Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Ituralde]

The scruffy man looked expectantly up to his master from his make-shift wooden stool. He despised being here in the countryside, but travelling with Duke Leopold had carried him to far worse places in the past. As a writer it had been hard enough to make a living, so he had used the fact that his father was one of the more influential persons in the Austrian court, to persuade Leopold that he needed a biographer that would mark down all his achievements for the ages to come. It had come as a surprise how happily Leopold had accepted the offer, if he had only committed half the atrocities of his master he would not want any of them to be known. What made his job worse was the fact that Leopold insisted on reading bits of his biography, to find errors in them or to bask in it, he could only guess.


Leopold turned to walk up and down again, still studying the parchment in his hand, before finally turning to the man sitting in front of him. While Leopold had never been interested in reading much, he had obtained a level of literacy that was useful for his everyday affairs in governing the Duchy. He never read for pure enjoyment, but he understood the importance of a legacy. That's why he decided to read what his biographer wrote from time to time, lest the man proclaim him mad or worse to the afterworld.

"'Thus he swung down mightily with his sword, decapitating fifty of the prisoners with his own hands, that the blood flowed in rivers upon the green meadows.'"

Leopold had read a small excerpt aloud and now looked at the man.

"So I personally executed fifty unarmed prisoners? Is that what you are saying?"

The scribe was taken aback by the harshness in his masters words, but tried to keep his composure while answering. "Well, that is what they say at least... " he stammered nervously.

"That is what the say? Well maybe you would not have to rely on hearsay if you hadn't spent the time after the battle, retching your guts out. Personally decapitated. How does that make me look. The Venetians had to be killed, there's no use in letting them go and having to fight them over and over again. I fear that's not something you understand though."

He tossed the piece of parchment away and the scribe hurried to catch the piece, before it drifted into the mud. He should make a habit out of copying the stuff he gave the Duke to read. "I am sorry your Highness. I write down what I see and for those parts I don't see I have to rely on other sources. I will change the passage immediately."

"No, no. Leave it be. It's not that big of a difference anyways, don't you think. I killed them alright."

Leopold waved at the man dismissively, his concentration had already shifted to the rider approaching his little encampment. Building watchtowers, especially overseeing it was an ordous job, but he had to make sure that the border with the Hungarians was secure. And more importantly he had to be seen by the newly claimed Hungarian subjects. While Budapest was under his firm control the peasants living out here seemed to care little who was in charge in the far away city.

The rider halted his horse, jumped down and walked over to Leopold, casting a quick salute. His manner made it clear that he was used to talk to Leopold and although there was quite a difference between them in rank and formalities had to be observed he knew the Duke like few other men did.

"Rainer, what brings you here so early? Surely arranging a marriage should take longer than that, shouldn't it?"

"My lord, I am sorry to be back this early, but... well... Permission to speak honest my Lord?"

Leopold smiled and gave a brief nod: "When have you ever not been honest to me, hm?"

"The truth is, that although you sent me out to arrange a suitor for your daughter, I am afraid there is none who will marry her. Well none that you would approve of that is."

Leopold looked at his retainer in disbelief: "What do you mean man? Speak clearly. I know I refused to hear from all those high-nosed arrogant fools from the court in Vienna, but didn't we settle on young... young what was his name again?"

"Markus, my Lord!"

"Yes, Markus. Decent lad I heard, good family from Friaul. Can hold a sword and has shown some aptitude in the late campaigns. Wasn't he the one to lead that charge against those Croatian rebels? I thought it was settled?"

"Well, you see it's not quite as easy as that, my Lord."

"But of course it's easy. You take them, you marry them. Finished. What's there to worry about. I hear Meckil is a docile young woman, that Markus has nothing to fear of her."

Rainer coughed uneasily: "Well I don't think it's her that he's afraid of." he cast an uneasy glance sideways then rushed on quickly to get it all out: "He is more afraid of you my Lord. The men are talking and word goes round, fact is that most people are afraid of having you as their father-in-law, it gives them nightmares my Lord. That's why no officers have come forward. They know how you fight and they're afraid of ever having to fight you."

Leopold casts an angry towards the scribe, who is still busy gathering up all his papers, before he looks back at Rainer. "So they're afraid, ey? Afraid of me?" He looks at Rainer intently.

"Last I heard they call you 'the Mean' my Lord, no disrespect intended."

Leopold looks past Rainer, his thoughts taking over. "No, no. I'm sure there is no disrespect intended. Leopold the Mean. Well I can't say there's no reason, but war is war and someone has to do it." Leopolds look trails further off.

"Well, if you want I could put a stop to it. They respect you, it's just that tales go round and some things get a little exaggerated in the process."

Leopold focuses once again on Rainer, this time wearing a knowing smile. "No don't. Leopold the Mean, I rather like the sound of that, let's just see what it takes for them to call me the Cruel or the Gruesome shall we." He turns a finger towards the scribe who flinches under the sudden attention. "And you! Be sure to write it all down will you. Just listen to what the people tell you and write it down."

Leopold's smile broadens has he returns his gaze to Rainer. They called him Leopold the Mean now, well he would show them just how mean he could be.

[econ21]

South-east of Antioch, 1200

The Teuton watched a dishevelled and exhausted Duke Ulrich enter the Kaiser’s headquarters.

“Do you think the Kaiser is punishing Swabia?” the Teuton asked.

Kurt Altman, veteran warrior and the Kaiser’s new confidante on military matters, looked thoughtfully at the Teuton, who continued:

“I mean, Duke Ulrich made landfall with over 600 crusaders; he now as only 200. At least Chancellor Otto reinforced him with my regiment. The Kaiser made him attack the Egyptian siege train without reinforcements.”

Kurt laughed at the tall young Rhinelander: “You do not know your Duke, son. No one can “make” him do anything. And the one thing no one need “make” him do is attack the enemy.”

The Teuton smiled. “I suppose you are right. But I cannot help wondering, not after Swabia was so short-changed at the recent Diet. Every House received more provinces, except the Kaiser’s own.”

“The Kaiser has no house now. But still, he would not seek to punish his old friends. No, if the Kaiser is guilty of anything, it is over-optimism. He should have seen the mauling Ulrich took in his first battle and not sent him off in that weakened state for a second one, whatever the Duke’s enthusiasm.”

“And he is guilty of it again, bringing us outside Antioch?” the Teuton probed.

Kurt looked away. It was undeniable. The Kaiser had marched into a lion’s den: three strong Egyptian armies were gathering around Antioch and now were poised to strike. Henry had ordered a band of Turcopoles to interdict supplies going into the great city. It was like kicking a bee’s nest. Soon all three Egyptian armies in the province would soon be roused and marching together on the Kaiser’s position. Kurt spat on the ground. What was the Kaiser thinking?

A tall figure in a black cloak stormed out of the Kaiser’s Headquarters. The hairs on Kurt’s back prickled and his hand reached for his sword hilt. Yet inside, the Kaiser could still be heard talking to Duke Ulrich. Kurt relaxed and Dusan Kolar met his gaze.

“Chivalry gone mad.” the pagan magician exclaimed and then slipped outside into the night.

[OverKnight]

Acre, 1202


Ashes, it had all turned to ashes. The victories, the triumphs, the praise from friends and past foes alike. It was gone, burned away in a few fleeting years.

Lowering his head into his hands, the last words of Kaiser Heinrich came to Otto unbidden and unwelcome, "You disappoint me. No matter what you stood for, I wanted a friend and an ally. You were both, for a short period of time. However, when it became clear that I was on my way out in the world you threw our bond aside, forgetting all that I had done for you. While I can do nothing about you now, you will surely remember this betrayal sometime into the future."

The future was now. Otto could feel the sting of betrayal turned on him. It coursed through his veins like poison. It burned.

"Why?", Otto asked in a coarse whisper, "What have I done to deserve such harsh words from the Kaiser?"

Elsebeth, having entered the room with a letter, came up behind him and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder, "You defied my brother. Whatever the wording of the edict, when you insisted it be followed, you defied his will. What else did you expect my dear?"

"I thought. . .I had earned better. I thought I had explained why we must put down the Milanese. I did not complain, I did not threaten, I merely asked that the edict be enforced."

Otto's wife shook her head and leaned in to wrap her arms around the distraught Duke.

"You do not ask something of a Kaiser, Otto, and expect him to go against his wishes without consequences. Henry might appear more reasonable than our father, but the same iron will lies underneath. They are more alike than either would ever have admitted. He has ensured, in calling you out publicly, that if the Corsica adventure fails, it will be your fault, not his. If it succeeds, than he will have won a victory despite your stubborness, and the credit goes to him."

Otto stood, breaking out of his wife's embrace, and began pacing the room.

"But why? I am not his enemy. Hell, he voted for the edict! I have aided him, during my term, I had the Reich reconciled. . .the Crusade completed. . .an alliance with the Church. Why am I now the villain?"

Elsebeth smoothed her dress and watched Otto fume.

"It is because you accomplished these things that the Kaiser moved against you. Tell me Otto, why did he not assume the Chancellorship for your term? It was the first one after father's death."

Otto stopped and turned toward his wife with a creeping realization coming to him, "He felt the Crusade wouldn't arrive in Jerusalem until this term. He wanted a caretaker Chancellor. . .But I. . ."

"But you did bring the Crusade to completion", said Elsebeth, finishing his thought, "You were much more successful than he could have imagined. Perhaps too successful. His Chancellorship was supposed to have seen the culmination of the Crusade. The crowning glory of his term and reign. Instead, an upstart General took that from him. He might not admit it, but he resents you for it."

Otto approached Elsebeth and grasped her by the shoulders, "The Kaiser is not that kind of man! He was overjoyed to hear of the reconciliation, to hear that the Crusade had been sanctioned."

"Yes I'm sure he was. But he might also have been thinking that it could have been him. That it should have been him to accomplish these triumphs. Do not act so surprised, look at my brother with the same eyes you used to discern the vanities of the Cardinals."

Otto turned from Elsebeth to gaze out the window, "No, it is not like that, it is merely a. . .misunderstanding. I am still high in his favor. He promised. . .I am his best General here, he knows this, there is no way. . ."

"Do you think your martial skill or accomplishments as Chancellor shield you? Belisarius was Emperor Justinian's best General. He never lost a campaign and restored the Byzantines to Italy and much of their lost Empire. Yet, the Emperor withdrew him from Italy at key moments, delaying the conquest, and his career ended in a trial for corruption even after he had saved the Empire from the Bulgars. He was a better General than you yet he still suffered. Rulers grow wary of accomplished Commanders with too much power. They do not wish their own accomplishments to be overshadowed or their own power superseded."

Otto had slumped in a chair by the time his wife had finished. Circling him, she spoke again.

"Tell me, if you are the most skilled General in Outremer and close confidant to my brother, why are you here in Acre, sitting in another man's castle? Why are you not in the north? Or leading an army on Damascus? Why is Ulrich Hummel the Prince of Antioch?"

"Enough!", yelled Otto, rising from his chair, "I do not know! I have no answers for you. I serve the Reich, I always have and I always will. That should be enough."

Cupping Otto's scarred face with her left hand, Elsebeth replied, "I hope it is enough, my love, but I would be surprised if you led an army into battle in my brother's term, or if Corsica is taken quickly. Otto must fall, so that Henry might rise. Tread carefully."

Bowing his head, Otto covered his wife's hand with his own and smiled sadly, "I thought you wanted me to be Roland, to be a good man and a chivalrous knight. When did you become so cunning and cold hearted?"

"I grew up Otto. You have changed for the better, but I have still learned from watching you. We can hope for a just world, but we must deal with it the way it is."

Otto sighed, "I will write Maximillian, he will know what to do. He's always been there for me. . ."

Elsebeth looked down at the message in her hand, "I had forgotten, I have a letter from Adana that just arrived."

Taking the letter Otto opened it and read the contents. Dropping it he paled and staggered as if from a heavy blow. Elsebeth rushed to steady him.

Otto clung to his wife, his head buried in her shoulder.

"He's dead! He's dead.", Otto moaned, "My God, we're all alone."

It had all turned to ashes.


OOC: Kaiser Henry's message on running for Chancellor in 1180:

https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showp...&postcount=361

[econ21]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This is a cooperative story between GeneralHankerchief and econ21. Disclaimer: you only know all this out of character. In character, you don't know nothing!

Aleppo, 1204

“It is here?” Henry asked, trembling.

Horst Mueller, the young Teuton nodded sombrely as he opened the door to the catacombs under Aleppo.

Henry stepped cautiously into the dark and dusty vault. By the light of the torches on the walls, he could make out a large chalice on the central table. In the shadows, he could see the tall dark figure of Dusan Kolar.

