had always done. That was until a crack appeared, then, slowly but surely, the wall began to cave in on itself, falling deeper into the earth and toppling in all directions at once with a resounding crash that caused a cheer to go up from our soldiers.

Under orders from Praetorian Prefectus Pera, I took command of the German Bodyguard and led them toward the breach in the cities defences. They clashed spear hafts and swords on shield-rims as they marched, chanting the barritus of their individual tribes, each one a different sound and adding an extra layer of noise and clamour to their advance.

As we got nearer, I espied a single large group of Dacians waiting for us, I saw them and almost laughed at what I believed would be an easy obstacle to overcome. This would prove to be a highly unfounded assumption on my part, one that would be turned on its head during the next few hours of fighting.

Each Dacian was a large man, powerfully built and broad-shouldered, a corslet of shimmering scale armour covering their torso, bearded faces with grim expressions visible under their tall helmets of gold and iron and the dreaded and curved blade of the semi-legendary Dacii falx clasped by the extra-long grip of the weapons pommel in their hands. I had never seen these ferocious weapons at work and, after what was to befall the German Bodyguard and I, I was not certain that I ever wanted to again.

Whomever had placed these men here had done so with very good reason; for when we finally came to meet them in battle inside the city, between the towering walls and the oddly sophisticated buildings of their peoples, what was supposed to be firm resistance was revealed to be far more than that.

They met our charge head on, with discipline wholly uncharacteristic of their savage race, barbarians that they were, instead they stood arrayed in their ranks and cut down any Germani that came within reach of a falx. Now the Germani of the Emperors bodyguard both fight in their national way and equip themselves so, these Germans, Chattians for the most part, wearing armour little better than animal hides and with only a shield, strong as it was, to ward off any danger presented by enemy weapons.

The first German to reach their lines was cleaved from shoulder to groin, the falx descending from on high in a two-handed blow to cut through muscle, splinter bone and leave a once proud Germanic warrior laying face down in the dirt, dead before he fell.

“Healt!” I bellowed in my best Angle, attempting to match the dialect of Avidius and his brother, the Chattii living close enough to the territory of this lesser tribe to know the essential words of a neighbouring language, “trymaþ þä ræw.”

Lines were redressed, shields put up and spears straightened out toward the enemy, my hand raising my gladius into the air and the wild rush of moments ago metamorphosing instead into a slow and steady stomp toward the Dacians.

Shield-to-shield and man-to-man we fought, once the two lines had fully met, for over an hour, only the training my grandfather had given me and what I had learnt in my few years with the Roman military keeping me alive as I reverted back to basics to outwit my overly confident opponents. Forward, hunched low, shield up, wait for enemy to attack, either forward or back, feint to body and thrust for face or vice-versa, and repeat. A simple method and technique used over-and-over again by the Romanii, helping them to conquer the world and remain the dominant power.

It was also during this engagement that I learnt the meaning of faith, not the faith you have knowing that the Gods are watching you as you fight and die, but true faith. Faith that will make a man fearless in battle, willing to throw his life away to defeat a foe and die knowing that he will move on to a much better place.

My grandfather had taught me elements of the Dacian faith, his own religious beliefs before the Roman Emperors began being deified, and I felt them to be similar to the tenants which a certain Jesus of Nazareth had preached before he was crucified in Judea. I know not much about that, but I do know that the Dacians we fought would give not an inch of ground, standing and fighting until every last one of them was dispatched and their mortal thread cut.

That is exactly what we had to accomplish during the hours we traded blows, tussled and hammered away at our Dacii adversaries, standing atop a mound of Germanic dead, even a cohort of Praetorians that came to our aid being unable to break the dauntless and, in a way, slightly supernatural enemies.

So we fought, and fought hard, my helmet becoming dented in the melee, my shield splintering in places and being left as useless at the end of the combat, my mail receiving more damage than I would have liked, but, in the end, the might of Roma prevailed and we stood victorious over our foes. Though but seven Germans still lived, perhaps twice as many Praetorians of the cohort that had reinforced us, we had endured and beaten into Hades every Dacian that had stood before us.

On the walls of Sarmizegetusa the first cohort of the guard and a number of their fellow cohorts battled still, the enemy, though surrounded on both sides and with nowhere to run, would not give in and died fighting. Meanwhile, Prefect Pera and the Praetorian horse had ridden to the central forum of the town and annihilated the enemy warriors waiting there, but with heavy losses.

I can honestly say that it had been a finer victory, tearing the heart out of the beating chest of the Dacian peoples, but it had been a victory won at the cost of many Roman lives, two cohorts of Praetorians and two of Germani lost to the enemy, but further intrigue was yet to come...

**********

When I ducked beneath the flap of the tent and into the presence of my Augustus, it was an entirely different scene from the last time I had been requested to bear witness to the Emperors undertakings.

Instead of kneeling barbarians in chains, there stood a tall figure with greying temples but mostly brown hair, his face clean shaven and his muscled armour of the highest quality bronze. A cloak of purple, with gold embroidery around the edges, was draped about his shoulders and in the cradle of his arm was held a helmet of the Corinthian style, with its long horsehair plume of white and black, such helmets seen very rarely in this age and most likely an antique of sorts.

“Ah, Centurio Laenas, please come in,” said Publius with a smile on his face, “meet the enemy officer who would have kept us from taking the enemy capital. Not quite the savage you were expecting, I imagine?”

Publius the Younger was elsewhere and only two Germani stood guard over the Emperor, the rest mourning their fallen and likely burning them as I spoke, already I could hear the faint traces of chanting coming from outside and near the praetorium.

“Indeed, Augustus,” I replied as I took a step forward and got a better view of the middle-aged man, “looks quite civilised to me...Greek, perhaps.”

It was then that the man decided to speak for himself, my eyes wandering and noticing that he still had a sword at his hip, my muscles tensing slightly before I considered that Publius showed no such signs of anxiousness or fear. Clearly this man had given some sort of word or oath, and if it was good enough for the Emperor then it was good enough for me.

