Achaemenid Empire Pt. 01

By the close of the Achaemenid Empire, there was a great movement across the plains of this side of Armenia, and with it a new age and a new leader. I'd already heard of Alexander III of Macedon, having come from the west already myself, and I was learning that his name was well firmed with the powers here, too. The man had even been made a Pharaoh in Egypt! He came in with his great army, and his ambition to reach to the end of the world, and to something he called the Great Outer Sea. He yearned to conquer the Nanda Dynasty in the far east, beyond the reach that even the last of the Achaemenid kings had had.

These were such curious times with exciting changes, and though the heat of the desert by day was a dangerous thing for me to be around, there were caves aplenty in these mountains not too far from the Caspian Sea, and indeed many had been homes of the proto-tribes that lived here once. Now, with the recently built Derbent, or the Great Wall of Gorgan, there was a concentration of people in the cities, and such a mix, too!

There were nationalities from far afield, and all gathered here (be it temporarily or permanently, who could say until fortunes were lost?), their politics and their faiths and their trades all comingling and enriching what was already once a long and prosperous empire. The Dahae and the Saka and the Strabo. All were here. There were the more localised people in their loose drapes and tunics, and those who had been to Anatolia and beyond, in their tight leather tunics and pants. I'd thought Constantinople had been impressive, and I was delighted with this busy and frenetic society. It had the freshness of a culture recently divorced from its dynasty, and was fighting to withstand its own demise. It was glorious. And the diversity of blood! Rich and spiced and warm from their desert days; I couldn't sate myself enough.

Alexander's army was an immense size, already. As he had conquered his way across the Earth, his army had grown. And this army, well, with them here there was hardly room to move sometimes! And so I liked to spend time up on the Great Wall itself, using my supernatural abilities to simply scale the stone walls as though I was merely leaping up the steps of Xerxes' Palace. And from up here on the Wall, in the cool night air, feeling the warm desert breeze, I could watch the fantastic lights and hum-drum activity of the markets and Zoroastrian temples.

But my favourite way to pass the first hours of the night, freshly woken from my day slumber, and eager to feed, was to wander the Wall and overlook the Macedonian's army camped along the banks of the great Caspian Sea, spread towards the city, but a small city themselves of tents and yurts and their horses now bridled in Persian leather and harnesses. I'd heard the gossip for myself in the market places about the great Alexander and on how his concubines were presented to him for selection, but that the Macedonian leader was not only particular but also modest and almost reticent sometimes in his selection. That he chose only the finest beauties to bed, that was certain, but that he was not vulgar is something I had also heard, though of him this was said less so. And those that told those tales, they tittered over it, for Alexander is said to have been offended by any proposals put to him for the finest in flesh.

Between the treasury building and Xerxes's Palace was the Harem, and after he sacked Persepolis, Alexander's men had the concubines restored in the temple, albeit new faces, girls from all over Asia. So I would sit at night, atop the Hall of a Hundred Columns, and I'd admire the beauty of the girls. And one in particular caught my fancy, fed my lust: a dark beauty, full hips and bountiful breasts, an Indian enchantment, with curls of midnight hair that hung down over her shoulders. They all wore a thin cheesecloth fabric, a long tunic that belted around their necks with a leather collar studded by jewels, and belted again about their waist by a dark red sash trimmed in gold. This girl's own tunic strained over the size of her breasts, and her dark areolas showed through. My heart always quickened at the sight of them.

One night, watching from my perch atop a building, away from the eyes of mortals, cloaked in the darkness of a moonless night, my concubine, the girl with long dark hair, she looked out through the temple pillars, across the space between us, and up into the night. And I swear, she looked straight at me, her dark eyes on mine, seeing me. Unnerved, I had slipped away as stealthily as I could, and quickly, and when I had looked back she was still staring where I had sat, but sat no more, and her attention suddenly wavered and, perhaps unsure of herself, her brow furrowed slightly, adorably so, and she looked away finally.

And if I made my past the Treasury and chose the right spot, I had a vantage that could see them all bathe, in the tiled bath set in the floor at the North-Western side of the Harem. Bodies lithe and full, pale and dark, all oiled and lathered and washed down and taken by the great leader, the traveller and conqueror from Macedonia.

Seeing them bathe always had my heart and head hammering, my cock straining at my leather pants. I'd fairly flee the scene sometimes, fearful that I might charge the temple and slaughter first the guards and perhaps, then, in a fit of bloodlust, the girls themselves. No, some citizen or other always befell my thirst instead, and I'd drop the body in the waters of the Caspian and none were wiser to their fate. And what did Alexander's army care if another conquered Persian went missing overnight? It would be an entirely other thing if it were his own men to disappear.

An entirely other thing, for sure. And that is precisely what was to happen. My bounteous beauty was next to be paraded before the new king, to be taken by him and returned here to this harem once he'd had his fill. Well, I had other ideas, and despite myself I broke my own rules to do so. I slipped down the pillars of the Harem temple as they were leading my Indian girl out through the entrance and towards the bathing area, a wholly separate bath-house that prepares the girls for the throne-bed. I have a vampire's stealth, and excellent vision, and this night, even with their torches ablaze, four empirical guards, trained under the great Alexander himself, were no match for me.

The first one lost his head without breaking stride, and when his body fell and his head rolled across the stones, leaving a trail of blood that probably looked like ink to mortal eyes in this light, only then the men realised there was danger. They unsheathed their weapons, and for one it was too late. It took only a few gestures and a little force for me to remove his arm during the unsheathing, and so quickly had I done it that I was actually forced to finish unsheathing his blade on his behalf, yielding his arm like an extra limb.

The girl was stunned, unsure of what was happening, but ready to run. And when I drove my hand into the chest of the third guard, run she did, straight for the bathhouse. I watched her go, her ass bouncing beneath the thin shifting fabric of her tunic, and the fourth guard stole the opportunity to drive a sword into my belly. It stung, and I tried to double over but the blade made that difficult, and so I parried toward him, driving the blade deeper and out through my back. It was painful, but it brought me within reach of the soldier, and I grabbed at him and pulled him closer and tore his face away with my fangs.

They were dead. Four of the Macedonian army, and this was going to create chaos. I had to act quickly. I made for the bathhouse, and found my girl cowering inside. Only a few feet behind me sat the head of the guard I had killed. There was no time to placate her, so I simply stepped in, picked her up (my hands cupping her ass and gripped around her chest enough to feel the softness of her tit against my fingertips), and carried her away and up over the high walls of Persepolis.