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Õigemeel sounds like a glorious leader...
With Germany out of Ashina’s hands, France will soon fall...
The Christians must be so confused. On the one side, there’s a nomadic Khan and on the other is the Scourge of Europe. It’s like being a man stuck in the middle of a fight between two gods...
Perhaps Estonia should aim to destroy even Ashina’s remants. Encourage revolts and such?
With Germany out of Ashina’s hands, France will soon fall...
The Christians must be so confused. On the one side, there’s a nomadic Khan and on the other is the Scourge of Europe. It’s like being a man stuck in the middle of a fight between two gods...
Perhaps Estonia should aim to destroy even Ashina’s remants. Encourage revolts and such?
Bones are absolutely ducking deadly, as it were. One wonders if there is going to be a war between the Ashina and these upstarts.
Martydrom of St. Quentin
Martydrom of St. Quentin
Since the first Battle of Paris, the war has been steady progress, albeit a bit boring. Several smaller battles, at about the same size as the first one- meaning, around 2000 French against 12 000 Estonians. Sieges and assaults against the not so greatly defended French fortresses, with Õigemeel controlling quite a bit of the French heartlands. The Estonians were enjoying themselves though. They had visited most of the coastline of Europe, but inlands of France were something they were not familiar with. So, they toured the countryside, finding new interesting places to loot and meeting up new interesting people to battle and kill. Also, the French heartlands were beautiful. Rich. And with plenty of wine. There were some comments about walking in the park and such.
Õigemeel had some reinforcements as his elder sons, the Princes of Wales, sailed over the channel and joined him. Joyous family reunions amongst the burning ruins of the enemy is a thing if you happen to be a blood-thirsty loot-hungry Estonian. Otelemb, Arp and Kosk, eldest sons of Õigemeel, sailed across the channel to help and there was much joy, for they had not seen each other in years. Alongside Grand Mayor Raak of Man, who once a faithful companion of Õigemeel, had put aside axe in order to try and rob people through new, more peaceful ways of commerce and make the Man a center of the North Sea trade. Now, he picked up his axe again and sailed to France, to fight alongside the King. There were other Suomenusko leaders as well, bringing their small retinues to far-away lands, both vassals of Õigemeel and independent rulers, long wanting to take a long vacation in France and now that the opportunity presented itself, jumping on it. Making it a joyous occasion for everyone. This also meant that though Õigemeel had lost some men, the size of Estonian army was about the same.
When the Estonians attacked the French in St. Quentin, Vermandois, on 15th June, 914, it was the same. Small French army. Estonians not even bothering with tactics, but just charging in, Õigemeel leading the center soldiers in a glorious charge that broke into the enemy ranks, then broke the enemy ranks and then, broke the enemy into rout. Business as usual in this war, where the Estonians were the hammer and French were the nail. One strong strike and done.
The Battle of St. Quentin and Estonian progress in France.
Just, in this case, it was special. Õigemeel and his closest retinue- his daughters and sons, his closest friends, were resting after the battle, cleaning their weapons, enjoying their fine wine, exchanging stories and laughing. Suddenly, Otelemb pointed at two riders, slowly trotting towards the King’s encampment. Estonians, by the look of them. It was not the horses nor the riders though that caught their attention. Both of the riders had a rope tied to the saddle. And the other end of the rope was tied to a human, forced to jog between the riders or fall down and be dragged. The warm weather of June and the shining sun did not make it an easy task. The glints of chainmail showed that the figure was wearing an armor, making the jog even more unpleasant. The glint of chainmail also meant that the riders had captured someone important.
So, Õigemeel and his retinue gathered, waiting for the riders. As the riders noticed the King, they sped up their horses. The jerk got the prisoner by surprise and the figure tripped. Not caring enough to stop, the last 100 meters or so were the most unpleasant for the prisoner, as being dragged behind horses is not the most pleasant of occasions.
“So, who do we have here?” asked Õigemeel, leaned closer, grabbed the figure by it’s hair and raised the head. To his surprise, the head turned out to be a female. Who spat on his face and said something in Frankish. Something very unpleasant, by the tone of it. Õigemeel just tightened his grip, wiped the spit with his free hand and looked questioningly towards the riders.
