Far Have I Travelled (A Sauromatae AAR for EBII) [Updated: 23/02/2022]

**McScottish** · January 10, 2022, 09:53 AM

Okay, I'll admit that I'm a wee bit lazy, so I copied this entire format of a 'front page' from the formidable Kilo11 who, if you have not yet checked it out, is currently writing his TWC AAR on the Nabataens – which thus far is as good as you should expect and wish it to be! Meaning exceptionally good.

Motivation and General Info about the AAR

Settings

Notes for the Reader

AAR Glossary

Maps

Table of Contents

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So Begins a Tale - Prologue

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part One

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part Two

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part Three

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part Four

So Begins a Tale - Prologue

Far have I travelled, perhaps farther than any of my people... maybe even farther than those philosophical Hellenes that call themselves 'learned' and 'knowing', the ages of this world granting me long life, and with it fate gifted me the means to see the vast expanses of this existence with my own eyes – from the north to the south, and from the west to the east – all before the Gods decided to take away my vigour and vitality, my youth swept away like the ashes of the hearth and dispersed to the winds.

Ah, I am certain there are many things about me, a nameless chronicler, that you must be pondering; having found this document, and now as you read the lines I have written, I shall give you the answers you seek in due time and in their proper order... so, where to begin...

It was spring when the horse-lords appeared, a time of year the Hellenes call 'Eiar' and my own folk know as 'Fidnanos' or 'the warm months', and indeed the sun beat down on us most harshly as we washed ourselves of the constantly biting insects, our flesh reddened by both sun and beast, and the waters of the Borysthenes River a soothing balm to those unused to such punishment of nature.

There were plenty of those for these foreign annoyances to feast on, over one-hundred of us having gathered at Olbia by the mouth of the Hypanis River before heading eastward, and in time paying some fishermen with what little coin we carried to ferry us from one bank of the Borysthenes to the other.

I came into the company of these misthophoroi with little more than my weapons, a half-battered shield, and the sparse clothes on my back, a mere stripling of six-and-ten years who had promised to my mother and father that I would return to them and my home of Senogwedyodunom beyond the Istros with both riches and glorious tales aplenty!

I, Nantuas, son of Ordouix and a child of the Scordisci, had gone eastward in the frigid dark months and, after reaching Olbia, soon found myself among a war-band of eager warriors; there were no women in the band, only high-spirited and hot-blooded men of lesser and greater years, men from tribes I knew and westward reaching clans I had no knowledge of, this mass of flesh and iron held together by a ferocious Lingonian called Kabaros.

It was he who would serve as our 'Rix', unopposed and unafraid of any challenge to his authority, Kabaros on the face of it the very effigy of the bloodthirsty tribesmen that the Hellenes, and other 'civilised' peoples, considered my fellow warriors and I to be – large of body and firm of limb, his eyes full of fire and purpose, his mane of greying hair showing a fighting man of many years, unbowed by time and unbroken by any enemy.

Yes, I thought to myself when I was bought before him and sworn to his band, I will follow this man to battle and to victory, though I had tasted neither in my youthful state as more of a farmer.

In the weeks we settled ourselves on the eastern bank of the surging Borysthenes - eating what meagre supplies we had bought in Olbia, or could hunt in the grasslands all about us – we were joined at our temporary village of tents and shelters by a Greek, an educated Athenian playwright no less, who it was told to us had been cruelly exiled from his home for 'corrupting the youth' with his comical plays; I had no idea what this meant, or why he should be forbidden from returning to his birthplace, but how I came to understand is for later in my tale.

Doryssos, the dark-eyed playwright with his stubbled chin and short stature, would be the one to teach me the words and alphabet of the Hellenes. It is for this reason alone that you may understand what I have written here, and it is a debt to him that I feel has been paid and yet can never be paid.

Anyway, it is through all this that we (and I) came to be one temperate dusk on the bank of a winding river east of Olbia but also some distance from the lands of the Basileion tou Kimmerikou Bosporou under Paerisades the Second, our scanty fires kept close and burning, and into the illuminating light of the central and largest fire came riding figures as if out of legend.

Glossary

**Johnadiw26** · January 11, 2022, 09:35 AM

Welcome back Mcscottish

**Alwyn** · January 16, 2022, 04:03 AM

Intriguing! I look forward to seeing what's behind the signs. I hope all's well for you McScottish, as Johnadiw26 said it's good to see you here.

**McScottish** · January 24, 2022, 08:59 AM

Originally Posted by Alwyn

Intriguing! I look forward to seeing what's behind the signs. I hope all's well for you McScottish, as Johnadiw26 said it's good to see you here.

