'Just because you do not take an interest in politics doesn't mean politics won't take an interest in you' - Pericles
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-Babylon, Southern Palace, 464 BC-
In the wonderous Hanging Gardens of Babylon, rich fauna and colossal marble statues and columns littered the various terrace levels that spired into the clouds. At the top of one such terrace, one could see a gathering of women strolling among the greenery. These women were dressed in colorfully woven silks, adorned in glimmering bracelets and necklaces, and donned transparent vails that varied from woman to woman.
At the head of the group of women, was a duo arm in arm dressed even more extravagantly than the rest, donned in a shimmering gold gaunaka and other finery. Surely, one would think, that no other in this world could display such opulence.
The duo were naturally Artaxerxes, King of Kings, and Damaspia, Queen of Persia.
"What do you think of the fabled Hanging Gardens, my dear?" Artaxerxes asked his wife offhandedly, not really paying attention to the answer.
Internally, Artaxerxes was thinking about the ongoing war with the Delian League, and the concerning news that had just reached his court. The loss of contact with the Lydian army, an army 30,000 strong.
At her husband's question, Damaspia took a look at her surroundings. Followed by her personal retinue as always, consisting of various concubines and servants, she took special notice of the surrounding terraces filled with glowing shrubbery and vibrant flowers.
After a moment of thought, the graceful Queen responded, "It reminds me of my homeland, Media, and its towering hills and mountains filled to the brim with the beauty of Ahuramazda's creations" Her eyes filled with nostalgia, she turned to her King to see how he responded to her heartfelt analogy.
Noticing his blank stare into nothingness, Damaspia felt a vein burst near her forehead, and growled, "Does my presence not satisfy you, my King?"
Shaken out of his thoughts by his growling wife, Artaxerxes sighed, "It is only that I'm concerned about my brother-in-law, and the war with Athens..."
Damaspia, from angry mistress to concerned Queen, spoke, "Have faith in Megabyzus, my husband. You know as well as I that he's a valiant warrior and general who has distinguished himself in battle many times."
Seeing that her husband's brow was still wrinkled in concern, Damaspia went on, "Husband, if you are to have sleepless nights over the issue, why not just handle it personally? Rally your banners and march to Megabyzus' aid!"
Artaxerxes, taken aback by his Queens sudden outburst let out a chuckle. Embracing his queen and being careful of her now protruding stomach, Artaxerxes said, "You speak true my love! For too long have I been idling in the paradise that is Persia, I feared it has softened me."
Planting a kiss on Damaspias's forehead, Artaxerxes dismissed himself and strode to his council hall, already sending word out for his advisors and generals.
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-Ionia, Ephesus, 464 BC-
Crows cawed and descended from billowing grey clouds in their droves. Landing on vast swathes of corpses, piled into grotesque mounds, the crows feasted to their heart's content, unleashing a cry of ominous caws.
The surroundings seemed like a scene straight out of hell. Corpses piled by their thousands, with various banners impaled into the soft earth, their sigils torn and burnt. An occasional wale of despair pierced through the symphony of crows feasting on the dead.
Occasionally, one would see a billowing black cloud emerging from a smoldering pile of corpses, a futile effort by the survivors to stave off plague and grant some sort of peace to the fallen.
A few leagues away from this horrifying scene was a vast encampment that had all the telltale signs of having finished a recent battle. From the weary and exhausted expressions on soldiers' faces to the blood-stained armor and blades.
Banners snapped in the wind, their sigil a pair of heavenly wings on a blue canvas, the sigil of the Delian League.
Inside a massive tent situated in the center of the camp was a gathering of high-ranking generals and aides deep in discussion.
"Lord Pericles, the Persian scum have been routed! Why do we sit still and do nothing while the cowards flee and regroup?!" A bulbous general asked, one could notice that upon closer inspection that this man had no dirt or filth on his armor, much less dents and scars.
Hearing the bulbous wimps' cries, a man chuckled in response. This man was donned in a once shimmering plate armor of a man's torso, now turned into a dent and dirt-ridden mess from charging head first into battle. His face sported a sharp jaw, glowing blue eyes, and shimmering blonde hair. This man war Pericles, Lord General of all Delian forces.
