I was very taken by Zorro's AAR on his Impossible game at Imbros. That's a challenging game there!
Well, I'm not quite so hardcore as that. I played it on Hard, and I created a little mod to add an "Infantry Hero" to the starting army for Imbros. Yes, I know, this is a far cry from Impossible, but I still had fun.
Below is the result. I started out to write an AAR, but realised a few minutes ago that what's resulting is actually something verging on fan fiction, ick. We'll see what you think.
Imbros, possum style (AAR, sort of)
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Redpossum
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Imbros, Chapter One
Imbros
Chapter 1
Bitter cold it was, on midwinter's night, when I lit the watchfire in front of my father's tomb. Vigil there I stood, as a respectful son ought, all that frozen night through.
And with the coming of the god's chariot, golden sun to light the land of mortal men, while yet we walk under sun and moon, with the coming of the first day of the new year, my people crowned me king.
This was the year of the ninety-fourth great games at Olympos, the fourteenth year of my life. Oh, but I held myself a man that day, and a young king indeed. A proud young cock I was, crowing at the dawn, strutting upon the ramparts of that pathetic heap of stone we called a castle.
King, hah! King of an infertile little pimple of an island, home to less than fifteen hundreds of us, even counting the shepherds.
Ah, but youth will be served, I suppose.
Xenophane of Imbros am I, son of Xenophouros, and this is the tale of my days.
When the third day of mourning was behind us, scarce after the dawn of that fourth day, I called to me such advisers as had served my father well in his day. Phylakos son of Konon there was, grey of beard, and wise in years. And Anphinomous son of Euiamon, a nervous rat-like little man, with as brilliant a mind as ever graced any man born of woman.
First, I told them, we must be able to raise and arm proper military units of our own. We must have smiths and armorers on our island, that can perform such work.
And when I had set them to work on that task, I gathered up the full levy of the island, and led them to war.
Hephaisteia was our target, another wretched little pimple of an island, a bit south-west of our own.
And when we had arrived, splashing through the surf from the leaky fishing boats, reeking of our own vomit from 3 days of seasickness, the Hephaisteans were waiting for us.
Ah, but I was young, hot-blooded and cocksure of my own immortality. Ranging myself ahead of the men I led, I slashed my sword downwards from overhead, and cried the charge.
Like a hot knife through cheese, we sliced through their levies, though my own men were no better armed and armored than they were. But the fire of rage burned within me, as though the god himself rode my flesh, and the hearts of my men caught fire from my own.
Soon we ran full against their sacred band, and the shock was like colliding with a solid oak at a dead run. Tall men they were, in armor of shining bronze, with long and bitter spears, and then the blood of my men ran red in the sand. The spearpoint that should have let out my own life skidded aside from the breastplate of my father's armor, that I wore as he had worn it in his own youth. And with my father's sword I hammered that man into the dust, the red wine spurting on high as my sword of iron crashed through his helmet of bronze.
Then all at once, our opponents were broken, their ranks shattered, some fleeing, while others gathered in small knots to sell their lives as dearly as they might. Looking around I saw that some of my javelinmen, their darts exhausted, had drawn their daggers and raced around the enemy flank, to stab and slash at their unprotected rear. It was this, an act of unexpected courage by the humblest of my men, that had in the end saved us all.
Bittersweet that victory was. More than doubled my kingdom, I had, and but with a single battle.
And yet half the army bequeathed to me by my father lay dead upon the field.
Through the next summer we licked our wounds. Some men healed and some died of theirs. From Imbros came word that production of light bronze armor and spears was underway, and also that a band of scruffy pirates had attempted a raid in my absence. No more than wandering vagabonds, Phylakos wrote, and the palace guards and the boys' troop had sufficed to butcher them like pigs.
We saw more of the same ourselves there at Hephaisteia, and smashed them as effortlessly. I slew nearly a dozen of them with my own hand. Several of their boats were worth keeping.
Two years I spent, back and forth between the two islands. Both cities grew apace, when word began to spread of our newfound prosperity. A proper barracks we built at Imbros, and two companies of troops equipped with the new light armor and spears of our own making. Hephaisteia soon boasted a large complex devoted to the production of building materials, both stone and brick, for I foresaw much construction in our future.
I founded there also a small school, more of a hall for scholars really, in the beginning. But we called it a university, and the people of Hephaisteia were greatly pleased that I had established it among them, and not at my own home in Imbros. Truth to tell, Imbros was growing crowded, with the need for space always ahead of new construction. I was only too happy to send the scholars off to quieter quarters in Hephaisteia, for Imbros was becoming a city of soldiers and artisans; those who wielded the weapons of war, and those who crafted them.
When our scholars, such as they were, had gotten our arms manufacturing industry well begun, I asked them to turn their minds to the matter of agriculture, for our growing people would soon require far more food than we could possibly grow or afford to buy.