Is there any way I could please get this moved to the Medieval II AAR forum? Muchos gracias.

**McScottish** · February 01, 2022, 07:39 AM

Updated.

**McScottish** · February 07, 2022, 10:54 AM

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part One

They called themselves Khsaitae, the foremost and strongest tribe among those that the Greeks know more commonly as the Sarmatai, nomadic horsemen of royal blood who sought and received tribute from Olbia and other Hellenic poleis built for trade along the northern shores of the Eúxeinos Póntos.

This we were told after the band of some seventeen or so wanderers made their presence clearly known - having somehow slid like shades past any of us alert enough to notice an attack, moving skilfully around our tents, makeshift shelters and smaller fires - coming straight as an arrow to the innermost circle where I sat cross-legged alongside Kabaros, regaling us with a tale of his earlier years, Doryssos shaking his head at the more outlandish boasts and scratching down what he reasoned to be important. Meanwhile our dozen or so companions, the finest or most experienced warriors in our war-band lounged here-and-there as they liked, almost to a man leaping upwards and drawing weapons at the first sound of a snorting horse or the soft clop of hooves on grass.

Our honoured guests... our employers, as they would happen to be... made no movement toward their own weapons, bows remaining unstrung and sword blades not seeing the ever-dimming light of the gloaming, I can say for myself that the entire moment extremely unnerving; we Keltoi, as the 'civilised' nations know us, are a people who thrive on hot-blooded actions, laughter and song, and for these horsemen to simply remain sitting atop their sturdy mounts, motionless, when threatened by armed men was something unnatural.

Ever so slowly one man leant forward in his saddle, raising one hand in a universal sign of greeting and good intentions, eyes as keen as a hawks moving over each and every one of us for what seemed like an eternity. Here was a man, I somehow knew in my heart, who had noted everything he had seen of our camp and, had he wished it to be so, I was convinced would have and could have swept us away as if so much torn turf thrown into a stormy breeze.

Moments later and the whole still of the twilight was broken, that same man speaking thickly accented words I could not then understand, but were revealed to be none other than the common Hellenic tongue – koine - used in the agora of a thousand cities and known fortuitously well by our 'pet Greek'.

Doryssos rose nervously from where he was sitting, adjusting his tunic and chalmys with well practised ease, veiling himself in the manner of a man-at-ease, as if an Athenian gentleman conducting business with another. His movements were then cautious, if not overtly, guarded but not so much as to insult the nomads who now looked at him with a blend of interest and their own inner thoughts pooling beneath the surface of their eyes.

Words flitted between Greek and horseman in a flurry of hand gestures and silence, all the while my brothers and I looked to one-another and kept our hands wrapped about spear shaft and sword hilt, the escorting Sarmatai unable to have been any more opposite... then again this was their land after all, what should they have to fear from us?

“His name is Khaufarn, the...” For a moment the playwright simply moved his hands as he looked to us, “...the 'Armdara', which seems to be some sort of priest-king to these people, I think.”

It was Kabaros who now stepped forward, planting the tip of his spear into the soft ground and resting his thyreos against his thigh, the eyes of one warrior-chief meeting those of his horse-riding twin; calmly he cleared his throat and spoke, never taking his eyes away from the roamer before him.

“Ask him what he wants, Greek. We expected one of you, not some grassland bandit.”

More words and this time a smile split the handsome face of the Armdara, a chuckle leaving his throat, and a hand slapping his saddle. His then eyes moved to meet those of the younger man beside him, equally as handsome and clearly a blood relation, a small gesture causing the younger to hand a small sack to the older warrior.

“He says this is his brother, Urwastur, they are of the royal Khsaitae, and that although he is not a Greek that it shall be the Greeks paying for our services on the battlefield.” Doryssos gave a small shrug, “it seems they wish to employ your services, great Rix.”

The sack was thrown at the feet of Kabaros, an accurate but gentle toss, the sound of clinking immediately causing the greying Lingonian to stoop down and pick it up.

Inside was revealed a small fortune in gold coin - and only gold – many of the coins marked with the heads of Bosporan kings, others with the faces of Diadochoi, some even of an older providence than this.

“Tell him we accept,” snorted the war-chief, scratching his bearded cheek with one rough-looking coin, “who and where are we fighting?”

Words.

“There will be no fighting until the summer months, he says we are to wait for his return and that we are welcome to spend our coin as we see fit. When the weather becomes hot, and the clans move little, he may call on us... until then...”

There was another shrug from the Greek, and at that - with night swiftly settling in and a bargain struck – the riders turned about and vanished into the darkness as quickly as they had come, their forms melding back into shadow, leaving only the wind and the muttered queries of those awoken by the exchange.

