'Ai Orsa' – The Hunt, A Saka Novel
- Thread starter Shahrasayr
- Start date
-
- Tags
- indo-scythian novel style
guinazacity
Banned
Ooh, quite close. A hint is that its somewhere in Kashmir
it looks like somewhere around srinagar, I wish I knew any foreign settlements around there though
Getting quite close. Its north west of Srinagar. An other clu is that it lies in OTL Pakistan/Pakistan occupied territories.
Your just off but your practically correct, one cookie for you. I might as well reveal it as now as the town is a bit vague.The answer is Baltit, known as Karimabad nowadays and it was vital for being a gateway for Buddhist missionaries into Central Asia.
Due to the increased raiding in the area by Sakas the spread of Buddhism will need to take a different route to China (ie; through the Bolan pass and Iran, Andhra Pradesh and Burma) or it'll be stopped.
Pasyai I
Bahlatta, Spring 132 BC
His eyes opened and his blurry vision started to clear, as he felt heat. He could feel the cuts and pain stinging all throughout his body, yet he tried to force himself up. He fell back down onto his stomach, writhing in the pain. He tried once again and managed to lift himself onto his knees.
He looked to in front of himself and saw flames, to his right the same and to his left a similar ordeal. He could see the silhouettes of the great northern riders who had swooped on them like eagles, ripping them apart. He could see them harassing the wounded and taking people prisoners, as well as loading their carts and horses with their loot and bounty.
He struggled onto his feet and started stumbling forwards before falling back on his knees, shouting a roar of pain and anguish, one of the many among the cries and screams of the local populace, wails of women and the laughter and crude tongues of the barbaric raiders. In a last successful attempt to get back on his knees he used his dagger as a stable crutch. Once he was up, he started coughing and wheezing with the growing amount of smoke and flames enveloping the area around him.
Looking around to see the skilled opponent that had disarmed and knocked him out during the battle and raid. He saw many of the foreign warriors, none of them his nemesis, the one that had dishonoured him in battle. To the horsemen it mattered little, they didn't notice him getting up and moving around and he knew it. In this state who would care about some crippled and wounded wretch?
As he staggered around he picked up a spear lying next to him and straightened his helm. Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but flames, and the strewn bodies of fallen soldiers. Many of them were pin cushioned with multiple arrows, lying face first in the ground. Then in the distance, he saw the devil himself. A silhouette rode towards him, jumping over the flames and thrusting his blade forward. As the rider inched closer his face came into vision. The rider was visibly young in age, with a round nose, tanned skin, and his hair was as deep red as the flames he was surrounded by. In his clouded grey eyes there was a sort of determination that was seen in few.
He steadied his shield for the impact from the charging horseman. But then came a sudden move he should have seen coming. The horseman sheathed his sword mid-gallop and turned his horse around a mere few feet away from him, instead drawing his bow as he turned away. The Saka drew an arrow in a flash and once again suddenly fired an arrow. It landed in his knees and he fell to his knees shouting in rage. It was as if the world slowed when the warrior released his second arrow, the one he was holding in his bow hand. It whirred straight towards his face and he closed his eyes, accepting his fate. For a single moment the pain was the most he had ever experienced, then everything blacked out.
Pasyai looked at the dead man in front of him with a sort of respect. This opponent had fought well and deserved an honourable send off. He dismounted his horse and dislodged the arrows form the bleeding body of his fallen enemy, placing them neatly in a row beside him. He then turned the body of the man to face the starry and red night sky, also putting the shield of the dead man on him. Just as he had finished his task his aijhysäta came riding behind him. He turned around to face his elite warriors as they drew their blades and made raucous cries of victory. Tied to their horses tails', all of these men had slaves bound in a line behind them and their horse laden with loot.
"My lord this settlement lies in flames and for a hundred stades the skies are red with the flames. Should we head start the long ride home now, or perhaps should we head to our camp to rest for a few more nights before doing so?" the rider quizzed ecstatically, obviously being excited to show his clan and family the result of his first great raid.
Pasyai mounted his horse and started trotting to the main square of the town. "No need to head back to our homes so quickly. That would be an act that might seem weak or cowardly. No, for that would be weak. Rally the men and find me a man that can speak both our and their tongues. A trader would be best, these people have warriors amongst them and I know that real warriors do not barter".