“I told you it was here.” Dusan purred. “That is why it had to be you that came, not Otto or Ulrich. This prize is for you alone.”

Horst closed the large door behind them.

“Who else knows about this?” Henry asked.

“Just the three of us.” murmured Dusan. “Let us keep it that way. The chalice can only be found by true bastions of chivalry.”

“Are you sure it is genuine?” Henry asked quietly.

“One only has to touch it to know. It has special divine powers. They say it can bring back the dead.”

“And these powers, you know them to work?”

“Horst, leave us now.” said Dusan authoritatively. The Teuton looked at Henry for confirmation. Henry nodded.

Once the young knight had left, Dusan continued: “Oh yes, the powers work. Let me provide you with a demonstration.”

*****

Henry sat on the other side of the round table, facing Dusan Kolar. The chalice was between them.

“The chalice can bring back the dead, but only their souls.” said Dusan. “Their bodies are long decayed and gone. The chalice forms a holy passage between this world and the next. The deceased may return, but they should not stay. They have found their final resting place, for better or for worse, and are best left there. To trap one of the saved on this earth would be sacrilegious. For the fallen, well - there are enough of such men on earth already, we do not need to add to their number.”

“Who will you bring back?” asked Henry, his voice dry and breathless. His mind was spinning. Maximillan, who had just departed? Dietrich, his old war horse? Henry hoped it would be Sigismund - his brother and adopted son, who had been dragged from this world by French devilry.

Dusan shrugged: “Do you think I can command the heavens?”

Gingerly, Dusan wrapped his fingers around the cup. Henry gasped as Dusan’s body seemed to shake violently on contact with the golden chalice. Dusan’s head flicked back violently, and fell down with a lifeless shudder. Slowly, silently, Dusan lifted his head up - opening his eyelids to reveal white, pupil-less balls. Henry shuddered.

Dusan then opened his mouth to speak, but the voice was not his own. Henry gasped. This was not the voice he had expected, not the voice he had hoped for. As a matter of fact, it was a voice that Henry believed himself rid of, one that he had never wanted to hear again.

It was the voice of his deceased father, Heinrich.

"Ahh, Prinz Henry, we meet again." The voice, while sounding fairly like Heinrich's, had taken on a slight ethereal, echoing quality. However, there was no mistaking the tone. Not even Kolar dared call Henry anything but Kaiser.

Henry stammered: “Who? … What trickery is this?” Kolar was motionless and unresponsive, his blind eyes staring forward at Henry. Henry continued: “Damn it, I don’t know who you are pretending to be but there is no Prinz Henry here. I am your Kaiser and you will address me as such!”

"Are you really, Henry? Do you deem yourself worthy of the title of Kaiser? It is something to be earned, boy, not inherited. So far, the only notable thing you have done in your entire career is beat those Egyptians at Antioch. Commendable, but not nearly enough to redeem yourself for all those years of nothingness, for all those years of not seizing opportunity."

Henry sat back, as if slapped in the face, and struggled to think of any thing to rebut the terrible accusing voice. “I, err, I have reformed the Reich. As Prinz, I devised our current system of Household Armies; as Kaiser, I drafted a constitution for Outremer, as Kaiser I have modernised our forces…”

A bitter laugh cut him off. The laugh emanating from Kolar was shrill and unnatural, but most definitely Heinrichian. "Really? HAH! If that is so then why do continue to take counsel from this man that I speak to you through? Do you just miss someone pointing out your many flaws? Why is it that there is always great conflict in yourself? Why is it that you always shy away from the greatest of glories and responsibilities? Why do you think that *I* was chosen to speak to you and not someone you wished for, such as Sigismund, Dietrich, or Mandorf? You still have extra baggage to carry, my son, and you are most definitely not free of anything or anyone."

Kolar's eyes now appeared to start flickering, as if the apparition was wearing off. However, the voice of Heinrich took no notice, and continued to speak.

"As much as you wish that this wasn't true, you're not so different from me. The only time that either of us were Chancellor was when we exercised our rights as Kaiser. Both of us have (or had) obstacles in their path to greatness. Unfortunately for you, your obstacles are internal, and those are the more difficult to overcome.

"However, the path is now set for you to become the greatest leader of people since Caesar Augustus himself. Jerusalem is no longer Papal; the Pope is overseeing all of Christianity from a boat. As Kaiser and Chancellor, there is nothing to stop you from retaking the city and claiming it is your own. The edicts on the Crusade have all expired. You have a lapdog in Prinz Ulrich; he will do anything you ask. Take Jerusalem for yourself. Take Outremer and make it your own personal land. The people who would cry out in the Diet are now few. Mandorf and Dietrich have now joined me. Salier is in Rome and cannot possibly hold up against your influence. No one can."

“Duke Otto governs Acre, he commands the wealthiest House in the Reich…”

"Von Kassel? HAH! Von Kassel is weak. At heart, all he desires is acceptance and friendship with those in power. If you assert yourself, he will follow you like he never followed me."

By now Kolar's pupils were flickering on and off. Heinrich finally seemed to realize that his time was growing short.

"Take Jerusalem, my son. Keep Jerusalem. To hell with the Pope. He is in your pocket already. Once you have Outremer, you will have a free land to exercise absolute power over. No outside influence from the Pope; he cares not for how many Muslims you kill. Use that power. Expand. You will have Rome and the Holy Land under your direct control with the Pope little more than a figurehead. And then, my son, you will finally fulfil your destiny. You will become Henry V, Master of all Christianity."

Henry looked appalled as Heinrich’s laugh echoed around the room. Kolar’s pupils came down and the man collapsed onto the roundtable.

*****

Henry kicked back his own chair and raced round to grab Dusan. He lifted the dark figure back and shook him violently.

“You bastard!” he screamed. “You said I would be free of him! You said this was my time! But you’ve brought him back! Back to govern me!”

Dusan’s eyes were closed and his body was inert. Henry held Dusan for a moment, then calmed and gently put him back in his seat. Take back Jerusalem? And keep it for the Reich? The Diet would hang him. But he was Chancellor and this was his hour. He knew what must be done. He marched out of the crypt, past Horst.

“Guard the chalice with your life.” Henry hissed at the young Rhinelander. The knight nodded meekly.

Henry continued on until he found an apprehensive Kurt Altman, walking with the Kaiser's bear-like bodyguard Dirk Freihafen.

“Thank God, your Majesty. I feared for you.” said Kurt with relief: “I heard you went down to the crypt with that… man, Kolar.”

Henry smiled at his veteran warrior, then the expression on his faced hardened. “Jerusalem has fallen. Leave the infantry here - we make haste for Acre via the sea.”

Kurt looked stunned. Abandon the army that had triumphed at Antioch?

“But Kaiser, Duke Otto is tasked with defending Acre and protecting Jerusalem, surely he…”

“This is something I must attend to personally.” Henry said, “It is my destiny.”

[Warluster]

Staufen , 1204

The great Iron city gates of Staufen opened, creaking as the sun overhead failed, and storm clouds tried to overcome the sun.

But through the Great City gates of Staufen, was Prinz Jobst's escort, heading mainly for Staufen's Barracks. Peasents sprung out of the way, as heavily armored knights came galloping through ths treets, and the air boomed with thunder.
'Make way, make way! We're in a hurry!' yelled Jobst's Second in Command,Fritz.

The bodyguard stopped abruptly out the front of the barracks. And the Captain in charge came racing out, wondering who the visitor would be.

The sky flashed, and rain came pouring down. Rattling armor everywhere, and the air rung.

Jobst got down from his armored horse, lifted his visor and looked at the Captain hard, scanning his face.
'We did not know you were coming my lord" muttered the Captain nervously,twiddling his thumbs.
"I thought I might've created that affect" whispered Jobst, "But no.Captain, I did not want many too know I am here, I was just dropping in... to discuss urgent matters" continued Jobst. And he strided past the captain, and into the calm of the barracks. Fritz nodded to the convoy and followed Jobst and the Captain.

Fritz walked in to find Jobst sitting at one of the tables, the Captain standing nervoulsy.
"Sit" commanded Jobst, and the Captain and Fritz sat. Jobst leaned forward.
"I have some orders to discuss with you Captain, which you shall tell no one, on pain of death" whispered Jobst, The Captain nodded fearfully.
"If you tell someone who should not know, some French, Italians or even the Papal Bull, the Kaiser himself shall be angry" said Jobst with raised eyebrows.
"I want the best trained Knights,soldiers you can get from Staufen ,Captain.
" whispered Jobst, "And they shall assemble outside the City,where I shall wait, for a new army being formed by the Kaiser." said Jobst.
"What new army sir? I have heard nothing of any new armies" muttered the Captain.
"Because peasents and those of not high status don't know!" said Jobst, his voice louder. Jobst leaned forward to speak in the Captain's ear.
"The new European Imperial Army" whispered Jobst, and he leaned back,smiling. Fritz smiled as well.
"I shall leave you some 10-20 years to form this army Captain, and some personal money" Jobst handed him some coins "So you don't get off track"said Jobst with a wink, then left, but Fritz did not.
"And Captain, if you fail, I shall execute you myself" said Fritz, and he followed in Jobst's footsteps,smiling to himself. The Captain shook violently, watching them disappear. Then strode out ot the back.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR!" he roared.

[OverKnight]

Acre, 1208

Kurt Altman, the veteran warrior in Kaiser Henry's retinue, was not surprised by the summons he had received. Whatever had happened in the bowels of Aleppo had left Henry a changed man. He had been watching Dusan Kolar as the Duke had requested, and over the years the man in black's influence had grown over the Emperor.

So now, Altman found himself entering Otto's chambers at Acre. The Duke was in bed, stripped to his small clothes, a broken off Saracen spear protruding from his right thigh. The wound had been hastily bandaged on the battlefield, but the gauze was soaked with blood and Otto looked pale and in pain. A local healer hovered over the wound as Princess Elsebeth looked on, her expression a mixture of concern and anger.

Before Altman could announce himself, the healer spoke, "The spearhead must be removed immediately, and the wound treated with boiling wine and sewn up or we risk putrefaction."

Elsebeth hissed in frustration, "All thanks to my brother, he would not let you lead the army, but he was content to send you into a wall of spears."

Otto looked up and noticed Kurt, he spoke in a weak voice, "Enough Elsebeth. Maimonides, you may treat me in a moment, but first I must speak to Sir Altman. If you could leave us for a moment."

The physician left the room, and Otto waved Kurt close to him.

"It is good to see you again Sir. Tell me, what news of the Kaiser and his magician?"

Altman swallowed hard, loyalties warring in him, but spoke, "It is rumored that Kolar has obtained the Chalice of Christ for the Kaiser, and that he shows him visions of the dead through it. Since the taking of Aleppo, my lord spends more time with that black spider, forsaking his other advisors. There are whispers that he plans to take Jerusalem, and this time keep the city for the Reich."

Otto made the sign of the Cross.

"Good God, it is worse than I thought. This must be Dusan's influence. The Kaiser Henry I know, or thought I knew, would not do this. The magician's hold over his Majesty must be broken."

Elsebeth snorted but stayed silent. Otto glanced up at her with a small smile, but his gaze returned to Kurt.

"Tell me Sir Altman, as the Kaiser's trusted warrior, do you know where the chalice is kept?"

Kurt thought for a moment, "The Kaiser's tent is guarded at all times, even when he is not present. I think it is there."

Otto nodded, "If the chalice is the source of Kolar's hold on the Kaiser, it must be removed. It might be more direct to silence the magician, but the results would be more in doubt. I ask that you procure the item and have it sent far away, out of the reach of Kolar. You and others guard the Kaiser, and while there are threats in battle to keep him safe from, there are worse things in his own court from which we must protect him. Will you do this for the Reich and for the Kaiser?"

Kurt clenched his jaw. He was a knight, not a thief or turncoat, but he hated Dusan, hated the dark cloud that hung over the Kaiser. Action must be taken. He nodded his head, "I've just the man for the job. He thinks as we do."

Relief mixed with pain flashed across Otto's face.

"Good man! Elsebeth will instruct you in what must be done. Now go, you have a chalice to steal, and I have a thorn to be removed. Send in the healer on your way out."

As Elsebeth and Altman made their way down the corridor, the stifled screams of the Duke of Bavaria echoed behind them. Neither of them looked back.

-----

Outside Acre

Dirk Freihafen, the mountain of a man who served as Henry's bodyguard, approached the Kaiser's tent. Torches ringed it to keep out the night. Horst Mueller, the Emperor's Teutonic escort, stood guard outside.

"Evening Horst," said Dirk as he came closer, "Is the Kaiser inside?"

"Nein," replied the knight shaking his head, "He's off somewhere with Kolar again."