As for myself, I could only keep what had happened in my minds eye, and somewhere deep in there was a thought that I wished very much to see these strangers again.

Glossary

**McScottish** · February 10, 2022, 02:05 PM

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part Two

My lips moved swiftly but soundlessly as I let the words of prayer slip from them, my eyes closed so that all I saw was black, and my hands moving over the mound of earth that I had constructed to act as a form of sacred ground over which to pray; it was not much, not much at all, a few of the coins we had been given – and that unlike my more sodden brethren I had retained, their own coin long parted from them by women, drink and other traded goods – buried deep down in the still-moist earth of the riverbank while I recited the names of several Gods, and asked them for protection and good fortune.

“Perhaps while you are down there, you might say a prayer for me as well?”

I recall barely moving as Doryssos made himself known to me, knowing better than to simply slink his way silently into my presence. While I may still have been no more than an amateur in the ways of war, I had spent the weeks since our Sarmatian friends had disappeared back into the grasslands training with others, Kabaros especially seeming to have taken me on as some form of initiate.

Slowly I eased myself back from my haunches, sitting myself down fully upon the grass and turning my head up toward the summer sun, a breeze from the river doing a little to sooth the ache now presenting itself in my thighs from where I had sat on my heels.

“Who do you pray to, friend Nantuas?” Asked the playwright, almost reverently, eyeing the hummock of disturbed earth with some unease; he was a worshipful Hellene, respectful of the greater powers, and I could not help but smile as he looked back at me.

“I pray and hope that Nantosuelta may offer the warmth of fire and quenching water, that Epona may bless our journey through this land of more horses than men, and that – when the time comes... and it shall – Smertrios will steady my hand and allow me to survive in battle.”

One hand pulled my cloak tighter about myself, the other sliding from under me and allowing my to lay down in the soft grass, above me only blue sky and the distant forms of far-off birds.

“Where do you think they are now?”

The Greek gave a small grunt, “who are?”

“Our employers, the riders, where do you think?”

To my mind it would be madness to leave us with coin and then never return, but then again I was a youth of the Skordisci and for all I knew of the Sarmatian mind they may be using it as a reason to slaughter us all.

“Nantuas,” began my teacher and somewhat guide, looking at me as a tutor may scold his pupil, “look around you and you see but a fraction of the lands of the Sarmatai – look east, and consider if you can an endless sea of grass, some desert in the far reaches, and then more grass stretching to the far, far horizon.”

“And so...?”

“And so, my young companion, they could be anywhere! Anywhere!”

He rose from his spot with a laugh and a wave of his hands, clearly as ignorant of their movements as I but even less confident to show it. He was a Greek after all, and of all the worlds peoples, they were the last to admit when they were wrong.

******

Summer, or the month that the civilised nations call summer, had nearly ended before we saw any sign of the wandering horse folk again. Hey came as a small group, only five or so horsemen of them, and nowhere among them could I see either the Sarmatian Armdara or his eldest son.

Here in the sunlight I could study these strangers more thoroughly, having only glimpsed the others in an evenings dim light, my eyes moving over them to pick out every detail I could of man, beast and more.

Truth be told they were not much different to ourselves, their limbs clean and strong – though their legs were somewhat bowed from being in the saddle all day – their flesh toughened and reddened by the sun, but otherwise as was our own, every man possessing a neat beard and hair dressed likewise... then there were the two without beards.

The first called out a greeting to us as they rode nearer, many of us getting to our feet in order to see them better. I walked to the edge of our camp-ground and took in the sight of the clean-shaven rider, all the more strange because he was dressed like a Greek but for the topknot of black hair high on his head. It only then struck me that he had announced himself in a widely used dialect of our own tongue, others narrowing their eyes at this as they too realised, one of his hands raising itself toward us from beneath his light chalmys and allowing the folds to fall and reveal a Greek chiton beneath.

My stare found that of Doryssos, but he could only shrug at my questioning gaze.

It was then that I discovered for myself the true focal point of attention, my own eyes widening somewhat as I beheld the clearly feminine rider, the first sight any of us had had of a Sarmatian woman; assuredly we had seen Skythian women during our short stay in Olbia, but the sedentary Skúthoi of Olbia, as the Hellenes call them, are altogether different from the free woman who enticed so many of us then. Oh, we too had women who marched and fought alongside their kin-folk, but so far away from our homes it was something we had not expected.

By the time I tore my scrutiny away from her, Kabaros was already in conversation with the strange horseman – who seemed to be foremost among this group – both gesturing rapidly, words flowing back and forth like wine at a symposia, the horsemen almost a head shorter than our elected chieftain but upright and unafraid nonetheless.

