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07-30-2017, 01:40 AM | #21 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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CHAPTER TWO
June 5th, 1981, Castle Destro, Callander, Scotland Birdsong from the room's open window woke James McCullen XXIV, Laird of Destro. Destro slowly opened his eyes, adjusting them to the sunlight that streamed through the gauzy canopy of the massive bed. "Mmmm.." A feminine noise emanated from the mass of black hair on his chest. A lithe arm wrapped itself around him. "James..." the voice pleaded. "I don't want to go back." He looked down at the Baroness, whose face was still buried in his chest. The morning air was humid, causing the bedsheets to cling to her naked body in interesting ways. "Ana, I wish you didn't have to." He said, smoothing her hair and running his hand down her back to rest on her hip. The Baroness Anastasia CÃ*sařovna DeCobray sat up in the bed, clutching the sheet to her chest with her left hand. Her right groped for her glasses on the nightstand. "Come back to Springfield with me, James. We'll do it now." She said as she adjusted the circular, black frames to her face. "Ana, we've been over this, time and again..." Exasperation crept into his voice. "I won't move against the Commander until I have a reason to do so." "Ah, yes. Your precious 'honour'" she spat back, her tone dripping acid. Annoyance gave way to anger. Destro leapt to his feet. The Baroness shrunk back on the bed reflexively as the man's huge 6' 5" frame loomed over her. "Ach!" He cried, his emotion strengthening his highland accent. "You doan understand, lass. I believe in our cause! This empire my father built, my business, my family, I'm risking everything for it." The laird of the castle paced beside the bed as he talked. "I've pledged my loyalty to COBRA, and to the Commander himself. I won't throw that away because it suits me. Or you." He continued. "Not yet, anyway." Now it was Anastasia's turn for anger. "Then when?! How long must we wait to take what's ours?" Destro sighed. His voice softened. "This thing, lass, the ideals of Hix, the truth that the world needs a strong hand to guide it... it attracts people like us." The Baroness stood now, the sheet wrapped around her like the toga of some ancient goddess. "The Commander has surrounded himself with a mixture of the hyper-ambitious and the sycophantic. He thinks he can play their machinations against each other. And while he has the loyalty of the rank and file of COBRA, he's right. But as long as his is own closest allies seek to undermine him at every turn, he will continue to fail." Anastasia watched Destro with rapt attention. "And when his underlings have lead him to the brink of total failure, only then will we will step in." His arms snapped out, seizing the Baroness' arms in his huge hands and drawing him to her. He gazed through her glasses into her cornflower blue eyes. Ana, beautiful, brilliant, ruthless. So unlike his late wife. They'd married extremely young, and though she had bore him a son, he'd grown quickly tired with her vacuous obsession with the trappings of wealth and nobility. But he loved this woman. "Together, Anastasia, we will change the world!" The Baroness melted into his arms. Desire stirred within him. He spun her around and pushed her away, causing her to grunt softly as she landed face down on the bed. Destro fell upon her, straddling her prostrate body and gathering the mass of her raven hair in his powerful fist. "But we have other matters to attend to before you leave.", he said as he sharply yanked her mane. Sated, Destro and the Baroness walked arm in arm through the corridors of Castle Destro. Servants bowed and guards snapped to attention as they made their way to the arboretum. They found Destro's son already there, taking his morning tea and reading the Times. "Ah! Good morning, Father, Anastasia." He called. James McCullen XXV, who his father called Alexander. Like the Baroness, he had just turned thirty, and had sharp features that made him look even more aristocratic than his father. As his father dedicated more and more of his time to COBRA, the younger Destro had taken control of the day to day business of MARS Industries as well as the mercenary company the family unofficially ran. Destro and the Baroness sat, as a maid instantly produced cups of tea and trays of eggs, sausage and toast. "As I was