The Rise and Fall of the Argonian Empire

[fezick31]

Part1: The First Russian War

Vital info
my civ: Argonia (custom civ based on Rome)
diff: warlord
map: huge
years covered: 900AD to 1150AD (story time compressed)

This game is still in progress.

[fezick31]

Chapter 1: "The Line of Jasius"

“In the 13th year of the reign of Jasius IV, war as averted with the Iroquois Confederation after the Kha-Ti appeased them with a payment of thirty million Dinarii and documentation on Argonian philosophy. The Iroquois delegation left Argonia …”

“Enough! I will here no more!” cried Jasius XVII. Hearing the news of his forefather’s cowardice always made him angry, even if he did have to hear the annuls of his empire once a year.

“Kha-Ti, you know that the knowledge of the past will forestall repeating its mistakes in the future-.“ Jasius cut off the Royal historian with a scowl before he could finish.
Rhetorically, he asked his advisor, “Pontius, do you know what Kha-Ti means?”

“Of course sir, it means-“

“Mighty One,” completed the King. “Tell me, what is mighty, or even worthy of knowing, about Jasius the IV. He humiliated the Argonian Empire in front of its enemies. Do you know why the Iroquois demanded what they did?”

“They wanted to preserve the peace.”

“That’s crap and you know it. The delegate from Hiawatha gave his reason; greed. They said as much. It is in the personal diary of Jasius the IV. Greed, Pontius. What is mighty about appeasing an enemy! He should have crushed them like the maggots they were!”

“He was hardly in the position to do so,” countered Pontius.

“And that is even more of a mark against him. He spent so much time working on building his great cities that he let his army fall behind in technology and skill. He was a coward, scared of war and scared of killing people.”

“Something our current Kha-Ti defiantly is not frightened of,” Pontius interjected.

Jasius smiled at the prod. Unlike his counterpart in Russia and the Iroquois Confederation, he allowed his advisors to speak freely. If Catherine wanted her advisors to be positive while her cities were burning, then that was her business. It did make her weak though. Jasius moved to the balcony that overlooked his palace grounds and the streets of his Empire’s capital city. “Read to me again about the founding of Argonia.”

Pontius put down his current book and picked up a dustier volume. “In the year 1 of the Argonian Empire, which is 4000 BC in the time of the Barbarian Kingdoms, Remus laid the cornerstone of this palace after defeating his brother Romulus in a duel to the death after he insulted the honor of their father by suggesting he was a coward. Why he named the city Argonia is unknown, but it is believed that it was named after a woman that he fell in love with. It is said that the Argonia River was formed by his tears upon hearing of her death, and that the city was named after the river.”

“Thank-you Pontius. That will be all for now. I wish to think alone for awhile.”

“Very well Kha-Ti. I will be in my office if you should need me.”

Jasius looked out over the streets of Argonia. Down below, being paraded in front of the glory of his palace was a group of tattered and weary looking prisoners. “Pontius,” the king stopped his aid before he quite closed the door.

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Before you leave, tell me where those prisoners are from, and where they are going.”

“They are from Minsk sire. General Claudius burned the city to the ground last year, and has since built Jerusalem upon its ashes. As for where they are going, I believe it is to the highest bidder.”

[fezick31]

Chapter 2: "Claudius"

“CHARGE!” Claudius screamed until he was hoarse. Around him, blood and sweat flew as men tried as hard as they could to kill each other. His knights and legions were valiant, and smashed themselves upon the Russian defenses like a hurricane upon a beach. On the horizon, Kiev burned like a torch, smoke filling the sky and blotting out the sun. It was enough to almost make you believe in the prophecies of the Christians in Hispalis.

He flinched as shrapnel from an exploding musket ball grazed his arm, but continued to lead the charge. The Russian Musket men had been an unwelcome surprise in Kiev. In Minsk, he had faced little opposition, and had overwhelmed the city in less than a week. Kiev was different. Minsk had been a desert Oasis, surrounded by sand and flat terrain that was easily crossed by Knights. Kiev, however, sat at the base of a mountain that forced his troops to pound themselves against the city from the east. His losses were great, but the Russian losses were even greater.