Dirk spit on the ground in response and asked, "Stuck with sentry duty again?"

"Ja, the rest of the army is celebrating driving off the Egyptians and I get to watch an empty tent."

Dirk grunted in sympathy, "Well I may as well stand your watch with you, least I could do for a comrade in arms."

Proffering a flask of wine, he added, "As for the celebration, why don't we have some wine?"

Mueller gratefully took the flask and drank. Handing it back, he gave Dirk a mock salute, "My thanks, guard duty is thirsty work."

The next few minutes passed in idle conversation between the two knights until Horst trailed off and began to slump. Dirk braced him and guided him to the ground. Soon, he was snoring loudly.

Dirk waved over a figure in the shadows. It was Altman, who had been watching all the time.

"I see the Princess's drugged wine did it's job. Where is the chalice?"

"It should be in the chest next to the camp bed," replied Dirk, "A pity to waste wine like that."

After Kurt was gone, and the mission done, Dirk raised his flask to the prone body of Mueller.

"I'll see you in the morning, Horst. It seems we both had too much wine to drink and neglected our duties. I'm not looking forward to the headache."

With that he raised the flask to his lips and drank deeply.

[econ21]

The docks at Acre

Although it had only been a short trip from Adana, Hans was glad to get off the ship and onto dry land. He scanned the harbour at Acre, but was disappointed to find no sign of the large entourage that would have marked the presence of his father here to greet him. Disappointed, he set off down the pier towards the fortress.

Two men approached him, both powerfully built and clearly warriors. One was older, but sharp eyed, the other was a large bear of a man. The older man bowed, and the big man awkwardly followed.

“Your highness, I am sorry your father could not be here in person.” said the older man. Despite his grizzled appearance, there was compassion and understanding in his voice. He moved close to Hans, talking conspiratorially, while the big man stood back and appeared to be acting as a lookout.

“Ever since you came of age, your father has always been distant to you, he knows that. He also knows that, by right, it should be you who inherits after him, not Prince Jobst.”

Hans looked shocked at the familiarity and presumption of older man. The older man stopped and smiled apologetically.

“Your highness, indulge me. There is not much time and there is much at stake. I must speak candidly. Believe me, I mean you and your father no harm. Indeed, I am part of his retinue.” the grey haired warrior stopped, thoughtfully: “I would die for him.”

Hans felt uncomfortable with the man’s intimacy and affrontery, but stayed silent. Hans had long learned to watch and wait, to let the other reveal his hand, before revealing his own.

“Have you every wondered why your father was so distant? Why he has kept you away from him? Why you are not heir?”

Hans had his own thoughts on these questions, but was certainly not going to disclose them to a complete stranger. The young prince felt more and more awkward at this extraordinary meeting.

The older man looked sharply at Hans and said severely: “There are dark forces at work behind the throne. Your father feels powerless to resist. If he brings you too close, they may drag you down with him.”

Hans stared at the warrior - was he insane? The older man continued doggedly:

“Your father believes it is in his blood. The office of the Emperor is damned. It began with the unspeakable murder of Pope Gregory at the hands of Heinrich. And it is resurfacing now. Blood will out.”

A Papist fanatic? Hans wondered, but the eyes of the man in front of him were observant and thoughtful, not the unblinking lenses of the dogmatist.

“You share the same blood. Do not deny it. You believe in hard justice, winning first and are fierce in battle. These traits may be admirable in themselves, but they lead you towards the path of darkness. Like your father, coming here on the great crusade may have temporarily brought you back to the light. But if you were to take the office of Emperor, you too would be cursed. Every Imperial assassin’s blade would cut into your immortal soul, every deceit by our agents would condemn you in the eyes of the Lord, every settlement put to the sword would drag you into the pit. What does it profit a man to gain an Empire, if he loses his immortal soul?”

Hans found it hard to breath, his head was swimming but the older man pressed on:

“Your father fears he cannot save himself. He fears he is destined to join your grandfather in the life hereafter. But he does not want to take you with him. You are to be saved. You are to break this curse on the family.”

The veteran warrior paused and summoned his large companion.

“Here, this will aid you in your personal quest.”

Hans realised the larger man had been carrying something in a small bag, strapped round his back but held carefully as if it were a great treasure. The big man opened the bag and pulled out a wrapped object, gingerly unveiling it to reveal an old golden goblet.

“Do you know what it is?” said the older man.

Hans had received a fine education - he was familiar with the legends and the stories of the crusaders. Could this really be it? Was it possible? But given all the extraordinary things the veteran had just told him, to believe one more impossible thing before lunch seemed but a trifle.

"How did you get it?" said Hans, breathlessly.

For the first time, the big man spoke out: "Well, let's just say there is one Teuton with a hell of a sore head this morning."

The older man clasped his hand on the shoulders of his companion, amiably:

“And this fellow, he too shall go with you. He is roughly hewn, but will serve you well.”

The big man looked indignantly at the veteran warrior: “Roughly hewn? Rugged, is what the ladies say”.

The veteran laughed and turned back to Hans. “I am sorry you did not get to see your father today. But you must leave now, go to Adana - gather your expedition to Constantinople. Leave your father to battle his demons. I will fight by his side. I do not know if we will ever meet again, young master, but I wish you well.”

The veteran looked at the bag that Hans was now holding.

“Do not touch the chalice. But keep it secret; keep it safe.”

With that, he bowed. Scanning the area around him, the veteran warrior turned and left. Hans thought he saw a dark cloaked figure in the shadows by the docks, but given the excitement of the morning, gave it no further thought.

[econ21]

A cave outside Jerusalem

Horst screamed in pain. Why hadn’t he listened to Dirk? He should have known to pay attention when the fellow, normally so carefree and lackadaisical, had approached him so earnestly after the battle outside Acre. Why hadn’t he listened then?

Horst screamed again, as Dusan Kolar extracted yet another of the young Teuton’s fingernails.

*****

“It is not safe for you to stay. You must go. Leave this place - tonight!” Dirk had entreated.

At the time, Horst had been wracked with guilt and self-criticism: “No, I have failed terribly. I cannot flee. I must stay and be punished for my failure.”

“You do not know what is at stake here” Dirk had implored. “Hell, even I don’t know what is at stake here. But I do know if you stay, it will be very, very bad.”

“I don’t know what is at stake? I do not know? You have no idea what I was guarding that night!” Horst looked at his sheepish companion. “You and your drinking. I had a mission. I was entrusted with something, something more important than you can ever imagine. And I lost it, lost it because of you.”

Horst had continued, rounding accusingly on Dirk: “Yes, you must go. You should leave this place! You are not fit to be the Kaiser’s bodyguard. You are not fit to the Kaiser’s dog’s bodyguard! Go, get out! Run!”

And still Dirk had tried to persuade him, pleading helplessly: “Horst, they will kill you if you stay.”

Horst looked uncomprehendingly at the big man and then said shallowly: “It would be no better than I deserve for my failure. You said you are leaving. Well then, just leave.”

Dirk had moved away reluctantly, gave one last imploring look at Horst but been rebuffed by the young Teuton’s accusing glare.

*****

“You should not scream so much.” said Dusan patiently. “It is not that anyone will come. I chose this cave because it is far away from anyone. And very well sound proofed. The Hashashin provide such excellent facilities and for such a modest price. But you should not scream so much. It is most unbecoming for a knight.”

With heavy eyelids, Horst looked at the loathsome man in front of him. Damn it, he would not scream so much if only each act of torture was not so excruciatingly painful!

“Just tell me one thing, young knight, and then you are free to go. Who did you tell about the chalice?”

Horst’s head slumped down on his chest, his arms hanging from chains hammered into the cave walls. “I have already said a thousand times: I told no one. I swear by the virgin Mary, I told no one.”

Dusan looked at the young man, dripping in sweat and blood. He almost believed him.

“But you see, that is simply not possible. Only three of us knew. You, me and the Kaiser.” Dusan explained patiently. “Do you think the Kaiser stole his own Holy Grail? Do you think I stole it and am torturing you just for fun?”

Horst looked up hopelessly: “But I swear, I did not… AAARGH!”

*****

When Horst was revived, he had a few minutes to recuperate. Dusan was preparing to leave the cave.

"Why don't you ask me where the chalice is?" Horst asked in a moment of lucidity.

Dusan turned around surprised: "Why? Do you know?"

Horst shook his head: "No, of course not: I keep telling you, I know nothing about the chalice's disappearance! It was stolen from me! But if you suspect me, why don't you ask me where it is?"

Dusan laughed: "Does it matter? It is just a goblet. I can find another one just like it. The Kaiser will never know."

Horst collapsed in despair. He knew then he would never leave the cave alive.

[OverKnight]

Outside Jerusalem

Otto and his retainers rode into the Kaiser's siege camp. A swarm of men were working constructing rams, towers and ladders, the assault would happen soon. In the distance, Otto could see the Kaiser and his court gathered in front of his tent, no doubt planning the assault.

As he dismounted along with his men, Otto felt pain shoot up his right leg. The wound from two years ago still troubled him and the ride from Acre had not helped. As Otto reached behind him to pull a cane from the saddle, Kurt Altman approached him.

"Quite a surprise to see you here your Grace," Kurt said, "The Kaiser is not expecting you."

"Expected or not, I must speak with him. I must know the truth about the fate of Jerusalem. It is time to see who is in power, the Kaiser or his spider."

Kurt nodded grimly and looked at Otto's retainers, "You won't get within fifty feet of him if you keep your men with you."

"I know, I will go to see him alone and unarmed."

Awkwardly unbuckling his sword belt with his left hand while leaning on the cane in his right, Otto handed his weapon to his squire.

"I'm just an old man with a cane, how could I be a threat?"

Bringing up the cane, Otto twisted the handle and drew two feet of sharpened steel from out of the wood of the barrel. Jamming the narrow dagger back in, he took a few steps toward the camp, and then began limping in a pronounced fashion as he brought the cane back down to support him.

"Lead on Sir Altman, I have business with our lord."

Following the knight, Otto tried to walk with dignity through the camp despite his ruse. The men he passed looked at him with a mixture of emotion. Some viewed him with scorn or indifference, a product of the past few years. Others, veterans he had served with, with pride as they bowed their heads. In a few eyes, Otto even saw pity for a scarred old man. That cut him to the quick more than the derision.

Still, he thought, this needs to be done. I must see if the Kaiser will listen to reason, to keep to his original vision of Outremer and not betray the Church.

Otto chuckled wryly to himself at the last thought, who would have ever thought he would be an advocate for the Papacy? Fate was strange and God's will sometimes ineffable. His expression however quickly darkened.

What if he won't listen? What if, despite the loss of the chalice, Kolar still has his claws in him?

Otto's grip tightened on the cane. Then I will kill the magician. No doubt I will die in the attempt, but if I can remove him, end this madness, I will gladly do it.

[econ21]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This is a cooperative story written by Overknight and econ21

Outside Jerusalem, 1210

Otto came to the assembled court. It was strangely empty. There were few German nobles – so many knights had fallen in the battle outside of Acre. Instead, there were small groups of unfamiliar men – men of Slavic appearance and Arabs too. He could see Dusan Kolar to the Kaiser's right. The Germans in the gathering fell into a nervous hush as they became aware of the Duke of Bavaria's presence. The Slavs and Arabs looked sullenly at him, with disdain.

Gripping the cane for support, Otto went down on bended knee in the dirt of the camp and bowed his head.

"Your Majesty, I must speak with you. My letters have gone unanswered, my counsel unheeded. So now I must come to you for the truth. I have heard dark rumors mein Kaiser. Things I not thought possible. Yet, I must ask."

Otto raised his head and glared at Dusan Kolar, his gaze then swung to the Kaiser.

"Do you intend to forsake our agreement with the Church and take Jerusalem for the Reich? Have you decided to abandon your dream of Outremer and set forth like Alexander out into the eastern desert to conquer? Will you be Kaiser, Chancellor and King? It is time that all this be brought into the light, your Majesty."

Henry spoke superciliously. “We fulfilled our agreement with the Church and gave them Jerusalem. It is not our fault they were so careless as to lose it.”

Dusan snickered at the Kaiser’s caustic words.

“March into the desert you said?” the Kaiser continued. “Now, there’s a thought. You have heard about the horse lords approaching? I am getting old. Perhaps I should meet them on my way out of this tiresome world.”

Otto could not recognise the cold indifferent man in front of him. This was not the solicitous facilitator who had accompanied him to on the great crusade. He looked sideways at Dusan, and tightened his grip on his cane, a few strides, a thrust, and it would be over, one way or the other.

“And will I be King?" asked Henry, rhetorically: "I am already King of the Romans; you don’t want to take that away from me do you? But you mean King of Outremer I suppose. Outremer, my dream, you said. A dream of what? Death and the desert?”