Both had already dismounted and approached the King. Their faces were beaming, like someone had shoved the sun up their asses. The few fresh cuts and bruises did not seem to bother them. As kissing the ground in front of the King was not an Estonian way, they just gave the King a casual salute and the older one told:
“May I introduce you to Khanum Gisela of France, my King,” not even bothering to hide a glee in his voice.
Jackpot!
“Oh,” said Õigemeel. His hand still held the prisoner by her hair and now, he pulled her up. Muddy, bruised, hands tied. The Khanum still looked the King deep in the eye, then spat again and started another triade in Frankish. Õigemeel just pushed her down, facewards into mud, and casually placed his foot on her shoulders and pushed. Forcing the Khanum to choose between struggling and breathing. She chose the latter.
“Stellar work, boys! How did you capture her?”
“Well, we saw riders fleeing from battle. Five Franks, shielding her. So, we figured that this one must be important, so we pursued. Caught up on them after a few minutes. Three of them turned around and tried to fight, while two kept with her. Then we knew for certain that we are after someone really important, so we just killed their horses and rode on...”
“Followed by lots of curses,” the other one added, chuckling. “But you cannot run fast in full chain...”
“We caught up with her soon after,” the first continued. “Their horses were more tired and ours were faster. Then, Toivo managed to shoot her horse. The other two stopped instantly and rode to help her. We engaged with her companions, Toivo took her on.”
“She fought like a wolf,” the second one added. “By the time we dealt with her companions, she had skewered poor Toivo. And Toivo was an experienced fighter. Then, she turned to me. I don’t know how it would have turned out, but then Madis finished with his own,” he pointed to the other guy, “And clubbed her from behind. So, she fell, we tied her up and when she came to, we rode here.”
“A fine job, lands. A fine job indeed.” Õigemeel stepped of from Gisela. The Khanum breathed from relief, only to find that Õigemeel’s foot had been replaced by another. She gazed up, finding an amazon, expensively armored, covered in war paint and blood and showing scars of multiple battles. Helmi, the daughter of Õigemeel and famed shieldmaiden. Even in the land of Franks, she has been heard of. Fearless warrior. Gisela looked like she wanted to say something, so without ceremony, Helmi grabbed her by the hair and pushed her facewards to the mud again.
Õigemeel stepped towards his two soldiers, face beaming. He grabbed them both and hugged them. “A Khanum’s ransom to you both, men! For your quick actions and brave decision-making. And some mighty fine soldiering!” Then, he paused for a second and added. “And a third Khanum’s ransom to Toivo’s family”
“Tonight, when we feast, I want you both to sit by my side and tell me the story again and again, until we cannot find our feet, and we have to be carried to our tents,” he continued.
Then, Õigemeel turned around and looked at Gisela, still faceward in the mud. “But first, we have to deal with her. Otelemb, how’s your Frankish? Can you translate?”
His son just nodded. Õigemeel motioned Helmi to let the Khanum up. The triade in Frankish started as soon as the queen was let up. Muddy face not bothering her for a bit, she gazed at the crowd around her defiantly and started.
“She is now inquiring if we know who she is,” Otelemb was struggling, for the Khanum was spitting words like a machine gun. “Now, she claims that this is no way to treat a queen. Now, we are barbarians. Now...”
Otelemb paused and leaned closer. Then, half-disgusted and half-grinning, he continued. “Now, she is describing in graphical detail a sexual act between my grandmother and a horse, apparently ending up with the birth of you, father. Hmm. And now, we are at your sexual preferences. Apparently, father, you live with pigs and like to show your dick into the fattest, grossest one of them. And we here are offsprings of your sexual adventures with these pigs. Apart from Helmi, who is a result when you drank yourself to stupor one night and got drunk enough and instead, fucked the sheepherder’s dog and she is a bitch like the dog.”
Õigemeel wasn’t really angry or anything. More like amused. But the screeching voice of the Khanum was seriously starting to annoy her. He made a small gesture and Helmi shoved a boot at Gisela’s back, shoving the queen headfirst into the mud again. Then, she once again grabbed the Khanum by the hair and pulled her up. This time though, she held a knife and her throat, making it plain that if Gisela uttered another word, there will be blood. She decided to stay silent.
“I’m not sure if she is brave or stupid. Or both,” he muttered to himself. “Ask her,” he said to Otelemb. “Ask her why she is not afraid.”