One last desperate volley from the Russian shooters sent him ducking under the fallen horse of a knight. As the beast absorbed bullets meant for him, many of his soldiers took their own, and fell lifeless around him.

“What a tragedy,” he muttered to himself, “but such is the price of citizenship.”

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“Admiral Korishnakof, the Czarina would like to know he status of th-“ the messenger was cut off by an well placed arrow, at least in the opinion of the admiral. “The only non-tragic Russian death of the day,” he thought to himself.

He didn’t have any more time to reflect however, for at that moment, a cry rose from outside the city in a language he didn’t ever want to hear cheers in. Latin was repugnant to him, but he couldn’t help but think that if he survived today, he would have to learn the tongue.

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Claudius heard the cry of his troops as they charged. Taking advantage of the Russian’s reloading time, a company of nights had charged the main gates of the city. Despite taking heavy losses, they had managed to break the heavy door to the city, and now the Argonian troops were pouring into the city. One by one, the sharp reports of musket fire dwindled in number.

Three days later, as he walked the streets of the once great city, he paused in front of the ruins of the local temple. The onion domes, once a gleaming insult from outside the city, now sat blackened and smoldering on top of their stone bases. This city had been one of the greatest in Russia, a jewel in the eye of Catherine.

“Sir,” a legion commander approached him from the direction of the former barracks of the city.

“Yes commander?”

“I have the reports you asked for,” replied the soldier.

“And?”

“We have taken captive 3,000 Russian peasants and 5,000 surrendered soldiers.

“Very good, very good indeed. Have we heard any news from the Kha-Ti regarding his decision about the future of Kiev?” The general asked.

The legionary handed a parchment over to the General, “The message came in just this morning via carrier pigeon. The Kha-Ti has expressed concern as to whether the residents of Kiev could be trusted to join the Empire without fear of defection back to Russia. He however, has acknowledged that he does not have the perspective on the situation that you do, and has deferred the decision to you.”

Claudius read the message carefully, and took a final look at the once magnificent domes of the Russian temple. “Send the prisoners to the slave auctions in Argonia,” he said.

“And the city?”

“Burn it. Burn it to the ground.”

[fezick31]

Chapter 3: "The Soldier Slave"

“Can I get 400!…450!”

“475,” A dark arm raised in the crowd. The Auctioneer turned to him.

“Sold! To the gentlemen from Zimbabwe!”

Demetry hated the language of the Zulu’s almost as much as he did Latin. But at least he could understand the Zulu tongue. All morning the man on the stage had been crying out in Latin, and Demetry hadn’t understood a word. It wasn’t until the Zulu’s, wearing their barbaric beads and loin-cloths, that he had understood where he was and what his fate was to be.

He had awoken that morning tired, hungry, and confused. The last thing he had known, he was being marched south from Kiev deep into Argonia. The terrain was forbidding, and it was warmer than he had previously thought possible. He had tried to ask his captors if they could stop, as many of his men – now captives of the Argonian army – were growing weary and sick from the hard journey. The man had looked down from his horse and spoken in very broken Russian “Get back in line, dog!” He had attempted to pursue the matter, and next thing he remembered he had awoken in this strange city with the worst headache he had ever had.

He stood up and attempted to enjoy the ungodly weather. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and his fair Russian skin was showing the effects. He took in his surroundings. The pen he was in – he could think of no better term for the fenced in area – was guarded by a pair of legionaries. At least that’s what Demetry thought they were. Looking up, he understood why. In the distance he could see the grand Palace of Argonia. He thought he saw movement in the balcony at its peak.

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“Adamius?”

“Yes Kha-Ti?”

Jasius looked down over his city, “where is this group of slaves from?”