The riders who were trailing their lord quickly bowed and turned around, deciding to gallop off down the hill and into the burning town square with their plunder, so they could tell their friends and clansmen that everyone was allowed to retire from a hard night of pillaging. Pasyai alone kept riding upwards to the top of the hill.
Eventually he reached the top of the mount where he had a beautiful vantage point from where he could see the valley and town below. It was a mesmerising site as the brilliant red of the flames rose up into the night sky. He knew his father would have disapproved of such a raid, but alas, the times were tough and the previous autumn there had been a meagre harvest from the already barren lands of the Pamirs.
He just sat there for a while on his trusty horse, viewing the site below. This town, Balatta, he had visited it as a child with a cloth trader that was close friends of his father's. The memories of visiting the little beautiful temple that was near the main square especially remained in him. It was beautifully carved into a cave and the many fantastic idols in it painted by the local maidens. There was a glass roof on the top of the cave-temple so that the small hall would be illuminated by a beautiful golden light whenever the sun shined through the glass.
It had been a local priest that had told him that. He had told him a story as well, a story of how a god or hero or something saved his people from thirst and starvation. He had forgotten the story for most of the part, a vague memory sitting in the back of his mind. He wanted to make a parallel situation between the hero and himself but he knew that the situations were different.
Scrunching up his face, he started riding back down towards the town to check on his troops, hoping they wouldn't be getting to rowdy or too drunk to ride their steeds. He silently watched flames as his horse walked down the hill. The night was definitely quiet for what had happened and the only sound was the occasional rustling in the grass and the crackling of flames.
That's when Pasyai heard it. A groaning and coughing coming from his left, in a near distance. He steered his mount towards the noise to investigate. It trotted towards the groaning and Pasyai saw where the sound was coming from.
Lying down with his head against a rock was a wounded man with an arrow in his knee. The man could not have been older than himself (yet he did not look like the fighting type) and Pasyai instantly felt a pitiful guilt for what he saw in front of him. He dismounted from his horse and got out a pitcher of water from his luggage, knelt next to the wounded and put it to the mouth of the rasping boy so he could drink.
The boy coughed and tried to get up and failed. He lacked any strength in his arms, which Pasyai noticed were also bleeding and bruised. Pasyai put the pitcher beside the boy, who picked up the pitcher and drank some more water, most of it falling beside him and on his face. He then used the remaining to wash his straw-like black hair, which was crusted in dried blood (as was the rock behind it. Pasyai could only guess his head had been dashed against the rock). The boy looked up at Pasyai and smiled a wry smile.
"Pass my spear, I 'm feeling fitter than ever. I'll skewer the fools off their high horses." he rasped, wheezed and coughed, a little blood coming out of his mouth. He kept on smiling and tried to get up once again, failing as before. "Tell me oh great rider how may I repay the debt of my life?" he said mockingly, trying to move his legs but shouting in pain.
Pasyai mistook the boy's statement seriously and looked at the bleeding man in front of him suspiciously. He then sighed and got an arrow from his quiver and dipped the tip of it in the boy's blood. He then leant in to whisper into the boy's ears.
"Give this to your chief so he may deliver it to his lord. Ask him to recite that if the great lord of these vales does not pay tribute to me and give my tribe land to settle on I shall send him an arrow for every town I sack. Every time the head of it shall be a little bit more covered in the blood of the fallen than the previous." Pasyai stopped to think of what a fair time should be to give his adversary.
"If he has not agreed to such a treaty before the leaves have fallen than his realm will shall".
Pasyai got of his knees and dropped the arrow next to the wounded warrior, adjusted the mattress on his horse before he mounted his horse and started trotting away. The wounded boy in turn just watched shocked at the man who was riding away, before turning to the arrow next to him. He wondered how in hell he would get up and take the message to his smouldering village.
He looked to in front of himself and saw flames, to his right the same and to his left a similar ordeal. He could see the silhouettes of the great northern riders who had swooped on them like eagles, ripping them apart. He could see them harassing the wounded and taking people prisoners, as well as loading their carts and horses with their loot and bounty.