saying, Ana," Destro said, taking a sip of tea. "The Commander, for all his genius, is also blind. He fancies that he is playing a grand game of chess with his rivals, but he actually trusts far more than he should. Take Dr. Binder, for instance." "Mindbender?" The Baroness said incredulously. "That fool of a scientist? I don't see him as a schemer. Certainly not a competent one." "Then why does Serpentor still live?" He asked. "What?! I saw the body of Mindbender's little test tube baby myself, James, right before they tossed it into the incinerator." Destro laughed. "As did I. I also observed that, despite months of intensive physical training, the body which was so unceremoniously disposed of had no calluses on its hands or feet." The Baroness' eyes widened behind her glasses. "The failed clone!" She gasped. "Precisely my dear. Although I don't think that Dr. Binder has any treachery in mind. The man is utterly guileless. He simply turned him loose rather than kill him. Some sort of fatherly impulse, I'd guess." A snort emanated from behind Alexander's newspaper. "Something amusing in the paper, son?" Destro asked. Alexander neatly folded the newspaper and set it down. "Merely pondering the fact that any passerby who'd overheard that last would think the two of you utterly barking mad." The younger McCullen said, finishing his tea. Alexander retrieved a scone from one of the silver trays and began to liberally butter it. "Anastasia, already going to back to Springfield, is it? It seems as if you've just arrived!" He added. "Yes, unfortunatley. Duty calls." The Baroness' accent was distinct in its difficulty to place. To be expected, Alexander thought. She'd bounced all over Europe in her youth, before taking up with Father. "I'm on the continent for until Monday, and then in Rio." Destro added, unbidden. Alexander finished his scone, and dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. "If you'll excuse me," he said as he stood, "Not all of us can spend our time jetting around the globe, hatching intrigues with eccentric ne'er-do-wells. I've a business to run. Good day." March 3rd, 1982, Los Angeles, California Serpentor stumbled up the mountainside through waist deep snow. The howling wind seemed to blow through him, naked as he was, freezing him to his bones. He fell again and again, each time forcing his numb legs to bring him to his feet and press on. He was well aware he was dreaming, as he had nearly the same dream every night of his short life. The last few weeks, however, the woman had not come. The strange woman, with her alien, reptilian beauty, had been replaced by The Voice. "COME TO ME!" The Voice rasped, as it always did, some how both painfully loud and whisper quiet. "COME, IT IS YOUR DESTINY!" He dropped to his knees, sobbing with exhaustion. "COME TO ME!" "I'm trying, you bastard!" Serpentor screamed futilely against the roaring wind. "Tell me where to go!" He was suddenly and violently wrenched from the ground. Filled with the most intense terror he had felt in any of his lifetimes, the ground spun beneath him as he soared up into the sky. Over and over he tries to scream, but no sound escaped him. He hung in the air, somehow even colder than before, viewing the snowy mountainous landscape thousands of feet beneath him, just as he always did. The Voice hissed again. "COME!" And then he was plummeting back towards the earth. With a scream, Serpentor bolted upright in his bed. He was drenched with sweat and his chest heaved as he struggled for breath. He reached over and pulled the cord on his nightstand lamp, retrieving his sketchbook from the drawer as he did so. Quickly he began to draw, as he did every night, the terrain he saw as he was suspended over the earth in his dream. Once finished, he glanced at the clock radio. Four thirty. He pushed the alarm button to display the time he had his wake up set for. He still had nearly three hours, Mr. Voice would have to wait today.
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07-30-2017, 03:49 PM | #22 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: baldwinsville new york
Posts: 1,785
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VERY NICE...Dont be offended if your vision of Serpentor guides mine buddy.
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07-31-2017, 12:47 PM | #23 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
|
Go right ahead! I love The Initiative, borrow whatever you'd like!
