Míaforá sta Anatoliká (Once Upon a Time, in the East...)

Repost from Writer's forum

Hello.
I am PrefectofTrebizond.
Back in February, I posted a thread in Before 1900 called ‘The Philanthropenos Restoration.’ Over time, I stopped updating it, and forgetting my email password and having no recovery ability was the final nail in the coffin.
I’m restarting it over on this forum. POD is 1269, and will be updated every Sunday.

5/9/19
PrefectofTrebizond/Basilmakedon1025.
 
Pleistarcheia, Eastern Roman Empire
16 August 6803 EK

A thin snake drifted across the early morning sky. It slithered into the east, its greasy grey scales barely visible against the pre-dawn light, before its head dissolved into an invisible cloud somewhere over Mylasa. The cloud was relatively new, its source only alight within a few hours previous.
Manouel Planoudeis’ eyes tracked the column of ash back to its source, straining to pick it from the dark sky. The snake’s tail rose from the Lycian hills to the southwest.
Damn. Hieron.
He sighed, lifted his lantern from the berm, and set off towards the main camp. He passed through the sentries with a nod, and within a few minutes he was standing outside Epinkernes Alexios Doukas Philanthropenos’ tent. He knocked on the frame.
“Epinkernes!” he hissed, rapping lightly.
No response.
“Epinkernes!” he said again, slightly louder. Still no response. By God, if he’d been offed by an assassin after all the times he’d told them to post a guard…
Manouel increased the pitch to a heavy pounding. “Alexios! I’m coming in in five, four, three, two…” he burst into the tent, his lantern swinging wildly. Philanthropenos shot up in his cot, lunging for his scabbarded sword.
“Alexios! Stop, it’s me!”
He paused, the blade already half drawn, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. After a few seconds he blinked and yawned. Planoudes set down his lateern.
“Manouel? What the hell is it? What time is it?”
The secretary held open the tent flap and pointed towards the trail of smoke. “Karman’s on the move. He-“
“Great, it’s not even dawn yet. You had me up till midnight with those Naxotian diplomats, and now you wake before dawn. You, sir, are the most merciful scheduler in history.”
“Look, jackass, that’s beside the point—”
“And what is said point?”
Manouel glared at him. “That there are eight thousand heavily armed Turks making a beeline for us, and they’re only half an hour away.”
Alexios lept up, stretching to his full six and a half feet and pulling a mail coat over his head. He strapped the scabbard around his waist then started to pull his boots on. “Lead with that one next time. Which direction are they coming from, north, south—”
“South-west, most likely along the western shore of Lake Latmis.”
Alexios finished with his boots, and pulled his disorderly black beard into a vaguely defined shape. He strode out of the tent, Manouel following close behind. They were walking towards the war drums in the center of camp.
“How long ago did they leave position?”
“Within the last hour.”
“The last hour? Ah, shit, they’re probably at Latipotami by now.” he turned around, grimacing. “Manouel, find Ioannes and tell him to rouse the men, and man the berm. I’m going to go get the andrepyriti and foederati and reinforce Iokovos.”
Manouel gave him a quisical look. “You don’t see any problems with relieving a force under attack by Turkish cavalry with Turkish cavalry?”
“I see several, actually, now go!”
Alexios turned and set off in the opposite direction at a jog. He ran past six rows of tents before arriving at the palisade. He ran past the sentries without breaking stride, hopped over the stakes and kept going. After two minutes that felt like hours, the secondary camp came into view, nestled into the low dirt wall the men had dug. He slowed. The Turkish soldiers were always eager to prove themselves, and that eagerness had already cost him two unwary couriers.
He stopped just outside he tents.
“Sentry!” he called. After a few seconds with no responding cry, he shouted again. “Sentry!”