The Kaiser paused. “Dusan, you tell Otto what we plan.”

The pagan magician looked stunned. He was never called out of the shadow and required to speak in public at the court. And yet now that Henry was speaking with Dusan’s voice, to come out at this point seemed appropriate.

“Duke Otto.” began Dusan cautiously. “You ask to know the Kaiser’s plans. But that is the wrong question. In future, no one will ask the Kaiser’s plans. They will wait. And when the Kaiser speaks, they will execute those plans.”

Dusan watched as Otto’s jaw clenched:

“You look shocked. But think on this: how many times has the Kaiser consulted the Council of Crusaders during his reign as Chancellor? How many times has he consulted you privately?”

The questions were purely rhetorical – Otto bade his time while Dusan continued, enjoying each blow against the Duke: “And yet you consider yourself special. You believe that when the Kaiser steps down as Chancellor, you would become King of Outremer.”

Henry interrupted definitively: “I am sorry, Otto, there's been a change of plan: it will not happen.”

Otto replied in a flat tone, trying to keep despair from his voice, "It is yours to bestow mein Kaiser and yours to take away. I did not ask for it, you offered it to me. I would ask how the Diet will react to your new autocratic approach? You are not an eastern Potentate, you must consider the Electors, you could be impeached if you defy their will."

Henry looked thoughtful. “Dusan, tell Otto what we plan for the Diet.”

Dusan straightened his shoulders and spoke with disdain: “The Diet is a bunch of old women. Divided into four petty Houses who are given a single province each to conquer and drool appreciatively over. Fools who cluck and squawk over every development and opportunity. They see nothing, understand nothing. They forget this is the Roman Empire, not the scelorotic Roman Republic of Marcellus Aemilius and Numerius Aureolus. It will operate as the dynamic Empire of Caesar and of Augustus. When the Kaiser says march, his generals will march. When he says fight, they will fight. The generals do not tell the Kaiser who to attack, when to fight. That way lies anarchy and impotence.”

Otto rose to his feet, careful to appear that he needed the cane to do so. If he was to kill Dusan, he could strike quicker from a standing position.

"This is madness!", said Otto as his gaze bored into the Kaiser, "I can't believe you, of all people, would listen to the ravings of this fool. You might have the rest of your term to run wild, but as soon as it over, they will clamp down. What of the city before us? How long will you hold it before they know you won't let it go?"

Henry smiled. “Jerusalem? This was never about Jerusalem, was it Dusan? Jerusalem is just a tool, a device to lever us free of the Diet. To ensure there will be no end of my term, to force a confrontation that will prevent the Diet from ever “clamping down” on its Kaiser.”

[GeneralHankerchief]

Rome, 1208

For the past several months, a general malaise had seemed to be settling over the Reich's capital city. This could not be attributed to anything physical; Rome had never seen better days. But despite this, the mood of its denizens had been down. As Governor of the city, Conrad Salier attributed it to an unhappy God. In his studies he had read one play by the Greeks, Oedipus Rex, where a similar, albeit deadlier, malaise fell upon the city of Thebes. Eventually it was determined that the heathen gods were dismayed at the city's ruler, Oedipus, and his previous actions. Conrad was determined that the malaise in Rome not evolve into a plague.

His advisors, those who were still Catholic yet did not believe as fervently as Conrad did, tried to convince the Governor that it was nothing, just a case of boredom. It was, after all, the first time in a while that the city was fairly safe from attack.

However, Conrad would have none of it. As if to illustrate his point, last week a murder of crows had made a nest on top of the steeple of the city's tallest church, atop a cross. When Conrad ordered the nest dismantled upon first seeing it, the crows had returned with a new nest a day later. Clearly, the Lord was displeased.

The question was, why?

Clearly, it was not his fault. While delegating perhaps a bit more responsibility than he should to his subordinates, Conrad did take part in many of the city's affairs, and continued to attend Mass regularly. He did not sin, at least, not to his knowledge. No, the source of this uneasiness had to have come from elsewhere.

"If I am not at fault, who is to blame for this?" Conrad mused aloud. "Surely not anyone else in the Four Houses, for they are all doing their duties and we are now at peace with the Pope. Perhaps it is Swabia and their preparing to destroy France, waiting for the Papal edict to run out. But no, for we have done much worse things than that and face few consequences. I do not believe that Swabia is the problem."

A messenger, clad in dusty armor, entered Conrad's study without knocking. He carried a sealed envelope with him, which Conrad did not immediately notice.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "I was busy attaining to deep spiritual matters!"

"Cry your pardon, sir, but I believe that there be bigger spiritual matters going on than you're aware of," the messenger said. "I bring this message from Outremer, from Duke Otto himself."

Conrad immediately brightened. Otto was his main source of correspondence from Outremer ever since his father, Maximillian Mandorf, had passed on. The only real bad news that he had brought back so far was the Maximillian had died.

"Thank you for the letter, Sergeant. I apologize that I was short with you earlier. Please make your way to the barracks, I'm sure that you'll be able to get a good rest after a long journey." Then man bowed and departed, leaving Conrad alone with the letter. He broke the seal and read what Duke Otto had to say with increasing horror:

1208

Count Salier,

I do not know if the news has reached you in the west, but all is not well here in Outremer. The Kaiser is a changed man, and I sense the treachery of Dusan Kolar in this matter. I wish I had more information, but I have been pushed aside and left to rot in Acre.

I fear Kolar may be pushing the Kaiser to abandon our agreement with the Church and take Jerusalem permanently. This would be folly. The Magician must be stopped, I will try, but I may fail.

We have had our disagreements, but Maximillian had always spoken of you very highly. He is gone, more the pity, but I need your help. Come what may, Bavaria will need a represenative in the Holy Land after I am gone. Someone to succeed me if I'm successful, or avenge me if I fail. I ask that you take ship to Outremer as soon as possible. You are needed in the Holy Land.

I will not command you to do this, but I hope you will.
It is God's work.

Farewell,

Otto von Kassel

So. This was the source of it all. The physical Crusade had succeeded but the spiritual one was in grave danger. With two great religious figures gone in Dietrich and Mandorf, Kaiser Henry and Duke Otto were the only two figures left in Outremer with significant influence. And apparently, the Kaiser's was fast losing his to a man in black.

Conrad, clutching only the letter, immediately departed his study and made his way towards the outskirts of the city. His time in Rome was done, one way or another. Charles Otterbach's words, once again relevant, echoed in his mind as he left the Eternal City: "There are other ways that you can be a good Servant of God aside from staying in this place and watching your life waste away for nothing." Besides, business needed to be done anyway. There was the matter of returning his father's body to Nuremburg and claiming the Holy Vorpal Sword as his own.

On the way out, he was waylaid and questioned by the Deputy Governor of Rome, who was surpervising the construction of a new church.

"My Lord, where are you going? I had no notice that you were taking leave; when will you return?"

Conrad simply smiled and waved. "You're in charge, Wilhelm. I'm going to get rid of those crows once and for all."

[econ21]

Outside Jerusalem, 1210

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

This is a cooperative story by Overknight and econ21. It starts with a brief recap.

Henry smiled. “Jerusalem? This was never about Jerusalem, was it Dusan? Jerusalem is just a tool, a device to lever us free of the Diet. To ensure there will be no end of my term, to force a confrontation that will prevent the Diet from ever “clamping down” on its Kaiser.”

Dusan looked quizzically at Henry, but the Kaiser went on:

“We will keep Jerusalem. Not because it matters, but to show that we can. Isn’t that right, Kolar?”

Dusan shuffled uncomfortably, but nodded agreement.

Otto looked sharply from the Kaiser to Kolar. The man behind the throne had been brought out into the light. By speaking for himself, and not through the Kaiser, his own ambitions and plans had been laid bare for the Court to see. Otto readied the cane and took a step toward the magician, but when he met the eyes of the Kaiser he stopped. Anger burned in them, but also awareness.

Henry continued. “One man cannot rule over a Diet of many proud independent nobles; certainly not the son of a peasant from Croatia. But with guile one man could rule over another one man, a King, and thereby rule by extension. And there is the rub. Everything Kolar has done, everything he has schemed for has been to that end – a simple power grab.”

In alarm Dusan turned and began to run. Leaping forward, Otto swung his cane upward smashing it into the magician's jaw sending him sprawling backwards. Reversing his grip, Otto drew the blade and stabbed it down through the prone man's right leg and into the dirt, pinning him to the earth.

"The Kaiser did not give you leave to go," growled Otto as the magician howled in agony.

“And what you have done to engineer that grab for power, Kolar! What a performance! How much time and thought and effort you have poured into it. Such virtuosity! When we first met in Croatia and you “foretold” my father’s death: what chutzpah! Finding the Holy Grail: was ever such a wondrous object put to such a low use! You played on my foolish beliefs – played on my superstitions, my crisis of faith and my self-doubt.”

“But, oh Kolar, you blew it at the end: enlisting my father for your cause. What were you thinking? If I opposed everything my father stood for in his life, why ever would I follow him after his death?”

Henry stopped and remembered tending to the brutalised corpse of Pope Gregory.

“Even if my father did speak to me after death, even if he commanded every spectre and demon from hell, I would throw myself on the fire before listening.”

Henry laughed sardonically. “At least then the two of us might share something, I suppose.”

Otto, kneeling over Kolar as he writhed in the dirt, looked up to the Kaiser, "What should be done with this schwein, mein Kaiser?"

“Done with him? Nothing. He can go. Send him back to Croatia, to live in his parent’s mud cottage. In the light, he has no power. Alone, he is nothing; just an insignificant charlatan. I remove him from my retinue, but I will not sully my hands with his blood.”

Otto, with a quick pull, removed his blade from the magician's leg, Kolar screamed again. Sheathing the blade, and throwing the cane aside, Otto stood and faced the Kaiser.

"What is to be done now, your Majesty? I assume you will still take Jerusalem? I can take this trash back with me to Acre and send him on the first leaky boat to Croatia."

“Oh, Otto!” exclaimed Henry, in exhaustion, clasping the Duke by the shoulders. “I am so sorry for all I have put you through. I wanted to test Dusan, to find out his intentions, to get him to show his hand. I confess I did not know if he was an agent of the devil or the talented fraud he is revealed to be now. I had to keep you distant, to push you away by petty reprimands and neglect. I sent Hans away too. If Dusan thought either of you still held my trust, your lives would have been in danger.”

“But now this affair is over, we will start afresh and do things right. You will take command of this army and lead the siege of Jerusalem. After all, as King of Outremer, it is only fitting that the honour should fall to you. I did not lie when I said there has been a change of plan – your reign as King will start now, not when I leave office as we had planned."

Otto looked downward with shock and gratitude playing across his face, "Kaiser. . .I would be honored to accept the position and to lead the attack."

"The aim of my Chancellorship has been to establish Outremer under a proper constitution. To prove to the Diet that the Kingdom works, we must run it as it will be run – with a King who is separate from Kaiser and Chancellor. You will return Jerusalem to the Papacy, as we have pledged. Me, I will head north. You will guard Acre and Jerusalem. I will see what else needs to be done in the east. Securing Damascus, perhaps? Or even attending to those horse lords I mentioned. Not everything I said was in jest.”
Otto bowed to the Kaiser.

"As you command, your Majesty. I serve you and the Reich."

Slowly Otto's mouth quirked up in a lop-sided smile and he thought the next time you want to smoke out a rat, mein Kaiser, I would appreciate a messenger.

*****

“I don’t care what the Kaiser said: if Horst is dead, so are you.” Kurt hissed at Dusan in private afterwards.

Dusan looked at the veteran warrior, the magician’s eyes dulled, whether by his disgrace or by the pain caused by Otto’s sword cane: “Relax: I was not through with him.”

Kurt smashed his mailed fist onto Dusan’s leg wound.

“You should be proud of your Teuton.” Dusan grimaced, enduring the pain stoically. “He consistently denied telling you about the chalice, whatever I did to him. The Hashashins with me swore they had never seen a man hold out so stubbornly.”

Kurt fought back the urge to strike Dusan again. “Why did you think he had anything to do with the disappearance of the chalice? That was my work – Horst was not involved!”

“Yes, that’s what he said. But he had to be lying: only he and I knew about the chalice.” Dusan mused. The light came back into pagan magician’s eyes, as he narrowed them in puzzlement: “Tell me, exactly how did you come to learn about the existence of the grail?”

Kurt looked at the wounded magician with contempt and produced a ruffled note from his pocket: “I received this note anonymously. It warned me that you were using a magical chalice to control the Kaiser.”

Dusan snatched the note and cried out in frustration. The note was in Henry's hand.