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07-31-2017, 12:49 PM | #24 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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CHAPTER THREE
March 3rd, 1982, Los Angeles, California Serpentor awoke with the sun, at 6:30, despite the allowance he'd given himself. The dreams had not returned, but even in his fitful sleep his mind had never stopped turning. He threw open the curtains of his bedroom window and took in the view. The house was set into a notch carved into the side of the Hollywood hills, and from it's place on Deronda Drive, Serpentor could see a good deal of Los Angeles sprawled below. That was why he had purchase the house, though he could have easily afforded a better one, its location on the winding, narrow streets of the hillside neighborhood had reminded him of the villas of the Esquiline Hill, overlooking the Suburra and Caesar's family Domus. He dressed quickly, grabbed his sketchbook from the nightstand, and headed to the next bedroom. He'd set this bedroom, one of the house's five, up as an office. At the moment however, most of the space was given over to maps and charts. He tore the page from the book, and began comparing it to the other drawings he had made over the months. They were all nearly identical. Serpentor picked up his magnifying glass and turned his attention to the charts strewn across the desk. He worked his way west from Asia's pacific coast, following the great sweep of mountains that dominated the centre of that continent. He would sit with his drawings, turning them in every direction, comparing them with the map's peaks and valleys. Today his scrutiny fell upon the Karakoram, the region of mountains and glaciers that sat at the nexus of Pakistan, India, and China. Even on the map, the region appeared almost impossibly rugged. His magnifier swept over the capillary-like tracery of valleys and rivers that ran through area. Suddenly his eye was drawn to a valley system that reached south like a raven's claw to grasp at the peak of K2. Serpentor snatched one of his sketches and laid it next to the map. There he saw the same cluster of valleys... Perhaps five miles northeast of K2 was a peak labelled "Skyang Kangri". He was certain it was the mountain from his dreams. He'd found it! Grabbing the map from the table, he sat himself on the floor in front of the book case on the far side of the room. He began pulling down volumes of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. He had research to do. The smell of coffee brought Serpentor out of his books. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly eight, and Harry would be getting ready for the day. It was best to tell him now. He found Harry Ross in the kitchen, standing at the counter with his coffee and reading the Wall Street Journal. "Morning, Steve," his roommate and business partner said. "Rough night again?" Serpentor shrugged as he opened the refrigerator. "Same as always" he replied as he poured a tall glass of orange juice. He liked the smell of coffee, but had not developed a taste for it. Harry folded his paper and leaned back against the counter. His blond hair was pushed straight back and accentuated his boyishly handsome face. "My sister sees this therapist over in Beverly Hills. He's pretty good. I'll get the number for you." Serpentor took a sip of his juice. Since meeting Harry Ross eight months ago, the pair had transformed Ross' Plymouth Investments, a junk stock scam run out of his parent's garage, into the Tamerlane Group, a brokerage with over a hundred employees that netted the two of them millions in profits each month. They had also become fast friends. "Honestly, Harry, I think I've got the nightmares licked." He said. "But I do need to talk to you about something" "What's up?" Harry asked, as he rinsed his mug and placed it on the drying rack. "I'm going to be leaving for a bit." "What? Where are you going?" Harry asked with concern. "Pakistan. I'm going mountain climbing." Serpentor answered. "You're kidding me right? We've been busting our asses here trying to rake in as much capital as possible for some mystery project you've got in mind, being frugal, not spending anything on luxuries. I've got kids that have been working for us for three weeks driving Jags and buying mansions in the hills, and we're living here like college kids for Christ's sake. And now you want to go on a mountain climbing expedition? What the hell, Steve?" Serpentor sighed. "I know, Harry, I know. This isn't a vacation... it's important. You'll understand when I get back." He said, gulping down the last of his juice. "Besides, my birthday is coming up..." "Relax, Steve, you know I have complete trust in you." Ross said. "Just remember this, though, when I becomes time for me to do something stupid, okay? I dont know about you, but when I decided to become rich, I wanted to enjoy my money." Ross clapped his friend on the back. "Don't worry, Harry. If I don't make it back, Tamerlane will be all yours. You'll be free to blow as much money on girls and cars as you please." Serpentor smiled. "Are you trying to make me not want you to come back?" Harry laughed. "When do you leave?" "Probably not until next week at the earliest." He said. "Good. I've still got time to take you out for the birthday I didn't know you were having. We're going to Yamato's, you're going to try sushi, and you're gonna love it, got me?" Harry commanded. "Why didn't you tell me your birthday was coming?" Serpentor laughed. "I'm sorry Harry, I didn't realise the protocol, its my first one." Harry shook his head in dismay. "You have the weirdest sense of humor of anybody I've ever met. You're gonna have to work on your jokes if we're gonna meet any girls, Steve."