Eventually Kabaros gave an uncompromising nod of his head, looking about at those around him, before setting his eyes on none other than I.

“Nantuas!” he bellowed, those closest to me taking a step away as he motioned for me to approach, “come here, boy, it seems our friends here have a use for you.”

Glossary

**Alwyn** · February 12, 2022, 06:03 AM

The cultural and historical references are nicely balanced, giving your tale an authentic historical flavour without overloading or confusing the reader. (I'm grateful for the glossaries). Showing us the Sarmatians from the perspective of outsiders works well, and introduces some important cultures of the era. You have set the scene well, and I'm looking forward to finding out what Nantuas will be asked to do.

**Kilo11** · February 14, 2022, 01:59 AM

Very nice beginning you've got here, McScottish! The overall feel is great, the level of historicity mixed with action/dialogue is great, and overall it is just... what's the word... great!

I don't have much more to add than that. There was however one thing I noticed which I found cumbersome and thought might be worth mentioning.

Originally Posted by McScottish

... the first sight any of us had had of a Sarmatian woman; assuredly we had seen Skythian women during our short stay in Olbia, but the sedentary Skúthoi as the Hellenes call them, Sakā as the Persians so name them, and Skuda as I was to find out the Sarmatians called them, of Olbia are altogether different from the free woman who enticed so many of us then.

Giving the different names used be different peoples can be useful, especially if you are going to alternate through them later in your tale as Hellenes, Persians, or Sarmatians enter/exit the story. However, stacking them all at once felt a bit too much to me. Personally, I'd only use the Hellenic name, drop the other two entirely, and then only bring them in later if you actually need that detail. I.e., my suggestion for the sentence would be:

"... the first sight any of us had had of a Sarmatian woman; assuredly we had seen Skythian women during our short stay in Olbia, but the sedentary Skúthoi, as the Hellenes call them, Sakā as the Persians so name them, and Skuda as I was to find out the Sarmatians called them, of Olbia are altogether different from the free woman who enticed so many of us then."

Other than that one little thing though, all very good stuff!

**McScottish** · February 14, 2022, 07:50 AM

Originally Posted by Alwyn

The cultural and historical references are nicely balanced, giving your tale an authentic historical flavour without overloading or confusing the reader. (I'm grateful for the glossaries). Showing us the Sarmatians from the perspective of outsiders works well, and introduces some important cultures of the era. You have set the scene well, and I'm looking forward to finding out what Nantuas will be asked to do.

Many thanks to you, Alwyn, you'll find out what he's asked vey soon.

Originally Posted by Kilo11

Very nice beginning you've got here, McScottish! The overall feel is great, the level of historicity mixed with action/dialogue is great, and overall it is just... what's the word... great!

I don't have much more to add than that. There was however one thing I noticed which I found cumbersome and thought might be worth mentioning.

Giving the different names used be different peoples can be useful, especially if you are going to alternate through them later in your tale as Hellenes, Persians, or Sarmatians enter/exit the story. However, stacking them all at once felt a bit too much to me. Personally, I'd only use the Hellenic name, drop the other two entirely, and then only bring them in later if you actually need that detail. I.e., my suggestion for the sentence would be:

"... the first sight any of us had had of a Sarmatian woman; assuredly we had seen Skythian women during our short stay in Olbia, but the sedentary Skúthoi, as the Hellenes call them, Sakā as the Persians so name them, and Skuda as I was to find out the Sarmatians called them, of Olbia are altogether different from the free woman who enticed so many of us then."

Other than that one little thing though, all very good stuff!

A fair and balanced point, and I shall take that on board. My thanks, oh wise one.

**McScottish** · February 14, 2022, 09:47 AM

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part Three

Sleep did not come easily to me, if it came at all, the night before I – along with several others of our war-band – were to travel with our guides north-east and into lands we knew not where; as much as I tried to sleep, prayed for a moments rest where I lay in the warm nights air beneath the open endless sky, I could not subdue nor extinguish the heated rush of blood that caused my head to pound and my mouth to become dry.

Was this how my ancestors felt, I wondered as I shifted from side-to-side beneath my cloak, listening unconsciously to the fireside chanting, songs and boasts of over a hundred throats, how my own father and mother may have tried to sleep before leaving what the Greeks call 'Galatía' and where they suppose the 'Keltoí' to live?

They had never told me much of their journey from the west, preferring to leave it behind and concentrate on their lives among the Skordískoi who, like those I now surrounded myself with, came from near and far and settled inside domains that may not have been their own.. but which they nevertheless took by sword and by words.