Otelemb did so. She replied with a staccato of words. Otelemb dutifully translated. “She says she is the wife of Bihor Ashina, son of the Great Khan Bulan and also, loyal and dutiful vassal of the same Khan and if something happened to her, the Khan would painfully kill the assailants, burn their homes to the ground and hunt down relatives, families and people who shared drink with them once and exact vengeance like not yet seen. Plus, we, the barbarians, only care about the money and if we don’t start treating her better, she will make sure we will get only half of her ransom, so she would like a bath, new clothes, some servants and food right now. Also, apparently, I am a cow.”
Õigemeel listened with horrid fascination. Then, he replied: “Tell her that I already gave my men three times her ransom as a reward. And as for Khan, he may be welcome to try. I shall personally nail his head to the gate of Kalevan if he does so. Without detaching his head from the rest of his body first.”
As Otelemb translated, Õigemeel’s gaze turned towards the city of St. Quentin, short ride away. “You know,” he started. Only to be interrupted by yet another triade from Gisela. Impatiently, Õigemeel gestured and once again, Khanum was forced to eat mud.
“As I was saying. During the siege of St. Quentin, before the city fell. A delegation of priests from the church of St. Quentin came to me. They told me a story of the saint that gave the city his name. Apparently, he was a Roman who tried to spread Christianity here and the Romans killed him, granting him martyrdom. Or something along the lines. Fortunately for them, they carried more persuasive arguments as well.”
“Like what,” Otelemb asked, curiously.
“Like all the treasures of the church, apart from reliquaries of St. Quentin, if we leave the church untouched,” Õigemeel grinned. “Very convincing arguments.”
“Anyway, I agreed. Even more, I agreed that anyone inside of church, we will not touch. As long as they leave their valuables behind, that is.”
“Father, this is kind of generous of you,” Otelemb questioned. “Did the stories of St. Quentin affect you that much?”
Õigemeel laughed. “Heart of a man in the parapets is much less determined if he knows that his wife, children, parents, cousins and such are safe. That they have a special place where the enemy wowed not to touch them. Instead of giving his all to protect his family, he is with them in there in his head. And when the battle does not go their way, perhaps not only in his head. If fact, we found about half of garrison of St. Quentin in the church after the assault.”
“And you kept your promise,” asked Otelemb
“Of course,” replied Õigemeel. “I would not mind if some other city came to me with a similar proposal. And knowing I kept my word means that they will do so more likely...”
Õigemeel at least tried to hide his evil grin when saying that.
“That is beside the point,” he continued. “I thought nothing of the martyrdom of St. Quentin, apart from the man being a total tool and the Christians being total fools for worshipping such a man. But now, listening to this annoying creature, it came to me. I am a Pagan ruler, according to Christians. A total heathen, right?”
There were nods of agreement from all around.
“As a heathen, I have a power to grant Christians their martyrdom. And, “ as he looked at the Khanum in the mud with contempt, “I know little who deserves it more.”
Õigemeel turned towards his audience, his mind made up. “I declare that Khanum Gisela shall be sacrificed to Ukko. On the altar of the Church of St. Quentin!” Õigemeel bellowed.
The silence was penetrated by screech from Gisela. She somehow managed to struggle herself loose, looked around for a split second, found out that there is nowhere to escape to and then, threw herself at the feet of Õigemeel and kissed the ground if front of him.
In a surprisingly passable Estonian, she begged: “Beloved and just King, let me live. I shall swear fealty to you. All of France shall bow before the Great King of Estonia and I, as your most loyal vassal, shall carry out your every command with diligence.”
Õigemeel was too shocked to reply at first. Gazing at the woman laying in the mud before her. Then, he laughed. “Look! From the result of union between horse and human and from a pigfucker, I suddenly changed to just and beloved Great King. Oh, the mind of a woman is fickle indeed.”
He took a more serious tone: “But this is the second Pagan ruler you try to swear fealty to. And I'm sure you promised the same to Bulan as well. Now, you are betraying him- as you will betray me, if you had a chance. I will get France, with or without you. And, to be honest, I prefer my France without you.” He turned his gaze from Gisela and gave command: “Enough! Gag the women! Off to the church we go!”
Soon, a procession of Estonians rode towards St. Quentin. The city gates were wide open, welcoming them in. In front was Õigemeel and his retinue. King, still in a bit bloody armor, his trusted axe in his hand, was a fearsome sight. As was his retinue. His family, his friends, his most trusted soldiers, commanders and associates. All riding at a leisurely pace towards the city center. Curious citizens gathering to watch. Even some weak cheers. Dignitaries, bowing deep before their current ruler. All signs of resistance carefully hidden. And at the end of the procession, once again between the soldiers who captured her, Gisela. Tied up, forced to jog or to drag. She chose jogging.