“You are not wrong, young man. My name is Polymestor of Pantikapaion, a strategos and nobleman of the Bosporan colonies and kingdom, the last outpost of true Hellenism in the known world. I was sent by my overlords to help defend Dacia when these people asked for our aid, you may have even noticed my warriors fighting atop the walls?”

Perfect Latin, down to the last inflexion, fine armour and the bearing of a nobleman.

I had not seen his thorakitai, not alive anyway, but I nodded my head with a curt smile and turned my eyes and furrowed brow on the Emperor.

“Augustus, for what purpose do you keep this Hellene alive? He stood against you, and so should be executed.”

Publius just laughed, the Bosporan looking somewhat dismayed by my words, before he gestured toward the Greek with a wide smile.

“Polymestor has seen the might of Roman arms and, as he should, now knows that we cannot be defeated. Already, as we fought here, the cities of Docidava and Argedava have been taken and their people enslaved. This Greek will help us against his own, and against the ambitions of Titus, and in return we shall leave his people and their kingdom almost untouched.”

My face dropped when I remembered then what had happened to inhabitants of Sarmizegetusa Regia, the crucified bodies lit as human torches along the roadsides, children and women taken by soldiers and slave-traders, men too old were simply put to the sword and those too young to be of any use...well...I prefer not to think of that.

They had all hid throughout the battle, expecting the mountain stronghold and the select warriors of the garrison to hold us at bay until help arrived, only to emerge once the dust had settled to rape, gorging of wine and rations and the wholesale ransacking of their property.

Even the most civilised man turns to a beast when his blood is up and his victory is won, the iron discipline of a soldier making no difference if the officers are of the same mindset and actions.

“An excellent plan as always, highness. I hear tell that the Armenians have declared war on Titus by blockading a port? This and other distractions should give us the time we need to muster a force and strike out at the Bosporan Kingdom, with the help of our fellow here.”

All I had heard was confirmed by the Emperor, several legions across Dacia and beyond the Carpathian mountains now attempting to starve out cities with larger garrisons than the ones we had already taken from the enemy.

“Laenas,” Publius said to me, “I bid you get some rest now. You look weary and, when the time comes, it shall be you leading men on a campaign of your own. I have not decided where Roma shall stamp her mark next, though I intend to take back the lands of the Chattii for them and gain a foothold in Germania at the same time. Get to know Polymestor, you could one day be plunging our pilum straight into the heart of his lands.”

Acknowledging this all with a perfectly timed and executed salute, my arm shooting up into the air and back down again, I pivoted on my heel and went from the tent.

My body ached.


- B. M. Laenas

[Mr. Bean Laden]

Awesome updates, sorry I haven't been able to reply sooner!

I was really, really surprised to see a greek, and a strategos no less appearing in your AAR, especially in Dacia, well played. Reminds me of having to finish my own update this night, but I will probably fail to do so in time. Keep it up.

[McScottish]

Awesome updates, sorry I haven't been able to reply sooner!

I was really, really surprised to see a greek, and a strategos no less appearing in your AAR, especially in Dacia, well played. Reminds me of having to finish my own update this night, but I will probably fail to do so in time. Keep it up.

My thanks once more, Mr. Laden.

The surprise was as much mine as it has been yours, when the "enemy general killed" 'card' appeared on my screen with the name Polymestor. I thought to myself "this'll make a good narrative addition" and so it has. Allows me to have connections with the Bosporans, to flesh out Publius' ambitions and his dislike of Titus and, of course, to add a Greek (or semi-Greek) to the tale.

All in all, the battles narrative quality more than made up for the amount of household troops I lost fighting those bearded madmen and their Grecian allies.

[Ganbarenippon]

"...the Bosporan colonies and kingdom, the last outpost of true Hellenism in the known world."

Indeed it is! Nice update my friend, I really enjoyed that.

[McScottish]

"...the Bosporan colonies and kingdom, the last outpost of true Hellenism in the known world."

Indeed it is! Nice update my friend, I really enjoyed that.

Thankee very much

We shall see if you enjoy it so much when the Romani stomp these Hellenes into the ground and ransack their kingdom. Or perhaps not...

Anyway, I am glad you enjoyed it, and I'll attempt to get another update up some time today, maybe more, depending on what I'm actually writing about.

[Boustrophedon]

Glad to see the quality of your writing has not deminished! +rep

[McScottish]

Reclaiming Lost Colonies – Winter 625 A.U.C to Summer 629 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The tale I now have to tell it twofold and, therefore, I shall tell the more believable of the pair first and foremost. It is not that the second is any more fantastical, as it is just as real as the former, yet the contents are such that there are some who may well consider it to be so and mock what I have written. I shall ultimately leave the reader to decide for themselves whether such adventures are possible or not.

Dacia, though occupied by Roman forces of an overwhelming nature, and robbed of both fighting men and riches, refused to simply submit to our rule. They did not even seek to negotiate with us, though, by the summer of 629 since the founding of Roma, our forces had assumed control of every major settlements and large villages of any consequence from Pannonia Inferior to the lands of the Bastarnae on the other side of the Carpathians.

Yet, still, this was not enough for the Dacians, their raiding parties and armies of larger sizes sneaking past our watchtowers and auxiliary forts and into the interior to destroy supply trains, take important Roman citizens hostage and to generally do as much damage as possible, before our vexillationes, that constantly patrolled the newest addition to the empire, could catch up with them and put an end to their accursed existence.

During my four-year appointment at Sarmizegetusa Regia I was witness and privy to a number of things; one of these being the extraordinary extravagance which gripped Publius Augustus as riches beyond the imagining of any Roman before him were unburied from the earth, lifted from beneath riverbeds and simply snatched from their resting places. Gold was especially plentiful, so much of it found and gathered together that Publius began building projects both in Roma and in Dacia, as well as giving each soldier who had taken part in the invasion, as well as those who had not, a bonus which would keep them happy until well after his death and official posthumous deification.