“You can not sleep?”

At once my hand fell to where I had left my knife, twisting about to find an empty space where it had been and the Sarmatian Hellene looking at me from beneath shadowed brows. In his hand he held my sheathed knife, curiously turning it this way and that, drawing it out enough to see the fine craftsmanship of the blade before tossing it gently back to where I now propped myself alertly on one elbow. Now this close, his choice of clothing seemed to me even more curious than before.

“No,” I replied in my imperfect Greek koine, trying not to seem even more foolish in front my newest travelling companion, “it is... difficult...” I had not even heard him approach.

His head dropped on one side as he openly studied me, sun-tanned hands gently moving his chalmys aside, interlocked fingers placed on cross-legged thighs.

“You miss your home, yes?” His smile was pleasant, even in the darkness, no malice contained in his words or movements, “but here you are!” His hands and eyes now both widened, his smile too, moving to encompass all with the motions of a storyteller, “you feel the haste, the fervour in yourself, yes?”

“Yes.”

Two palms slapped his bare thighs in mirth - the first and only steppe-dweller I had seen without bhrāg-ikā encasing his legs for riding - “it is natural, particularly here. Do not be troubled by it, embrace it, I had heard that you Keltoí are a wild and unbound people, so be wild and unbound.”

“Where do we travel to... tomorrow?” I asked, at once curious and animated by any given knowledge, making a deliberate effort to disregard his premeditations of my people.

“Ah!” Now he stood, taking up an orators stance and looking down at me imperiously, “in the morning I, Baga of the Khsiragatae, shall take my party and your helpers into the land of the Iwzagtae. There my Armdara even now is gathering a host that you, at least, will never have seen the likes of before. Our task it to negotiate trade with the Hellenes of the Kimmerikou Bosporou - who believe themselves our superiors, but pay us tribute all the same.”

The Khsiragatae, I came to know, were to the Greeks the 'Sirakoi' – a thoroughly Hellenised tribe of the Sarmatians, their lands somewhere far to the east – and those called 'Iwzagtae' known widely as Iazyges.

“Why take us?” Was my final question as he turned to walk away, our conversation over it seemed, “you command these lands and suffer no interference. Why take some of us with you to a negotiation?”

“Why else,” came his slowly fading reply, his feet padding across the grass and away from me, “to scare the Greeks, of course!”

******

Light entered my eyes as I awoke, a strong cough racking my lungs and a moment or two needed to stretch my stiffened limbs. There are those who make a habit of sleeping on the bare ground, needing no more than their own clothing for a pillow and a thin blanket for warmth, but I was a pup and ten-and-six years, far from inured to the life I would lead in years ahead. That said, I have never found anything to be better than a soft cot a thick woollen mantle to keep myself asleep.

My morning meal consisted of a simple porridge, more like a thin gruel really, my stomach grumbling for something more substantial and preferably four legged; the hunger was somewhat offset by a few pieces of cheese I managed to acquire, buying them from a smiling Arvernian who knew he had the better of the deal.

“These things will not carry anyone into the grassland,” muttered Carsidios as I drew near to where we must make our departure, where the Sarmatians had hobbled their sturdy ponies and left them for the night, the shirtless grumbler one of the Trēueri known throughout the homeland as skilled riders and judges of equine flesh.

Several others joined in his scoffing, including Dorepos the Boius and Reuzamos the Thracian, those of us from peoples little known for their horsemanship simply stood and shook our heads at the display of disrespect. We had no idea what these incautious louts knew of Sarmatian horses, but all knew it was too little for them to make such a display within earshot of their riders.

“It is a good thing then,” came the voice of Baga from the opposite side of the small herd, flanked by three of his kin and dressed now in the manner of his people rather than that of the Greek, “that you will all be riding in this.”

A hand waved to a gap between our tents, an uncovered wagon pulled by two straining oxen creaking into our view, guffawing Keltoí slapping one another on the back and those horseman among us grimacing most of all.

All of the nomads appeared one after the other, nearly uniform in their clothing of thigh-length tunics with long sleeves, longer somewhat at the back than at the front, a belt tightly wrapped about their midriff, while their trousers – all perhaps made of fur-lined felt or leather – ended in a pair of calf-length boots bound about the ankle. What differed were the patterning upon the tunics and boots, the styles of the shoulder-length hair and broad bears, and the weapons carried by our hosts.

Baga grinned as he walked past me on the way to his own mount, my fellows gripping shields, spears and belting their swords to their waists, then making their way over to the wagon for our journey ahead. I too was about to join them when Baga gripped one arm and gave a shake of his head.