The procession went through the entire city, until they stopped at the main square, where the Church of St. Quentin was. The priests were gathered at the stairs, blocking the entrance. The word has spread... Estonians are going to make a human sacrifice in the church... this is unheard of.
“But you promised, King Õigemeel!” the head priest protested
King dismounted and walked up to the priest, Otelemb in tow as a translator. “I have promised you two things- I will leave reliquaries of St. Quentin alone. And I have no intention to break that promise. And I promised that I will not harm anyone seeking refuge in the church. I have not done so, nor will I intend to do so...”
“You want to murder someone on the altar of our church, desecrating it? And yet you claim you will not harm anyone seeking refuge?”
“Do not worry, she is not seeking refuge. She is seeking martyrdom,” said the King. The priests looked confused.
Then, as the retinue parted, two soldiers escorted Gisela to the steps of the church, dismounted, grabbed the struggling Khanum and held her tight. The priests, recognizing the Queen, gasped.
“Martyrdom? Queen Gisela,” one muttered, in disbelief.
“She was given a choice between choosing Suomenusko and denouncing Christianity and death. So, in the finest Christian traditions, I shall be the Pagan king killing her and thus, bringing her martyrdom.”
“Gisela,” a priest murmured, in disbelief “... chose martyrdom?”
Õigemeel winked. “Gagged.”
Not more was needed. The priest understood full well. “Can you give us a few moments to discuss, please?”
Õigemeel nodded and the priest continued their own discussion right there on the stairs, while the King waited patiently, leaning on his axe. “Are you understanding any of this,” he asked from Otelemb.
“It is half in Latin, but the gist of it is that they are horrid from the idea that pagans are going to use their church for human sacrifice and would rather die then allow that. But since this is Gisela, they are seriously considering making an exception.”
“That popular, huh?”
“I’m pretty sure one just called her “Spawn of Satan” and the other referred us as the Devils doing the Lord’s work,” Otelemb said in a low voice. Both looked at each other and grinned.
It went on for more minutes, until the head priest came forward. “This is highly unusual,” he started. “And under normal conditions, we would have to refuse,” he said, throwing a quick glance at Õigemeel’s axe.
“But then again, achieving martyrdom is the highest achievement for a Christian and since our beloved Queen voluntarily chose it,” he said, totally not looking in a direction of Gisela, who started struggling and violently shaking her head and tried to speak, but that damn gag. “It is not for us to refuse martyrdom for one of the truest Christians.” The hint of sarcasm in his voice was slight, but it was definitely there.
With that, the priests stood aside and watched as the Estonians pulled the struggling Khanum to the church. They watched with horror as the soldiers dragged struggling Gisela to the altar and held her down. Their blood froze as Helmi stepped up, holding the Queen up by the hair and quickly cut her throat, while the Pagans, filling the church, yelled “Ukko! Ukko! Ukko”. They watched as Gisala’s body made a final twitch and then, just laid lifelessly on the altar, blood oozing from her wound.
Few hours ago, Gisela the Monster was one of the most powerful women in Europe. Now, she was just another corpse.
End of the Monster
Then, it was over. Estonians liked their religious ceremonies brief. The sacrifice has been made, well, that is that. Back to the camp for a celebration party. Head priest stopped Õigemeel on his way out:
“Anything special we should do with the body?” he asked.
Õigemeel just shrugged. “Don’t care. Ukko has had his fill. Bury her, leave her there, feed her to the dogs, whatever.” Then, he reached for his belt and threw a quite heavy, gold-filled pouch to the priest. “For your re-sanctification costs,” he said as he walked out of the building. The darkness and coldness of a Christian church always made him feel uncomfortable and the sunlight felt welcome.
Others followed him and soon, Estonians rode from the town, leaving behind a confused populace and one corpse of an involuntary martyr.
As for France- France is now ruled by Khan Täbär Ashina of France, son of Gisela the Monster and Bihor Ashina, son of the Great Khan. At least, both of the Wicked Siblings had left this world. Both lived a wicked life, and both ended up with a fitting end.