He struggled onto his feet and started stumbling forwards before falling back on his knees, shouting a roar of pain and anguish, one of the many among the cries and screams of the local populace, wails of women and the laughter and crude tongues of the barbaric raiders. In a last successful attempt to get back on his knees he used his dagger as a stable crutch. Once he was up, he started coughing and wheezing with the growing amount of smoke and flames enveloping the area around him.
Looking around to see the skilled opponent that had disarmed and knocked him out during the battle and raid. He saw many of the foreign warriors, none of them his nemesis, the one that had dishonoured him in battle. To the horsemen it mattered little, they didn't notice him getting up and moving around and he knew it. In this state who would care about some crippled and wounded wretch?
As he staggered around he picked up a spear lying next to him and straightened his helm. Everywhere he looked he saw nothing but flames, and the strewn bodies of fallen soldiers. Many of them were pin cushioned with multiple arrows, lying face first in the ground. Then in the distance, he saw the devil himself. A silhouette rode towards him, jumping over the flames and thrusting his blade forward. As the rider inched closer his face came into vision. The rider was visibly young in age, with a round nose, tanned skin, and his hair was as deep red as the flames he was surrounded by. In his clouded grey eyes there was a sort of determination that was seen in few.
He steadied his shield for the impact from the charging horseman. But then came a sudden move he should have seen coming. The horseman sheathed his sword mid-gallop and turned his horse around a mere few feet away from him, instead drawing his bow as he turned away. The Saka drew an arrow in a flash and once again suddenly fired an arrow. It landed in his knees and he fell to his knees shouting in rage. It was as if the world slowed when the warrior released his second arrow, the one he was holding in his bow hand. It whirred straight towards his face and he closed his eyes, accepting his fate. For a single moment the pain was the most he had ever experienced, then everything blacked out.
********
Pasyai looked at the dead man in front of him with a sort of respect. This opponent had fought well and deserved an honourable send off. He dismounted his horse and dislodged the arrows form the bleeding body of his fallen enemy, placing them neatly in a row beside him. He then turned the body of the man to face the starry and red night sky, also putting the shield of the dead man on him. Just as he had finished his task his aijhysäta came riding behind him. He turned around to face his elite warriors as they drew their blades and made raucous cries of victory. Tied to their horses tails', all of these men had slaves bound in a line behind them and their horse laden with loot.
"My lord this settlement lies in flames and for a hundred stades the skies are red with the flames. Should we head start the long ride home now, or perhaps should we head to our camp to rest for a few more nights before doing so?" the rider quizzed ecstatically, obviously being excited to show his clan and family the result of his first great raid.
Pasyai mounted his horse and started trotting to the main square of the town. "No need to head back to our homes so quickly. That would be an act that might seem weak or cowardly. No, for that would be weak. Rally the men and find me a man that can speak both our and their tongues. A trader would be best, these people have warriors amongst them and I know that real warriors do not barter".
The riders who were trailing their lord quickly bowed and turned around, deciding to gallop off down the hill and into the burning town square with their plunder, so they could tell their friends and clansmen that everyone was allowed to retire from a hard night of pillaging. Pasyai alone kept riding upwards to the top of the hill.
Eventually he reached the top of the mount where he had a beautiful vantage point from where he could see the valley and town below. It was a mesmerising site as the brilliant red of the flames rose up into the night sky. He knew his father would have disapproved of such a raid, but alas, the times were tough and the previous autumn there had been a meagre harvest from the already barren lands of the Pamirs.
He just sat there for a while on his trusty horse, viewing the site below. This town, Balatta, he had visited it as a child with a cloth trader that was close friends of his father's. The memories of visiting the little beautiful temple that was near the main square especially remained in him. It was beautifully carved into a cave and the many fantastic idols in it painted by the local maidens. There was a glass roof on the top of the cave-temple so that the small hall would be illuminated by a beautiful golden light whenever the sun shined through the glass.
It had been a local priest that had told him that. He had told him a story as well, a story of how a god or hero or something saved his people from thirst and starvation. He had forgotten the story for most of the part, a vague memory sitting in the back of his mind. He wanted to make a parallel situation between the hero and himself but he knew that the situations were different.