Their answer on this score was grim. Simply, we must seize more fertile lands or starve. Our own stony slopes, and those of Hephaisteia were no better, simply could not do more than graze a few handfuls of scrawny sheep.
Oh, why should I pretend. I was secretly delighted to hear this, since it provided happy pretext for further conquest. I fear my youthful obsession with glory had been but little dimmed by the bloody slaughter of Hephaisteia.
And so, in the early summer of my third year as king, we once again sailed to war.
Chapter 1
Bitter cold it was, on midwinter's night, when I lit the watchfire in front of my father's tomb. Vigil there I stood, as a respectful son ought, all that frozen night through.
And with the coming of the god's chariot, golden sun to light the land of mortal men, while yet we walk under sun and moon, with the coming of the first day of the new year, my people crowned me king.
This was the year of the ninety-fourth great games at Olympos, the fourteenth year of my life. Oh, but I held myself a man that day, and a young king indeed. A proud young cock I was, crowing at the dawn, strutting upon the ramparts of that pathetic heap of stone we called a castle.
King, hah! King of an infertile little pimple of an island, home to less than fifteen hundreds of us, even counting the shepherds.
Ah, but youth will be served, I suppose.
Xenophane of Imbros am I, son of Xenophouros, and this is the tale of my days.
When the third day of mourning was behind us, scarce after the dawn of that fourth day, I called to me such advisers as had served my father well in his day. Phylakos son of Konon there was, grey of beard, and wise in years. And Anphinomous son of Euiamon, a nervous rat-like little man, with as brilliant a mind as ever graced any man born of woman.
First, I told them, we must be able to raise and arm proper military units of our own. We must have smiths and armorers on our island, that can perform such work.
And when I had set them to work on that task, I gathered up the full levy of the island, and led them to war.
Hephaisteia was our target, another wretched little pimple of an island, a bit south-west of our own.
And when we had arrived, splashing through the surf from the leaky fishing boats, reeking of our own vomit from 3 days of seasickness, the Hephaisteans were waiting for us.
Ah, but I was young, hot-blooded and cocksure of my own immortality. Ranging myself ahead of the men I led, I slashed my sword downwards from overhead, and cried the charge.
Like a hot knife through cheese, we sliced through their levies, though my own men were no better armed and armored than they were. But the fire of rage burned within me, as though the god himself rode my flesh, and the hearts of my men caught fire from my own.
Soon we ran full against their sacred band, and the shock was like colliding with a solid oak at a dead run. Tall men they were, in armor of shining bronze, with long and bitter spears, and then the blood of my men ran red in the sand. The spearpoint that should have let out my own life skidded aside from the breastplate of my father's armor, that I wore as he had worn it in his own youth. And with my father's sword I hammered that man into the dust, the red wine spurting on high as my sword of iron crashed through his helmet of bronze.
Then all at once, our opponents were broken, their ranks shattered, some fleeing, while others gathered in small knots to sell their lives as dearly as they might. Looking around I saw that some of my javelinmen, their darts exhausted, had drawn their daggers and raced around the enemy flank, to stab and slash at their unprotected rear. It was this, an act of unexpected courage by the humblest of my men, that had in the end saved us all.
Bittersweet that victory was. More than doubled my kingdom, I had, and but with a single battle.
And yet half the army bequeathed to me by my father lay dead upon the field.
Through the next summer we licked our wounds. Some men healed and some died of theirs. From Imbros came word that production of light bronze armor and spears was underway, and also that a band of scruffy pirates had attempted a raid in my absence. No more than wandering vagabonds, Phylakos wrote, and the palace guards and the boys' troop had sufficed to butcher them like pigs.
We saw more of the same ourselves there at Hephaisteia, and smashed them as effortlessly. I slew nearly a dozen of them with my own hand. Several of their boats were worth keeping.
Two years I spent, back and forth between the two islands. Both cities grew apace, when word began to spread of our newfound prosperity. A proper barracks we built at Imbros, and two companies of troops equipped with the new light armor and spears of our own making. Hephaisteia soon boasted a large complex devoted to the production of building materials, both stone and brick, for I foresaw much construction in our future.
I founded there also a small school, more of a hall for scholars really, in the beginning. But we called it a university, and the people of Hephaisteia were greatly pleased that I had established it among them, and not at my own home in Imbros. Truth to tell, Imbros was growing crowded, with the need for space always ahead of new construction. I was only too happy to send the scholars off to quieter quarters in Hephaisteia, for Imbros was becoming a city of soldiers and artisans; those who wielded the weapons of war, and those who crafted them.
When our scholars, such as they were, had gotten our arms manufacturing industry well begun, I asked them to turn their minds to the matter of agriculture, for our growing people would soon require far more food than we could possibly grow or afford to buy.
