Quoted By:
TURN ELEVEN
4th Chains, 2nd PAC
>AE
Messengers from the lake arrive, strange men have attacked from the north, they have come with the fire of hatred in their eyes for the refugees taken in. The army is dispatched, behind them follow their retinue and families, along with homesteaders granted northern land rights. They are to settle the city of Vital in the plain approaching the Passage Temple, a way-stop for priests, pilgrims, and where the conquering army shall return.
As yet the men of the army have procured their own equipment, leading to a stunningly disorganised array of weapons, but more importantly a worrying range in the quality thereof. The High Lord himself decrees it, from his own purse shall the army be equipped with weapons of bronze, forged in the holy city of Amun, with maces, daggers, and sword-clubs of obsidian as signs of office.
>AH
What is a King without conquests? What is a god without legends? Pharakhan Anemhotep rises from his throne with purpose in his dark eyes, he shall give the people a reason to worship and fear him, he will give them tales to tell long after he has joined his heavenly kin, he will venture into the desert and slay beasts. A prayer to Oukolos on his lips, he and his retinue venture out into the unknown in search of monsters to kill, trophies to return. After marching many miles south, the Pharakhan halts his men, his eyes dart about, he senses something they cannot. He orders them to make camp, he shall carry on alone, after all the legends tell of mighty hunters and heroes defeating foes alone. For three days he wanders, for three nights he wonders, but as the first pink light of dawn approaches he spies his prize. Black it is, blacker than the last scraps of night is skulks through, and more monstrous than any beast he has seen. He strikes, the fiends strikes back, its jaws snap around him, his arms lock around its neck. A sickening crunch, it falls dead, he cuts of its head. He returns to his men in what feels like a single stride carrying with him the head of a jackal the size of his own broad torso. Black ichor coats his body and stings his flesh.
Sparring in the Colosseum has become not only a method of preparing the army for combat, but also a much adored spectator sport, even a few Tarnsmen watch now and then from the great wall. The Pharakhan orders, whilst he is away on his hunt, that there shall be endless tourneys until his return. He discusses with his generals that this is also to be a test of their tactical training and their organisation, hoping to put on a display that will rival anything his predecessor accomplished.