Now, i have seen everything
I hope this was not too long. I kinda got carried away with writing and before I realized, I reached page 8.
Well, it is not every day you can finish a wicked monster like that.
Anyways, one more episode done.
I'm not even sure how much it mattered. But yes, they grew weaker. And one less of the Wicked Siblings is always a good thing.
Well, on game terms, Õigemeel has military skill of 40 and personal combat skill of 125. Few can stand against such a man.
And Christians are in quite unfortunate position indeed. But at least, when Estonians win, there will be less raiding.
And since Õigemeel gives French lands away to dukes and kings, they in turn will expand their lands on expense of Ashina and I prefer when the Kingdoms are as whole as possible, so when it is time for another great war, then no specific action needed.
Most likely the Ashina and too busy with Estonia to really care...
Well, it is not every day you can finish a wicked monster like that.
Anyways, one more episode done.
Well, isn't that just some welcome luck.
I'm not even sure how much it mattered. But yes, they grew weaker. And one less of the Wicked Siblings is always a good thing.
Well, on game terms, Õigemeel has military skill of 40 and personal combat skill of 125. Few can stand against such a man.
And Christians are in quite unfortunate position indeed. But at least, when Estonians win, there will be less raiding.
And since Õigemeel gives French lands away to dukes and kings, they in turn will expand their lands on expense of Ashina and I prefer when the Kingdoms are as whole as possible, so when it is time for another great war, then no specific action needed.
Most likely the Ashina and too busy with Estonia to really care...
I do like Õigemeel's twisted sense of honour and the struggle with the Priests reaction was a nice touch as well.
Well, Estonian culture is nice...
The Wicked Siblings are dead!
I love how the Priests approve of Öigemeel’s action because they hate Gisela that much. Then again, she did sell them out to Ashina.
I wonder if Ashina will attempt revenge?
The Wicked Siblings are dead!
I love how the Priests approve of Öigemeel’s action because they hate Gisela that much. Then again, she did sell them out to Ashina.
I wonder if Ashina will attempt revenge?
Grand Finale
Grand Finale
Good News and Great News
“My King! My King,” the rider rode to the camp at full gallop, stopping at the tent of Õigemeel. The Estonian army, just finished siege of Noyon in Amiens, were still busy carrying the riches looted from the bishopric and from everywhere around. Opening barrels of wine from Bishop’s cellar. And doing other nefarious stuff that an army does after a successful siege. Õigemeel wasn’t doing anything particularly nefarious at the time though, he was just enjoying a barrel of fines wine from the Bishop’s cellar and playing with golden chain, encrusted with jewels, with an ornate cross, from the Bishop’s neck. The chain was still bloody.
The rider stopped at the King’s tent. Dismounted and shouted out: “I have good news and great news, my King!”
“Hmm,” Õigemeel scratched his beard. “Let’s go with great news first!”
The rider, apparently having ample time to plan the conversation while riding as fast as humanly possible towards Estonian camp, was kind of taken aback by the King breaking the script in the first sentence.
“Umm, mmm, they outnumber us by 5000!” the rider bursted out.
“Hmm,” said Õigemeel again. “I think this needs some context... So, what is the good news?”
“Enemy army spotted, they are marching in our direction!” the rider finally got to the point.
One enemy army, spotted
Õigemeel’s eyes lit up. “You are right! These are good news and great news indeed. Finally, a challenge!”
He reached for his purse, grabbed a few coins and threw them to the rider.
“Excellent!” he said, followed by bellowing “Summon the war council! We have some planning to do!”
Council
The council shared the King’s enthusiasm. “Sieges are boring,” as Helmi said. “And these small-time battles are even more so,” her sister, Mari, added.
“They have horse archers though,” Manivald, one of the commanders, fellow Follower of Otso, added thoughtfully. “These bastards are annoying... Riding around, shooting arrows. Not coming into range. The bastards can harry armies for days, even weeks, and we have precious few riders ourselves...”
Helmi nodded. “The most annoying ones of the people I have fought... Though,” she added, with a wicked grin and touching her axe gently “If you get into the range, their skulls splits like everyone else’s”
“They also outnumber us with archers and light cavalry...” added Mari. “We lose in mobility and range and numbers.”
“They outnumber us with everything but heavy soldiers. They also have better mobility,” Õigemeel added. He bared his teeth in a wolfish grin. “Fun, aint it?”
Rest of the council nodded cheerfully.