Scrunching up his face, he started riding back down towards the town to check on his troops, hoping they wouldn't be getting to rowdy or too drunk to ride their steeds. He silently watched flames as his horse walked down the hill. The night was definitely quiet for what had happened and the only sound was the occasional rustling in the grass and the crackling of flames.
That's when Pasyai heard it. A groaning and coughing coming from his left, in a near distance. He steered his mount towards the noise to investigate. It trotted towards the groaning and Pasyai saw where the sound was coming from.
Lying down with his head against a rock was a wounded man with an arrow in his knee. The man could not have been older than himself (yet he did not look like the fighting type) and Pasyai instantly felt a pitiful guilt for what he saw in front of him. He dismounted from his horse and got out a pitcher of water from his luggage, knelt next to the wounded and put it to the mouth of the rasping boy so he could drink.
The boy coughed and tried to get up and failed. He lacked any strength in his arms, which Pasyai noticed were also bleeding and bruised. Pasyai put the pitcher beside the boy, who picked up the pitcher and drank some more water, most of it falling beside him and on his face. He then used the remaining to wash his straw-like black hair, which was crusted in dried blood (as was the rock behind it. Pasyai could only guess his head had been dashed against the rock). The boy looked up at Pasyai and smiled a wry smile.
"Pass my spear, I 'm feeling fitter than ever. I'll skewer the fools off their high horses." he rasped, wheezed and coughed, a little blood coming out of his mouth. He kept on smiling and tried to get up once again, failing as before. "Tell me oh great rider how may I repay the debt of my life?" he said mockingly, trying to move his legs but shouting in pain.
Pasyai mistook the boy's statement seriously and looked at the bleeding man in front of him suspiciously. He then sighed and got an arrow from his quiver and dipped the tip of it in the boy's blood. He then leant in to whisper into the boy's ears.
"Give this to your chief so he may deliver it to his lord. Ask him to recite that if the great lord of these vales does not pay tribute to me and give my tribe land to settle on I shall send him an arrow for every town I sack. Every time the head of it shall be a little bit more covered in the blood of the fallen than the previous." Pasyai stopped to think of what a fair time should be to give his adversary.
"If he has not agreed to such a treaty before the leaves have fallen than his realm will shall".
Pasyai got of his knees and dropped the arrow next to the wounded warrior, adjusted the mattress on his horse before he mounted his horse and started trotting away. The wounded boy in turn just watched shocked at the man who was riding away, before turning to the arrow next to him. He wondered how in hell he would get up and take the message to his smouldering village.
The Yeuzhi are still raiding and wrecking havoc in Bactria, so an attempt re-settle those lands is out of question.
In fact the next planned update is set in Maracanda, with an increasingly frantic Heliocles praying for re-inforcements as the Yeuzhi besiege the city.
Heliocles I
Maracanda, Middle of Spring 132 BC
The city was in flames. All throughout the streets there were flames and black smoke rising into the air. The temple of Athena was in ruins and the Greek soldiers were barely keeping the invading horselords from breaching the acropolis. In the centre of the city's acropolis a man knelt before a awesome and terrifying statue of Heracles, murmuring to himself as the dire situation slowly penetrated his mind. All that had been promised to him had been waved away and the all the gods had disfavoured him at the same time.
The Megas Basileos of Persia, the Philhellenes, Shah Mithridates had died and he had lost a great ally and friend. The Son of Mithridates, Phraates, had sent word that he had no soldiers to spare to help the lord. Many traitors rose up across the land in his kingdom and while he was in Maracanda a cousin of his, Eudracos, had taken control of Bactra, getting the loyalty of most of his generals and forces along with it. Within a year the great southern lord, Basileos of Indica, Menander had taken and conquered much of his southern lands. His kingdom had been rendered into a crumbling state, as he struggled to keep control of his remaining lands and reconquer his lost ones.
And then came the great riders from the north, the riders of Hades. The Scythian had warned him, those many years ago. He had told him of the terrors these horsemen would bring and in his foolish, young hot-headedness he had sent the Scythian away.