Their answer on this score was grim. Simply, we must seize more fertile lands or starve. Our own stony slopes, and those of Hephaisteia were no better, simply could not do more than graze a few handfuls of scrawny sheep.
Oh, why should I pretend. I was secretly delighted to hear this, since it provided happy pretext for further conquest. I fear my youthful obsession with glory had been but little dimmed by the bloody slaughter of Hephaisteia.
And so, in the early summer of my third year as king, we once again sailed to war.
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IainMcNeil
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Redpossum
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**********
Chapter 2
**********
No less than Mytilene was our target this time. No backwater village this, but the greatest city of Lesbos. I told myself, as we rowed in through the fog, that they were only aeolians. That nagging corner of my mind that always answers, reminded me of the news the trader had brought 2 years ago, that the Athenians had killed Socrates. If we Ionians were capable of such barbarity, even in our greatest city, could we truly claim to be so superior?
Later that morning, with the sun a hand's span above the horizon, we faced the Lesbians outside their city gates. Scanning their ranks, I allowed a smile of satisfaction to grow across my face, knowing my men would see and be heartened by it. Like the Hephaisteans, many of whom now fought under my banner, the Lesbians had only a small sacred band with proper arms and armor. The rest were peasants or townsmen, with whatever light spears or farm tools they could muster.
Drawing up my new light-armored troops in the center, I took my place behind their ranks. This day I would be a general first, and a hero second.
On the flanks I placed my veteran astynomia. The javelins I placed behind the first rank, in the center.
In the event, the battle was the rarest of birds. It went exactly as I had planned it, with no rude surprises.
The Lesbian levies charged as soon as they were in ranks, came upon our spears in fine spirit, and died there. By the time their sacred band arrived, puffing and out of breath from the long run in their heavy armor, some of their lighter-armed comrades were already beginning to run.
Still, the crashing impact of their sacred band on our line was staggering, and our casualties heavy. But bloody as was the price, my men held, with me there to rally them on. It seemed no more than a double-handful of moments we struggled, and then my astynomia were around their flank, and their ranks were broken.
With the taking of Mytilene, we became truly a power with potential. For Mytilene was capital of a fertile region, capable of growing huge quantities of food. Mytilene was also gifted with sizable deposits of fine marble, waiting only to be quarried.
In the fall of that year, we marched on Methymna. A third unit of the new light-armored troops joined us there, to replace the chewed-up unit I had left to garrison Mytilene. The Lesbians gave us a battle that day, but not much of one. Their hearts were heavy with foreknowledge of defeat, as ours were bright with the confidence of victory. Then the island of Lesbos was mine, and I knew a measure of peace for a time.
Chapter 2
**********
No less than Mytilene was our target this time. No backwater village this, but the greatest city of Lesbos. I told myself, as we rowed in through the fog, that they were only aeolians. That nagging corner of my mind that always answers, reminded me of the news the trader had brought 2 years ago, that the Athenians had killed Socrates. If we Ionians were capable of such barbarity, even in our greatest city, could we truly claim to be so superior?
Later that morning, with the sun a hand's span above the horizon, we faced the Lesbians outside their city gates. Scanning their ranks, I allowed a smile of satisfaction to grow across my face, knowing my men would see and be heartened by it. Like the Hephaisteans, many of whom now fought under my banner, the Lesbians had only a small sacred band with proper arms and armor. The rest were peasants or townsmen, with whatever light spears or farm tools they could muster.
Drawing up my new light-armored troops in the center, I took my place behind their ranks. This day I would be a general first, and a hero second.
On the flanks I placed my veteran astynomia. The javelins I placed behind the first rank, in the center.
In the event, the battle was the rarest of birds. It went exactly as I had planned it, with no rude surprises.
The Lesbian levies charged as soon as they were in ranks, came upon our spears in fine spirit, and died there. By the time their sacred band arrived, puffing and out of breath from the long run in their heavy armor, some of their lighter-armed comrades were already beginning to run.
Still, the crashing impact of their sacred band on our line was staggering, and our casualties heavy. But bloody as was the price, my men held, with me there to rally them on. It seemed no more than a double-handful of moments we struggled, and then my astynomia were around their flank, and their ranks were broken.
With the taking of Mytilene, we became truly a power with potential. For Mytilene was capital of a fertile region, capable of growing huge quantities of food. Mytilene was also gifted with sizable deposits of fine marble, waiting only to be quarried.
In the fall of that year, we marched on Methymna. A third unit of the new light-armored troops joined us there, to replace the chewed-up unit I had left to garrison Mytilene. The Lesbians gave us a battle that day, but not much of one. Their hearts were heavy with foreknowledge of defeat, as ours were bright with the confidence of victory. Then the island of Lesbos was mine, and I knew a measure of peace for a time.
