When the barbarian Tribes came down from their mountain strongholds, the Great Isarius sent his armies to protect his people. The marched from the Sacred City with chariots and horses and gleaming armor. The women tossed flowers in their path, the priests chanted prayers, and Isarius himself granted them a blessing, standing over them on his high balcony in the Royal Temple.Victory was assured.
But the hill country was ill-suited for chariots and horses. Their gleaming armor was heavy, it weighted them down when they had to climb and was cumbersome in the damp. And all the blessings in the world could not make the mountain trails less winding. Too often the soldiers of the Holy Kingdom found themselves lost and separated, chasing shadows in the mists as the barbarians harried them. The barbarians wore little armor, rode no horses, owned no chariots, and ran along the mountain trails as though they were wide, paved roads. The barbarians advanced, and the soldiers retreated.
Long months were spent with no victories to celebrate and more land lost than held. The people of the hills were simple. They herded goats and tended small farms, lived by the land and without the land they had nothing. Their homes were burned, crops trampled, herds stolen. They fled to the Sacred City, wept allowed to the priests, and offered what meager sacrifices they could to Great Isarius, begging him to save them. Seeing the plight of the hill people, the people of the Sacred City grew afraid, and they too wept before the priests and sacrificed for their soldiers' victory.
Victory remained elusive.
Great Isarius heard the cries of his people, and because he was a compassionate God, he readied himself for war. He donned his own armor, took up his great sword and rode from the Sacred City in his golden chariot. His elite guard attended him, and a legion of soldiers rode after him. The people cheered, sacrificed in joy, and waited eagerly for his triumphant return.
When Isarius died, the barbarians advanced into the plains. Here, the armies of the Holy Kingdom might have defeated them, with their chariots and their horses, and their sturdy armor. Instead, the barbarians found a neatly paved road, leading them into the Sacred City.
Long months were spent with no victories to celebrate and more land lost than held. The people of the hills were simple. They herded goats and tended small farms, lived by the land and without the land they had nothing. Their homes were burned, crops trampled, herds stolen. They fled to the Sacred City, wept allowed to the priests, and offered what meager sacrifices they could to Great Isarius, begging him to save them. Seeing the plight of the hill people, the people of the Sacred City grew afraid, and they too wept before the priests and sacrificed for their soldiers' victory.
Victory remained elusive.
Great Isarius heard the cries of his people, and because he was a compassionate God, he readied himself for war. He donned his own armor, took up his great sword and rode from the Sacred City in his golden chariot. His elite guard attended him, and a legion of soldiers rode after him. The people cheered, sacrificed in joy, and waited eagerly for his triumphant return.
When Isarius died, the barbarians advanced into the plains. Here, the armies of the Holy Kingdom might have defeated them, with their chariots and their horses, and their sturdy armor. Instead, the barbarians found a neatly paved road, leading them into the Sacred City.
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