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10-24-2017, 01:49 PM | #25 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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CHAPTER FOUR
March 11, 1982, K2 base camp, Karakoram Mountains, Pakistan. Serpentor stood in the evening's failing light and stared up at the mountain, an inky black mass silhouetted against the dusk sky. Days ago, Land rovers had deposited him, and the other climbers, in the tiny village of Askole. That place, with its rude dwellings of piled stone and rough wood, might have remained unchanged since he lived as Alexander, all those millennia ago. From there they had walked, trekking for days toward the mountain. Serpentor had crossed a plain of boulders, walked cliffside paths where one misstep meant a vertical drop of thousands of meters, and slept out on a glacier with the distant thunder of the duelling artillery of Pakistan and India for a lullaby. If I die here, I will have lived more in the short year of my life than most men would in a century, he thought. But I won't die here. I'll conquer this mountain, and then the whole of the world. He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps to find Anna, one of the German mountain climbers here to summit K2. She smiled her wide mouthed, toothy smile at him. Still pretty, with her blue eyes and blonde bob, despite the red and wind-chapped face that all the climbers had by this point in their journey. "Stephen, I have come to try to talk you out of this one last time." She said. "Just come up K2 with us instead, I'm begging you." Serpentor laughed. "Not a chance, Anna. That's not why I'm here." The plan was that, in the morning, the parties would split. Anna, her husband Paul, and the six other German climbers and their porters would continue up K2, and Serpentor and his would trek over to the base of Skyang Kangri where he would make his ascent. "Skyang Kangri has only been summited once! You can't do it alone, Stephen. It's suicide!" She pleaded. "I won't be alone, really, although the porters never get their names in the history books." He replied. "Anyway, won't seem so foolhardy in a couple of weeks when we're discussing it over tea back in Islamabad." Anna's fist lashed out to punch him in the chest. "You're an imbecile, Minasian!" She yelled, and then grabbed him by his parka. "As it happens, I've a soft spot for imbeciles and condemned men. Now take me to your tent." She demanded. He definitely felt the attraction between them over the last weeks, and Anna was a thoroughly liberated as you'd expect from a woman of her privileged and liberal German upbringing, but her bluntness surprised him still. "Paul?" He asked, looking in the direction of the other climbers. "Bourgeoise nonsense, Stephen. Paul allows me my indulgences and I his. Now let's go!" She said, taking his hand and leading him away. March 14, 1982, Skyang Kangri base camp The storm had come up unexpectedly. Wind roared and snow blasted, jostling Serpentor's tent violently as he lay in his sleeping bag, drinking in the fury that raged around him. Suddenly the tent flap opened, and with a gust of wind snow, Salim, the chief porter and mountain guide, entered. Salim refastened the tent flap and bowed slightly to Serpentor. "All is as prepared as can be for tomorrow, Mr. Minasian." He said. "Although we may be later in leaving than planned, there will be much snow to remove from our supplies." The small, dark man had proven himself supremely competent so far, and Serpentor had little worry that things would fail to be adequately ready. "Excellent, Salim. I thank you again." He replied. "I feared we might have some problem with some of the men." Salim continued. "But I managed to calm them, even if I had to threaten to have one or two whipped when we return." "Why is that? What's the problem?" Serpentor asked, the first doubts creeping into his mind. "I had not as much time as I would have liked to select the men for this journey. There are many pagans and unbelievers among them. Bön, buddhists, and such. They have superstition of the Skyang Kangri. One had begun talking about the storm as a sign of the mountain's displeasure. As if anyone but Allah can make a storm! It spread among the men and the talk began of Barmanu, like what you would call a Yeti, and Nagas. Pagan nonsense, of course!" "And you don't believe, Salim?" Serpentor asked. "Of course not. The Quran speaks of djinn, evil spirits that will turn a man's thoughts to evil, but monsters and evil storms? Pagan nonsense!" He said again. "The men will be ready in the morning, or they will answer for it! I promise you!" Serpentor slept soundly through most of the night. He awoke once, and then not completely, during a particularly violent series of wind blasts. In the disorientation of sleep, he imagined he heard animals howling and hissing through the roar of the gale. Serpentor awoke with a start the next morning. It felt later than expected, and he checked his watch. It read 8:30. The snow must have been worse than expected, they should have been underway at least an hour ago. He extracted himself from his sleeping back and had donned his parka and boots before he realised that he didn't hear the sound of the porter's digging out, if that was what they should be doing. Curious and concerned, he threw open the ten flap and went out. He stood in stunned silence. Base camp was gone. Everything. The men, equipment, and supplies had vanished, leaving only the half snow filled depressions of where the other tents had sat to mark that they had ever even existed. "Salim! Hello!" He bellowed, fighting the dawning realisation that he had been abandoned. Serpentor looked to the peak of Skyang Kangri, and then back to K2, the way he had come. He could attempt to ascend the mountain solo, or he could make the trek the miles down to the glacier, through the river valley, and back to Askole. Either option was death to a man alone. He sat in the snow and pondered his choices. In his lives, he thought, he had conquered from Greece to India, from Korea to Poland. Fought the crowns of Europe to a standstill. If his fate lay before him on this mountain, he would meet it, or perish in the attempt. Serpentor gathered what supplies and equipment he could carry and began his ascent.
