Two Decades.

For twenty years Galatians have gathered around a fire; reveling in its warmth, forging their blades for war, and cleansing their spirit in its healing glow.

Fire is the element of change and transformation.
Fire is also a symbol, a tradition, and a test.

Those on the path to Citizenship tread into the blaze on their first step. Anointed by the Flame, they cast out their old self, their crippling ills, their doubts and regrets, all that holds them back.

Only then can they be reborn from the ashes and rise like the Phoenix.

Brennus knelt to touch the earth. He ran the Greek soil across his fingers. The destruction left an ashy residue, not as dry as Macedon, but not as moist as his former home in Gaul. He heard the commotion of plundering and burning, and thought it strange that the Oracles of Delphi had not foreseen the arrival of the Celts. Perhaps the Oracles knew the Gauls could not be stopped, or maybe, they knew the Gauls would not stay long.

Already Leonnorius and Lutarius had mustered a great many blue faced warriors for an assault on Thrace, including the mighty tribes of the Tectosages, the Trocmii, and the Tolistobogii. Brennus wagered they would not stop there either, but would carry on into Anatolia and the rest of Asia Minor. Perhaps one day they would find what they were looking for, a Home.

We Fight.
We hold ourselves to the faith that our
armos hold true. That our faith in the swing
We are Galatians, warriors fighting
for nothing more than the shield, spear
      and great weapon falling next to us.

What are Galatians ? They are warriors, poets, craftsman, and philosophers.

Who are the Galatians? They are the mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers to us all.

What does it take to be a Galatian? Nothing that they do not ask of themselves. Only dedication, compassion, and a bond with every other Galatian that goes well beyond the battlefield.

So again I ask what are Galatians? They are more than a fighting group, more than a club, more than friends.

They are family.

The cannon sounded for the final field battle. Almost immediately the mercenary army of Markland began to move, hungry for battle. However, the time was not right, and General Ahrimen called for the troops to hold their position. Grumbles erupted as the clans feared they would miss their chance at a glorious death. Ahrimen merely responded, "Wait". For in his vision he saw the future movement of the great lumbering blocks of troops and he could anticipate how each would react to the other.

A large friendly unit crossed in front of the mercenary confederation, and some clans decided the time for waiting was over. No words were spoken, but perhaps a knowing glance was spared, as the Galatians fanned out to quell the clans. The message was clear, defy and we'll kill you ourselves.

However, this was not to be tested as the interposing unit finished its travels. In its massive wake a ten-men-wide seam was torn in the fabric of the battle line; it was all the room the Marklanders would need. The enemy hammer angled obliquely and charged furiously to get to our side's core contingent. They came in hot and hard, knowing that a quick victory in the center would carry the day.

However, this was their downfall. For a soon as they were committed, Ahrimen pointed his sword and sounded the charge. No battle cry was ever more fearsome, as the battle starved warriors now fell upon the exposed flank of the headlong unit. The surprised enemy stumbled and fell over themselves; some turned to face us, some pushed on to the target, and some just ran away.

It was chaos - It was glorious.

Our 40 warriors struck like an unsuspected iceberg and gouged a huge hole in the side of the unit. It bled and broke apart; five times our number was lost by the enemy.

The following year I went to a commanders meeting. On the map were unit markers including a tiny star. Someone asked what it was, assuming it was not a unit. The Warlord looked right at me and replied, "That's the Markland Army, and man those dudes can fight."