“Let me check sir, I will return shortly.” The underling hurriedly stepped out of the royal chamber and into the hall and was almost knocked flat by his immediate superior. “Pontius! Forgive me!”

“Where are you going in such a hurry?” Pontius asked the wiry man.

“To find out where the newest batch of slaves are from, sir.”

“For the king?” Pontius asked. His apprentice nodded. “I will take care of it. Go see to the kitchen.”

“Yes sir,” Adamius replied as he scurried away.

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As the door opened Jasius heard the familiar footsteps of his trusted advisor. “Ah Pontius, good of you to come. What news do you have for me?”

“They are from Kiev, sire. Claudius sent them in just yesterday. They are going quickly, due to the large number military personal that were taken. They are the strongest workers.”

“Understandable,” replied the ruler, “In fact, I would like to have one, preferably a high ranking one, here in the palace.”

“All right, I will send down one of the work masters,” Pontius had a puzzled look on his face. “May I ask why you want a Russian slave. You have thousands of servants in the palace that serve you out of duty rather than fear.”

“I’m not entirely sure, Pontius,” Jasius smiled in an unnerving way, ”but I’m thinking of using him as a footstool.”

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Demetry was next in line as he watched his best advisor get hauled off by the Persian who had purchased him. He looked down at the crowd of merchants who had been bidding for his comrades. Zulu’s mainly, with a few English, Persians, and even some Chinese. As he was pushed up the steps by the soldiers behind him, he saw a large man wearing a leather apron and a purple shirt approach the auctioneer and mention something to him. The auctioneer nodded and the man stepped back, but remained on the stage.

“Name!” The auctioneer demanded of him.

He raised his chin and responded “Demetry Korishnakof.”

The man in the purple shirt started to attention and held up his hand before the auctioneer could start. He demanded something of Demetry, but in Latin. When he responded with a blank look, the man turned to soldier at Demetry’s side and said something.

“Shirt!” The soldier demanded of Demetry.

Demetry did as he was assuming he was being ordered to and took off his shirt, revealing the rank tattooed on his left shoulder – Grand Admiral of The Russian Army. The large man in the purple shirt examined the markings and looked into Demetry’s face. He then motioned to the Auctioneer, who called the next in line.

The man turned to Demetry, “Ven *** me, serve!” Demetry was confused, and did not follow. The man repeated what he had said, this time in Russian, “Come with me, slave!”

[fezick31]

Chapter 4: "Decisions"

Snow howled outside the barracks of his new town, and Claudius hated it. “Damnable weather, no wonder the Russians wanted to stake a claim in Western Iroquoia,” he said to himself. Looking out his window he contemplated the current war with Russia. He had only been a sergeant when it had begun in warmer and much more southern locations. It had been at the end of the second Iroquois War, and Argonia had taken much of the Western Iroquois lands. Colonists, under orders from the new Kha-Ti, Jasius XVII, were steadily flowing into the newly purged lands, and the Iroquois were consistently falling back. In the midst of this triumph, the Russians, in their arrogance, moved in from the sea and built a port on shores that Argonian blood had freed. Claudius himself had a slave from that port town.

Now he stood in the newly finished officer barracks of his new town, Caesaraugusta. The town was built on the ruins of Kiev, something that helped to warm the general, in spite of the Russian winter that blazed outside. A knock at the door started him from his nostalgia.

“Commander Hadrian, reporting as ordered sir,” the man said from the doorway.

Claudius turned from the window from which he had been watching the snow. “Commander, I trust the men are enjoying the snow,” he said with a disgusted look.

“It is affecting moral, sir.”

“Yes, I know. How did the troops take the news of our defeat at Sevastopol?” the General asked. Claudius remembered with a stab of pain how his knights, ill equipped for the snow, had been slaughtered by their Russian counterparts at the gates of the city.

“As well as can be expected. There is more critical news however.”

Claudius turned at this. He was not ready for yet another problem. “What is it?”