[FactionHeir]

The sea, 1214

Hans leaned his arms against the massive railing of the holk that was to transport him to Constantinople. It was not going to be a friendly trip to the eastern Christian allies as one would have thought, as the city had recently fallen to the invading Magyar hordes.
Magyar. Barbarians. thought Hans. He remembered only too well his last encounter with these Barabarian turned Christian horse lovers back when he traversed their lands to join the crusade to Jerusalem. He had been travelling with only a small entourage selected by his now close assoiate Adalberth and the Hungarians managed to find their camp after a blunder one of his men made.
It cost him dearly. Even to this date, Hans remembered the young soldiers who fought to the last breath to help him fight a way through the vast lines of spears and horses and reach Byzantine territory safely. Every single one of them died, save Adalberth who was severely wounded, and Hans also took away some marks of battle. Subconsciously, Hans rubbed one of the scars that a bolt inflicted on his arm.
He knew that he couldn't keep thinking back to this grim day where he was responsible for the men he was leading and failed. He had to be optimistic, look towards the future and prepare a battle plan for the upcoming siege of Constantinople. Yet it was difficult. He would face his old foes again, this time with an army of his own, but would he succeed? He didn't know, but deep inside, he could feel a burning hatred towards these Hungarians.
They weren't fit to breathe the same air as honest Germans and one day the empire would make them its servants...one day. But until then, much would have to be done. He thought back to the days in the outremer, crusading with his father and uncles, the first victory he savored and how he felt ill afterwards spilling so much blood. It was nothing but heathen blood, he corrected himself, but he knew it was blood nonetheless, and spilling it was an offence.
Some less pious men would say that it is necessary and it was done to establish god's peace, but he was not sure whether this was true. He had left not a single survivor, not a single prisoner then, but at his second battle north of Adana, Hans had more mercy with the heathens. He actually captured over three hundred of them, yet all for naught. The Turks would not pay and he knew he could not let them live. Not after what they had done to his men. His soldiers who lost a father, brother or friend would not look kindly upon a man who lets a heathen go so he could string his bow anew and spit more venom.
He looked away when they were executed and had one of his subordinates give the order to perform the grisly work, for he could not let the dark curse Altman spoke of get the better of him. That was before the conversation at Acre. Yet even then Hans knew that being chivalrous would not be easy yet would be necessary. And now ... Hans looked over to the bear of a man to his left. Dirk Freihafen was his name. Once his father's loyal bodyguard and now his own.
Hans wondered what compelled him to join him on this quest or even for the rest of his life. The man had not spoken much and was one of few words even when spoken to. A mysterium and maybe better so. Talkative subordinates would only spell doom for their masters he noted, but could he be sure of Dirk's loyalty without knowing anything about him?
He was about to find out. "Dirk" Hans opened, getting the man's attention. "How is it you joined me?" but there came no answer, just a grimace. "And why is it that you and Altman seemed rather...spooked at the docks?" Another grimace. Hans was determined to get his answers and so he dug further, "What did you mean when you said that someone woke up with a headache after giving me this...grail?" At the mention of grail, Dirk seemed somewhat uneasy and slowly, with Hans' gaze prodding him, began to speak.
"Well, your ... highness, let's just say I had to do something necessary so the empire would not succumb to the corruption of its emperor." Hans, becoming both nervous and curious certainly was not satisfied with that answer, and inquired "And why would I not have you hung for saying such things about my father?" Dirk did not seem all too disturbed by Hans' threat, thinking that he was but a young and inexperienced man, yet replied in earnest "You know of Kolar?" Hans nodded "Altman said he was controlling the emperor and corrupting his personality to take Jerusalem for himself. The emperor has recently acted increasingly strange and improper"
Hans raised an eyebrow. That cannot be true can it? If this is true, we shall set sail and return immediately so I can see my father and slay this snake. "Nnn..no, you must not your highness, it must be taken far away from him, it must not go back!" Dirk exclaimed, showing signs of worry on his rugged face. "And why is that? Do you not know that this chalice is the holy grail the books of old tell about? How can such a holy object be abused for an act this perverse?" Hans grew restless. Could this grail really be corrupted and even change him for the worse after all he had been through? "This magician has powers my lord, only after your father had the chalice in his posession did he grow darker!"
"If that is the case, maybe we should throw it overboard now." Hans noted. "I ...I don't know if that would be wise young sir. Maybe it was only the magicians influence?" Hans had to agree. he did not know what this object was capable of and how it could be abused, but throwing a holy object of Christianity overboard certainly could be a sin Slowly Hans nodded, "Maybe...for now I shall hold onto it and see what happens, but I still do not know how it got into your posession" Dirk became somewhat embarassed at the last few words and quietly responded how he had drugged the teuton guarding the chalice using Otto's wine and stole it the very night to bring it to Acre.
Hans was surprised. How could Otto know about all this and not tell me? Am I really this unwanted as Altman said, being passed over at all times such as when Henry chose his heir or when he chose the Duke of Swabia? He had not told him too much about his ambitions either. "This story Altman spoke of, of this dark curse on the family, is it true? Am I as accursed as my father and grandfather? Am I destined to be like them? Or will I break the curse but be forgotten, passed over, ignored?" Dirk did not know what to say. In fact, he was not sure if anything he said would or could be positive and whether this young noble, who suddenly seemed much more dangerous than he had initially estimated would have his head for an inappropriate remark.
Nevertheless, he knew he had to say something, and maybe Hans would appreciate an honest opinion? "Uhh... well that was Altman who said it. I don't know much about politics but if you asked him..." "I want to know what you think." Hans quickly countered. "Well...um... I think Altman is probably right. He is much closer to the Duke of Kassel and your father than I am, and he knows many things....I mean he even planned this heist" Hans nodded again, confirmed in what he had thought. "Then maybe I will need to prove that I can both break the curse and not be forgotten", speaking more to himself than to Dirk, "maybe, if I can take Constantinople back, it is time for me to enter politics proper. May this be a test of both my faith and my fate."

~~~

Later that night, as Hans lay on his makeshift bed, he wondered to himself whether it was not his father and his legacy that was to blame but himself. Had he not alienated the other nobles by his actions? Afterall, he disobeyed his dear uncle Leopold by joining him at Budapest and 'abducting' the teutons that were supposed to escort him to his father's crusading army and then shows disloyalty towards Leopold by leaving him during the night when he had told him he would stay in the empire proper. He had also not supported Hümmel actively during the diet and voted against him as chancellor and even been more of a rogue player in Swabian politics, in an effort to stay more neutral, for better or worse. He had acted as if he was the prince and not Jobst and dreamed of becoming emperor one day, he thought. In those few years however, he had managed to alienate Leopold, his house and the crusaders, and he could feel the disdain the older men felt for him when he finally joined them, even though they were rather merry after the victory against the heathen army. Before the taking of Acre, he could feel how they had all allied against him and it was only for Otto's kindness that he was allowed to take Acre while Otto battled the hordes to the south. Maybe it was time to set things right...to atone for his young pride and hunger for adventure. Maybe...it was time he apologized and worked towards the future of the empire...not as emperor, but maybe as chancellor? It would certainly be a test of whether anyone still had some faith in him or not. But what if they don't? he prodded himself. Then I will just have to do what I feel is in the empire's best interest and be a good servant and just have to hope I do break this curse Altman spoke of. The curse. Maybe he should also write his father about it? Confront him? Hans pondered. The time for that was maybe not yet. But can I really leave this thought to plague me, to influence me and to eat away at my soul? Infused with new will, Hans jumped out of bed and walked over to the small desk. It would be a long night...

[Northnovas]

Florence 1212

Dear Father,

I enjoyed your last correspondence and I am sad to hear that you are carrying that cough from the winter. I hope your health holds so we can meet in Ragusa; it has been awhile since we last sit and talked.
I am told that things are going well with the wedding arrangements. When you told me of this proposition several years ago I thought it I thought you were crazy your son being married into the Royal Family. I hear that Meckil is a beautiful woman with grace and charm and thought she would have found a suitor long ago. I guess the Duke has his standards.
I have done considerable travel in Northern Italy since my days here at Seminary school. I know there are still some hurt feelings of me not finishing and doing my work within the church. I have learned from my travels that I can work for God outside of the church and possible have more influence then a priest in a local parish. I followed up your advice and met some of the Reich’s nobles here in Italy. One particular noble was Conrad Sailer the Governor of Rome. A very interest fellow; rather pious when I observe his mannerism at the table or in Mass he shows that of formal training but does not speak of attending any seminary school. I also learned that I will be travelling with him to Ragusa. He is an interesting conversationalist and hopefully will pass the time on that dreaded ship.
It is with regret that I did not get to Venice to meet the Count and discuss the viability of some business deals. I know this was another option I missed out on with the family business and travelling abroad trading exotic goods and wares. I do remember long back when I was very young and went with Uncle Ziggy with his caravan East. Those years spend there are still vivid with the strange customs, food and people.
This is why I felt compelled to write before our meet in case we don’t. I am truly grateful for what you have done for me and knowing that your legacy will continue. I am eager to accept this new responsibility in my life. However, my sense of adventure is still with me. I am no longer a wander looking and drifting around without purpose. I have recognized my calling and am finding the Lord’s work back in that mysterious land of the East. I know you are thinking it is time to settle; I will have a new wife and family should be the next priority. My responsibility should be at home managing the lands.
However, I feel compelled to the Kaiser’s calling and Duke Leopold is looking for Austrian nobles to fight in the East. I have learned many things in my travels and educated in some fine institutions but it is learning and not doing. I can ride a horse well but can I lead men into battle? I have studied the strategies and tactics of our military men but have not fought a battle. How can I prove to the Duke that he has a worthy son and provider for his only daughter if I cannot fight in battle? He is the greatest General in the Reich! I do not want to show that he has a son who is a good administrator managing crops and taxes. I have to be able to demonstrate that I am capable to taking arms and fighting for Reich. You have learned me a great deal in life skills and the art of war was not to your liking. I will now take on a new mentor and learn what I can to protect everything that you have believed and worked in your life. The Duke's reputation precedes him but I am not concerned. I have met meaner men within our Church!
When I get to Ragusa I will ask the Duke’s permission to be a representative for the Austrian House in the East.
I pray that your health holds so that we may meet once more.

Your Faithful and Loving son,

Karl

Letter to the Count of Zagreb from his son Karl Zirn

[Ituralde]

Thessalonica, 1212:

This is a coop story between Kagemusha and Ituralde



It was a small hill just to the north of Thessalonica, where the Duke of Austria had set up the main camp of his besieging army. The city was well-defended so with the prospect of a prolonged siege the battlements of the besiegers have also grown in size to prevent a possible counter-attack. In the middle of the camp on a small outcrop sat the largest tent by far, guarded by soldiers with messengers entering and leaving. It was clear that here all the generals and officers sat together to plan the future strategies. A little off to the right was a smaller tent, undistinguishable from the others if it hadn't been for the single guard standing outside.

It was this tent that Jonas von Mahren had been ordered to shortly after his arrival. As he entered he could see the spartan interior. Besides a cot, a stout chest and two chairs around a makeshift table the only thing of interest in the room was the man he was here to meet, Duke Leopold of Austria

Leopold looked up as the younger man entered his tent outside of Thessalonica. Putting away for the moment his thoughts about the siege and eventual assault, he raises and turns to the newcomer.

"Welcome Jonas von Mahren! I am glad you could join us here on the way back to the Reich. Sit down."

Pointing to a makeshift chair in front of the table, Leopold had been sitting at. Slowly Leopold walks to a small chest where a decanter containing wine and two cups had been placed. Filling them he walks over to the table and hands one over to von Mahren before settling in front of him. Taking a small sip from his goblet he eyes the younger man in front of him. Waiting a little he finally breaks the silence.

"I envy you Jonas von Mahren, I do. You had the honour of travelling with Dietrich von Saxony all the way to the end. He was a great man and a dear friend to me. I wonder what it was like with him on the Crusade?"