“We just have to force them to fight in a situation where they cannot use their advantage much...” Õigemeel gazed at the map thoughtfully. “You know, Oise River has a ford near the Senlis castle...” He pointed at the map.
“If they want to reach us, they have to cross Oise,” it was Manivald. “And if you have a huge army like that, there are precious few routes you can take. It makes total sense that they will take that route, for it is the shortest. And Oise, though not the biggest of rivers, has still precious little fords and the summer has been kind of wet, so they have really limited options...”
“So, feast tonight and tomorrow, we shall march towards Senlis?” said Õigemeel. “Flesh out details along the way?”
Everyone nodded.
“Great! Let us celebrate then,” Õigmeel concluded the exceptionally long council meeting. For the previous councils had been like. French army? Yes? Attack right now? Yes? Ok, let’s go! Who kills the most is the winner! The next day, Estonians started their march.
Senlis
Buzar Yerneslu was in for a nasty surprise. Right in front of him was Oise river. Not the biggest, sure. Only 30-40 meters wide or so. The ford in front of him was just knee-deep, though the rest of the river was most likely deeper. It was not the river that surprised him though. Through the morning fog, he saw troops lined up on the other side. He was bloody well sure they weren’t there last night, when he gave the orders to camp in Senlis, to avoid crossing the river in darkness. Yet, there they were now. Somehow avoiding his scouts, arriving unexpected.
Come and try, Ashina
He cursed. He understood that the Estonians had forced his hands. He has to cross or pull back. And pulling back would mean exposing his backside to enthusiastic Estonians. Something he was not really willing to do.
“Fuck,” he said, quoting the legendary philosopher, Geralt of Rivia
An hour later, his army was lined up. Buzar had positioned his archers to the shores, though he knew full well that Estonians had positioned themselves far enough that the arrows would not reach. Still, he gave command and his archers released a few volleys, blackening a sky and actually hitting some and even killing a few. Not enough to make this tactic effective, plus Estonians pulled back some more.
Buzar noticed something though. After pulling back a bit more and Estonians having their infantry in front and archers behind them, it meant that his warriors could cross the ford without being constantly harassed by arrows. A mistake like this could be exploited. He ordered a few hundred of his heavy infantry to cross the river.
The thing with fords it that they are not even. Knee-deep in one location, then waist-deep, then there is that slippery rock and you lose your foot-hold. Especially when you hold your shield high and try to keep your eyes on the other bank, where the enemy is expecting you. As expected. Some slipped, few drowned, but the rest managed to make it the other bank and set up positions there. Estonians responded by pulling back even more.
Buzar sent some more. Estonians pulled back some more. Obviously worried about archers positioned in the other bank and waiting the Ashina to advance so they can be on the safe side. Byzar now sent the army of Nikephoros, the Iconoclast Patriarch, across. If they get killed, then who cares. They didn’t get killed. Instead, they got across. The Estonians pulled back even more.
Estonian archers finally stood up and arrows started flying towards Ashina forces. They did so at extreme range though, so the damage was not that great. Most of the arrows had already lost much of their power and bounced off. Buzar still decided to send some of his own over as well.
The game went on for about two hours. Small skirmishes, Ashina bringing more troops over, Estonians giving away ground. Some corpses on either side, but neither side willing to commit to battle yet.
“The fools are giving their advantage away,” said Buzar to his retinue. Then, he looked at his trusted horse archers.
“Your turn, boys,” he said. “After you are on the other side, we shall attack.”
In unison, the riders turned towards the ford. Disciplined, good soldiers, deadly with their bows. Buzar knew full well that with them, he can take on anyone. The rest of an army is just there to shield his precious boys from harm. He watched proudly as his riders started to cross the ford.
His boys were about quarter on one bank, quarter on other and half on ford when the sound of hundreds of horns pierced the relative silence. Followed by screaming of thousands of men. It took his brain a moment to process it, before he realized that they were not coming from across the river. Oh no, it was from the back! Quickly, Buzar turned around, only to find figures emerging from nearby wood. Armed figures. Charging in at full running speed. Light riders taking the sides, while in the center, Estonia’s famed man-at-arms were storming in, led by an eldery figure, running and screaming from top of his lungs.
As an echo, the same sound came from the other shore. Horns calling for a charge and then, Estonians suddenly not pulling back no more, but coming forth, their weapons at the ready.
