//------------------------------//
// C1 
// Story: The Stallion Who Forged Equestria 
// by biglights 
//------------------------------//

The left flank is collapsing, Decaius! Queen Faust demands victory from her generals!

We've beaten them back on the right flank, should we keep pushing?

NO QUARTER!

Decaius Maize of Roame, uncle to the princesses Celestia and Luna Faust of Roame. Slain tragically at the Battle of Ponyville, aged 24. Casualties for his thirteen-thousand strong army had costed nine thousand lives and one thousand ponies captured. Not even Decaius could predict the fifty-three thousand strong barbaric griffon army with mere scouts. Although, the Roamanes did not go down so easily, as they had taken fifteen-thousand lives and managed to kill one of the two barbarian's commanders, Verticki. This sacrifice of so many Roamanes would prove to aid in the defense of Canterlot, although it was still sacked, they managed to take thirty thousand griffons before falling, where King and Queen Faust were slain, but managed to hide their daughters. Thousands of years later, none would predict they would rise from the bitter feeling of needing revenge and create a near perfect utopia for ponies and other species alike.

Decaius opened his eyes. The grassy plains cascading over a blue sky with a couple of clouds present, a horde of blue and yellow behind the stallion ontop of a manticore, staring out into the lands with his full gear on. A blue tunic over his red coat, a standard helmet with cheek sheets, a belt signifying his rank, a cloak wrapping around his neck draping down his shoulders, and a scabbard for his short sword, or gladius as his ponies called it. Turning his head, he observed the ten thousand-strong legion of stallions, wearing a less decorated uniform than he did, with a less protected helmet with colored feathers. One thousand-strong cavalry units, all riding manticores with long spears and square shields, or scutums like the legionnaires did. Two thousand-strong skirmishers, most of them being of javelin hurlers or velites, as they're called in the ancient tongue of his pony kind.
He was at this foreign land, assigned by King Faust himself to deal with the Griffons, a barbaric empire of uncultured griffons across parts of the continent, taking up a huge portion of the lands he was sent to conquer. A single stallion rode next to him in the same attire as the standard cavalry, although assigned to be his guard.
"Tritus," Decaius began, his gaze hardening over the horizon, "those barbarians are marching this way to meet us. Get the stallions in battle formation." The manticore Tritus rode growled, turning as Tritus gave an automatic acceptance of his order, and the stallion rode off. Soon, the sea of blue and yellow began shifting into orderly lines and routines, prompting Decaius to stiffen his back as he rode atop the manticore. "March." He said, the manticore he rode giving a grunt. Riding to the front of the battle lines that had gathered, the Hayls had formed at one of the somewhat distant hills, bashing their shields and screaming.
Reaching into his scabbard and pulling out his gladius, Decaius stared over the stallions, who looked anxious to fight. Tritus's manticore was galloping to Decaius as he opened his mouth.

"STALLIONS!"

The entire army formed all eyes on him.

"OVER THERE STANDS THE BARBARIC GRIFFONS! THEY THINK THEY WILL LIVE TO TELL THEIR VICTORY STORIES TO THEIR GRANDFOALS! I THINK THEY ARE DEAD STALLIONS!"

"WE HAVE BEEN BROUGHT HERE BY THE CROWN TO DO OUR BUSINESS AS ROAMANES! AND IF I WILL SAY THIS WITH SUCH PRIDE.."

Decaius let out a laugh, "THEY HAVE COME HERE TO FALL BY ROAMANE STEEL! THEY WISH TO BLINDLY THROW THEMSELVES INTO OUR SKILLED BATTLE FORMATIONS AND DIE! WELL, MY COLTS, WE SHOULDN'T KEEP THEM WAITING, SHOULD WE?"

The thousands of stallions let out cheers and screams of eagerness.

"NOW, BRAVE ROAMANES! MARK YOUR TARGET! AND STRIKE TRUE! TO ARMS! TO ARMS!"