He waits a second but before the other man can respond he goes on: "But that's neither here nor there. We have no time today to reminisce about the past. I see you have returned from the Crusade safely? Much has happened since you left. Things change."

Von Mahren takes a long sip from his wine and replies.

"Mein Duke. To be honest I think it was honorable quest, but the reality of the journey wasnt what I expected when we departed from the Reich.
Truly we were successful and fought many great battles destroying the heathens that we faced, but for me personally it was a campaign among campaigns. For Dietrich, God bless him in heaven, it was some kind of meeting with destiny. I must say that Levant wasnt for my liking, filled with heathens and their strange habits. Most of the time I just waited for the time for me to get back to my family.
If I can ask sire, have you heard any news from Magdeburg about my family?"

Leopold looks questioningly: "I thought that visiting Jerusalem is supposed to be uplifting for every Christian? Well, I'm not here to discuss the spirituality of the Holy Land. I hope in time I will be able to see it for myself and make my own judgement."

"I have indeed news from your family. This is in fact the main reason for our talk today. When you left for the Crusade you were in charge of Prague and did a formidable job of defending Austria. Once you left your family decided to stay and in return for your services I have given them a fair share of Austrian land to call their own. In fact the entanglement of your family with Austria and your past achievements have led me to propose the title of Count of Prague to your eldest son Ehrhart von Mahren which would elevate him to Austrian nobility."

Leopold smiles a thin smile awaiting the mans reaction. Then he quickly raises his hand:

"Before you say anything. I have talked about this with your sons and they seemed quite willing to accept. As you know the House of Austria has grown large but is lacking nobles of suitable quality, whereas Franconia has plenty of young men at their disposal. There is ample opportunity of advancement. Your oldest sons are currently staying in Ragusa and await your word on this matter. They feel your consent is necessary and I agree with them. Choose your words wisely though, this is a great opportunity for your family and I hope you seize it.

Von Mahren mutters to himself.

"In Prague? I wonder why my wife has not mentioned that."

Then he raises his head,looks Leopold in the eyes and continues.

"It has been long since I have been home and I regret that I didnt have the opportunity to witness my sons growing up as men.
Mein Duke, if you see that my son´s have served your house so well that they have earned titles and lands. Who am I to question your judgement in that matter. I am fully aware that my boys are not children anymore and they should carve their own path in this world."

Jonas scratches his head for a moment and then continues.

"You know that I hold the title of Count of Magdeburg myself and the laws of the reich say that I can't hold titles in two Houses simultaneously. I will have to talk with my own Duke Von Kastillien, so I will know what he thinks about these matters. But basically I understand that you are in need of able young men and it seems that my sons have decided to align themselves more to Austria than to Franconia. So I will not prevent them from serving you. I hope this answer is enough for you."

Jonas takes a quick sip from his wine and continues.

"My journey on sea was a bit long and I couldn't receive any news during it. Has there been any matters of importance after I boarded my ship in Jerusalem. The only rumours I have heard have been about Kaiser Henry and that there has been some strange happenings around him. Have you received any news concerning that?

Leopold sighs deeply: "I don't know when you boarded ship, but the way I understood it, Emperor Henry seems to have recovered from whatever mood he was in. Some advisor of his has been replaced. Further than that I can't offer any information."

Leopolds lips curve in a slight smile: " But let us focus on your decision: I am glad that you will not hinder your children from advancement within the House of Austria." He raises his goblet in a toast.

"You don't need to worry about your allegiance to Franconia or your Duke. Your title as Count of Magdeburg will remain uncontested. This deal is for now limited to your children, unless you want to join Austrian Nobility too? Although this might cause even more problems with Duke von Kastillien than the current arrangement."

Von Mahren stands up, shakes Leopold´s hand and says.

"Well then it is settled. My sons will help you protecting Austria and I will continue fighting for Franconia. I hope my sons will serve you honorable and will give great prestige to the Von Mahren name."

Jonas smiles a bit and continues.

"If you will excuse me now,i would like to leave from here and travel to Prague to see my wife and children. It has been far too long since i have seen them the last time."

Leopold rises too and smiles at the younger man in front of him:

"There is actually one last favour I would have to ask you. I will be leaving on a second Crusade for Damascus and with the situation it is know, I'm the only Austrian who knows how to lead an army." He chuckles lightly as this. "I would be honoured, and I think it would only be fitting for your services, if you got command over the Austrian Household Army. You will either be joined by your sons here in Thessalonica or return to Ragusa. I find it only fitting that you should be the one to acquaintance your sons with the trade of leading an army. What do you say to this? As a last service to the House of Austria? This should give you a lot of time with your family too."

He looks at Jonas expectingly, who replies:

"Of course. I understand that there is no time to waste and you must hurry so you wont be late for the Crusade. I will take over the siege, but you of course have to understand that once the city has fallen I must leave to Franconia via Prague. I hope you best of luck on the Crusade. Give my best regards to the Kaiser and the nobles in the Levant. If this will be the last time we meet, farewell and may God be with you."

Leopold nods solemnly, taking another step forward he shakes hands with Jonas von Mahren for the last time. "And may God be with you!" Before the younger man leaves the tent again.

[econ21]

The road to Damascus, south of Baghdad, 1218

The riders seemed so at ease with their short mounts, it was as if they were centaurs - man and horse joined at the hip. Athalwolf Engel watched their casual movements and easy control with admiration. The horsemen in front of him appeared far more formidable than the mercenary Turcomans that the Imperials employed as mercenaries. The closest comparators Athalwolf could think of were the elite Mameluk archers. But these small men in front of him were mustering in such numbers, it was clear they were far from “elite”.

“How many armies are there?” Athalwolf asked the marsh Arab.

“Five. That we know of.” said his informer.

Athalwolf nodded - making a quick headcount of the size of the Imperial forces in Outremer. Even if the Germans were not spread over five provinces, the horse lords outnumbered them by as much as two to one. War with them would be difficult - but not impossible. Eventually, the crusade on Damascus would arrive, and Prinz Hans’ expedition would return from Constantinople. Given time, the Germans could match the horse lords.

“Five armies that have been sent here.” clarified the marsh Arab.

“Yes, I’ve heard their lands are extensive. These men, here - they are just part of their great horde?”

“The power of the horse lords cannot be exaggerated.” said the Arab. “Your Empire is the mightiest in Europe. But it is tiny compared to that of the horse lords. Their realm stretches east as far as the world extends.”

“Desert and steppe” said Athalwolf dismissively.

The marsh Arab shrugged; he was paid to provide information, not debate his employer’s prejudices.

Athalwolf turned to the one question above all that Henry wanted to know: “Where are they heading? North to Baghdad? Northeast to Edessa?”

The marsh Arab shook his head: “I do not know. They are too wily to announce their intentions. And I am too wily to ask.”

“But you suspect…?” inquired Athalwolf.

“Sir, they are marching up this desert road, yes?”

Athalwolf nodded.

“And where does this road lead?”

The Imperial spy looked uncomfortable - the Arab was making him look like an idiot. But Damascus? Why Damascus? The Reich wanted Damascus to screen Jerusalem…

Athalwolf looked in alarm at the marsh Arab. “Mother of God, they are not heading for the Holy City are they?”

The marsh Arab shrugged again. “I said - I do not know; they do not broadcast their intentions. But Jerusalem is a huge city - the largest city in the Near East until Constantinople. Your Kaiser helped see to that - sparing the multitude when he took it. And the Papacy has fed the crowd, lowering taxes in a desperate attempt to buy loyalty. The city has thrived on low taxes and pilgrims.”

“How come you know so much?” said Athalwolf, with a mixture of surprise, admiration and resentment.

“If I did not know so much, you would not pay me so well.” smiled the marsh Arab, extending his open palm to the Imperial spy.

After paying his informant, Athalwolf slipped out of the desert town and began to head back north quickly. The Reich had to know - Duke Leopold was not just racing the Spanish and the Danes for Damascus. And Henry and Otto had to know - their mission of protecting Jerusalem had just gotten a whole lot harder.

[econ21]

Stockholm, 1218

Prince Hakkon eyed his visitor carefully: “The Kaiser said what?”

The Prince’s guest consulted some parchment: “He said ‘I have a mind to find the young Prince and assassinate the cur instead, but no doubt father and son deserve each other’”

Hakkon bridled: “Insufferable, ignorant fool!”

To the guest, it was not clear which angered Hakkon most: Henry’s death threat; being called a dog; or the fact that the Kaiser's reference to a "young" Prince revealed he had been ignorant of 54 year old Haakon’s existence.

“Just because the Reich is so large, they believe they can do anything, say anything. And he said that in a public report to the Diet?”

“Yes, but such reports are not public - only a few of the most influential Electors are privy to those reports. I doubt your King has been informed.”

The Prince sat down. The Danish King Charles was in Antwerp, fighting a long war with the English and Scots. But even so, if the Prince’s treason were common knowledge, Haakon’s position in Stockholm would be under threat. Civil war would be the probable result.

The Prince’s guest said cautiously: “There may be a way you can remove the King. And avenge the Kaiser’s insult.”

Hakkon examined his guest watchfully: “I am listening.”

“You have loyal men in the General Harald’s crusade? Men you can trust?”

“I have loyal men everywhere.”

“Good. My associates have people with Prinz Jobst. Perhaps something can be arranged?”

*****

Swabia, 1218

They were coming - Luka Radman had to work fast. The Danish crusade was marching blind - Prince Hakkon’s men had seen to that. Likewise, Luka had diverted Prinz Jobst’s patrols. The Danish crusade was lumbering unknowingly towards the Imperial army resting peacefully at camp.

Carefully, he led his band of men - clad in red and white - towards the Imperial pickets outside the Prinz’s camp.

“Kill all but one. Let one escape. Make sure he sees you. But make his escape look genuine. How’s your Norse?”

“Not so bad.” the ruffian replied, in passable Norse.

“Good - make sure he hears you too then.” smiled Luka.

*****

Prinz Jobst could not believe it. Here he was, in the heart of the Reich, leading his Army of the Interior to hunt down rebels and suddenly, there was a hostile Danish army bearing down on him. He turned to the wounded survivor in front of him:

“You are sure the men that attacked our pickets were Danes?”

“They wore the Danish livery. And I heard one talking after they had killed everyone else. I could understand some of the words - they are common to our tongue too - but others were different. It was Norse; I’ve met Norsemen before.”

“But why?” asked the Prinz, “It makes no sense? Why would a Danish army be here? Attacking us?”

Luka spoke up: “With Duke Scherer tied up in Rheims, the entire western front is open. Anyway, with the war on France, our frontier with Danish held Antwerp has never been watched carefully.”

Prinz Jobst looked at his advisor: “That may explain the how, but not the why?”

Luka shrugged: “When a man is trying to cut your throat, do you stop and ask why?”

The Prinz nodded reluctantly. “What do we know about the Danish army?”

“They are double your strength. Your only chance is to strike fast and surprise them.”

Prinz Jobst looked at the wounded soldier in front of him: “Sound the call to arms - deploy for battle!”

*****

Stockholm

Prinz Haakon watched his guest leave. Had he gone too far? Conspire to cause a war between his country and the mighty German Reich? When the battle came, who would prevail? The Danish crusade or the Imperial Army of the Interior?

And then, how would the Germans respond? Would they take Antwerp, finishing King Charles, as his mysterious guest had promised? Or would they march north and threaten Stockholm as Haakon feared?

“May God have mercy on my soul.” thought Haakon as he gave a last look at his guest leaving the palace - a tall figure in a swirling black cloak, walking with a limp.

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Denmark and the HRE blunder into war.

[FactionHeir]

Western coast of Smyrna, Winter 1219

Hans had planned to disembark this year still off Constantinople so he could engage the Hungarians forces guarding it. That plan had been delayed by his father's orders to have his fleet wait off Iraklion for the merchant expedition to join his. He shook his head at this move. How could my father delay a mission of such importance only to merge these fleets? Either was large enough to not have to fear the pirates that scoured these waters and the Byzantine navy that was guarding the passages around Greece would come to our aid if someone were so bold as to attack us.

It would certainly delay his plans and he could only hope that the Byzantines were on schedule, for when he docked near Smyrna a week back, he had forged a new plan with the Imperial allies for taking back Constantinople. A cunning plan indeed.

Hans had sent messengers to spread rumors that a large Imperial fleet was about to land south of Constantinople to retake the city for Christendom, hoping to prompt the Hungarians to leave their newly acquired city in a less defended state while diverted their attention southwards to fend off the invasion force. In the meantime, the Byzantines would lurk in the mountains east of Constantinople and watch the Magyar movements, striking if everything went like plan, waiting if the Hungarians were to hold on to their city so they could engage together with Hans' force. Truly a loss-loss situation for the poor barbarians, Hans smirked, finally spotting the sails of the small merchant fleet that was to merge with his, and giving orders to sail north for Constantinople.