To the credit of Buzar, he did not freeze. He barked: “Turn around! Get ready! Archers, turn around and shoot!” and his messengers forced their horses to run as fast as possible and rode towards his troops, yelling the orders. Not like it was needed. After all, it is kind of hard to not notice the Estonians no more and the commanders of units were barking the same orders.
Just, there wasn’t really enough time. The Estonians on the other shore clashed first, for their distance was much smaller. The Ashina troops on the other shore, knowing full well that another enemy army appeared on their backs, were now concerned with the more immediate threat to their lives and focused themselves on the enemy at hand.
Quick glance to his right and left showed Õigemeel that his horses were doing what they were supposed to do. Encircling, passing the enemy formation, hitting the archers. Then, he got more pressing concerns. The enemy was in front of him, still a bit confused, trying to form up. He pulled his axe up high and let out a final scream. Then, he reached the enemy ranks. French, by the looks of him. Young boy, carrying spear and shield. Making a really bad attempt to stab him. Õigemeel brushed the spear aside and then, was at the reach of his axe. The boy was too slow to block and too stupid to wear a helmet. His brains splattered as Õigemeel just split his skull into half. Not even having time to scream, the boy fell into the ground, dead. On Õigemeel’s sides, his daughters Helmi and Mari did the same, keeping an eye out for their father while pushing into enemy ranks. Not like there was much watching needed. Õigemeel was at his element. He knew the war, he was enjoying himself. Like at least 30 years had been lifted from his shoulders, he moved with expertise, precision and calculation, having total control over his surroundings. Severed limbs, cries of the wounded and corpses marked his path deeper and deeper into enemy lines.
It was the shock that did it. The way the Estonians had managed to sneak up to the unsuspecting enemy, giving only minimum time to react before the Estonians forced themselves upon the rearguard. No-one had time to count and find out that the number of Estonians on the other side wasn’t actually that great. Within minutes, the Khazar army turned from army to scared humans, all caring for their lives. First, some turned around and started running. And that can be really infectious behavior, especially when you see a man next to you turning tail and Estonians coming, axes bloody and crazed look in their eyes.
On the other bank, the Khazars were more disciplined. After all, they were expecting an attack sooner or later, and the sight of Estonians charging was in a way more preferable than waiting for them to do so. They raised their weapons and their shields and prepared to welcome the attackers. Just, it seemed like the Estonians had a clear numeric superiority on this bank. And if you glanced to the other bank, then the sight there was disheartening.
It is human logic. You came from the other bank, there are people with sharp things on this bank, trying to stab your frail body with these sharp things. Meaning, the best place for you to be is to be back on the other bank, no matter how fucked up things seem to be there. Meanwhile, on the other bank there are also a lot of people worrying about the onslaught of Estonians. Perhaps the best way to stay alive is to cross to the other side, for the enemy seems to be coming from the opposite direction and you just don’t run towards the enemy.
In short, the ford became overly popular, with people in both banks trying to get to the other side. And in between, halfway across the river, were the famed horse archers. Denied their mobility by their own troops. Sure, they took their bows, they shot their arrows, they killed some. But the Estonians were getting closer. They were pushed more and more together by a mob formerly known as their own army. Like a patty between two buns of hamburgers, they were squeezed together. And the proverbial mouth in the form of Estonians was coming closer and closer.
“To the river, to the river!” their commanders finally cried and the finest Khazarian warriors spurred their horses and jumped to the river. Before even coming into direct contact with the Estonians. Currents of Oise can be treacherous, and Khazarian archers are usually properly (and heavily) armored. Without directly fighting, they lost around 200 to the river.
Buzar saw that the Estonians on this side were not that numerous and he was well on his way to some of his yet untouched troops. To personally take command and stop the fleeing. For all has not been lost- he can turn the tide! He can stop the Estonians on this bank and that should be enough for the other side to pull back. Then, he saw as his beloved riders jumped to the river and fled. It was at that moment he understood that the battle had been lost. He just turned his horse towards the general direction of Paris and spurred him to go on. His entourage just followed suit. At least they were not aiming for the ford.
The escape of the general wasn’t too much for the troops. Most were too busy to even notice. But this meant that there was no-one trying to offer any meaningful resistance, give commands or try to create at least some order from the chaos. Individual commanders did try their best, but still...