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Needs : AOCI Lamprey Vests, (or similar), ROC Flash helmets, ROC Shipwreck flippers, 25th Dusty Torsos (or similar), BBTS Bull (Taurus) head, Snake Eyes V.52 forearms. Last edited by DerStahlhelm; 10-25-2017 at 08:09 AM.. |
10-25-2017, 01:03 PM | #26 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: baldwinsville new york
Posts: 1,785
|
Nice dude..very nice
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10-25-2017, 04:46 PM | #27 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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CHAPTER FIVE
March 16, 1982, somewhere on Skyang Kangri mountain Serpentor fell to his knees with exhaustion as he reached the first patch of horizontal ground he had seen in hours. His engineered physiology, less affected by the altitude and thin air than even the natives who had abandoned him, was pushed to the brink of failure. He groped for a handful of snow, shoving it into his mouth. His water had run out hours -or was it days?- ago, and despite the storm which raged around him, he was parched. He looked up, unable to see the peak of the mountain now, or anything more than a few feet away, through the storm. Where was he? He may have an ascent of a dozen feet left or a few thousand. His sense of direction failed, up, down, north, south all spinning nonsense now. If I stop moving, I'll die, he thought, forcing himself to his feet. Serpentor managed to walk another few steps before his legs gave way. He landed face first into the mountain snow. Fighting through his delirium, he summoned the last of his immense strength, and forced himself to his hands and knees. He began to crawl, groping blindly forward through the blinding snow. He crawled and crawled, perhaps a dozen feet, perhaps a dozen miles, he couldn't know now. Finally his hand found something, soft and textured like rough wool. He looked up and thought he saw two figures standing over him, swathed in black robes. Wide, conical hats sat on their heads, the black veils that hung from them obscuring their faces. Serpentor stared up at the silent , unmoving figures, wondering if they were real or a last creation of his surely dying mind. Darkness overtook him. Someplace else, Sometime later Serpentor was aware of the sensation of warmth. Warmth, so rare these last weeks in the mountains, save for that one brief night with Anna. But this was more than warmth, he was aware that he was sweating. He shouldn't be sweating, laying in the snow of a mountainside. Of course, if he was in the snow, he needed to get moving before he froze to death. He may have been there too long already.... He shot up, now fully awake, and found himself in unfamiliar surroundings. He was not on the side of a mountain, as he had expected, but was laying naked on a plush silk mat in the corner of a room. The chamber was lit dimly by the flickering orange light of dozens of candles. The air was hot, oppressively humid, and heavy with the scent of incense and musky, reptile stink. The source of the incense was in the far corner, next to the room's only apparent door. There, behind a large incense burner, a figure sat cross legged, swaying back and forth, silently praying into the smoke. The figure was swathed in black robes and wore a conical hat covered with an opaque black veil... The figures from the mountain! Serpentor suddenly remembered. "Where am I?" He managed to croak through his dehydrated exhaustion. The figure stopped praying, picked up the inscence burner and stood. "Hello?" Serpentor called again. The being ignored him and shuffled through the chamber's door, closing it behind him. He thought he heard a faint, hissing whisper as it did followed by a heavy, metallic clack that told Serpentor he had most likely just been locked in. He stood now, taking in his surroundings. The room was sparse in decoration, just a few tapestries sporting designs of an arcane serpentine design. The tapestries and the stone floor and walls exuded a palpable sense of their antiquity. Wherever he was, it was ancient in construction. Next to his mat lay a low table. It held a pitcher of water and a ceramic cup, as well as a tunic and pants of jade colored silk. A pair of silk slippers lay on the floor in front of it. He decided to forgo the water for now, but dressed himself. He explored every nook of the room until satisfied they held no secrets, and then decided to try the door. As expected, the door was firmly locked, and would not budge. Serpentor knocked politely and received no response. He tried again, with a little more force, and calling out to whoever lay on the other side. Before long, he was pounding on the door and screaming himself hoarse, alternating between cajoling and threatening the life of whoever might hear him. Then the door clacked again with the sound of the lock being undone and swung open. Serpentor found himself face to face with a large man. "Hello." He said to the man, receiving no response. The figure merely stood there, forming just as formidable bar to the portal as the door had. The man was large indeed. A few inches taller than his own 6' 5" frame, Serpentor judged, and dressed in an array of purple leather and red metallic armour. A crimson Corinthian style helmet with gilded trim of a serpentine design crowned his head, and a heavy cape of thick, grey leather hung from his shoulders. His face was pallid-skinned and dark circles hung under the pupil-less white eyes. But it was a face he knew....