I will also tell my reader this, and it shames me to think of what I have written before, but I gained a new found respect for the Dacians as more than mere savages. A shrewd economy, a sturdy and resilient population and a firm religion had all contributed to the Dacians becoming much more than the Gauls had once been or the Germanii were now, their lands covered in pseudo-Roman fortifications, organised fields for tilling and harvesting crops and expertly built mines from which seams gold and all manner of precious materials were taken. I would even say that they were, in some ways, even civilised.

We had taken Gaul because of their blacksmithing and tradition of cavalrymen, Hispania for the manpower it could provide, Illyria and Dalmatia for a similar reason, Greece because it was the cradle of civilisation and should be treated as such and with respect and dignity. Aegyptus had had its ruling dynasty destroyed because they were a threat, likewise with the highly advanced state of Carthage, and Thracia because of the ferocity of its warriors and large population.

Not all had been taken, nor their people sold into slavery, for just reasons, other writers already telling of the atrocities committed by the Roman people but the spread of civilisation and culture cannot have a price put on it when it is the destiny of a people to rule all others.

Now the Gauls, Spaniards, Thracians and many peoples of the Orient march alongside our legions and under the standards of our golden eagles, all bent to the will of the Emperors and reaping the benefits of a greater life because of it. Within our borders there is peace, crime kept low and banditry rare, justice is firm and swift and religions and faiths are all encompassed equally. Peoples of all tribes, lands and races mingle together to form our citizenry whilst being protected by our mighty armies.

Soon, the Dacians would come to learn this too.

Their last pocket of true resistance is beyond the lands of the Bastarnae, in the former territory of the Neurii which they took from these Scythians, and from where they now cause mischief and trouble. This, as with all their land, will soon be taken from them and their people will either bend the knee or lose their heads.

In these four years, Publius Augustus has planned to turn Dacia into a fully functioning province of the Roman Empire and, even now, works diligently toward that end. They are fresh blood, as slaves, as soldiers and as a group of tribes who possess both fertile lands for the erection of coloniae and farming and mines from which to draw out all the wealth we may need to fund future campaigns.

But enough of the Dacians, for now, let me tell you instead of the newest companion of mine, Polymestor, and that which I have learnt about him.

A Bosporan Greek, born and raised in the Hellenic polis and vital port-city of Pantikápaion in what we Romans call the Chersonesus Taurica. Apparently there had always been sea water in his veins and those of his family line, his ancestors emigrating from the deme of Marathon, part of the Aiantis tribe of Attica, when rulers of Thracian origin still ruled over the cities of the Bosporan Kingdom.

Although I am unfamiliar with many Greek terms, I have taken deme or demes to come from the root word of demos or demoi but, in this case, to mean a population centre of varying size and quality situated in the Greek region of Attica.

Marathon itself should be a familiar name to those who are aware of Greek history, or even those who are not, being a coastal area where the Greeks defeated a vast and invading Persian army in days gone by. It was a stunning victory and Polymestor had every right to be proud of his ancestry and lineage, as I knew he was.

When I asked why he was willing to turn against his own people he took offence and refused to speak for some time, though eventually I managed to goad him into telling me. His reasons, it turned out, were entirely pragmatical and nothing to do with personal gain or vengeance, but quite Roman in all intents and purposes.

He educated me about his thinking, telling me that he had fought against the Romans even before coming to assist the Dacians, on the shores of the eastern provinces across the Pontus Euxinus, and that he had seen too many men die to the weapons and tactics of the Roman legions and their auxiliary helpers. With brutal honesty I was told, in no uncertain terms, that if the Bosporan Kingdom did not either become a protectorate by diplomacy, or a province by force, then it would be overrun by the Sarmatian horsemen from the steppes and thrown into a period of complete darkness for all those living there.

This, Polymestor said, was the first and foremost reason why he decided to help us, the second reason was because he knew that his countrymen would not yield before any diplomatic advances which the empire might make toward them, if it meant giving up their lands and having Romans garrison their cities and towns. Polymestor considered this foolish in the extreme, complaining incessantly about the bull-headedness and short-sightedness of his fellow Bosporans, and knowing that conquest by the sword and peaceful occupation of cities would be the only way forward.

**********

Now, let me tell you the second part of my tale, one that many may not believe, and which I did not believe myself when I first heard it. Let me say now, however, that it is all true and that I make believe of nothing, having gathered the information from eye-witnesses and various other sources of repute and trustworthiness.

The summer of the year 626 bought with it, and to the ears of Publius, news of something he found quite hard to consider to be plausible if even possible.

In the midst of the Codanus sinus, surrounded by water, to the east of the lands of the Teutones and Cimbri, but to the west of the steppes of the Sarmatians, there is a little-known island, some call it Gotland, or land of the Gots, and others call it Codanonia, but all know that it has rarely been explored and even more people do not even know if its existence, I was one of the latter until I heard this tale from the mouth of both a military courier and then both a Spanish auxiliary and a legionnaire.

During the early months of that summer a man came to Sarmizegetusa and demanded to see the Emperor. Being a benevolent and just Emperor, Publius allowed the man an audience without ceremony and summoned me to bear witness to whatever was said, as well as for a little extra security.

As to the figure who had arrived so unexpectedly, he seemed to come from Germanic stock but claimed for himself a Roman name and to be a citizen of the “Roman Res Publica” which was, according to him, under the leadership of the Maximus family. It was true that the last Maximus of that line, Marcus Fabius Maximus, came to manhood later that year but he was kept at Roma and not present anywhere else.

We questioned the man most thoroughly on this point, and he explained that this is what he had been told by a Roman named Spurius Cominius Fasti, the leading commander, chosen of the Senate, who ruled over Gotland in the name of the SPQR.

Myself and my Augustus could not quite believe what we were hearing but, as the man went on at length, things seemed to make more and more sense.