“There seems to be a massing of Russian troops north of the city. I believe that attack is imminent,” the General cut him off.

“That is hardly a problem. Our garrison here is more than a match for the Russian Army.”

“That is true, sir, but the problem is two fold. While we will most likely win any battle fought here, we will take enough casualties that it will stall our offensive,” the commander continued, “The training grounds of the empire move farther and farther away with every victory. By the time fresh trops arrive, we will need to use them to reinforce our defenses.”

“Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?” The General stared hard at the commander, but the commander was a brave man, which kept him in the service of Claudius.

“Peace sir. You must write the Kha-Ti. After the loss at Sevastopol, if we sustain even moderate casualties when the Russians attack here, the war effort will stall. We need time build our forces in the area.” Commander Hadrian finished and looked to the General for his decision. Claudius turned back to the window. Peace with the Russians would go against everything he had known for the last 20 years. But he could not deny the facts. Even with the new roads connecting them with the Empire proper, troop movement took months, and the empire had other enemies that would take any weakness on their front as an opportunity to expand.

“Very well. They have already attempted to sue for peace, so they should accept. However, we only do so if we take casualties defending this city.”

“Yes sir,” Hadrian stood at attention.

“Dismissed.”

[fezick31]

Chapter 5: "Death, War, and Politics"

“Fire!”

The sound of muskets firing in unison filled the air with such noise that it was hard to think. But thinking only got you killed, and Hadrian was content to leave dying to the Russians. However, he could not ignore the fallen troops around him. The day before, his knights had taken heavy casualties driving Russians from the mountains to the west, and now more Russians were pouring down the pass formed by those same mountains and the forest to the east. They were dying en mass, and there was enough death around him to make him wonder if the War could continue. But the Russians kept coming.

He was pacing along the perimeter of the city, cursing himself for not rushing his workers to build walls, when a trumpet blast sounded, and half a dozen Russian knights broke through the line of musket men. Hadrian drew his sword and pistol, and stood his ground. The two knights in the rear fell as the musket men turned around and fired. A third round found Hadrian. As he fell, he managed a lucky shot that took down the lead Knight, and then he saw no more.

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Claudius paced in the medical tent, watching his breath form clouds in front of his face. Hadrian was his best man, ready for a command of his own. A nurse came out from another section of the tent.

“General?”

“How is he?” He asked.

“Not good,” she replied.

The general grabbed the nurse by the shoulders “how bad? Will he live?”

The nurse lowered her gaze and sighed, “No.”

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“Kha-Ti, I have an urgent message from General Claudius.” Jasius looked up from his throne and took the container from Pontius. After opening it and reading it he turned to his advisor, a thousand thoughts running through his mind. “You look troubled, sire. What did the General have to say?”

“He says he cannot continue the war in Russia with his current forces. He has barely managed to hold Caesaraugusta, and he lost his best commander doing so. He has suggested we approach the Russians with cease-fire terms and sign a peace treaty!” Jasius threw the bamboo case across the throne room, shattering it against the stone wall by the new tapestry celebrating the annexation of Western Iroquoia. “Peace! I never thought Claudius a Coward!”

“Sire, were Claudius here to hear you say that, he might very well challenge you to a duel, Kha-Ti or no Kha-Ti,” Pontius interjected as me moved to pick up the shattered container. “However, before you begin acting like Catherine and kill your best general, I suggest you read the rest of his recommendation,” Pontius handed the second piece of paper to his king.

Jasius read out loud, “While it necessary to pursue peace with the Russians at the this time, I do not believe this should or can be a permanent state. The Russians are a treacherous lot, and will certainly betray us as they have in the past. I suggest we use the time to build our armed forces, bolster our defenses, and secure our new holdings. Our production capacity is greater than that of the Russians, and a halt to this war will allow us to build a force they cannot repel. In addition, I need time to build a training facility here in Caesaraugusta that I can use to accustom our troops to snow. Without this training, we may as well throw children against the walls of Moscow, as it will be just as effective. –Claudius, General Supreme, Argonian Army”

“Pontius, get the Russian diplomat here immediately.”