There was the sound of running feet, and a pale men burst from within the rows of tents, carrying a hand cannon. One of the andrepyriti. He leveled the weapon at Alexios, then lowered it a few seconds later.
“Epinkernes, ko jūs šeit sākat?”
Alexios grimaced, he’d been hoping for one that spoke Greek. “Man jārunā ar savu komandieri.” he said. I need to speak to your commander.
The Semigall nodded, and beckoned him forward. Alexios followed, and after two turns they arrived at a nondescript tent.
“Hercogs Namejs! Epinkernes vēlas runāt ar jums!” he barked.
The tent flap opened, and Namejs emerged. He was tall, nearly Alexios’ height, and his hair was a light grey and his face covered in wrinkles, but his eyes held the focus and determination of a much younger man.
“Epinkernes Philanthropenos. What is it?” he said in a thick northern accent. He stared Alexios straight in the eye, never blinking.
“I need your men up and mounted in five minutes.” Alexios said.
“Will do.” the commander said. Then he barked out, “Augšup, pērkona nācēji!”
The camp burst into a flurry of motion, men springing out of their tents and scrambling to pull on mail. Lines began forming, quartermasters distributing hand cannons in one line, bread in another, and gunpowder and shot in another. Once the men had gotten al, three they cued to the paddock where the horses were grazing. All of this was set up in the first minute, and by the second there were already a dozen men mounted and waiting. Namejs nodded to him, then walked to the back of one of the lines, as did the sentry. Alexios turned and walked towards the Turkish side of the camp.
There were already several Turks awake and milling about, roused by the clamor from the Semigallians. Alexios pushed through them, looking for the foederati commander. The man must still be asleep, because he couldn’t find him, try as he may.
“Kol! Kendinizi donatın ve monte edin!”
A man was standing on a stool in the midst of the crowd. He was average height, thin, and had a scabbard strapped to his waist. His most distinguishing feature was his nose, which looked like it had been broken several times. Alexios pushed his way through the dissipating men towards him. The man stepped down from the stool, and Alexios lost sight of him in the crowd. He glanced towards an open area, and when he looked back the man with the broken-nose was standing right next to him.
“Epinkernes, correct?” he said, speaking with almost no accent.
“Err, yes, and you are…” Alexios said.
“Mümtaz-Talât Solak. Amy father died two nights ago, and I was elected in his place.”
“Ah. Okay.” Alexios said, frowning. His appointment had been succeeded without his notification, a reminder that his Turkish auxiliaries were separated from his enemies by a series of flimsy oaths. “What was that order you gave?”
“To arm and mount. I saw that the andrepyriti were doing the same, and assumed a battle was forthcoming.”
“You’re correct.” Alexios looked around at the cavalrymen. “Do you have a horse I could borrow?”
“Oh, absolutely. Ask for Ataman, over at the paddock. Tell him I sent you.”
Alexios nodded, and walked away. The pen was a few tent-rows away, and already half-empty when he arrived. He walked along it until he found a gate, manned by several Turks. There was a line of men waiting for their steeds. He slipped in beside them, and as he neared the entrance peeled off and grabbed the shoulder of one of the guards. The man whirled around.
“Are you Ataman?”
The man glared at him. “Yeah, why do want to know.”
“Bey Solak said you had a horse I could borrow.”
Ataman grunted, then walked off into the paddock. He returned with a dark grey horse, and hand its lead to Alexios. “Her name’s Hatun. I want her back in one piece.”
Alexios nodded, and led the horse out of the camp. He swung on just outside the palisade. Hatun was a calm horse, and after a few minutes of moving her around Alexios was comfortable with her. He rode over to the Semigalls, who had all mounted and were positioned in a column ten wide and twenty five deep. He reigned in next to Namejs. The pagan broke his stare at the southern horizon to curtly nod at him. Alexios squinted, and could just barely pick up a fine cloud of gunsmoke drifting up from Laripotami.
 