Shores of Constantinople, Spring 1220

It seemed quite like his plan worked out. Before his fleet even disembarked onto the coast, the lookout had called down that some Hungarian banners could be spotted on a hill overlooking the coast. Good, they seem to think they can make me turn back by showing their presence. They will be disappointed, Hans thought to himself. But this also meant that the Byzantines had probably taken Constantinople or were at least laying siege to it. Hans was not too happy about this. He had hoped to claim Constantinople and give it back to the Byzantines as a show of good faith, but this would no longer be possible. However, his allies would still be just as glad about regaining their former capital, for it was only because of Hans' plan that they achieved this. Now it would be time for Hans to keep to the second part of his plan: To drive the barbarians back into their lands for good. Although the enemy host was considerably larger and better trained, he would not show cowardice and turn back now, not after reading Leopold's letter.

OOC note: It is assumed that in 1220, Hans fleet already moved north to stop just off the coast of Constantinople near the Hungarian army.

[FactionHeir]

Rome, Autumn 1220

It was a cold Autmn night in this capital of the empire, the wind howling as if in agony, taking yellow leaves with it where it went. Citizens were far and few on the streets that night, and those that were, hurried with cowls over their head from here to there.

Yet for one man, the shiver that this night ran over the backs of others was absent. Hans was oblivious to the world around him as he strode towards a small villa where he had taken up residence. The ballot seemed clear, I am now chancellor. was what went through this young man's mind as he walked. But I now also bear the responsibility of leading this empire, to prevent it from crumbling, to defend it with all costs. The taverns were filled with thirsty men and those who dared not go outside as a storm was anticipated on the horizon. The locals seem not too concerned about their fate and what is happening in our empire. All they care about is cheap wine, women, and a place to stay. Hans sighed. Sometimes I wish life was this easy too, but.... Shaking his head at his improper thoughts No. I must not lose focus now. Too much is in my hands to lead, it was my own choice to stand and now it must be me who honors the trust all these men put in me. Hans accelerated his movement at these words in his mind. But what to do first? The crusade? The conquest of France? The investigation near Staufen? The buildings? Or even the taking of Thorn? His eyes narrowed. Thorn. He wanted to retake it. Yet Franconia voted united against him. Should he leave this to the last? Show them their insolence would lead nowhere? A truly ironic name that. Like a thorn in my side. Maybe I should take it myself and gift it back to the Franconians with them begging at my feet? Hans smirked subconciously But no, I must keep to the ideals that I have been taught. It is much too easy to fall from the path of chivalry. Muttering to himself, he continued yet what of revenge? Was that acceptable? What would his father, or Leopold say if they heard him like this? Hans took a deep breath in... Henry would tell him to do what is best for the empire, as any emperor would, as he himself had taught to be like. Leopold. He would call him a coward for being so indecisive, pondering all the time and not acting....and out....Coward. He only too well remembered those words when he read them. And were they not true, in this extended meaning? Hans clenched his fists It would be upon him to prove otherwise. He would retake Thorn immediately for chivalry's sake and utterly destroy the Hungarians that pillaged their Byzantine ally's lands. And maybe make his own way to Sofia. The citadel he had once passed with only his small entourage and the Hungarians pouring out the gates to pursue him. It would only be too fitting to finally take this place to hold the borders better. But was it also for revenge? Hans stopped. He seemed to have gotten off the road home and now stood at the cathedral of Rome. Maybe it would be a good idea to pray and reconsider these thoughts, or maybe get god's blessing for them. And with this in mind, he slowly pushed open the heavy doors to the holy interior.

[TinCow]

He was sweating heavily. The thick woolen padding prevented any crippling damage from the blunted practice blades, but it was not designed for comfort during the hot Roman summers. Lothar took a step back, away from his circling opponent, and quickly shifted the three foot arming sword to his left hand. He wiped his hand on his thigh pad, then scooped up a fistful of dirt and ground it into his palm. It took only a moment, but it was an opening he knew would not be ignored.

The tip of the man’s sword flicked out to the right, but the weight on his left foot showed his true intent. With dirt still filling his right hand, Lothar dropped the tip of his still, angling the sword across the front of his torso. His left arm was not strong enough to stop the blow, but he kept his wrist loose and stepped into the attack with his left foot, turning his body outwards at the same time. The man’s blade slid off his own with a shriek, the force of his blow carrying his arm down and across Lothar’s right side.

In the blink of an eye, the young Bavarian flipped his weapon back into his right hand and lashed out with a wicked cut. He put all of his strength into the back handed slash. The blow would have taken the man’s right arm off below the armpit, had the blade been sharpened. With his mind’s eye he saw a fountain of blood erupting from the severed limb; the shocked expression on the face of a man who did not yet understand that he was dead. At least that was what would have happened, had the man’s arm had still been there. Instead of hitting padded armor and flesh, his blade met only air.

With his sword swinging wide into empty space, it would take precious seconds to reverse the momentum and bring it back to guard his now wide-open body. Seconds he did not have. In desperation, Lothar backpedaled, but it was useless. Before he had managed half a step, he felt cool steel sliding up the right side of his throat. Even though the edge had been rounded off, the sheer speed of the thrust drew a long line of blood. He shouted in pain and dropped his sword.

The man stood up from the crouch and threw a dirty rag in his face. “Arrogance!” He spat on the ground. “What did you think you were doing?!”

Lothar clasped the cloth to his neck and breathed heavily. “Your right was open. You put in too much weight to pull back.”

“But not too much to go forward!” Adelman, weapons master to the House of Bavaria, growled. “Never move without planning for failure as well as success!” He stepped forward, his grizzled face towering over the still growing teenager, and slapped Lothar hard on the side of the head. “You did not think, dummkopf! You celebrated victory when the battle was not yet over!”

The young Steffen bit back an acidic retort. Of all his teachers, Adelman was the only one he respected, but even so it was difficult to restrain himself. Strategy, tactics, combat, these he excelled at beyond all his peers. Few adults could best him in combat, let alone war games, yet for all that there was the indisputable fact that had the battle been real, he would have less than a minute to live before he died of blood loss.

Adelman snorted. “Good, at least you’re learning when to keep your mouth shut. Go clean yourself up, we’re done for today.” Lothar bowed and left. The weapons master was low born, peasant stock, but on the practice field he outranked even a Duke. His first day of training with Adelman had been on his tenth birthday, over six years before, but he still remembered the first lesson clearly. Though he had yet to experience the flush of manhood, Lothar had stood at the edge of the field and ordered Adelman to kneel. He had been rewarded with a laugh and a boot to the chest. The Bavarian weapons master had stood over him, his eyes cold and disparaging. “On this field, nobility is earned, not inherited. You will bow to me at the beginning and end of every lesson. Until you can best me in combat, you are not worthy of respect.” Six years later, Lothar was still bowing.

He left the practice field in a foul mood and stalked the dark halls of the manor. It was a cavernous place, built for a corrupt Milanese Cardinal who had decorated it with paintings and friezes of the most appalling nature. The grand bedroom had been adorned with a disturbingly large number of scenes of the Virgin Mary, nude. His father had stripped the place bare and replaced all religious scenes with dark tapestries and captured weapons and armor. There were rumors that one particular sword, hung over Gerhard’s bed, was the very weapon Pope Gregory had wielded in his final battle with Kaiser Heinrich.

A few servants approached him in the hallway, but the sneer on his face kept them at bay. It was with relief when he finally reached his bed chamber and shut the door behind him. I am the eldest son of the Steward of Bavaria. My father leads the greatest House in the Reich and rode with Kaiser Heinrich in his war against Pope Gregory. By the time I was thirteen, I already knew more about combat and military command than most nobles will ever hope to understand in their entire lives. Yet none of them take me seriously. The Diet disregards me; they laugh at me. They think I am a child still.

His eyes were drawn to a shape resting on the corner of his writing desk. It was a large bundle, wrapped in rough burlap and tied with twine. Lothar loosened the knot and opened the package. Inside was a smooth, folded cloth; black as pitch and soft as silk. As he lifted it, the layers opened to reveal a thick, body-length cloak with a cavernous hood. On the inside of the cowl was a small red marking, no larger than his thumbnail. When worn, it would be invisible to all, pressed against the back of his head. He raised the mark to the light and gazed at it. In small, exquisitely embroidered stitching was an all-seeing eye.

I am not a child any longer.

[econ21]

The bridge to Edessa, 1220 AD

Elberhard strode into the officer’s mess and clapped Kurt Altman on the shoulder:

“So, you old @#$%^&!!!, you’re finally going to get a chance to rip those @#$%^&!!!s at Edessa a new @#$%^&!!!, eh?!?”

Kurt looked round at the young prince with the pained expression of Ernest, Henry’s guard dog, being tormented by an irritatingly energetic young puppy.

“Master Elberhard,” Kurt touched his forehead in deference. “Your father has not confided his plans in me, you’d best be talking to him yourself.”

Elberhard turned round a chair and sat astride it, grabbing a leg of mutton from the table.

“Oh, @#$%^&!!! The old @#$%^&!!!’s not going all quiet and mysterious again is he?” Elberhard groaned, in an exaggerated world weary drawl.

Kurt gritted his teeth. “I am not sure as I rightly know to what you are referring to, young Master.”

Elberhard guffawed, spraying half digested mutton over the table. “Don’t @#$%^&!!! me, Kurt! You know what they say: you can’t @#$%^&!!! a @#$%^&!!!er! That @#$%^&!!! Kolar, that’s what I’m @#$%^&!!!ing referring to, as if you did not know."

Kurt stolidly munched on his food in silence, not giving anything away. Elberhard eyed him up carefully and continued:

"Man, he was one sly, smart son of a @#$%^&!!! Plans within plans, schemes and cons played out over decades. And yet, you know what the strange thing is? All he ever did, he did for the Reich. You may question his methods, but the old @#$%^&!!!er was our @#$%^&!!!er.”

Then, lightly, like a puppy tiring of a reluctant adult playmate, Elberhard sprang up and looked about, as if ready to leave:

“Got any women, here, Kurt?”

“What?” blurted out Kurt in shock, then quickly, “I am sorry, Sir, what did you say?”

“Oh, I forgot, you all think you are still on a @#$%^&!!!ing crusade to save Christendom, don’t you?” Elberhard laughed. “Pity you had to send Dirk away - he was the only one of you @#$%^&!!!ers who was any fun!”

With that, Elberhard threw the half-eaten leg of mutton on the table and strode off in search of his father.

Kurt looked gave a wry smile to the earnest Teuton sitting next to him: “Thank God they elected the other son.”

*****

Henry was finishing the last part of his letter to King Otto:

…I am far from convinced we should press the attack on Edessa in the face of the approach of the Mongols. The city is formidably garrisoned and will require a full army to garrison due to religious differences.

Everything seems to hinge on Damascus. While the Egyptian fortress at Gaza might seem to threaten Acre, Jerusalem may act as a protective buffer. During my term in office, small Egyptian forces crossed Jerusalem province en route for Damascus. More importantly, the Mongols are heading there. If unchecked, I believe they will then move on to Jerusalem.

For this reason, I do not believe we will have the option of fighting them from the safety of our walls. Rather I think we should use the short time we both have on this earth, and our ability as night fighters, to thin the Mongol horde down so that when the crusade arrives at Damascus, the odds will be in their favour.

…

Elberhard walked into the Kaiser’s tent and coughed awkwardly. Henry looked up at his second son, carefully scrutinising his every feature and mannerism: such unpromising material, so unlike his brother. Where Hans was quiet and contemplative, Elberhard was loud and thoughtless. Where Hans planned and acted, Elberhard partied and postured. Still, the young man had some redeeming qualities - bravery, a sense of justice, a promising strategist… perhaps something would come of him one day?

Henry stood up awkwardly and Elberhard rushed forward to embrace his reserved father.

“So” said Elberhard “Time for round two with that Egyptian - what was the @#$..., I mean, what was the chap called again?”

“Medhat Kafur, I believe his name was.” supplied Henry diffidently. “But no, that fellow will be your responsibility, I fear.”

“What? Never thought you’d walk away from a good fight, father!” joshed Elberhard.

Henry smiled: “My glory-hunting days are over. Duke Otto warned me I would have only a few years to run wild. They are over now. I have but one or two battles left in me. I do, however, intend them to count.”

Elberhard looked puzzled.

Henry continued: “You have no doubt read Athalwolf’s reports from Baghdad?”

“Athalwolf? Why, err… well, you know, I haven’t quite got around to …”

“They are coming, you know. Not here, at least Athalwolf thinks not, but to Damascus or perhaps even directly to Jerusalem. I cannot leave King Otto alone to try to fend them off.”