[fezick31]

Chapter 6: "Catherine and Elizabeth"

Jasius reached out his hand and took the offered palm of Catherine the 5th, the aged ruler of Russia. “It is agreed then?” he asked.

“Indeed. 3000 Russian prisoners returned and 20 million Denarii in exchange for our skills in medicine and banking, and we will celebrate peace between our people for all time,” the Russian queen responded.

“Indeed, forever Catherine.” Jasius responded with a smile.

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Claudius walked through the ruins of Kiev. Caesaraugusta had grown very fast, but he had one section of the city roped off, a constant reminder of what happened to those that opposed the empire. The broken stonework and shattered onion domes of the once proud temple reminded him that one day Moscow would burn. After a while he made it to his destination, a small green patch on the north side of the city. Line after line of perfectly aligned headstones filled the field. He stopped and looked down at one of them. “One day soon,” he said, “they will pay for your death, Hadrian, my friend.”

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“Orville Liverwort to see you Kha-Ti,” the underling told Jasius. Jasius hated the English, as they were a proud people, and had allied with the Iroquois during the first Iroquois war.

“Very well. Slaves, you may retire for the day,” Jasius motioned to the two Russian slaves that were dueling with bamboo rods to go. Jasius was amazed at their skill, especially the one with the large Tattoo on his shoulder. Brought back to attention by the opening of the door, Jasius turned to see a small man prance into the chamber like he owned it.

“Mister Liverwort, welcome to Argonia,” Jasius said to the Englishman, knowing full well that the man had lived in the city for the last 15 years.

“Thank you Kha-Ti, “ Liverwort replied with a no very low bow. “I bring a message from her excellency, the Ruler of England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and the Empire of Great Britain, Queen Elizabeth, fifteenth of her line,” the smallish man pulled a scroll from his coat pocket, and stretched it before him in the manner of a town crier, “Her majesty, the Queen of Great Britain, doth command that thee, the leader of the Argonian state, send her tribute in the amount of 30 million Denarii and the knowledge of Banking which you have acquired from the Russians.” With flourish the man re-rolled the scroll and placed it in his coat. He looked up at the emperor, knowing full well what the response would be, even if his Queen did not.

Jasius exploded, “WHAT!!! You tell that white skinned cretin that she will get no such ‘tribute’ from the Argonian EMPIRE.” Jasius grabbed the man by the collar and threw him from the throne room, slamming the doors behind him.

“Shall I inform the generals to prepare for war sire?” Pontius asked.

“No,” Jasius replied, truly surprising his advisor, “at least not yet. If Elizabeth meant war, she would have sent more than just that lackey. Make sure that man gets back in one piece. When we go to war, I want it to be on my terms.”

[civman2000]

nice

ps: i like your signature. Ever read "Godel Escher Bach" by Douglas Hofstadter?

[fezick31]

Originally posted by civman2000
nice

ps: i like your signature. Ever read "Godel Escher Bach" by Douglas Hofstadter?

glad you like it

I haven't read "Godel Escher Bach." I got the sig from my psych book. It is the title of a painting by a frenchmen ( I forget his name). The painting is of a pipe.

[civman2000]

yeah, I know...he's mentioned in GEB, and compared to escher.

[fezick31]

Part 2: The Calm before the Storm

Chapter 7, “The ghosts of England”

As Claudius watched his men training in the bitter cold, another General paced anxiously upon the walls of Viroconium. Matius had been to the ruins of Caesarea, secretly at night. He had seen the skeletons of the Argonian troops, left for the buzzards by their killers. He had seen the temple of Athena, broken and shattered. He had seen the curses left on the walls by the English swordsman, written in their twisted version of Latin. It had been over 150 years since the English and Iroquois had sacked the city, but the stink of death still permeated the air.