What was his name again? Was it Moudes, Melabes or Midas or Megeles? No, I don't any of those feel right. Whatever it was the man was right. He had a wit and spoke the truth, while I? What was I but was a fool. Yet he was older now and perhaps wiser. Heliocles rose and sheathed the xiphos [1] which he had in front of him.
Rising from his knees, he put his helmet on and grabbed his shield. For the past five years this what he had become. He had become more a warlord and less a king. As he was walking across the marble floor of the temple, he could see the red sky and the rising smoke through the columns and great marble doorway. Just as he was about to step out he saw a soldier running
up the stairs, panting and heaving as he reached him.
When the man finally managed to get to the top he threw himself onto the floor in front of Heliocles and caught his breath. The man was obviously wounded, a massive cut across his forehead and an arrow lodged in his right arm. The blood dripping from his mouth and head made a chilling contrast against the white marble of the temple.
"My lord, the city is almost lost. The Tókharoi [2] have made a great push and they have entered the acropolis. General Eumenes has sent me to warn you. The end of the kingdom may be nigh." The man choked and spluttered blood as soon as he spoke the words, before succumbing to his wounds. Heliocles could only feel pity for the man. He had delivered his last message and now Elysium awaited him.
He strode down the steps of the temple and into the main agora where Eumenes was rallying the last of the remaining troops. Down at the mouth of the acropolis he could see a thin phalanx trying to hold its ground against a horde of bloodthirsty riders. The men in it were covered in blood and grime, worn out from the hours of fighting. Heliocles walked up to his loyal commander, as the man was shouting orders and pointing towards the waves of invaders hitting against the shield wall of the Bactrian phalanx, giving inspirational words to the soldiers.
Heliocles allowed himself a little smile, a genuine one. Not one of arrogance or pride but of humility. Strange isn't it, how this world turns? Years ago I would have trusted only my Hellenic generals, my so called 'kin'. Yet they have deserted me now and the only one who still follows me is a native of these lands. Heliocles tapped Eumenes on the shoulder, the other man turning around and bowing.
"My lord! The final hour is upon us. Here today we make a last stand. Our archers are running out of arrows while the enemy has enough to last them an age. Our men are tired and it looks as if the enemy has an endless amount of men. Also our men are losing will and the Tókharoi men look fiercer and more bloodthirsty every charge, the fact they never seem to miss their aim makes it even more stressful for our soldiers." explained the General, creases showing on his forehead. Eumenes then turned around to shout an order to the troops as both men walked across the graveled plaza towards the central fountain, before turning back to his king.
"The men will not buckle when their king is in their presence I will stand and fight alongside them. Tell me how many men are left?"
The two men stopped at the fountain. Eumenes stopped and gave a cold hardy stare at the water beside them. It was turning more and more red as wounded and bloody soldiers came to wash their cuts and grazes. "Two hundred. Maybe less. My lord are you truly willing to fight out at the mouth of the acropolis?"
"I am. May I be damned if I die today without my sword tasting the blood of the barbaric Tókharoi." replied Heliocles, coldly and sternly. This was seeming to be the last day of his life and he would only spend it with those who had been loyal and courageous.
"Then my lord, you truly are a son of Heracles. If this be the last time we meet I would like to say that it has been an honour to serve under you, a true king of the Hellenes."
Eumenes then trust his shield into the hands of Heliocles, wearing a tearful smile on his face. Heliocles returned a small smile before strapping the shield on and drawing his sword. He then started walking down the cobble road out of the acropolis, never looking back. This would be the last time he ever saw the statue of his illustrious ancestor, Iason, the only one who could grant him victory and an honourable one at that.
As he walked down the cobbled road he saw dead and dying soldiers, well placed arrows in their throats and head. A younger Heliocles would have shivered at this sight, yet this had no affect on him. The man who walked towards the enemy today was one who had everything promised to him, one who also had it all taken away within months as well. To many he had a status worse than that of a beggar; that of a king without a crown, one without a throne and one without a kingdom.
As he walked towards the clashing of steel down the long road he allowed himself a little time to wonder, some thought and insight before the storm of violence to come. Maybe it is fated. Perhaps this would not have been the fate of this beautiful city if I had not come. Archon Archias took pity and now he is the one that pays the price. I shouldn't have come, maybe then there would still have been some honour and legacy left in my name.