Decaius thrust his gladius into the air, his manticore roaring with such a ferocity that it jumped up and stood on it's hind legs, it's cries piercing the ears of those unfortunate to be near before it landed back on all fours. The Roamane soldiers cried with confidence and happiness, marching forwards. With that, the battle line went into a small jog towards the Griffons, who began charging down the hills at a frightening speed. Although, to Decaius's sudden nervousness, the hordes of Griffons never seem to end, a continuous stream of barbarians flooding from the horizon down the hill towards his army. Immediately, he rode towards his skirmishers, telling them to take aim as his legions halted, and he rode towards the cavalry.
"CAVALRY! FOLLOW ME!" Decaius screamed, earning a collected grunts of acknowledgement from the aforementioned soldiers as they rode hastily to the right flank, riskily detaching themselves from the main body of the army. Once being detached far enough, he swung his gladius in the air and screamed, "LEFT TURN! LEFT TURN!" as the giant body of cavalry swung to the left with his movements, going for the exposed flank of the barbarian Griffons.
Their thoughts of earning a free flank charge were extinguished as a hail of arrows flung from the hordes of barbarians and flooded like a blanket of death towards the blob of Roamane cavalry. Stallions and manticores alike screeched in agony as each species and couples were impaled and collapsed. Riders were flung off, killed on their mounts or killed with their mounts altogether as they tumbled down to the ground.
"KEEP MOVING! KEEP MOVING!" Decaius screamed, javelins from his legionnaires zipping towards the hordes of charging barbarians, exhausting their pilum before the melee began. Sides of blue-yellow and red-green clashed, a difficult struggle for dominance as the skirmishers of both sides at the frontlines were dragged into it. Meanwhile on the right flank of the Roamanes, or left flank of the barbarians, they collided into the infantry and began unleashing Tartarus upon those who had taken the charge or were near swords' length.
Clashing of steel and flesh along with the cries of the dying or living filled the area, particularly at the middle point of the Roamane army. Tritus had broken off from Decaius to continue leading of the stallions, shouting encouragement or sending reserves to hold a faltering flank or position. His eyes were wild as he stood like a titan on his manticore among a sea of legionnaires. "CENTURION, GET YOUR STALLIONS ON THE LEFT!"
Meanwhile, Decaius continued piercing the soft flanks of the barbarians, his cavalry making short work of the shocked or unskilled barbarians, although taking hefty casualties themselves. Slashing an enemy javelin hurler with his gladius, barely nicking his neck, Decaius dodged a spear being thrust at his head, slashing the aggressor's appendage off as he gave a scream of agony, collapsing to be ripped in half  by his manticore's sharp teeth.
As the battle progressed, the cavalry's density within the barbarian horde weakened, many manticores and dead Roamanes littering the field amongst thousands of dead or dying barbarians. "PULL BACK! PULL BACK!" Decaius screamed, running in the opposite direction of his cavalry advancing. They began following, although a couple hundred stayed back because of being locked in a deadly duel, which most of them perished because of being suddenly overwhelmed.
From the one thousand cavalry, maybe a rough four hundred remained. "CAVALRY! FORM BACK AT THE LEGIONS!" Decaius screamed, swinging his gladius as his manticore roared towards the battle lines. Riding past dying comrades, enemies and intense duels between a griffon and a stallion. Slowing his steed, it panted as it slowed it's movements, reaching Tritus as the depleted cavalry poured into the flanks of the enemy. Tritus stared at Decaius, a cold tone screaming, "The left flank is collapsing, Decaius! Queen Faust demands victory from her generals!"
A centurion who had been separated from his units finished up with dueling with a griffon, and he ran over, "We've beaten them back on the right flank! Should we keep pushing?" The stallion asked, before an arrow shot through the air and unluckily struck true to the poor stallion's neck, pinning him to the ground permanently as he let out a gargle. Decaius snapped his head towards the battle line, hooves shaking with ferocity as he swung his gladius towards his reserve lines, then angled it towards the frontline, "UNITS! CHAAAAAAAAARGE!"
Battle cries echoed through the reserve units as they pushed forward, weapons held with their teeth and shields ready on their forearms. "NO QUARTER!" Decaius screeched, a sea of blue-yellow sifting by him. The faltering lines swelled with the veteran reserves, now pushing the Griffon menace back. "DECAIUS!" Tritus barked, catching Decaius's attention, "OUR CAVALRY HAVE BROKEN! WE HAVE ONLY INFANTRY AND SKIRMISHERS!"
With that, Decaius's confidence plummeted. He glanced off to the distance, seeing scarce amounts of his cavalry riding away, allowing the griffon cavalry on hydralisks to swerve around, charging directly at the flanks of his legions. The velites and archers could only do so much before they were ran over with no effort, morale breaking within the ranged regimes of his army. They fled the battlefield, small parties of griffon cavalry breaking off the main force to hunt them down. His spearstallions couldn't do a thing, either, as they were ill-prepared for such a flank charge. They were crushed and chewed up under the overwhelming hydralisks and griffons. Knowing defeat is imminent, Decaius lifted his gladius, and screamed a word he never thought himself saying three times, "RETREAT!"
His legionnaires had no issue disobeying that order as they all fled from the fields in the direction of Tritus and Decaius, zipping past him as the duo also turned around to retreat and regroup. However, with the lack of cavalry to delay the enemy cavalry from reaching the retreating infantry, they curved around and effectively cut off their means of escape. With scraps of cavalry, skirmishers and a blob of legionnaires remaining, the manticore Decaius rode immediately took to the skies while he screamed, "REGROUP! LAST LINE FORMATION! LAST LINE FORMATION! NO COWARDS TODAY! WE DIE AS TRUE ROAMANES!"
Those who lacked a spine were cut down trying to squeeze through while those who accepted fate took up a firm but weak circle formation as the griffons pounded into their defenses. Tritus and Decaius stood at the center giving encouragements to the final but slim line of veterans, hoping they could somehow fight them off. The first line broke instantly, being slaughtered and forced to pull back to the second line, who held them firmly for an hour before breaking and falling to the third line. The third line was buffed entirely of survivors from the first and second line, and Decaius stared as the griffons were nearly ten hooves away from him. A skilled veteran fell at Decaius's manticore's talons, and another followed. Then another. Another. A spear struck Decaius's manticore's throat, the beast giving a gargled screech, standing up and slowly falling back; ontop of Decaius. Twisting his body, he managed to elude most of his dead steed's weight, except for his left leg. The manticore collapsed right onto it, blood pooling onto his leg as the body weight crushed the unlucky appendage. Hissing in pain, he waved his gladius frantically into the air, "TRITUS! TRITUS!"

Tritus's steed was slain as well, and he galloped over, pulling Decaius with struggle out from under his steed. "WE'VE LOST THIS BATTLE, SIR! ROAME WILL BE UTTERLY CRUSHED-"

Tritus's chest exploded in red as metal poked out. His mouth flew agape, and his eyes dilated, his body falling to the floor.

Decaius lunged forward, striking his killer in the neck, the griffon squawking before lunging back into a spear of a legionnaire, who was immediately slain as he plunged the gladius into the griffon's back. Before he could turn around, Decaius saw a blade head straight for his eyes, and the world went black.