Cytat:
Vascones
High in the mountains and valleys of north-eastern Hispania live the Basques – the people the Romans call the Vascones. The fall of the Western Empire has been no great calamity for these hardy tribesmen; the Vascones are the most ancient of all the peoples of Europe, and in their eyes the Romans had always seemed mere temporary interlopers, like the Carthaginians and the Celts centuries before. Not even Christianity has left much of a trace in their remote homeland. Some Roman scholars claim that the language of the Vascones was spoken in the Garden of Eden, and it is true that they have no words for army or king, their vocabulary being so ancient it predates such latter-day evils. But the Garden of Eden is long past, and the Vascones must now fight for their survival against mighty enemies. To the west stands the kingdom of the Visigoths, and to the east the kingdom of the Franks, both great powers with imperial pretensions. Fortunately, the Vascones are fierce mountain warriors, skilled at ambush and unyielding in combat. They will need all that guile and ferocity to hold their own, and perhaps with luck even carve out fresh conquests from the soft underbelly of those over-proud neighbours.
Aquitaine:
The battle-worn forefathers of the Franks, living in their meagre huts in flood drenched valleys and cold forests, could never have dreamt of such greatness as their people now enjoy. For generations the Franks eagerly sought service in the mighty Roman army, risking their lives for the emperor in return for just a handful of gold coins. But these days it is the Franks who rule from golden thrones dressed in consular robes, and the formerly proud citizens of Roman Gaul must bow before a race their ancestors regarded with condescension and disgust. When the Western Roman Empire fell to pieces in the fifth century, Clovis, the leader of what had been a minor kingdom of Frankish foederati in north eastern Gaul, accepted baptism into the Roman church, and in return the Roman God they call Christ granted Clovis the strength to conquer first the decadent Roman generalissimo of Soissons and then the heretic Visigoth kingdom of Aquitania. And that was only the beginning of the favours the Christian God has showered on the Frankish people. Clovis’s sons, the vicious and warlike Merovingian dynasty, have annexed the Kingdom of Burgundia, subjugated the tribute paying duchies of Alamannia, Thuringia and Bavaria, and even launched an unsuccessful invasion of Justinian’s recently reconquered Italia. The empire they have carved out is a curious mixture of the Germanic and the Roman: Frankish chieftains feast their warriors and raid for plunder as if they were still living in the heroic days of Clovis, while learned bishops proudly keep up the memory of their grandfathers’ Roman senatorial rank. Even some units of the old Roman army still serve the Frankish kings, wearing their Roman uniforms in battle alongside Frankish berserkers who fight stripped to the waist and brandishing their dreaded throwing axe, the francisca.The chief weakness of the Franks is their tendency to subdivide their vast domains between numerous kings of the royal house; wily King Clothar, last of Clovis’s sons, inherited the kingdom of Aquitaine. With shrewd management – and a healthy dose of that bloody-minded aggression mixed with fervent Christian piety that is the hallmark of the long-haired Merovingian kings – Aquitaine might in time swallow the other Merovingian kingdoms, Neustria and Austrasia, to become a worthy successor to the vanished imperium of Rome itself. If only the Merovingian royals could see the wisdom of this and stop feuding and assassinating each other with such inventive, sadistic glee… or if they would just read some of those ancient books of wisdom that sit rotting away in half forgotten libraries throughout their empire. They make good kindling for starting fires on cold winter nights, those unread old books. Every Frank knows that.
saxonia:
Not all of the Saxones have taken ship across the sea to Britannia. Those who remain in their ancestral homeland of Saxonia keep to the old ways and the old gods, untouched by the dramatic consequences of Rome’s fall, as if their gods had preserved them like an insect trapped in amber. But there are new perils to be faced, even if the men of Saxonia will face them in their traditional warrior style. Westwards looms the awesome power of the Christian kingdom of Francia, whose kings hunger like ravenous dragons for fresh conquests. To the east are the Slavic Wenden, a people numerous and tough and advancing ever westwards; already their warbands are raiding outlying villages. South lie the duchies of Thuringia and Alamannia, once pagan tribes like the Saxones, butnow transformed into Christian duchies, each one a little mirror image of Francia and acknowledging the over-lordship of the Frankish kings. These traitors to the gods have learned how to write in Latin and turned their backs on the old ways; so be it, Saxonia will not follow suit. The men of old Saxonia will need all their strength – and the favour of their blood-soaked gods – to triumph against such enemies.
Saxones:
A hundred or more years ago, when the Romans first abandoned southern Britannia, the land was ruled by the proud British tyrant Vortigern; but after living so long under the protective shelter of the legions, Vortigern’s warriors were not up to the task of preserving his new realm. So he did as the Romans had done before him and hired a company of foederati, a band of warriors from Old Saxonia across the sea led by the brothers Hengist and Horsa. Thanks to their strong sword arms, Vortigern soon became as great as an emperor among the Britanni. But Hengist and Horsa saw the wealth of the land they were defending and came to resent the pittance they were paid for it. They invited Vortigern and all his nobles to a feast; but when the venison had been carved and the wine poured, Hengist cried out ‘nima der sexa’ – get your knives – and all the chief men of the Britanni were slain except for Vortigern himself, who was spared at the price of signing over his whole kingdom to the brothers and their Saxones.A hundred years later Hengist and Horsa are long dead, but the Saxones have found a new champion in Ceawlin, the King of West Seaxe, who has been acclaimed Bretwalda or ‘Britain Ruler’, the high king of all the Saxones of Britannia. If Ceawlin could only know the success which his descendants will enjoy it would astonish him; fifteen hundred years later his direct descendant named Elizabeth reigns in London, and just a single jewel from her crown is worth more than all the plunder Caewlin could have amassed in a life of constant battle. The future, then, is the Saxones’ for the taking.