Then suddenly Heliocles was snapped out of his thoughts, the roaring sound of battle in front of him. He saw the phalanx and how it was breaking. The men were dropping their large sarissas and drawing their more effective xiphos, switching to a more close, brutal form of combat.
Seeing this Heliocles broke into a sprint and ran straight into the thick of the battle. All around him the cohesion keeping his soldiers alive till now was lost and personal combat was beginning. A few of his men noticed his arrival and doubled their attack; their king had arrived.
Heliocles found himself pitted against a well armed Tókharoi warrior, heavily decked in colourful armour and his weaving black hair in a ponytail. His foe was armed with a spear and thrust it towards Heliocles' stomach, hoping to land a strong enough blow to get through his chest plate. Inexperienced. He simply hit it away with his aspis [3] and swung at the man. The Tókhari dodged it just in time to avoid a cut.
The man then swung the butt of his spear up and nicked the jaw of Heliocles, who lent back just in time to avoid a direct hit. Though the Tókhari did land a small cut, this gave Heliocles the time to lunge forward and hack at the man.
The Tókhari was fast and perhaps not as inexperienced as Heliocles thought, as he was able to move himself out of the way of Heliocles' weapon and hit him in the thigh with the back of his spear, making a small wound with the spike at the butt of his spear. Heliocles groaned and staggered back a bit before readying himself again.
The two men circled each other, oblivious to the battle around them where a hundred such duels would have been taking place. The Tókhari once again leapt in and thrust his spear at Heliocles, who deftly moved to the side. He quickly cleaved the spear in half with his sword, disarming his enemy. The startled Tókhari tried to unsheathe his sword, but Heliocles simply smashed the man's face with his shield, bringing him to the ground.
As Heliocles leant in for the final strike, he bought down his sword towards the man's chest and plunged it into his heart. He had slain his enemy. Just then a searing pain went through his leg and he went down onto his knees. An arrow had got him in his inner thigh. He staggered before more pain came and a second arrow hit him on the arm. He let out a roar of pain and looked around. His men were wavering and retreating. As Heliocles staggered around he fell to his knees, the arrow ripping into his flesh. He and two other men were surrounded by Tókharoi men within minutes, completely encircled. It had then began to dawn on Heliocles. These were no ordinary pillagers. They were an efficient fighting force who had other goals.
After his capture Heliocles' world went past quickly. He was taken to an guarded tent that had been set up in the middle of the town's ruined agora [4]. The Tókharoi priests ripped out his arrows, making him howl in pain before rubbing some paste on his wounds. There he was shackled to the floor and his tent was left guarded. While waiting in the tent he dwelled on his life some more and tried to remember the Scythian's name some more, yet nothing came to mind.
After a few hours a few guards walked into his tent. They got him by his arms and hauled him up pushing him out of the tent. He was led across the city to what was the amphithéātron before the Tókharoi sacked the city. There he witnessed what the Tókharoi had made of it; they had made a court out of it.
The more experienced warriors of the chief sat around the lower, inner seats and the less mighty ones sat at the higher and outer seats. The great Anax [5] of the Tókharoi sat in a covered tent on the stage where the plays would once take place. Now a different kind of tragedy would play out around here.
He was led up the steps onto the stage where he faced the Tókhari Great Chief. The chief was an astounding man to sight, his robes made of astounding colours like the darkest blue of the sky and a vibrant golden hue. His chestplate was inscribed with a strange script and had depiction of a strange Pégasos-like beast.
Heliocles was made to stand before his enemy and the Tókharoi chief simply grinned at him. The man gestured for him to be readied for execution. Heliocles remained expressionless and showed no resistance as he was made to go on his knees lay his head on the crude block, the top of a broken marble column.
As a Tókhari warrior announced some things to the numerous chiefs and warriors in their strange language, Heliocles simply waited and simply thought of what things would await him. The Moirai [6] hadn't been kind for a long time and he only hoped that for once they would have destined him something nice; a quick death.
Then he heard that the Tókhari announcer had stopped talking the man was pointing at someone beside him, yet Heliocles did not dare move his neck in case the pain of death would be a painful one. Then as if it was a miracle, as if it was some sort of consolation from the gods, a single word came to his mind.