He spoke of three primary Roman families which ruled the island, each one having at his disposal hardened and experienced warriors who carried the eagle of a Roman legion and fought in the same manner. Not all were Romans, he said, for there were some Germans who had come to the isle and been equipped and trained in the Roman manner, along with archers from the eastern lands of the Res Publica. Life was good, he lead us to believe, and all who lived on the islands were descended from the original Romans that had settled on the island and continued to preserve the old ways.

We were told that this man had swam from the island to the mainland, living amongst Roman society for all his life, and so was not questioned when he gave his name and the like. He came to see what the Roman Empire had become and, eventually, when he discovered that things on the island were so very backwards, had made his way all the way to Dacia to inform the Emperor, in the hope that Publius could free them all from their ignorance.

Wasting no time with simple words, the Emperor ordered the assemblage of the Legio VI Hispaniensis under Titus C. Scipio, as well as a number of Spanish auxiliaries, and the requisition of the fleet currently waiting in Belgica, to proceed with all haste around the coastline and into Gotland. Once there, they were to engage any potential threat, take the capital of the island, eliminate the ringleaders and reclaim the forgotten colony of the Roman traitors who had never thoroughly been wiped out all those decades ago.

It took one and a half years of hard sailing, along the Germanian coastline and the Cimbrica Chersonesus, before the fleet got within sight of the Gotland coast. It took another few days before a place was found where the legion and auxiliaries could be safely landed, the winter weather harrowing these hardy souls at every turn.

Once landed, Titus proceeded inland, engaging two separate armies under two separate Roman commanders, and this is where the tale takes an odd turn.

The legions faces by the Hispaniensis were dressed, armed and fought like the Praetorian guardsmen of the early years.

I have spoken to men who were there since, and what they described to me could not have been anything other than the shadows of the past and a time quite forgotten by most. These men, I was informed, marched under a gleaming eagle and a tattered banner bearing a threaded record of the Praetorian guard from their founding to the present day. A Spaniard told me also that these men cut through them like veterans of a thousand battles, using the thrust and retract technique of the Roman military as if they had been born with a gladius in their hands. All the while they were harassed by bowmen dressed like those of Syrian origin, and horsemen riding shaggy Germanic ponies and equipped with mail and Roman-style helmets.

In true Roman style, Titus hacked his way through the men confronting him, capturing one of their Legates, a Tiberius Mocius Scaevola, who I shall mention in another passage later, before routing the rest back to the capital city of Åland.

The year is now 629 Ab Urbe Condita, yesterday we received into the presence of the Emperor a Roman eagle, made of solid silver, blood-marks encrusted upon it, from this latest theatre of war and, in his wisdom, Publius handled this relic of a bygone age with great care before allowing it to be taken away to the city of Leucaristus.

Now Scipio besieges Åland, even as I write this, Spurius Fasti refusing to submit to the rule of the Emperor Publius and cursing his name from the walls of the city. Our Augustus wishes him bought us at Sarmizegetusa in chains, whilst he remains to combat the Dacian raiders and thrash some sort of order into the native population.

I must go and see to my Hellenic comrade, may the Gods go with you reader, until I write again.[/FONT="Comic Sans MS"]

- B. M. Laenas

[McScottish]

You Have Your Orders – Winter 629 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

“But, Augustus, I can't go to Germania!”

My voice cracked slightly as I said this, my eyes actually welling up, for I loved the Emperor that much that to be away from his side evoked emotions in me. It was out of this feeling of duty and service to him, a man I had idolised almost as much as my grandfather, but not quite, that I now stood before him in a sturdy feasting hall in Sarmizegetusa and blatantly refused to take part in the task he had assigned me.

“You will!” He shouted, thrusting himself upwards and out of his chair, standing at his full regal height and looking down his aquiline nose at me, like some great white eagle waiting to swoop down and break the back of its prey, “you shall do as I command, centurio, or by the Gods I shall have you thrown from the army so fast that even Hermes will be impressed.”

It was not within my power to resist such an order and, disgruntled and aggravated as I was, I bowed down before the Emperor and agreed that I would leave as soon as possible and take who and what I needed with me.

I should probably explain that not too long ago, a few days to a week perhaps, I had received a message from Publius Augustus requesting my presence and had, of course, arrived with all punctuality and as promptly as I could. Once there I was received with salutes and a midday meal worthy of an Emperor of the largest empire the world has ever known. I could not help thinking that even Megas Alexandros probably ate more frugally.

Now, once the veritable feast had ended, Publius explained to me, or more told me, my orders for the next few years. Though how long I had to carry them out depended entirely on how fast I could complete them.

Given to me as an imperial imperative, an order that would help in the future, I was told to go with a select few of my Chattians to the Alpine province of Rhaetia, there to join with a Roman legion and their supporting auxiliary troops before entering the tribal territory of the Chatti and taking it in the name of the Roman Empire. There I was to remain, in command of the newly taken area, to spread Roman ideals, culture and wealth throughout the province, but also to raise an auxiliary cohort from the areas inhabitants.

The thing that excited me most about this was, with the promise of the Emperor, that if I could raise a cohort of worthy Germanic volunteers, then I could lead them for as long as I saw fit or until I wished to retire. They would be my cohort, my Germani, my men to recruit and train and lead and, if it came to it, to watch die.

It was primarily for this reason, and this reason alone, why I accepted the order and made no more objections after being told that I had no choice in the matter.

I was not to take Publius Caesar, that is the younger, but I was more than welcome to take Polymestor, the two brothers, a number of Germani guardsmen and even some legionary soldiers for the training of raw recruits. Most of those would be Evocati or men too wounded or old to fight prolonged battles, but any help was good help after all. You must remember that I was still only a young man, not as green as I had once been but certainly not a hardened veteran of a thousand campaigns either.

With the orders so given, and accepted by me, supplies enough to take us to Rhaetia were gathered and men enough for protection and the training of natives came with those wagons, wagons full of wheat grain, oats and barley, all the fodder needed for men ans horses alike on a long and frigidly cold march toward the Alps.

On a scathingly cool day in the year 629, in between the months of December and Ianuarius, myself and around forty men of various occupations and peoples, along with a considerable number of wagons, set out toward Rhaetia...and, by Janus, my future.