It was too late. The Khazarian army from both banks poured into the ford, meeting around halfway. Both trying to get to the other side. Lot of pushing, people falling and either trampled to death or drowning in shallow water, for once you fall, other people will step on you.
In short, after Õigemeel charged from behind, it took less than an hour for Estonians to achieve a complete victory. Nearly half of the enemy army was either stabbed to death or had drowned in Oise. Rest were a panicking mass, running for their lives in all directions. Estonians did not bother to pursue, for there were more pressing concerns, like looting the camp.
It was 7th September or the year 914. Estonians had won one of their biggest battles.
This went surprisingly well.
The Peace
It was clear. The Estonians had won. Occupying the French core lands, beating the French in several battles and as a cherry on top, winning a major victory against the Great Khan. Bulan had no choice but to agree to the demands of Õigemeel. All the French lands under Ashina were now Estonian.
The Great Holy War for France against Khan Bulan. Still cracks me up.
As Õigemeel himself commented: “Now that I own the France, what am I supposed to do with that thing?”
Õigemeel lived for another two and half years. In February 917, he passed away at the age of 62. He was known for being a dread or Europe. But he was also a great and wise King, who cared for his subjects and strived to make the lives of his people better. Most of all though, he was remembered as the Great Conqueror who more than doubled the size of the realm and who defeated one of the greatest rulers of his time. His brightest son, Susi, took over the realm. The Wolf, as his name was in English, wowed to surpass his father. Rest of Europe did not feel very happy with this prospect.
The passing of Õigemeel
And with this, this AAR is over. Õigemeel got his legacy he dreamed of and Estonians gained a lot of real estate.
Hope you enjoyed it and see you in CK3!
Killer of Queens does have a nice ring to it. Well, killer of Queen, but Queens sounds better.
Thanks. Somehow, it seemed appropriate. Oh, her? Well, it's ok then.
Nice and cruel indeed.
And that is the best part. When Sichar was murdered, I was laughing. But then I captured Gisela. Brilliant. Makes it one of the most interesting wars i've fought in CK2.
Not only selling them out... you don't get named Monster for just that. I imagine she has a lot of dark secrets and dark not so secrets.
As for Ashina, I don't think so. Unfortunately. Unless Estonian fortunes really turn, then i'm sure there will be a lot of stabbing in the back.
Hope you enjoyed it and see you in CK3!
Killer of Queens does have a nice ring to it. Well, killer of Queen, but Queens sounds better.
I do like Õigemeel's twisted sense of honour and the struggle with the Priests reaction was a nice touch as well.
Thanks. Somehow, it seemed appropriate. Oh, her? Well, it's ok then.
Nice and cruel indeed.
And that is the best part. When Sichar was murdered, I was laughing. But then I captured Gisela. Brilliant. Makes it one of the most interesting wars i've fought in CK2.
Not only selling them out... you don't get named Monster for just that. I imagine she has a lot of dark secrets and dark not so secrets.
As for Ashina, I don't think so. Unfortunately. Unless Estonian fortunes really turn, then i'm sure there will be a lot of stabbing in the back.
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Ashina is defeated! Although it looks like they haven't lost all of their European lands. The bordergore with Saxony, Aquitaine, Estonia, and Ashina there...
Let the legacy of Khazaria perish!
Let the legacy of Khazaria perish!
The border gore is even worse. Blue spots are Galicia-Volhynia. Who control most of Flanders, some other provinces in France, Sussex in England, lands in Pomeranian Kingdom, in Bessarabia, original Galicia-Volhynia in Ukraine, some provinces in Crimea and Constantinople! Truly a Kingdom reaching from west to east!
The most messed up game ever!
And hey, it's not my fault I cannot Holy War multiple kingdoms at once.
At least, Estonian France cannot make border gore worse
Looks like I managed to sneak in here at the very end. Excellent writing all around, @hjarg
Better late then never
Thanks a lot!
He went out like he would have wanted, on top of the world as it were.
Quite a crushing victory at the end.
Quite a crushing victory at the end.
A suitably bloody and cunning end, Õigemeel has indeed achieved something to be remembered for.
Oh yeah, the final battle was marvelous. Winning against superior foes. Killing half of them. Quite a final deed indeed.
Why, thank you!
Quite a crowning achievement shortly before death indeed.
Late to the ending party, but must say it was a worthy ending.
Better late then never
And while the ending was good, I personally liked sacrificing the Queen of France most