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The Danir have achieved that rarest of marriages: ‘barbarian’ vigour coupled with ‘civilised’ sophistication. As the most southerly of the Norse kingdoms, they came into contact with the southern European peoples earlier on, treating them with an uncharacteristic openness. After this, many left their lands to seek their fortunes elsewhere, returning with more than just gold. One recognised the potential of the Roman alphabet, adopting it to suit his native tongue and the writing materials available in the north. This led to the creation of the first runic alphabet, which rapidly spread across northern Europe, greatly enhancing the Nordic peoples’ culture and trade, resulting in the creation of objects combining both exotic resources and traditional Nordic styles.However, neither wealth nor culture has dampened the Danir’s desire for conquest. Many northern tribes plunder foreign shores yet neglect their own; not so the Danir. Poised to take advantage of the ensuing upheaval, they strive to forge a grand Nordic empire to outlast Rome’s!
In ancient days, the Armenians ruled a great empire; but those ancient days are just a dream now. For centuries Armenia has been the plaything of the Romans and the Persians, much invaded and often partitioned. Western Armenia has been swallowed up by the Roman Empire, the Emperor Justinian having put an end to the autonomy of their princes. The eastern part of Armenia, formerly a kingdom, is under the heel of the Persians, who abolished the last of the tribute paying Armenian kings more than a century ago. Nowadays Persian Armenia is administered by the Marzpan, a bureaucrat appointed by the Persian Shah.Yet somehow Armenia retains its ancient national identity, its Christian religion, and a measure of autonomy. Real power lies, as it always has, in the hands of the Armenian ‘Nakharar’ or nobles. These great feudal houses, such as the Kamsarakan, the Mamikonians, and the Bagratuni, rule their vast estates like kings in miniature, with armies and treasuries and grovelling populations of serfs. When these noble houses answer the Persian call to war, the Shah himself greets them outside the gates of his capital, an honour accorded to no other subject people, since the nakharar of Armenia demand respect. Perhaps one day an Armenian prince will arise, a Bagratuni perhaps, who will throw off the Persian yoke and restore Armenia to its rightful place as one of the great powers of the civilised world. Without decisive leadership that day may not come for centuries, and for now the nakharar can only dream.
Danes and Armenia
Jutes
The ocean laps the coasts of Juteland, summoning its inhabitants to new adventures and conquests. As such, the Jótar have always been the most intrepid of the Norse-speaking peoples, looking to distant shores or clashing over the sparse northern lands. Accordingly, they are in the perfect position to profit from the slow collapse of Post-Roman Britannia, and relentlessly plunder its coast as its defenders dwindle in number.The Jótar leadership use the spoils of their raids to make exquisite, prestige goods. Should the Jótar succeed in conquering Britannia, many more will no doubt be forged. A successful conquest would be a great undertaking, and one requiring them to draw on the very depths of their fortitude. To drive out the remaining native kings, subdue the belligerent locals, and foil the ambitions of their Saxon neighbours who also covet this green and pleasant land – the Jótar have vowed no less!
Gautar (Geats)
In his youth King Beowulf of the Gautar slew the terrifying monster Grendel, and then for good measure slew Grendel’s even more terrifying mother too. These exploits have been sung by bards from the lands of the Danir to Britannia across the stormy sea. Nowadays Beowulf is an old man, but his sword arm is still strong, his shield unbroken in battle, his longsword bright and razor sharp. His reign is a golden age for the Gautar. Their helms are gilded in gold and silver, their war banners dance in the breeze with the embroidered images of clawed beasts, and their mead horns are full to overflowing. But gold can become a sickness in a man’s heart, breeding greed for yet more and more. Beowulf, old though he is, longs to find and slay one of those dragons of which the storytellers sing and take its golden hoard as his own – but since dragons seem to be inexplicably in short supply he would happily settle for plundering some rich city and carrying away the spoils. For men like Beowulf and his Gautar warriors all the world is a treasury just waiting to be robbed, and every battle is a song waiting to be sung.
Alanoi
The Alanoi are warriors bred from birth to fight from the saddle, man and horse merging into a single purpose on the battlefield like the centaurs of ancient myth. In the fifth century thousands of Alanoi poured across the borders of the fracturing Roman empire, dispersing across its many provinces and diluting their identity until they vanished without a trace. In contrast, those Alanoi who remained in the east have kept their culture yet tired of the nomad life. No people can wander forever; the lure of settlement eventually brings them to a halt, the necessity of at last claiming some patch of soil as their own. So it has proved with the Alanoi, and they have chosen for themselves a homeland in the northern Caucasus, where the wide-open plains meet the blue mountains. This is will be their kingdom, their Alania. Come what may they will endure here, retreating to the mountains in bad times, then pouring down onto the plains in their cavalry armies to counter-attack. It is a strategy that will prove successful. Of all the nomad hordes of late antiquity the Alanoi will be one of the few to survive into modern times. They are still there in their mountains and valleys, though in our own day they go by the name of Ossetians.