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II
Alexios spurred Hatun forward, then reigned her in and looked back at the auxiliaries. The Turks were disorganized, scattered about in small groups of less than a dozen each. He looked at the Semigalls, then back at the Turks.

“Solak!” he yelled.

The Bey broke away from one cluster and rode over to him, reigning in just behind him. Alexios didn’t turn around, he wasn’t going to fall into such an obvious power play. After a few seconds the Oghuz posted next to him.

“Yes, epinkernes?” he said, his voice dripping with false saccharinity. This one was going to be a headache. Alexios made a mental note to assassinate and replace him with someone more respectful. Anyway.

“Form up your men and follow as soon as you can.” he said. He looked to Namejs. “Advance, at canter.”

The Semigall turned part way in his saddle and barked, “Maksa, trīs sita solis!” The andrepyritai started forward, moving in a three-beat flight. Alexios glanced back and started. Mümtaz-Talât was right next to him giving him a death glare. Alexios shot one back.

Epinkernes.” he said. “My men are formed up.”

“Oh, really? Because I’ve never seen a unit formed into a blob.”

“They’re in their clans. They won’t fight any other way.”

“They fought damn well in dekatii under Yagiz.”

Solak’s glare intensified, but with a muttered curse he turned and rode towards the scattered cavalry. He shouted something in Turkish, and Alexios turned and started after the andrepyritai.

He kicked Hatun into a gallop and bent low over her neck. The wind whistled past his ears, but above the hiss he heard the distant boom of cannon fire from Laripotami. He grimaced, and spurred harder. After a few minutes he caught up with the Semigalls, and soon was alongside Namejs. The walls of the town were large against the dawn sky, and the pale light illuminated the green-and-orange war banners of the Karmanids. Another boom echoed from the town, and a barely-visible siege ladder toppled off the walls. They were about as close as they could get without being noticed.

“Tell your men to dismount and form a line!” Alexios yelled over the distant clamor.

Namejs gave a curt nod, and called out to the riders. “Izkāpiet un izveidojiet līniju!”

The column broke up and the Semigalls began to dismount, staking their leads into the ground and pulling their pyrovola from saddle-bound holsters. Alexios reigned in Hatun, swung off, and staked her lead. He set off at a jog towards the middle of the line. Namejs was already there. The pagans had formed into a rank one deep. Alexios stepped forward.

“Semigalls!” he yelled. The men stiffened. “Load!”

They produced pouches of powder and emptied into the barrel. The powder was soon followed by lead balls.

“Forward!”

Sorry for the short update, this week was finals. Next week’s will be longer, and will have the actual battle.
 
Slight clarification: The "Semigallians" are not all Semigallians. It's a blanket term for the various Semigallians, Latgalls, Selonians, Kurs, Skalvians, Jotvingiai, Radanekej, Livonians, Sambians, Nadruvians, Galandai, Esthonians, Kathsubians, Natgans, Varms, Pogesanians, Bartians, Samogitians, and Aukstatians that had been attracted to the empire by Mikhael Tarkaneiotes' land grants. Semmigall is used as the primary language for the group as it was the lingua franca of the pagan tribes at that time. From now on, they will be referred to as 'Riverlanders'.
 
I owe an explanation:

Pleistarcha, pt. 3 has taken much longer to write than I expected. It’s about twice the size of pt.1, and I’ve spent my free time for the last two weeks working on it.
It should be up on the 9th.
Thank you for your patience.
 
Hey.
I’m sorry to delay the story, but I just got assigned a new project at work that has a deadline on Friday.

I’m going to have to push the update to next week.
 
Prologue
The Riverlanders advanced, walking at first, then picking up into a jog, Alexios keeping with them. Laripotami grew, the besieging Turks galloping around the walls. Another trail of gunsmoke rose from the walls as they closed. A small rise ran across the plains before them and Alexios slowed as they drew closer.

”Tureit!” he shouted. No response. The Riverlanders ran on. He scanned the line, looking for Namejs’ bronze helmet. There, the dull yellow armor bobbing amongst the line. Alexios ran after him but his foot caught on a root and he went flying forward, knocking the wind out of his lungs and scraping the palm of his hand open on the rough ground. He staggered to his feet and started to run after the line, but it had already faded into the dust cloud kicked up by the Turks.

He broke into a run, drawing his parmeion, his vision fading as he drew closer to the skirmish, a great dust cloud kicked up by the cavalry plunging the battlefield into a murky pink-streaked storm ringing with a bedlam pitch of tortured screams, bellows, the constant deafening clatter of hooves, and above it all the thundering roar of cannonade.

Alexios plunged into the swirling blast, pink fading to black and light falling to spots on the whistling curtains. A shadow flickered across a bright patch and he tensed and Alexios swung, striking only dust. He relaxed, glancing at another spot.