“They take your weapons,” he stated, “you follow me.”

I did as I was told, my weapons given over to the wagon while I followed Baga around the horses and found the Sarmatian woman smiling down at me from the back of her horse.

“You ride with Melaníppē!” He laughed, gesturing toward the space behind the cheerful woman.

“Melaníppē?” I asked, before I could stop myself, “she is Greek?”

“No, no, but her name is... difficult... for outsiders, so we name her after Amazon, yes?”

I accepted this and eyed the horse with mistrust, the woman atop it with even more, but she did not cease looking at me even as I dragged myself awkwardly up behind her - I did not know how these people could live like this, and we were not even moving.

Though I was but a stripling I still placed myself a head higher than Melaníppē, the Sarmatian not what I thought of as captivating at the time but... as I sat there and wrapped my arms about her waist, forced to lean a little closer, I could see that although she too seemed in the bloom of her life she had endured more than myself already.

Dressed in the same attire as her male companions, I could nevertheless feel a firmness to her that spoke of a life of hardships, her smell meanwhile... well... when one got past the distinct stench of horse and hay, her odour was feminine, and intoxicating to an immature boy like myself.

“Melaníppē,” she spoke while still looking forward, tapping a slightly calloused hand to her chest, her name vibrating past my tunic and into my chest where I sat clumsily.

“Nantuas,” came my simple reply, unsure of what to say, my nose getting unwittingly tickled by her loose-flowing black hair as I replied.

“Hold strong, Nantuas.”

My surprise at her speaking broken Gaulish was sharply severed as we moved into motion, my mind and eyes having been elsewhere for long minutes, everything pulled aggressively together as we moved off to follow on the flank of the wagon and into a world to me unknown.

******

Grass... grass and shades of green as far as the eye could see... the wind plucking at my bare head and the sun heating my pale flesh... Melaníppē like a resolute boats prow, standing firm through it all.

It was not a barren and lifeless land though, far from it, different types of bird wheeling overhead from time-to-time and, on the flatter grasslands, huge humpbacked beasts with low heads ponderously moved their way here and there.

Dotted about the place were a number of water courses, several times our party stopped for refreshment of man and animal, jeers thrown at me like javelins numerous times by my wagon-going brothers.

Hours passed and time passed, morning turned to afternoon and stretching out toward sunset – it was then that we found those we had been seeking.

The representative of the Bosporan Kingdom had positioned his camping ground on a slightly raised part of the hill-studded plains we were traversing, the top of his tent visible in the waning light of the sun, and as we got closer and closer I could feel Melaníppē becoming more tense... all until... there!

A small group of riders were nearing our own procession of horse and wagon, natural born riders who seemed as at ease in the saddle as my own travelling companions, but there was something off about how they approached us. Something unfriendly and out of place.

“Skulata,” grunted Melaníppē in front of me, spitting the word from between her lips as if it were the deadliest of poisons.

With their bows already strung, eyes flashing beneath high-topped helmet rims in the last rays of sunlight, the Skythians found a place within bowshot of our own band and stopped completely, doing little more than watching for the moment.

From this distance I could make out the Hellenic panoply of stiffened linen girding their upper bodies, their helmets those worn commonly in Thrake and in echoed imitation of their own stiff-peaked caps of felt, each man clutching either a bow, a spear, or an axe in his hand, golden hafts or a gold-plated gorytos reflecting what light remained to us.

A gesture from Baga bought all to a stop, Melaníppē urging me hastily down from her horse – a movement I performed with great skill, I thought at the time – the Sarmatians forming a line in front of the wagon.

My own people did not stand idle, our troop arming ourselves with all speed, half-crouched as we waited patiently on either side of the wagon. Myself included.

Every breath was expelled raggedly from my lungs, my eyesight narrowing and my hearing picking up sounds I was unable to hear before, my whole world about to return to calm or to disappear into a wind-storm of unleashed violence.

Glossary

**Bande Nere** · February 16, 2022, 10:29 AM

I'mma following this, and thanks for the glossary, it's quite helpful. Might have to download EB2.

**McScottish** · February 16, 2022, 11:18 AM

Originally Posted by DavidBN

I'mma following this, and thanks for the glossary, it's quite helpful. Might have to download EB2.

You are very much welcome, I hope it's not leaning too heavily on the historical side, as for EB2 I would recommend it to anyone.

**theSilentKiller** · February 16, 2022, 04:13 PM

Great first chapters! The writing is immersive and I like your glossaries - thought they have send me more than once now on a search for the remnants in the modern language of some of the words and back to the Latin sources that I have from the classes I had back in school.