- B. M. Laenas

This is a, very, short update, as its not really meant to be anything more than a wee transition.

[Ybbon]

Damn it, I need to spread rep. So, our hero's fortune to be made or broken in those dark forests... Do the Chatti inhabit Teutoburg area?

[McScottish]

Damn it, I need to spread rep. So, our hero's fortune to be made or broken in those dark forests... Do the Chatti inhabit Teutoburg area?

Indeed they shall be, indeed they shall. I'm not entirely sure whether the Chatti inhabit the Teutoburg, but I do know that they were part of the fighting force that massacred the Romans. It was certainly near the Thüringer Wald and, since they took part in the battle, I think its safe to say that the Chatti are in the Teutoburg area too.

I wish my writing could be half as good as yours great new chapter and it's awesome to see you write so diligently! +rep

Thank you, Boustrophedon, but without my loyal cadre of fans I would have no-one to write for an would be worth less than nothing. You guys really make it worth the effort and the while, whilst also helping to inflate my ego.

[Boustrophedon]

I wish my writing could be half as good as yours great new chapter and it's awesome to see you write so diligently! +rep

[Ganbarenippon]

I've really enjoyed the last few updates. Quick question; how far ahead do you allow the campaign to play our before you add a new update? I ask this partially because I an curious and partly because one mistake I have made before is in playing too far ahead and then having too much in the way of updates to tackle afterwards!

[McScottish]

I've really enjoyed the last few updates. Quick question; how far ahead do you allow the campaign to play our before you add a new update? I ask this partially because I an curious and partly because one mistake I have made before is in playing too far ahead and then having too much in the way of updates to tackle afterwards!

An interesting question, and I shall tell ye now that it varies greatly. Sometimes, if something excellent happens, a major battle etc, then I update almost immediately. If nothing happens for a few turns (years) then when I do add another update, it is over a longer time period.

Then, and lastly, is simply updating it whenever I feel like it, whether that be three in a row, or two over a few weeks. As you well know, sometimes I just add more "narrative" parts in, which don't really count as proper updates because I like to and it makes the story more interesting.

[McScottish]

Gaining A Foothold, Part I – Winter 629 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Germania.

The very name conjures up images and mental visions of dark and bleak forests and marshes, lands covered in the freshly laid sheet of snow as far as the eye can see, barren rock-faces and rugged landscapes and people as hard and as enduring as the tribal lands that they hail from.

Our convoy of men, horses and wagons travelled for weeks, across the Danuvius river, through weaving and snaking mountain passes, glens and valleys and over rolling tundras of grass and foliage, as well as through forests of dead-looking trees without leaves, standing like silent sentinels to watch over there allotted territory.

Let me first tell you of what I saw on my travels, if you will humour me, reader, for I am not simply a military man but also one who is interested in all things to do with the empire and her subjects.

Cisalpine Gaul or Gallia Togata, or land of toga-wearing Gauls, stretches from the more Alpine regions in the east to the lands of the Cisalpine Gauls in the central valleys and the west. It was a region occupied and pacified by the Res Publica very early on in the history of Roman expansion, with the city of Mediolanum being the former tribal capital of the Insubre becoming the Roman capital of the new province. Its southern boundaries extend to the Rubicon river and the river Po, which sits, of course, in and nearby the Po valley.

Mediolanum, after many years, became the central trading post for all those travelling through the region, as well as formerly housing the Legio V Alaudae before they were transferred to Transalpine Gaul and the oppida of Gergovia. It was fortified, its walls made strong by successive first citizens and proconsuls, and its economic prosperity rose tenfold since its founding by the Insubrian Gauls.

The inhabitants of the city, primarily made up of Gallic stock, and much like the city itself, became thoroughly more like us as the decades drew on. In fact they have become so alike to ourselves in the current years that, under orders from the Emperor, auxiliary cohorts and ala have ceased to be recruited from their citizens.

Further west that you go, through the province that is, you will come across clans of more primitive peoples, people that still retain their native language and mode of dress and, as such, are still used as numeri in the army of the empire. There is even such a group ofnumeri guarding the frontier between Germania and Gaul, so I have been informed by those who know.

So that is Cisalpine Gaul.

As one travels north, into the Alps themselves, you are greeted, at least in the winter months, by a wind so bitterly cold that it would make a Thracian shiver. Winding along narrow ledges and through deep valleys, waist deep in crisp white snow, seeping through mail, wool and cotton, it is a blessing when you reach the other side and it is once more possible to travel without not being able to feel your extremities.

In amongst the peaks, crags and plateaus of the Alps, however, live a number of the most extraordinary people. Far different from those to their south, and far less civilised, they appear to be a mingling of Alpine peoples. Some claimed descent from the tribes of Cisalpine Gaul, others from the more eastern Taurisci of Noricum, a tribe who may well be the Noricii of other Roman historians, and the Rhaetians who took their name from a leader named Raetus, before giving it to the entire region to the north.

Since we encountered a number of these hill-tribes, I was able to observe them in their day-to-day life and, I must say, found it quite fascinating.

They have a number of various dialects, all based on the Northern Gallic language, or sometimes even bastardised Latin, as well as distinctly different modes of dress and customs. Some, as if usual, share a common style of fashion or gestures and expressions, these are usually large tribal confederations.

Their characteristics as well are wholly different from our own, that is Roman, in a great number of ways. For example, they urinate and defecate publicly, they wash rarely and they fornicate loudly and without any restraint. Such behaviour would be kept well within its boundaries in a civilised society, as would the fact that some tribes allow their men and women to show their nudity quite freely, no matter who might be watching.

More than once, I was forced to call back a German who got a bit...ahead of himself in the presence of their women. Not that all their women minded, which is quite beside the point.

After clearing the Alps, a trip that the infamous general Hannibal Barca had made using elephants, but which thankfully we did not have to, we came to the province of Rhaetia.

