Goshen Sagas: Gawei Romance

By Cody Lee Collins and Dillon Sapp

Twenty Seven years ago, the Island Nation of Gawei, under their leader, the Supreme Elder, set sight on the plainlands on an eastern peninsula of the southern Continent, Pan, and marshalled their spearmen. Under the leadership of one of the nine Wills of the Supreme, they fought the native Ran-nu and forced them into the East Daly Mountains that divide the plains from the rest of Pan.

Twenty years have passed and now the Ran-nu call for war on the Gawei invaders, in the hopes of retaking their home from the foreign settlers. One of the Ran-nu, Natelmel, finds himself the leader of one of their villages and an Evot, a company of warriors, and takes up the goal of bringing his people home.

As the Ran-nu move to push the Gawei off the peninsula, Moto, the son of one of the Gawei soldiers who fought to take the Ran-Nu Peninsula, finds his village being visited by one of the Wills. He is conscripted into the Gawei army to fight the war against the Ran-nu people and hold onto the peninsula.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cody Lee Collins
• Release date: Sep 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370065400

Cody Lee Collins

Things have never been easy in life but I've always found escape in readings and playing games since I was young. This gave rise to an enjoyment of writing. I would write After Action Reports for my favorite play-throughs of games.Then recently my friend, Dillon Sapp, came up with the idea of creating a new Literary world. So I joined him and for the last year or so, we have been building the Planet of Goshen, with a plethora of races, factions, and histories; even a Crusader Kings 2 Mod(That I coded myself.). Of course, above all that, stories known as Goshen Sagas.A Number of which have been published. :)Thanks for taking the time to read my bio.

Book preview

Goshen Sagas:

Gawei Romance

Written by Cody Collins

World by Dillon Sapp and Cody Collins

Copyright

All Rights Reserved

Goshen Sagas Copyright © 2017 by Cody Collins and Dillon Sapp

Days of Strife Copyright © 2017 by Dillon Sapp and Cody Collins

The Grey March Copyright © 2017 by Dillon Sapp

Gawei Romance Copyright © 2017 by Cody Collins

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the express permission of the copyright holders.

Dedication

Firstly, thanks to Dillon Sapp for co-creating this story and world with me. Can’t do this stuff without you, my friend!

Thanks to Al Bani for the great cover art and interior map.

Mom, Jr, the rest of my family, I love you all very much.

And Thanks to you, Reader, without your interest this is just a bunch of words on a page.

My Dad, whom I miss everyday, Michael Hadley Sr.

Table of Contents

Title Jen 4

Copyright Moto 8

Dedication Natelmel 6

Table of Contents Moto 9

Prologue

Natelmel 1

Odain 1

Natelmel 2

Moto 1

Moto 2

Natelmel 3

Jen 1

Moto 3

Odain 2

Moto 4

Jen 2

Natelmel 4

Moto 5

Moto 6

Jen 3

Natelmel 5

Moto 7

Prologue

The sparse savannah was cut by the wide and deep Ran-nu River. On its north bank, the sounds of combat echoed out across the plains. A disciplined force has been working long and hard to slaughter and subjugate the indigenous populace on these foreign fields. Again the foreigners have engaged the natives to continue the battle that has pulsed for the better part of the day.

Forward! The command rang out once again, the tan-faced infantry advanced. Like a wave, they pushed against their enemy, men dark of face and riding agile but exhausted snow-colored mounts. The infantry thrust their spears as they closed with the cavalry, the spearheads found their spots in the mounts and their riders. Pressed back, the mounted forces withdrew, whirled their lines, and retaliated, releasing volleys of javelins at the foreign spearmen. A great many of the short spears finding marks in the opposing army’s black and red clothed chests. As the battle dragged on, the copious amounts of the fallen littered the whole of the field while the wounded men and mounts cried out, filling the ears of friend and foe.

The battle lulled once again and the two forces fell back a short way to rest their men for another melee.

Sir, we are edging the enemy back, they are nearing the river’s shore, A black and red clothed runner announced, his black hair soaked in sweat from the exertion of his duties and the heat on the plains.

