On the one hand, I was born a fourth son to a relatively minor lord in the north, while said lord was doing about the whole 'conquer the surrounding area' to carve out a bigger and better realm from which to launch greater raids from. Because yeah, as things were, I had been born in the Crusader Kings verse... which was less because I was a history nerd and more that there were enough evidence of some mods being active that it was hard to ignore. That and of course while they did not speak of the stat gains? Yeah, people noticed education traits as a level of how roughly accomplished someone was.
But again, I was a third son now (after a convenient accident that saddened our eldest brother so) and I had to consider my future. Largely as when the old man passed? By tradition the titles would be split between his sons. Given how my elder brother was looking at us as there was a threat to him getting the whole thing? Yeah, even if he did not do it himself to avoid the stain of kinslaying, well, less competition for his claims was always a good thing, and he would make sure to properly reward his cronies.
So yeah, I arranged for a wagon and some supplies, to take up the adventures life and to fuck off some place far off from here. Maybe eventually get some lads together and build a wandering mercenary band, take part in some of the wars to the south, gain gold and glory, maybe work on some of the sorcery that might be possible. If nothing else, it looked like enchanting the gear and forging the enchantments and runes directly into the craft could be a thing. So, something to try once we got going... and where suitably far from my brothers.
The Rune Warriors were a mercenary company that came from the uncivilized Northlands, descending initially as a simple traveling forge with perhaps a few dozen warriors under command of one who held fame as 'The Dvergar' or 'The Dwarf,' despite him being a giant of a man. Perhaps a great deal of this was his unnatural skill and speed in smithcraft, able to churn out arms and armor for his band in mere days, outfitting entire armies by himself in what many in mere weeks. But when he had the time to focus, he would create the arms and armor that could be seen among the most elite of their number.
Arms and armor gleaming with power, promising death to all that face them, singing in silent tongues of their deeds and of the endless winter. Of course, they had not even tried to make trouble, but were instead hired as mercenaries by the courts and marched further south. Many agreed that it would be better to have the northern savages fight the Muslims and die in place of good Christians. Except of course, that the northerners did not die, as that would have been far too convenient.
No, the brutes managed to burn down and loot half of the Abbasid empire inside the first year of fighting, despite being a mere five thousand men. Of these, three thousand were those Byzantine second and third sons who joined for simple loot and plunder, the Rune Warriors willing to outfit all who wished to join, as well as train them. The survivors of these groups would be quickly hired and taken into the service of the imperial family as champions and bodyguards. However, the core of the Rune Warriors, two thousand men, could be broken further into three camps.
The greatest of these would be the mighty Thunder Vanguard. Clad in heavy armor and wielding hammers in each hand, they are paradoxically, the swifter by far than any of the others, the enchantments on their armor lending them great speed. From there, they crash into the enemy ranks and simply do their best to lay about with their Storm Hammers, each blow sparking like lightning and containing the clap of thunder. The first ones in and the last ones out, they are also known to tear down walls and fortifications in their rush to come to grips with the foe. They number one thousand two hundred and fifty men.
At six hundred, one might expect their axe wielding Foe-Splitter comrades to have less of an impact than them on the field. However, were the Thunder Vanguard specialized in charges and taking out enemy fortifications, the Foe-Splitters have at times been called reapers of men, their axes claiming several lives with each broad swing. As often as not, simply beheading their foes as they advanced, enemy formations falling like grain before the farmers scythe.
The last of their formations at a hundred and fifty strong was The Dwarves Honorguard, which seemed to be both the best equipped and the deadliest. Men who were forged and worked on by his dark arts as much as their weapons and armor. Unbreakable and brutally deadly, in most cases they were not needed, not given how lethal their master was. Indeed, their primary purpose was often to test others, to see if they were worthy of challenging their lord.
Of course, after the sacking of Egypt, and the taking of Jerusalem, he was recalled to the capital. None know what was said there, other than the fact that the band was soon declared criminals and they fled. The last time any of them were sighted in the Empire, the Dwarf had a red haired woman on the back of his horse, chained and gagged as he abducted her and fled into the east, and into the rumors of wars that could be found at the other end of the silk road.
Artemis
She was not sure HOW the mortal managed to capture her, and she did not think he was fully aware of how he accomplished it either. Still, she was planning her retribution already as they fled, her hunters screaming behind them, blades knocking arrows from the air. No, this was not going to be something quick and painless. She would do her best to make sure that there was an entire cycle of myths and legends devoted entirely to how this man would suffer. And even if her hunters did not catch her soon?
There was her brother and the rest of her family, as annoying as it was. And her cheeks were burning as the crude men spoke. Them? She would make it quick, for calling her the finest piece of war booty from the campaign. For their sins they would die. For the flattery they would die quickly. And then she would go north, for neither Olympus, or more importantly SHE, would forgive this insult from the barbarians.