It is a province much like that of the Germani lands to its north, or the province of Noricum to its east, except for one essential detail. That detail is that is contains a large number of important roads both in and out of differing territories and parts of the empire, both of strategic and merchantile importance.

Under Roman rule, which came later to it than most other parts of the Res Publica and thence the Roman Empire, it had grown rich, its borders guarded securely by auxiliary forts and its central lands by the Legio XII Fulminata based at the municipium of Veldideno. The very place and legion where we were travelling to.

The people here, unlike those of Hispania or the eastern provinces, were hard and strong like their Germanic neighbours, unaccustomed to strangers and extremely wary because of it. In appearance it was certain that there had been some intermingling with both Gauls and Germans, the Rhaetians being quite tall and usually with fair hair and blue or green eyes.

**********

Eventually, but in good time, we reached our destination.

I requested a meeting with the legionary commander as soon as I arrived, dressed from head-to-toe in all my centurions splendour, the Quaestor known as Gnaeus Mamilius striding through the streets until he stood before me. From what I saw at first glance, I knew his type as soon as I laid eyes on him. The angular features and straight nose, deep-set eyes and perfectly cut black hair, as well as the way he held himself before me, he could only be a patrician and a conceited one at that.

“Quaestor,” I said as I clasped his forearm, “it is an honour to meet the man who will be helping us gain a foothold in Germania.”

To my surprise, he gave a wide smile and released my forearm, running his hand through his hair and chuckling to himself.

“My dear Centurio, we already have a foothold in Germania. To the north-east are the tribes of the Triboci, Nemetes and Vangiones. All three pay tribute to the empire and the Emperor, their lands garrisoned by auxiliaries and their movements watched very closely. We, on the other hand, are going into Chatti territory to pacify that tribe and make sure they do not upset our relationships with the other Germani tribes.”

Giving a curt gesture for me to follow one of his men, a legionnaire in segmented armour and a well-polished helmet, I was shown to my quarters and left alone with my thoughts.

These quarters were quite fine, when one was on the edge of civilised land anyway, with a large bed and plenty of furs and hides to keep a man warm in the intolerable German nights. In the corner of the room sat a large chest, for documents and such, as well as rails to hang ones weapons and a stand for any armour. Lastly was a roaring hearth, my constant companion during my time there, and without it I do not think I could have survived.

Anyway, enough about that. It was my first time visiting Germania and I intended to make the most of it while I had the chance. So much so, that I would often go with Berengar and Avidius out onto the streets of the municipium, dressed in the finest Germanic attire that could be found for me, and mix myself up with the native peoples and foreigners of the city.

It was during this time that I discovered, and was relieved of my ignorance, that all Germans were in truth not the same.

Though they are presented to Roman and Greek audiences as a simple mass of unwashed and hair barbarians, they are far more and far less than this in their differing ways. For one lesson, the name Germani is never used by these people to refer to themselves, for they prefer to user their tribal names, the Greek historians even calling them all Keltoi instead and erroneously.

I saw, with my own eyes, representatives of the various tribes that were already under our sway, as well as others from those that were not. The two Angle brothers were extremely helpful in telling me where from they came, what dialect they spoke, the differences between them, and any number of other useful information.

For this, I am most indebted to them both.

**********

Later that winter, when the snow was lighter on the ground but the weather was no less bleak and cutting to a mans body, the twenty fighting men of my small procession were accompanied by the Fulminata and Mamilius into the southern lands of the Chatti.

Lands that no Roman had set foot in since Decimus the Killer had been sent their to break the grip of the Boii over them, by systematically wiping out their entire remaining royal line of kings and chieftains, a task in which he had been supremely successful.

Now we marched through seemingly friendly territory and ever onwards, crossing rivers and both entering and leaving a number of ever-looming and ever-darkening forests. If there was a man amongst us who claimed not be afraid of these encircling fences of trees, except for those native men I had bought with me, then they would surely be lying.

Berengar, along with four turmae of Germanic horsemen made up from the three Roman client tribes to the south, ranged ahead and made sure the coast was clear, Avidius remaining beside me in case I was in need of an interpretor or messenger.

On the second week of marching, the men slowly but surely becoming numbed toward their sinister environment and the ever-present cold, a Nemetes horsemen returning to give us some valuable information indeed.

He told both the Quaestor and myself that to our west, perhaps four days hard ride, was the largest settlement of the Chatti and the place which we should strike to “devour their heart”.

We were then told, however, that two days to our north-west was a large force under a German chieftain named Verritus by the Romans and under his command was a mixed force made up chiefly of Volcae Celts but supported by men of the Chatti, the Cherusci, the eastern-Rhenus Nervii and even cavalry from the northerly and coastal tribe of the Cananefates.

After a long talk, of which I shall spare you the details, it was decided that we should engage Verritus before moving on to besiege the unnamed capital of the Chatti.

**********

The ensuing battle was not one in which I was to take part, though it was one which I did witness, taking position amongst those who were fundamentally my bodyguards on an overlooking crest and watching in silence the movements of both armies as they met on the battlefield.

In traditional Roman style, Mamilius formed his legion into two lines, one of eight and one of six reserve cohorts, whilst placing his horsemen two turmae to a flank each. As for himself, he took up a commanding position behind the entire formation, surrounded by his Equites Singulares.

On the opposite side of the field, a field which was actually a rugged area sporting all manner of hillocks, slopes and very little land that was completely flat, the Celto-Germanic force ordered themselves in a manner akin to that of the Dacii but unlike that of the Gallic peoples to the west.

Their most sturdy infantry was put in their second line, the warriors of the Chatti and Cherusci being stalwart fighters, and the Volcae and Nervii being more than eager to get to grips with those that had come from a far away peninsula to take their lands from them. Meanwhile, the Cananefate cavalry, along with some lighter horse of Suebi origin, rode this way and that on the flanks, like the writing tentacles of a sea-creature.

Mamilius, though swollen-headed and blue-blooded to the core, was no fool, and sent his horsemen off to lop off these tentacles before they could cause any damage to the real killers of the Roman army, the heavy infantry.