Also it feels like your might have spend some time choosing/coming up with the name of your characters...

Either way, looking forward so reading more!

**Kilo11** · February 17, 2022, 05:36 AM

The execution here is simply breathtaking, McScottish! Keep up the good work on this one!

**Alwyn** · February 20, 2022, 05:35 AM

I agree, this is an immersive and well-executed tale, and the glossaries are useful (and illustrate the time you've invested in learning about these historical cultures). The encounter between Nantuas and Melaníppē is particularly engaging, and I'm looking forward to seeing what will happen in this latest encounter.

**McScottish** · February 23, 2022, 08:58 AM

First Contact... First Contract – Chapter One, Part Four

I may not tell you who threw the first pebble that began the ensuing avalanche, because with all honesty I do not know; I strongly suspect Velugnios of the Nervii, his people known even among my own as warlike and possessed of prodigious bravery, although the first strike of a drawn blade against the metal rim of a shield could have come from any of us, for we are Keltoí and do not lack courage.

Clang... clang... clang...

The blood ran cold and chill within me, my spine crawling as I looked at those in front and behind me, my own eyes meeting others as unsure as myself. It did not take long though, long for us to draw swords – if we had them – or to begin the rhythmic beat of a wooden spear haft to shield edge or solid earth, feet seemingly moving of their own will as we erstwhile sheltered warriors now moved forward to flank the line of Sarmatians stretched out in front of the ox wagon.

We may not have seemed like much, only a handful of us on each side of our mounted allies, but somehow we knew what we had to do. All eyes watched us with some unease, a relative unknown to the Skythians opposing us, and just as strange to our current hosts, my own eye fleetingly catching that of Melaníppē.

Time passed and the pulsating rhythm increased, somewhere down the line a voice was raised, a Gaulish voice, phrases known to all spilling from that mouth and provoking us all to take up the chant – the cantillation spoke of a lone warrior lost on a field of battle, his shield discarded and his body broken, but feeling the pounding of his still-beating heart in his chest he rose again, flinging his arms to the sky and calling on the Gods for the vigour needed to strike down his foes.

As the ancestral words moved through the air I could feel my own body moving, one of those that now stood beside me taking four steps forward and gesturing toward the silently watching horsemen, his tongue protruding from his mouth and his eyes bulging as he jerked this way and that in a form of dance. Soon he was joined by another, then another, then others beyond the Sarmatians began to join the dance. It was awe-inspiring.

Attention must have been caught, a lone figure emerging from the encampment on the hill and riding toward us with all speed, in one hand he clutched a bared sword and the other he held up open-palmed as a sign that he came without malice.

From where I stood I could see the setting sun gleaming from a bald but sweat-slick head, a Skythian cloak blowing away from the rider to reveal Greek clothing, the little pony he rode upon impressively swift for a creature so sturdy.

“Wait!” The newcomer yelled, his words caught on the wings that had began to pick up on the grasslands, “do not fight, do not fight!”

Between us he rode, as bold as any warrior I had seen before or have known since, ostensibly without fear. In one fluid motion he launched the sword blade at the ground, its tip piercing the earth, the sword standing proud as it swayed in the breeze.

“By the Gods that you both hold dear,” came the appeal to both the Skythians and Sarmatians alike, our own voices having been quietened by his act of spirit alone, both hands now pointing toward the embedded sword, “by the blade and the deity who's name shall not be spoken, I, Antibion, am here on an errand of fruitful diplomacy. Let us not spill blood, but share milk and meat together.”

Only now did Baga move his horse forward, coming to a stop next to the sword, reaching down patiently and plucking it from the ground. Holding it hilt-first toward Antibion, he waited until the Bosporan Hellene had taken it and gave a small nod of his head, emitting a shrill whistle from his lips that seemed to break the tenseness between both groups, my own remaining on our guard until both bands of horse-folk had dismounted and guided their mounts forward. In time both clusters stood facing one another, eyes as hard as flint moving little and mouths set firm, Baga taking a seat on the ground and waiting for Antibion to do likewise.

“Be at ease, my friends,” called the Sarmatian to us in our own tongue, “take wood from the wagon and here we shall set a fire, you have already made yourselves well known to these dogs, take drink and food, for now the battle of words begins.”

******

Night descended quickly over the grasslands, and so – now that both sides were at peace, only due to intervention from one Greek and their blade-that-was-a-god – several round tents sprung up with haste, horses were hobbled, and one central fire was lit to be surrounded by smaller ones.

Wood had been carried in the ox-wagon, and by the party of Antibion, and soon the flames pricked the landscape just as the few stars peeked through the cloak that was the nights sky.