A grizzled man paused a moment from pouring over documents to press his hair, black splashed with white, out of his eyes with his hands, their tan flesh leathery from his years of labor. His caramel eyes fluttered as he read each line of his papers. His face, marked with scars from the numerous battles he’d fought, the battles he won, crinkled as he mouthed along. This was his command, and he would win again.

Tiki! the commander called to a finely dressed young man, his attendant.

My cloak, the man commanded Tiki.

The commander laced up his glistening black armor, dented from years of use. His attendant threw the Crimson cape over the shoulders of the aged man, fastening it to his armor, then presented his sword. The blade was old but sharp and strong as ever, shining silver white from its metal.

Gather the men.

The man waved off the messenger. He knew the situation, he had planned for it.

Out on the field, the spearmen broke their press against the cavalry and the two forces fell back as they neared the banks of the river.

Men, I know you‘ve fought hard but it’s not over yet, so take pride in yourselves, and show the enemy your strength, the commander called to his weary men.

For Gawei! He cried.

For Gawei! The men echoed.

With renewed vigor the Gawei spearmen pressed on the cavalry, as the commander lead them in a charge. The commander, in his black and crimson garb, flew straight up the middle of the field and cut down one of the mounts as they engaged. The spearmen slashed and stabbed hard against the mounted men, while the cavalry peppered the commander’s forces with javelins, still the spearmen pushed their enemy back.

This was the sign, Colin Mino thought to himself. He was a man in his prime, like the rest of the spearmen his skin was a natural tan, his shaved head beaded with sweat from the heat. His once frenzied beard was now tamed by the water and his clothing was soaked from the swim. He wiped the water from his eyes, their chocolate color shines in the approaching twilight.

Forward! Mino cried to his men and rushed from the reeds of the bank, while the soldiers did as they were bid. One hundred men charged into the rear of the enemy, sending the riders and mounts into a panic. The new force slashed and stabbed as the main army joined the fray and redoubled their assault. As the spears of both sides failed, the forces switched to back up weapons.

Gods damn it! Mino shouted as he thrust his spear into a dismounted warrior as the warrior hurled a spear.

In moments the mounted men broke, whatever remained of the cavalry began to flee from the field. Some attempted to push through the spears and were slaughtered to a man, others broke out and fled west along the river, and still some others even attempted to cross the river and left their mounts to drown when they could no longer stand the current.

Victory! The red-cloaked commander of the winning spearmen shouted. He thrusted his sword into the air to encourage Mino and the others, blood slowly pouring from his eye.

Around the victorious forces lay the bodies of hundreds of men from both armies. In the water was another great many bodies, carcasses of the mounts and their riders choking the river.

Mino looked at one of the beasts and riders lying dead at his feet. The beast was once a grand animal, standing to the shoulder, its head crowned with an intricate antler sprouting from the center of it‘s head. But no longer, now one of the antlers lay on the ground, the other chipped and cracked, the beasts white fur splattered red with its own blood and that of its rider.

Doharn, The Ran-nu call them, one of Mino’s soldiers stated as he kicked over the rider’s corpse, rifling through his clothes for valuables. The dead Ran-nu’s dark face, now paler, drained in death, is frozen in a scream. His mouth was caked with his own blood. His black eyes stareed in anguish. A broken spear stuck in his chest while his pick, made of a wooden shaft and doharn antler, was still in hand.

Two winters had passed since the battle as Mino returned home from the forest after another walk. The village was calm, tranquil, the years of battle lay far in his past. In front of him was a small wooden shack, backdropped by a lush green forest, while smoke poured from the chimney. As he approached the hut, an infant child, a boy of little more than a year, crawled to him and grabbed at his leg.

Moto my boy, said Mino as he bent and picked up his son, cradling him in his arms.

Victory, Mino thought as he held his son to his chest.

Natelmel 1

Take back our home.

A bedridden Ran-nu man said, his once black hair now white, showing his years. His coal-colored eyes glistened and a tear fell down his face. At his side, a man in his mid 20’s sat, his short black hair unkempt and shaggy. He grasped the, now lifeless, hand of the man on the bed. Father, he whispered, then wailed to the heavens, his dark face and black eyes soaked in his grief.

He sat there, heartbroken, grieving, and sobbing, until the worst of his sorrow had passed then the man emerged from the white woolen tent. A dozen men and their families stood all about him as he did while the nearby fields were painted white as the doharn grazed.