He looked over the parapets of Viroconium. Before him the eastern desert loomed to the south, ripples of heat sending mirages into the sky. It was hot, hotter than any time he could remember. But he knew that beyond that desert an even greater heat lay. A fire fueled by malice and evil and the burning desire for War.

Looking at the letter in his hand, signed by the Kha-Ti himself, which ordered a heightened state of alert. Matius shuddered. England would come across that desert. He just didn’t know when. He stood there, the sandy wind whipping his hair, and dreaded that day.

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Farther south, in the English capital, Elizabeth was furious. “He did what?!?”

“Physically threw from his throne room, your grace,” Liverwort replied.

“I heard you the first time, peon. Leave, now,” replied the queen.

“Yes you majesty, forgive me,” Orville skulked from the room and closed the door behind him.

“What an imbecile! Charles!” the queen called for her military advisor.

“Yes, my queen?”

“If that man were worth anything as a diplomat, I’d be swimming in gold right now! Assign him to the infantry!”

“Yes, my Queen,” he said, and headed out of the chamber.

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Demetry had been waiting in the hall when the English diplomat had been thrown from his master’s chamber. The man looked very worried as he marched out of the hall. Demetry knew even less about the English then he did about the Argonians. Russia had been at war with them once, but that was a long time ago, when Russia and Argonia had been allied against them. A long time ago.

He looked down at the wooden sword he was holding. He was ashamed of himself, a mighty general, forced to fight with fake weapons for the amusement of his rivals. It was humiliating. But he was versed well enough in politics to understand that was point. He sighed and sat down on the floor next to his Iroquoian opponent. At least he did not envy that poor Englishmen, whose shoes he wouldn’t have filled for all the snow in Russia.

[fezick31]

Chapter 8: Peace

Pontius was bored. Bored beyond belief. For the first time in almost 80 years, Argonia was at peace with each of its neighbors. While the rest of empire paused to catch its breath, Pontius twiddled his thumbs. It would be short lived though. He knew his Kha-Ti, and his Kha Ti had ordered him to continue production of Knights throughout the Empire. From Pirinius to Palmyra, posters had gone up, charging the men of empire to rise to the defense of Argonia. Pontius knew it was only a matter of time until the defense of Argonia meant an offense on her neighbors.

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Claudius examined the poster that had been nailed to the tree outside the temple. “Join the Knights!” It read. Already thousands of young men had taken up the call, donning the red and Gold of Argonian military might. In just 5 short years, his garrison in CaesarAugusta had tripled, and was still growing as freshly trained recruits poured in from the heart of the empire. He knew that all over the empire this was the case. Almost one out over five men was in the military in some capacity. Claudius was happy that Jasius had taken his advice to pursue peace with the Russians, but even happier that he had not embraced it. He turned from the tree and continued his inspection rounds.

Lining the streets were row after row of musket men and knights, the armor gleaming in the sun, and the horses stomping the ground impatiently. Claudius was not so sure how long these anxious troops could wait. He was not sure how long he could wait.

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All over the empire, troops were massing. Along the Iroquois and English borders, enough troops had been stationed to prevent all but the largest of invasion force from breaking through. On the Russian border, though, Jasius had been building the largest of invasion forces. Studying the map of Argonia that was displayed before him, the Kha-Ti pictured in his mind’s eye an extended empire, easily twice its current size. Catherine, in her arrogance, had refused to pay tribute, or even reparations, for the war that had ended just five years ago. Still she was weak, and would not declare war, even after he had insulted her to her face. Then there was England and Iroquiosa. Jasius wasn’t worried about Hiwatha’s latest heir. They were all timid and groveling. Elisabeth was a different story. He knew that fighting both at the same time would tax his military. He had to smash one of them before he could take on the other. Looking up from the map and into his reflection in the window, Jasius turned away. Peace washard on him, all the micro management of his empire. New lines had formed on his face in the last 5 years that made him look at last a decade past hi fifty-three years. It would not be long before his son took his place.