And then he was flying backwards, a deep cut on his hand and a Turkish boot print on his mail and he was rolling away as a scimitar whistled past his ear and slammed into the ground. He scrambled back to his feet as the sword swished by him again. He turned and faced his attacker, a Turk slightly taller than he was. Alexios shifted, and started circling to his right, trying to get around the man. The Turk did the same, and the two circled, pacing each other, the sweat running down Alexios’ face and stinging his eyes. The man feinted down and Alexios blocked low, then desperately swung up to block the Turk’s overhand strike. The sheer force of it pushed him back and he half-turned, sending the Turk lunging past him. He turned back and tried to take the man’s arm off but the Turk was already back to his feet, slicing at him and slashing through his leg armor. Alexios slashed him across the shoulder and the man grunted in pain, then Alexios swung again. His arm shocked, and his sword logged itself in the Turk’s chest. The man sunk to the ground and Alexios pulled his sword out, panting. He stabbed one more time, into his eye to make sure he was dead, then stumbled away.

The wind picked up, driving the dust into his face. He squinted, holding up his arms to shield his face and a thin trickle of blood ran down his arm. Alexios hadn’t even noticed the cut.

The light returned and he burst through the storm.


He blinked, trying to see in the harsh light, and then there was a scream in Latvian and he was knocked to the ground and his sword flew out of his hands and the air rushed out of his lungs. He tried to roll back to his feet, but there was a heavy weight on him. He tried to push it off and stand, but there was a loud thhhhhhlit and what felt like a punch into his arm, and then white hot pain, arms convulsing. His vision blurred and a shadow flitted across him. He rolled onto his stomach and started to crawl away, his sight swirling as pain bit deeper into him. His hand closed around his parmeion and he pulled himself to his feet, vision twisting into a pattern of sparking lights, swinging wildly. His sword bit into flesh and he felt his arm jerk down as the corpse of the man fell. He tugged it out and his vision cleared somewhat, enough to make out the shadowy form of a horse. He stumbled towards it and grabbed the reigns. His arms screamed in pain but he swung onto the horse, his sword slipping from his hand. He kicked into the horse and it charged forward at a gallop, nearly throwing him off. Alexios tried to lean forward back into his saddle but a bolt of pain raced over him and his hands slipped and he slid off the saddle. He hit the ground, the arrow shaft thrusting farther into his shoulder, he writhed in pain, and then everything went black.


“Alexios!”

His eyes opened. He was staring at the roof of a tent. His limbs felt numb, but as feeling slowly retuned he felt hand shoving his uninjured shoulder. Alexios’ head turned.

“Alexios!”

“Manouel?”

The man sighed. “Good. We captured Karman, he’s offered to ransom himself.”

“Wait, stop. Karman’s surrendered?”

“Yeah. He’d have to be a complete idiot not to, there are only about thirty who got away. “

“Thirty who?”

Manouel winced. “Err... What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Falling off a horse.”

“Ah, okay. So when the Turkopoli arrived, they and the Riverlanders fell back. Karman then charged the berm, and while his men were against the river the auxiliaries swung back around and cut them off.”

Alexios nodded, then swung his legs off the bed and tried to stand. His knees buckled and he collapsed forward, Manouel grabbing him halfway down. He helped him back up, and the two staggered out of the tent.

The sun was low over the Aegean, and the sky was a light pink-purple. They walked through the rows of tents, Alexios’ legs weakened, and he collapsed after a few clearings. Manouel started to help him up again, but then,

“Chalazi Vasileios! Hail Vasileios Alexios!”

Alexios turned, staring into one of the few open spaces. It was packed with soldiers, swords and spears raised, cheering, “Hail Vasileios! Long-live the Vasileios!”

He sighed and muttered, “Shit.”

<< Index
Last edited: Jun 9, 2019
 
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Thus Begins the War of the Eagles


If anyone has any critiques, please let me know. I'm still trying to hone my writing skills, and I'll take any suggestions I can get.
File:Palaiologos_Dynasty_emblem.png
 
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I am going to reboot the series sometime in the future. My writing isn't as high quality as I would like it to be, and further research has revealed issues with my plot. I'm going to work on the timeline some, and restart it then. Sorry, hopefully I'll see you later

https://www.alternatehistory.com/forum/threads/a-new-alexiad-formerly-miafora-sta-anatolika-once-upon-a-time-in-the-east-and-philanthropenos.469899/[URL]https://www.alternatehistory.com/forum/threads/a-new-alexiad-formerly-miafora-sta-anatolika-once-upon-a-time-in-the-east-and-philanthropenos.469899/[/URL]
 
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Take your time this is a good timeline with a good pod and Im interested in seeing what you plan on doing with it, I especially like how realistic the characters reactions and interactions are
 
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