Natelmane has died, he announced to the bevy of sullen faces, I, Natelmel, as his son, shall take his place as the chief of this Rut.

Several weeks went by, while the men and women of his Rut made their way to see him. One by one, they swore to follow him as their Chief, all the while his father’s words turned and turned in Natelmel’s head.

Take back our home.

How can I do that, Natelmel thought to himself, as he looked out at the people, his Rut.

Finally he felt decided, so he announced to the assembly of families, Come, we must ride.

Where are we supposed to be going? one of his Rut questioned, the questioner was a man a winters Natelmel’s elder, his dark hair just starting to show gray and the corners of his raven eyes had begun to wrinkle, but they still shone with a fire and intelligence.

We have a great many things to do, Odain. For starters we are going to the neighboring encampments, Natemel responded, So you and others, get in your saddles.

The Rut rode hard along the hidden paths of the mountains, the paths were overgrown with Wyrmwood trees, and other various plants, in many places. So much so that their doharn could barely pass. But Natemel and the Rut pressed on until they finally came to a valley and their destination.

Hold, wait here, Natelmel commanded, I must go in alone.

He dismounted his pure white doharn, leaving his men on the edge of the tribe.

As he marched into the camp, about him were dozens of hardy Ran-nu men and their families. In the fields, groups of the children laughed and played, frollicing among the Doharn.

Natelmel was flanked by two of the local chief’s guard as he made his way through the camp. After a short journey, the three men came to the chief’s hut, then one of the guards parted the flaps and urged Natelmel inside. He stepped through, inside sat the chief in a well-crafted wyrmwood chair, a densely muscular Ran-nu, around the same age as Odain, a javelin across his lap. Strewn about his tent, three beautiful Ran-nu women slept, their clothes were tossed about the floor.

Chief Nevtor, I have come here to ask for your support, Natelmel stated, a certain assurance in his voice.

Nevtor leaned in, visibly puzzled, he asked, What is it, trouble with the other tribes?

No, Chief Nevtor, I have a plan. I’m going to take back our lands from the Gawei, Natelmel declared.

HA HA HA! Nevtor bellowed, the women about the tent stirred slightly.

You? You have a single Rut, and you’re scrawny, weak. No, you’ll never defeat the Tan face, Nevtor dismissed him.

That is why I’m here, I must ask for your loyalty, and your men, Natelmel implored.

Baw ha ha ha, The chief roared once again and again the women in the tent stirred.

What need of you, do I have? he stated, spreading his arms, motioning to women in his tent and Evot of men outside.

No, I have no interest in taking on the Tan faces, nor indulging your silly wishes. Begone, he declared, the two guards stepped forward and returned to Natelmel’s flank. Natelmel shook his head.

I had hoped for something from this, He thought to himself, dejected. As the three left the tent, Natelmel’s ambitions twisted about in his gut and, again, his father’s command echoed in his ears, Take back our home.

I have to do something, Natelmel told himself outside the tent, he twirled around.

I say to everyone here, Nevtor is weak and frightened. He is afraid of the Gawei and I find him unfit to be a chief of any Ran-nu, he shouted to the men and women in the village.

Leave behind his weakness and stupidity, follow me and I will take you home, he declared.

From the chief’s tent, Nevtor raged and furiously charged out through the flaps.

You foolish little prick! Nevtor raged, I’ll have your tongue, you erak shit.

I demand you face me, Natelmel yelled before the whole Evot.

Nevtor smirked, When I’ve killed you, I’ll leave your body unburned, a feast for the blaraks and lining for their holes.

Your men will bow to me and join my Evot, your wives and daughters will fill my tent, Nevtor boasted.

The two men now squared off, a javelin and blade each, Nevtor a head taller and nearly half as much heavier in muscle.

You are an idiot, Natelmel chided himself.

What the hell are you going to do now, he wondered as he looked over the hulk in front of him.

Nevtor thrust his javelin, Natelmel jumped clear.

You’re dead, you prick. Nevtor hissed, slashing with his javelin, again Natelmel dodged. The fight carried on, Natelmel dodging as Nevtor twirled his javelin and slashed at Natelmel.

You have to do something damn it, Natelmel chided himself again, then Nevtor swung a mighty blow, Natelmel barely