I could tell that Berengar wished to get down amongst the enemy, to kill his own adversaries and take his own gory trophies of war, his body constantly shifting beside me and his eyes flickering this way and that as the signal was given for the Fulminata to advance, This they did, with well-timed precision and at a medium pace, half the line walking along a slowly sloping hill and the other on a flatter patch of terrain. The enemy simply waited.

By the time the two lines met, the legionnaires launching their pila high before hammering into the Volcae with shield and gladius, the two forces of horsemen had become lost on the outskirts of the central melee, a thick mist rolling in just as the two sides met and obscuring my vision and sight of the conflict.

Fortunately Berengar was possessed of the vision of a cat, describing in detail, through his brother, exactly what was happening, though I could see nothing farther away than my hand on the end of my arm held out before me.

The Volcae, armed with axes, there heads made of the famous Noric steel, clove into the foremost eight cohorts of the legion with abandon. Like most Celts, they were however possessed of great courage but, when imminent danger loomed, tended to panic at the first sign of defeat.

This I was told was happening, the axe-wielding barbarians, those that had fled beyond the reach of the Roman Empire when we had quietened their lands, fleeing for their very lives as our legionnaires carved a path through the right flank of the enemy line until it was sheered apart completely and the remnants melted away in flight.

With their right flank gone, and their cavalry cut down or fleeing, it was only the central line that held out against us. Like an island in the middle of an ocean, Roman waves smashing against Germanic cliffs or rocks.

Lying on my front, my breastplate pressed against the wet grass, I watched as the mist cleared away to reveal the combat and found myself following the movements of individual heroes spread amongst the scrimmage and mass of loose bodies. Here, a Cherusci wielding an axe slammed it into the side of a Roman and opened up his waist to his ribs, and there a Roman slammed the double-edged blade of his sword into the eye-socket of a fallen Suebian rider as he tripped and lay prone on a rock.

Truly it was war of the most savage type, those that had taken possession of the Chatti territory being an amalgamation of various dissidents and outcasts from other tribal groups, which probably was why only one group of Chatti were present in such a large army in their own lands. With this realisation, I knew I had to free the people of this area from their predicament, to kill who I had to kill and to release them from servitude.

Once the central line broke, our horsemen charging the enemy from the rear and chasing them down as they attempted flight, the battle was entirely over and I retired from the field.

It was unfortunate that Verritus had escaped.

**********

“Tiberius Geminus, sir!” The African-born Equestrian saluted me perfectly and gestured to the rugged cohort of men that stood at attention behind him, “I have bought the Cohors Quintae Gallorum from Treverian lands to assist, on the orders of the Emperor.”

I studied the man carefully, clasping my arms behind my back, taking in his squat frame and distinctly curly hair, as well as his bronzed complexion, and found him psychically to be a fine specimen of a man. He looked well at ease in his armour, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword, his sea-blue eyes never staying in one place for long but not shifting rapidly about either.

His men were a different matter, rather ill at ease in the armour they had been given, most still with beards on their faces and long hair trailing from beneath their helmets, recruited from the tribes of Gaul and probably more used to tilling fields or handling long-bladed swords. I imagined the largest battle they had ever seen was a skirmish involving more than two tribes.

“You are welcome, Geminus.” I replied with a smile, “I shall inform Quaestor Mamilius of the Fulminata, and you shall prepare your men to assail the tribal capital of the Chatti...understand?”

The Tribunus must have understood my meaning, as well the look I had given his men, and knew that I was giving both he and his command a chance to prove themselves as useful and productive allies to my personal cause.

“Understood, sir. It shall be so.”

So it was that the army prepared to march on the largest pocket of resistance, to crush it utterly, and to become dominant over these tribe lands as we had over so many others.

It would, I knew, be up to me and after the conflict it would be my land...mine.


- B. M. Laenas

[McScottish]

Gaining A Foothold, Part II – Winter 629 A.U.C

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

I hate the smell left drifting in the air after a battle, so much blood, piss and excrement left by the soldiers who did the killing and the dying, mingled with the bodily fluids of any innocents that got in the way, or the acrid and sulphurous stench of any buildings involved having caught fire and spread their billowing curls of black smoke across the said arena of Mars.

It was most unfortunate, therefore, that this was exactly what I was forced to smell and look upon as I rode through the now-hollow gateway of the former Chattian municipium, the thick and sturdy doors to the city both now nothing but bits of twisted metal and splintered wood. Beneath me my steed rolled its rump this way and that as it walked, the slow swaying of its movements giving me some small measure of calm, a cool head being what I would need by the time I got to the centre of the Germanian oppida.

All around me, on all sides, rode and strolled those Germani who had fought beside us instead of against us and, as such, were to be considered as friends of Roma. They were all men in their prime, some slightly younger or older but all man grown, laughing as they split off to wander the streets alone or in groups and even waving goodbye to me as they did so. Their ranks were as varied as the corpses of the enemies who had held the 'capital' against us, some even Chatti themselves, yet not one of them seemed at all concerned or even displeased by the sheer volume of deceased Germans being dragged toward one of the many pyres set up outside the many-breached palisade of the town.

In my curiosity, I asked Avidius why this was so, both he and his younger but larger brother responding that war and death were a way of life in Germania and that such things left the men, even those who were not considered warriors, quite unmoved. They asked me if this was not also the case with the men of the Romani and, knowing what was at stake here psychologically, I confirmed that this was indeed the case whilst I attempted to look entirely untouched by all I saw around me.

Here and there a Gallic auxiliary would pass, these men so fresh from the tribe of the Treveri that they either ignored me or just failed to salute as they should do. Most were engaged in clearing the streets of corpses, whether it was of their German attackers or of their own, other corpses dressed in the bronze scale armour and helmets of Alpini auxiliaries noticeable in the areas that had seen much fighting.

I feel I should explain, that before the siege has commenced Geminus and his cohort had been reinforced by eight centuries sent from an auxiliary fort in Rhaetia to bring the attacking force up to a strength that was more likely to defeat their enemy. After the battle, both the Fulminata and the Alpini had headed south toward their respective castra stativa over the northern border of the Rhaetian province.

