The Fires of HellIt has been said of us that we rode forth from the mouth of Hell to bring suffering to this world, this is a notion that brings a smile to my lips. Let those of this pitiful world know that I, the Great Attila, shall ride with my warriors with iron in one hand and fire in the other! We shall wipe from this world all other cities, we shall lay flat the forests and trample the skulls of the slain into the ashen earth! Let the priests and prophets chant of the doom that shall soon befall, for no man can dream up a greater Hell than I can give.
A foppish fool carelessly wags his tongue and brushes aside the blood-lust lurking in the eyes of my men. But he is weak, he is arrogant. Though long have I spoken against such notions, he shall be allowed his life for now - he shall be the last one to die as the riders of Hell bear down upon his weakened nations and put man, woman and child to the sword.
Respect? Kindness? Unlike the last noble fool this woman speaks properly to one such as I. An ally, perhaps... until her usefulness has run its course.
It has been many years since my ancestors have been laid to rest, placed on biers and turned to ash to be washed down the sacred waters of our rivers. My greatest ancestor, Attila, still lives on in the memory of his people, I can only hope to match the prestige, and fear, he had accrued. The meeting with this noble barbarian is surprising to us, he looks in a manner of those we Huns have waged war against for hundreds of years, yet speaks with a softness of voice that hearkens to culture. Though I have high hopes that we shall be friends with the Iroquois, a tenacious darkness hangs like a veil before my eyes whenever I see one.
Once more, fortune favors the Huns as we come across more friends in this large world. From my ancestor's own words I take heed of his advice and follow in the belief that we should make of ourselves friends to many, so in our way we can deal with each nation one-by-one until none are left but the Huns.
Here is one who gives even we Huns pause. He has the manner of a warrior-born, and sits as easily in the saddle as men twice his age. His words are not tinged with arrogance but... honesty? Our horses snort and toss their manes, his own beasts doing the same as a tension consumes the air. I can only nod my head in respect of him, unlike the others, this Temujin, or Genghis Khan is one to be both feared and respected. I idly wonder if my ancestor, Attila, would treat with him as a friend, or remove him as a threat.
It is odd the length of time involved between the entries of my ancestors. For thousands of years none may write before the quill is taken in hand and put to parchment. A glorious day is to be heard, we have founded a second city, going against the wishes of forebears for having the Great Attila's Court being our only home. The demands of this world have shifted from wanton pillaging and slaughter to the need of coin and land. Our enemies surround us - though we are not at war. I am of a mind, one of which I shall teach to my descendants, that we should not be too proud to stoop to the tasks of the softer men in working the land for all its glorious riches. After all, these riches can be traded and sold for arms and armor. Oh, the look on the faces of the weak men as their own iron is buried in their gullet.
There was time only for the one entry of the previous line before war embroiled the Huns and took from us the strong line of Attila. His blood still flows, though in bastard children not fit to rule. I, General Mundzuk of the Huns have been named as King of our small nation. I write this single entry without the hope of any more and entrust it to my family to be kept until my return - should it ever come. The Iroquois are devils in their wood, it is as if the forest itself turned against us as we rode. Their warriors were silent until they came screaming from the trees, axes and arrows finding soft flesh through iron armor.
Three companies of veteran Hunnic Horse Archers rode with us to seek out enemy scouts and patrols, to a man and a beast they were cut down - their blood left to feed the demonic trees. Our three companies of our swordsman lined up to do battle as the shrieking monsters came from the trees - skulls were caved in, throats were slit. One Iroquois for every five Huns. Our bows tried to retaliate, but we were not wood-warriors, we were men of the wide plains, our arrows thunked harmlessly into wood, only rare finding the soft flesh of our foes.
One of our two companies of composite bowmen managed to flee the field, screened from attack by my company of mounted spears, we stabbed and bellowed at the Iroquois, forcing them back before fleeing the field ourselves.
Our battering ram and catapults were left behind - we could see the blaze and the black smoke of their destruction rising above the cursed boughs of the demonic wood. Never shall the Hun and the Iroquois be friend or ally. Never shall the Huns sleep until the last man of the Iroquois paints the ground with his blood, until the last tree of that forest is cleared and made for fuel for the warmachines of the Hun, until their women and children are enslaved and know a life of only chains.
We shall make no home of their settlements, save the capital. Everything else these... these beasts have touched shall burn.
A grim two centuries of war has ended in peace with the Iroquois. This appears a slight on the honor and memory of my great-great-great grandfather, but it is not that but strategy. We could not face the Iroquois in their woods with our current forces, we still may not be able to war with them in my lifetime. But this peace shall be the calm before the storm. We shall unleash the full force of the Hunnic armies into their demonic wood with fire and axe, and cleanse it from this world.
Seven hundred years have passed, and it is time. Our forces marshal at our shared borders. All have been raised to fear the trees of this land, but it is not iron that armors us but pure steel, shining silver in the light of the sun. We are a cleansing fire! We are an unstoppable force! Chosen by God to wipe the corrupt stain of the Iroquois from this world!
A bloody war that was fought beneath the laughing boughs of their forest. A war that lasted a hundred years and more, that saw the loss of thousands of men to the mere hundreds of Iroquois who died. Yet Onondaga has fallen! We shall bask in the glory of God that we have set the enemy to flight, that we have divided them with the sacking of their capital! Traitors within the great city, those who had seen the Light of God had aided us, opening the gates for our fearless warriors to charge in through, joining the massed assault with their own barbaric war cries.
The righteous slaughter that followed was one of pure passion and joy, all glories be unto God who has manifested himself in the aid of our slim few Iroquois allies. They will be placed into positions of power to rule over this broken people while our workers march in to cut away every last tree, while our warriors marshal their strength for the next assault, and while the bells toll the doom of the Iroquois heathens.
To be continued...