In these labours I saw the very first slaves I had seen during my short time on the steppe, a dozen or more half-seen figures making their ways up the hill and returning swiftly with good meat and a specially fermented milk to drink and warm oneself,they could have been Hellenes, Skythian prisoners of battle... even Keltoí.

The night was warm, warmer than any I had passed in my own homeland, my cloak discarded on the wagon, and I felt for the first time somewhat at peace.

Baga and Antibion sat near one of the smaller fires to discuss matters unimportant to me, but my Greek was not so bad that I did not hear their change of tone and words, speaking Greek because so few among the present company did, but as their voices rose I found myself drawn to a crackling flame within hearing of the pair yet far enough away not to seem too suspicious.

“You know that Khaufarn gathers warriors to him, his position demands their allegiance and his reputation demands respect, you Greeks are fools if you believe he will simply allow you to spread your influence over the plains.”

“Come now, Baga, you know my Basile͜ús can not retain his position without expansion! The lands of the Maiotai are a perfect place – far enough away from your own herd lands, and there would be no need for recourse from the Armdara.”

“Pah, you Hellenes need to remember your place! You squat on the coasts, that is good, for we need the trade between us. Yet your Pairisades forgets himself. The time of war may not be upon us, and our friendship remains strong, but do not goad the Armdara, the Khsaitae, or the gathered strength of my people to remove your own. We deal with the Skuda for now... but after...”

With that threat hanging in the air between them, I watched silently as Baga stood and removed himself to some other fire further off, Antibion outwardly lost in thought.

Distraction was provided for me by the sudden appearance of Melaníppē, her head bare and her long dark hair unbound, the glow of the fire casting her not uncomely features in a much softer light than that of the sun; for the strength of her body and the masculine way in which she held herself, it was hard to remember that she was still a woman, but not hard for me to recall that I was a stripling of six-and-ten gazing at a woman who now placed herself on the ground beside me, one hand holding out a steaming wooden mug of mares-milk, while the other cast a mantle about our bare shoulders.

“Drink,” commanded the Amazon with a smile, the corners of her mouth wrinkling in a most pleasurable way.

I did as I was bidden, the foamy liquid passing my lips and causing me to crease my brow, it was not unpleasant but was slightly sour in taste. Once it had passed down ones throat, it left behind a lingering tang, though you at once wished to consume more. I did consume more, and soon my eyes became unfocused, Melaníppē letting out the giggle of a young girl as she directed us both toward the ground.

That night I spent pressed against the firm back of my Sarmatian woman, although at the time I had no true right to claim her as my own, her scent filling my nostrils and my mind as we two slipped into our own dreams... and I like to think into one anothers.

Soon enough sunrise would come, and with it a hard ride back to Kabaros and my companions, but with all that Baga had said I could not shake away the feeling that the thrill of battle I had wished for for so long would come relentlessly upon us.

**McScottish** · February 23, 2022, 09:05 AM

Originally Posted by theSilentKiller

Great first chapters! The writing is immersive and I like your glossaries - thought they have send me more than once now on a search for the remnants in the modern language of some of the words and back to the Latin sources that I have from the classes I had back in school.

Also it feels like your might have spend some time choosing/coming up with the name of your characters...

Either way, looking forward so reading more!

Thank you SK, I wouldn't rely too much on Latin classes, most of the words will be Greek... or Scythian, when and if I can use them.

As for character names, I do try and find those that I think will fit the theme and flavour of the text, you're not wrong there.

Originally Posted by Kilo11

The execution here is simply breathtaking, McScottish! Keep up the good work on this one!

As always, many thanks, and I shall try my best to keep trucking along.

Originally Posted by Alwyn

I agree, this is an immersive and well-executed tale, and the glossaries are useful (and illustrate the time you've invested in learning about these historical cultures). The encounter between Nantuas and Melaníppē is particularly engaging, and I'm looking forward to seeing what will happen in this latest encounter.

Gracias Alwyn, I'm also looking forward to seeing where the game and my characters shall take me, and if you can see that I've tried my hardest to gt to grips with these cultures.. well... then time not wasted in my books.

**Alwyn** · February 27, 2022, 09:57 AM

That is a great moment, when the Sarmatians join the dance - and also when Antibion arrives. Nantuas's night of peace and happiness seems all the more intense, considering what he expects to happen soon.

**Kilo11** · March 09, 2022, 04:25 AM

I am loving the careful intertwining of plot and character development. You may be writing this as an AAR, but with each installment, I am seeing more and more a novel unfolding. A novel which, if it keeps this quality, could very well be published! Keep the good stuff coming, man!

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