"Should you wish to charge after some rabble, by all means, go ahead. Though it would be a hassle for me to bury your corpse..." Pericles said with indifference, amused at the plump general's horrified expression.
Naturally, it wouldn't be him that killed the man, but rather the mutinying soldiers who would more than definitely refuse to march after some rabble after the nonstop battle for 3 days straight. That's right, the Persian force had fought on and resisted the Greek force numbering four times their size for 3 days.
It had been in large part to Pericles' confusion, due to the Persian general's aptitude and his use of strange infantry tactics that caught Pericles and his generals off guard. However, at the end of the day, numbers were a significant factor, and the Greek elite numbering by the tens of thousands overwhelmed the beleaguered Persian force.
Thinking this, Pericles ignored his high-commands arguments and turned to look at a pair of men who were bloodied and chained to the floor. The man who stood out among the duo had various bloody scars streaking across his face, while his armor was completely tattered; one could still see an emblem of a golden scorpion.
Staring at the captured general, Pericles recounted the intense duel they had fought and how he had closely taken the victory by using his family's sword arts and overwhelming the tired general with a furious barrage of attacks.
Standing up and approaching the kneeling general, Pericles spoke to no one in particular, "What's the rush... After all, we have all that we need right here."
His generals, confused by the sentence could only try to fathom their mysterious commanders' thought process and hope that they had a countermeasure for the incoming tidal wave of Persians.
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-Lydia, Anatolian Plains, 464 BC-
On the wide paved road that is known worldwide as the Persian Royal Road, a colossal force marched westwards to Ephesus and to the aid of the forward force of 30,000 Lydians.
At the helm of the staggering force of 80,000 men was a hulking figure atop a black warhorse, in his hands was a terrifying glaive with a shaft 10 feet in length and a wicked blade measuring another foot.
As an honor to its namesake, Crescent Deluge, Megabyzus had its name inscribed delicately onto the back end of the blade.
Followed by his usual gathering of military aristocracy and high-ranking advisors, Megabyzus made sure to keep his vision taught on his surroundings and make any personal notes as to the terrain and topography.
Suddenly, shouts echoed from the men at the winding troop columns rear;
"Cavalry!"
"Cavalry approaching!"
Alarmed, Megabyzus and his staff immediately set into action, unleashing various orders to organize his troops from parade march and into battle formations.
However as Megabyzus gazed at the distant dust cloud of cavalry approach, he noticed the familiar Shahbaz banners billowing in the wind and that the cavalry was galloping, not charging with lances forward.
Realizing that these were friendly troops, Megabyzus decided to say nothing and allow his men to position themselves, after all, he had not heard anything about reinforcements or about such a large cavalry force being stationed in Lydia.
As the cavalry came to a stop parallel to Megabyzus's coalition of troops, a lone cavalry rider trotted ahead of the mass and signaled his allegiance. Acknowledging the man's identity as an ally, Megabyzus signaled for his men to stand at rest.
Having done this, Megabyzus took note of the cavalrymen's odd appearances. With appearances akin to an oven, the riders themselves were covered head to toe in armor, creating a terrifying display of might. For defense, the horses had a barding of scaled armor of bronze and iron, and on their backs was a unique four-horned saddle. The riders donned scaled shirts, grieves, armguards, and a helmet. These helmets seemed to vary with some being open and others closed in a metal guard mimicking a human face or simply a scaled veil.
They carried a 4-meter-long, two-handed lance that seemed to be able to pierce anything with its hefty weight. Megabyzus judged that the unit numbered 1 thousand strong and was a highly disciplined force.
Approaching the rider that had trotted ahead, Megabyzus waited for an introduction which soon came, "I am Surena of Parthia, commander of the Pushtigban blessed by the God King Himself. We ride to your aide from Pars to drive off the Greek heathens!" Finishing off with a zealous shout that could only come from a youthful aristocrat, the young man raised his mighty lance into the air resulting in a roar from the Pushtigban cataphracts behind him;
"Oooo!"