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10-25-2017, 04:48 PM | #28 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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INTERLUDE I - "Old Friends"
May, 326 BC, Aśvakaya, modern Pakistan The road wound through the rough, scrub covered foothills of the great mountains to the north. Alexander rode along it, at the head of the column of Hetairoi, his Companion Cavalry. It was small detachment, as this was not a war party, but a tour of the lands Alexander had conquered with the defeat of the Aśvakayanas at the siege of the fortress at Aornos. To Alexander's right rode Sissikotos, Satrap of the Kshatriyas, his local allies. "... fine furs, the valleys are rich with grapes, and the mountains with gold," the man continued, extolling the virtues of the newly taken territory. "These lands will bring you a magnificent tribute, my Lord." "I'm sure they will, Sissikotos, under your wise governance." Alexander said, motioning the column to halt. "What is that?" He asked, motioning to a small stone altar at the side of the road. The granite edifice was intricately graven with images of serpents. Sissikotos waved his hand dismissively. "Some of the local villages make tribute to the Nagas, serpent spirits they believe to dwell in the mountains to the north. A sacrifice of milk or small animals, mostly. Maybe a child in the spring if they believe the Nagas to be displeased. You'll find similar cults throughout the lands here and to the east. Each village has a different set of gods, it seems." Alexander braced himself, as Bucephalus began to snort and paw at the ground nervously. "What's the trouble, boy?" He asked the horse, leaning forward to pat the beast's neck. No sooner than those words had escaped his lips, Sissikotos' horse screamed and reared, throwing the satrap to the ground. An arrow protruded from the horse's flank, and the enraged beast stamped around in circles in fury, desperately trying to shake loose the source of its pain. Then, just as suddenly as it had been hit, the horse fell down, stone dead. The Companion cavalry, drilled hard by long campaign, instantly formed a protective circle around their king, spear points out and eyes scanning for the threat. Alexander stared at the satrap's horse. Such a wound shouldn't have been fatal "Take caution, men!" He yelled, "These arrows are poisoned!" An inhuman shriek sounded from the wood to the column's right as ranks of warriors broke from the concealment of the trees and headed towards the Macedonians at a disciplined run. "Form up!" The Macedonian king shouted, thrusting his spear overhead. Alexander strained his eyes at the approaching soldiers. There was something unusual about them. "Nagas!" Screamed on of the local horsemen that made up Sissikotos' guard, confirming his suspicion. The enemy were big, six feet on average he estimated, and each carried a large oval shield and a short thrusting spear. Their glistening skin was greenish brown, and even at range He could see the snapping of their fanged jaws. The men had just about gotten themselves arrayed for their countercharge when his lieutenant, Aristophanes skidded his horse to a stop next to him. "My king, their are too many of them! You must flee! I will hold them here!" He shouted. Aristophanes was a giant of a man, far too big one would have thought, to make as good of a cavalryman as he was. He had been with Alexander since his armies had left Greece, and was one of the King's fiercest warriors. He glanced back toward the approaching ranks of serpentine warriors. His man was right, they had not the numbers to hold long nor the time for them all to flee. Alexander circled Bucephalus around and placed his hand on Aristophanes' shoulder. "Fight well, my friend, and return to me!" He said, then spurred his mount away at a gallop, Sissikotos on a remount following close behind. The cavalry commander bellowed and signalled the charge. "For Alexander! And Glory!"
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10-25-2017, 05:13 PM | #29 |
Crimson Guard
Join Date: Jun 2014
Location: Val Verde
Posts: 2,345
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10-25-2017, 09:32 PM | #30 |
LNC Commander
Join Date: Oct 2009
Location: Sbartek's Guest Room
Posts: 24,615
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Great read my friend.
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