This left myself, our friendly Germanics, and the Cohors Quintae Gallorum to retain control of the largest Chattian settlement and, expectedly, to pacify the entire tribal territory of these particular people. With the lands of the Sicambri and Usipetes within striking distance, and the territorial dominion of the ferocious Cherusci and Chasuari to the north and north-west, this had to be done swiftly and without too much bloodshed if possible.

The one thing that pleased me about this whole bloody affair, however, was that Geminus and his men had followed my orders to the letter. There had been no raping of the local women, no looting except what Geminus would distribute to them or what they took from dead enemies, and they had left the buildings of the settlement intact.

I was not here to make enemies, nor, on the other hand, to make the Germans feel especially at ease, I was there because it was my post and because only a few days later I got my chance to rule in the name of the Emperor.

**********

“Are you going to open it then?” Asked the native of Lepcis Magna, his eyebrow raising quizzically toward his tightly curled hair and his finger pointing toward the papyri scroll I held in my hand, “this suspense is killing me...and I know it is also killing you, centurio.”

Once word had reached Publius Augustus of our success, he had dispatched a messenger to our location and even now I paced back and forth, within the confines of a long Germanian hall, with his couriers message clutched in my hand like a religious talisman.

“Very well,” I said at last, “let us see what the Emperor has to say.”


“To Borbrentas Marcus Laenas and Tiberius Servilius Geminus,

Greetings.

News has reached me, not two days past, of your successful destruction of the Germanian rebels wrongly withholding the lands of the Chatti people from them, and placing it in a pincer-like grip from which there seemed no escape. With your victory, however, there seems no need for further alarm and instead I shall dispense my orders and sufficient reward to you both.

To Borbrentas Marcus Laenas, son of Diuzenes M. Laenas and grandson of Thiacus M. Laenas, ipsius imperatoris centurio and commander of the Equites Singulares Germani, I hereby bestow the titles and powers of the legatus propraetor, to make you rector provinciae of the empires newest acquisition. Within the confines of the Chattian lands your power shall be absolute, with the rights to collect taxes, raise auxiliaries for service in the Roman army and so on. Be warned, any abuse of this power shall be punished swiftly and severely, and may the Gods help you then.”

Although I was tempted to finish at this point, a smug smile creeping over my face even as I read out the words, there was more and it concerned my African comrade-in-arms.

“To Tiberius Servilius Geminus, praefectus of the Cohors Quintae Gallorum, I award the title of subordinate propraetor and the position of Senator of Roma. You are to answer to Laenas in all things and assist him in any way possible until relieved of your duties in Germania by myself or my heirs.”

Lastly came our orders, simple orders which both Geminus and I could follow to the letter.

“Until I see fit, and send for you or contact you, you are both to spread the culture and civilisation of the Roman Empire to all corners of both Chatti lands and Germania. This is to be done with trade and diplomacy, the force of arms to be used only if threatened and only if approved by my heir or I. Do this in my name and the name of the empire, and may the Gods be with you, always.

Serve and obey in all things,

Publius Imperator Caesar Augustus Princeps”


Power, though I had never had this much before, had never tasted so sweet. It was most fortunate, I thought, that I was as loyal as I was to my Emperor, for I was effectively a chieftain in the Germanic sense and a Caesar of my own reasonably sized empire.

What had been handed to me with the delivery of this letter, signed and sealed by Augustus himself, was absolute power over all lands extending out from this central point to the borders of the lands of the Hermunduri in the south-east, the Tencteri, Sicambri, Usipi, and Mattiaci to the west and the Cherusci to the north.

The more minor tribes of these, those closest to both my domain and the border with Belgica, the peoples that have been swayed and moved to alliances by gifts of the Roman Empire, should be easy enough to bring into the fold and become useful as both allies and auxiliaries. Some, such as the Cherusci and Hermunduri, would be harder to placate without resorting to aggression using arms Roman arms. In fact, after seeing how their warriors fought, I believed that there would probably be no other way.

So, almost immediately Geminus and I formulated a number of strategies and plans for a number of aspects; the recruitment of experts on matters such as tax etcetera, the recording of separate clans and their possessions, the distribution of the Quintae Gallorum over such a wide and vicious landscape, the peaceful incorporation of the nearest Germanian tribes, and most importantly projects of building and the spreading of Romanitas.

“First, I think we shall be needing some help. One auxiliary cohort is not sufficient to defend this much land, particularly after it has just been freshly incorporated into the empire. Therefore, I propose we raise a number of numerii centuries from the most loyal Germans, place them under the command of Romans, and use them as we would regular auxiliaries. Eventually, that is what we shall make them.”

Geminus did not argue with me, agreeing almost instantly and sending messengers to various tribes, having a subordinate making me feel very powerful indeed.

Thus, my legacy in Germania had only just began.


- B. M. Laenas

[Boustrophedon]

Those little pictures in the beginning of every chapter are so lovely they are really what makes this AAR something quite different. The great writing helps as well
Quick question as well: how often do you follow your game storyline and your written storyline? Do you incorporate much of what happens gameplay-wise..?

[McScottish]

Those little pictures in the beginning of every chapter are so lovely they are really what makes this AAR something quite different. The great writing helps as well
Quick question as well: how often do you follow your game storyline and your written storyline? Do you incorporate much of what happens gameplay-wise..?

Thank you. My storyline is directly related to everything that happens in the actual campaign, hence I just sent the Fulminata and a Gallic cohort to take Hattozwisha in Germania. Things that are clearly more narrative based, such as appointments from the Emperor etc, usually are but, unless completely narrative-made, are usually born from things that happen in-game.

[Mr. Bean Laden]

Ah, the feeling of power, that hundreds or thousands of men are under your command. It's such a feeling that my Melas doesn't really have yet. I'm anxious to know if there will be any rebellions that need to be brought down by Laenas in "his" new lands. Keep it up!