Maues. Yes. That was it. That's his name.
He was content now and simply cleared his mind, closing his mind and waiting for the final blow, yet it did not come. He opened his eyes looked around and saw that his executioner had put his sword beside him and instead was looking expectantly at the Great Chief.
A guard came from behind him and pulled him up, off the ground. He was then taken to the man once more and made to stand in front of him. The chief was still grinning and took a drink from the cup beside him and looked at Heliocles with cheerful sympathy. Them to Heliocles surprise he spoke chaste Greek.
"You look like an interesting man Huhavzna. It would be a shame to kill a man like you. Tell me, do you have an interesting story? If you do I will give you and any of your remaining soldiers their freedom."
The surprised Heliocles let all that flow past him and stared at the man in front of him. "You speak my tongue, how? Does culture flow past the Jaxartes?"
The chief simply shook his head and looked at Heliocles, taking another sip of his drink. "No, no my friend. You have to answer my question. Then I might consider answering yours. Remember you are my captive."
Heliocles then thought for a moment before reciting his life's story from his crowning, his rise to power and the dark years he spent as a rogue in hiding within his own kingdom. The great chief closely listened to what was being told. After Heliocles finished reciting his tale the chief ordered his bonds cut and his men freed. The king of all Hellenes east of the Tigris rode out of the city with his crippled army. He had nowhere to go but he would find a kingdom for his crown........
---------------------
[1] Xiphos - A Greek hacking sword.
[2] Tókharoi - Greek name for the Yeuzhi while they were still nomadic.
[3] Aspis - Another word for the famed hoplon of the hoplites.
[4] Agora - The city forum. A place for discussion, philosophy and thoughts to pass.
[5] Anax - An archaic Greek word for King. Basileos became much more common later on.
[6] Moirai - The Fates, the weavers of your destiny in Greek mythology.
Heliocles will make a comeback..............
And yes, any families of the soldiers left with them. Maracanda is now populated by its original residents and the Yeuzhi who have moved in.
Quite interesting that the Great Yuezhi chief could converse with Heliocles. I'm guessing he's had an interest in Bactria for a while regardless of his chasing of the Saka out of their lands. I'm supposing it was the same person...
Was Bactria his target all along?
He and his inner circle seem to have taken a liking in preserving and taking over. I'm guessing this is what you meant by having the Greeks live on in this area in one form or another a while back? Or no?
I can only tell you one thing; that the survival of the Greeks is actually still dependent on Heliocles. Their fated land is going to be to the south, in the valleys and gardens of a mountainous land.......
The Yeuzhi Great Chief (I'll keep his name to myself for now) has other plans. He himself fears something greater and we won't know his exact backstory or plans........ for now.
Oh Indra
Ruler of the Heavens
Please Protect us
From the Saka Horsemen
Ruler of the Heavens
Please Protect us
From the Saka Horsemen
"An inscription found in Śirkāp dating to 78 UP in the Trident calender and 10 BC in the Christian calender" - Bajmavrinath
Please comment and critique this TL, it is all valued by me so don't hesitate!
Last edited:
Damn, the Saka are wrecking northern Pakistan now...
And that's interesting inscription.
So if Christianity hasn't been butterflied away, is it a fair guess to say Abrahamic religions as a whole are still on course for dominance in the west or will butterflies multiply in the western world the further we get, impacting religion as well?
And that's interesting inscription.
So if Christianity hasn't been butterflied away, is it a fair guess to say Abrahamic religions as a whole are still on course for dominance in the west or will butterflies multiply in the western world the further we get, impacting religion as well?
That's the Brahmi script, used during Mauryan times and by ther succesors. Actually now that I think about it I should have used Kharoshti which was more popular in the North-West.
Brahmi Script
Kharoshti
Abrahamic religions will dominate Europe and Islam will rise. The butterfly net around the Indian sub-continent will only be removed around 300 years after the POD, so you won't see major changes in the rest of the world till at least the 400s.
So there's a third horde coming down from the steppes?
Anyway, just dropping by to say that I'm very much enjoying this TL