For once, Elberhard was still and quiet.

“I intend to strike them first, before they even set eyes on the Holy City. I have no expectation that I will prevail. But I will strike them such a blow, it will give them pause. I am contacting Duke Otto. I expect he will also make a stand - perhaps on the bridge to Jerusalem. When we two are done with them, my brother’s crusade will only have to pick up the pieces. And Christendom will be saved.”

Elberhard looked at his father, resignedly signing his letter to King Otto and putting it to one side. In a rare moment of insight, it seemed to Elberhard as if his father was signing off on all his earthly attachments. Elberhard’s stomach felt empty as he realised this was probably the last time he would ever see his father again. @#$%^&!!! this for a game of soldiers, thought Elberhard sadly: My father’s become a religious fanatic. I preferred it when Kolar was in charge.

[Warluster]

1220, Stockholm

It was a dull night,broken only by howls of wind, the streets empty,beggers asleep amongst junk. A faint clippty clop broke the air occasionly, and a thud as wheels hit potholes.

In one of the houses of Stockholm,near the Prince's Lodgings, there was several Danish Rebels,all sitting around a table waiting for someone.

The door into the room opened silently, and in walked, no snuck, a man.

"We've been waiting for you Hugo" said one of the Rebels, the man,called Hugo, sat down opposite the only man sitting,the rest were standing.
"I was very quick, I nearly got caught!" exclaimed Hugo.
"I do not care,we're here to discuss...how to get you near the Prince" said the man, Hugo hissed.
"Do not say such things,in such company..." Hugo motioned to the men standing around them,all quite large. They flexed their muscles.
"There my bodyguards"
"Why do you need bodyguards? You are such a powerful man, good with weapons, you are ever so smart..." drawled Hugo, the man considered Dieter,
"Leave bodyguards, he is right" said the man. Dieter smiled inwardly,they never picked up on the flattering. Once the guards were gone, Hugo spoke,

"I am on a mission...from a unknown person, my master is currently residing North of Frankfurt" said Hugo, the Danish Rebel asked him to go on,
"I want to see the Prince, so we can prove he is alive"
"Is this possibly a mission from the German Emperor? Or perhaps your Imperial Diet?" asked the Danish Rebel, Hugo laughed,
"They think so, I was already moving here in 1214, no, I have not been taking orders from the Germans, but from another source..." said Hugo sneakily, the rebel eyed him suspicously,
"Who then..." wondered the rebel,
"Von Darm-!" Hugo was cut off as a bodyguard barged through the door,
"Sir! We've been tipped off from a source, some Danish Soldiers are coming to kill us!" said the bodyguard, outside there was panic as people ran like crazy, The Danish Rebel Leader looked at Hugo suspicously, but was convinced at Hugo's panicked look on his face,
"RuN! get as far away as you can!" said the Danish Rebel,
"You, Hugo, at 1 tomorrow the Prince has a afternoon nap, you can see he is alive then, now run!" yelled the Danish Rebel leader, and Hugo jumped through the window, and snuck off into a alley. It was all goign excellent...


North of Frankfurt, 1220 , the Site of the previous battle between Prince Jobst and the Danes

The pine trees waved in the midday sun, as gravel was crunched beneath feet. Birds chirped, as if to add tot he atmosphere. Pine cones littered the ground,some occasioly falling, as the sun blared from the sky.

But the day was not all peaceful, because amongst those peaceful trees layed hundreds of bodies, and a foul stench ruined the forests as crows feasted on dead flesh.

No living thing could sustain that stench, but standing amongst the hundreds of dead Danish and German bodies, was a man. Beside him stood a man.
"Fromt he looks we can't tell anything here..." said the man, he looked at the other man standing beside him,
"Can you...uh,sense anything Luka?" teased the man,
"Why Dieter, do you underestimate the powers of the Pagan Gods?" said the Pagan Magician Luka. The man called Dieter replied snappishly,
"Because I am no pagan Luka's, now where was I..." he drawled,
"Hugo better be done, he knows we are on a tight schedule, if we can find the Danish Prince at Stockholm, we can prove this was a fizzle" said Dieter. Luka stood straighter and observed the ground,
"Just there, one of Prinz Jobst's bodyguards, hm..." Luka's let out a gasp,
"And there is the Danish Family Member, but he is no prinz! Plus it looks as if he was slain by a Teutonic Knight!" said Luka, Dieter stood up and looked around, he spotted something at the edge of the forest. He pointed there,
"Why is there bodies there Luka...?" asked Dieter, the two men rushed over to the clearing and found,
"The two scouts, they were slain by the danes!" exclaimed Dieter,
"Which means..."
"That the Danish started this whole battle!"
Finally the mystery was solved, but not the problem...

Otuside Staufen,1220

Jobst was sitting in his command tent, going over the last few years events.
All the drama in the Diet, at least he still could command the EIA...

Luka's, his pagan magician came marching into the command tent, followed closely by a shorter person.
"Prinz Jobst, we just returned from the scene of battle,the battle which happened north of Frankfurt in 1218..."
"Yes Luka's,that one" said Jobst wearily,
"Along with me I brought the investigator... the German Offical Dieter Von Darmstadt" said Luka's, Dieter bowed,
"Mein prinz, I bring joyful news to you, we have confirmed your story, that your scouts were attacked first" said Dieter, Jobst grinned,
"Thankyou Dieter, you have my good will on your side." said Jobst,
"mein prinz,may I also discuss with you things my counterpart found in Stockholm, Hugo von Heidelbery has found...?" asked Dieter,
"Of course, Luka,leave us,tell Fritz too be ready, we leave for the Diet after I finished talking to Dieter" said Jobst,
"Yes,si-!" luka was cut off,
"May I accompy you mein prinz to the Diet?" asked Dieter, Jobst nodded.
Luka's scowled and left, and he found Fritz waiting by the door,
"He's coming soon, be ready to leave for Rome. And that spy Dieter is coming as well" said Luka, and he strode off.

[AussieGiant]

Crash!!!

Arnold's longsword slammed into the Temple Knight's shield. His prodigious strength yet again took his opponent by surprise, the Knight was momentarily knocked back and stunned by the ferocity of Arnold's attack.

Taking immediate advantage, Arnold stepped inside his opponents sword arm and delivered a terrific blow with his shield knocking the Knight to the ground. As his opponent's breath exploded from his lungs at the fall, Arnold leaped after the Temple Knight, raising his sword for a massive overhand blow.

“ENOUGH!!”

The booming voice of the Temple Knight Commander rang across the courtyard of Ragusa Fortress.

“You've both been told not to use your real weapons when training!!”

Silence was the only response as the two combatants froze...the Temple Knight started crawling backwards away from the figure of Arnold towering above him. Arnold himself let his sword fall to his side, his face a conflict of chaos and control.

“Are you two in fact training!!??”

Again there was only silence. The Knight got to his feet, while Arnold's demeanor took on a more composed look.

“Tristan, go to the barracks and report to the Knight Lieutenant, explain what was going on, he will issue you with punishment!”

As the young Temple Knight left the courtyard the Commander strode into the courtyard to face the young Arnold.

“You should join...rather than taking your frustrations out on my younger knights Arnold!"

“I can not and you know why Commander. I'm waiting here until Jonas brings the Austrian House Army back from the east. Until I am knighted I can do nothing.” Arnold sheathed his sword in a fluid and practiced motion.

“I can knight you, as long as you pass our test” said the Commander. “You have mastered all aspects of military training...in theory of course”. The Commander grinned at Arnold's frustrated snort of agreement.

“A word of warning though. This is the last time you send another one of my novice knights to the infirmary. If you want to test your skill pick one of the veterans from the east. They will certainly give you a tougher test.”

They held each others gaze for a moment. The Commander broke his first. There was something unnerving about the young man. His father was a legend and was feared and respected beyond nearly all in Europe. As the Commander watched Arnold walk towards the the Great Hall, he recounted the times he had meet Duke Leopold. He concluded that Arnold certainly had the characteristics to follow in his fathers footsteps as the iron ruler of Austria.

As Arnold walked towards his quarters, Karl Brunner, the former Count of Venice and now adviser appeared in the doorway of the great hall.

“I see you are still conducting diplomatic relations with the Temple Knight detachment?” the grin on Karl's face clearly showed his amusement at the spectacle that just took place.

“God's knows where you acquired your speed and strength young Arnold...I'm positive my sword master Anton has taught you far too much of that Russian sword fighting technique. There's no skill at all, it's just brute strength.”

“Well it works merchant, and that's all I care about. Plus, I don't like that prat Tristan, I would have shoved my shield down his throat if the Commander had not stepped in.”

They continued inside the Fortress together, making there way to the large table dominating the centre of the great hall.

“So what are your thoughts regarding the Austrian House Army once you are knighted?” Karl glanced at Arnold while pouring them both a goblet of wine.

“I'm not sure;” replied Arnold taking a sip. While holding his cup to cover most of his face he gazed at the two von Mahren girls across the other side of the hall. They were both pretty, but it would certainly be bad form to relieve his frustrations with either of them, especially as the family had just joined the House. Plus he didn't feel like fighting with either of the brother's. He cast the thought away and focused back on Karl, who was observing him with a raised eyebrow.

“You know it looks very obvious Arnold, you should stick with the pretty serving girls until your father selects a bride or god forbid you fall in love. Nobility and their daughters are never simple affairs.”

“Your right Karl, plus I don't want to upset my father. He has worked long and hard to integrate the von Mahren's into the House. If I was to destroy all that in one night, I'm sure he would come back and tear me apart and everyone else for that matter.” Arnold stood and started up stairs.

“I'm going to have a bath. IF, anything happens, and I'm sure there wont, then I'll be in my quarters until supper.”

Making his way through the Fortress he wondered when his life would really begin. Years of training, books, languages, military history, trade...he had learnt it all, and for what? To rule Austria, to become Chancellor perhaps?

Once inside his chambers, the servants stripped off his armour and weapons. After some time he was left alone and sat at his desk. He began re-read his most recent correspondence.

Yes he realised, things had changed, he had a purpose now, recent events had crystallized everything. He now had direction and all the uncertainty was flowing away with every passing day.

All he knew right now was the burning desire to go into battle, meet the enemy face to face, and utterly crush his opponent. With that step complete he could begin his march towards fate and destiny.

[Warluster]

Frankfurt,1222
Part I
The sun was shining like a newly cracked egg, the sky like a drying painting. Life below could not be described like that though.

It was midday in Frankfurt, the market crowds were out,noise and cahos the surpreme rulers on market days. Pigs oinked,roosters crowed and people babbled.

On the third floor of a large house, standing at the window, was a German Spy,Hugo Heidelberg. He was waiting for someone to join him, for an important matter.

He let out a sigh of recognition, then sneaking through the larges crowds was his counter part, and the organiser of the whole thing. Hugo sat down on the window still, waiting for the person to come in.

The door banged open,
"mein master, you are finnaly here" said Hugo, the man,supposedly Hugo's master,let out a spulttering cough,
"It took longer to get away from them then I thought, had to escape some of those dogs..." wondered the man aloud,
"Now to matters mein master, he..." Hugo was cut off.
"Shut up! Don't you dare speak aloud,windows open" He slammed the window shut "Curtains open!" he ripped the curtains shut "And doors unlocked and empty!" He slammed the door shut and locked it, the room was now very dark, and no noise could be heard except the two men's breathing.
"At least a candle?" asked Hugo,
"Nothing!" snarled the man. Hugo accepted it and sat down at a table.

"So did the bribe work mein lord?" asked Hugo, the man nodded, his face in the dark.
"Those Danes couldn't get over it, I raised that money at the city, and gave it, they agreed to send a massive one..." drawled the man.
"Excellent mein lord..."
"Now we have to clear up this mess, at least it all worked, they didn't see anything,Luka reported it all, the bodies misplaced, the armies supposedly meeting, ha!" laughed the man.
"And today, the loose ends meet, and it all starts!" exclaimed Hugo, the man nodded and leaned forward.
"He shall be suspicous, but order it all anyway, now go, tell them to head off and wait! Let him be the ambushed!" claimed the man, and Hugo got up,unlocked the door and ran off.
"Today, it begins"
OOC:
Part II cooming up soon.

[Ituralde]

A strong breeze tugged at the tentflaps and made them flail, the two guards standing beside the entrance tried to huddle deeper into their coats. Inside a single brazier gave little illumination and not close to enough warmth for the three men occupying it.

One, a large bald man with broad shoulders was pacing slowly through the room. A second, younger man, wiry and thin was sitting on a stool perching over a piece of pergament, while the third man, a grizzled old veteran, stood silently to attention.

"This will be a glorious chapter, mein Herr! The Holy Crusade, I can't wait until you enter the city of Damascus gloriously. I have already prepared several versions of it in advance. It will be my masterpiece. Do you want to hear this third version of mine, I like it best so far..."

"Hush you fool!" The old veteran spoke, but the pacing man held up a hand. "Leave him be, Rainer. Let him write his stories."

"As you wish, my Duke!" replied the veteran stiffly.

Leopold was pacing through his tent, mainly to help him think, but also to get some movement in his stiff joints. He could feel himself becoming older. Who could have foreseen that the nights in this country could be so cold. By day the sun nearly melted your brain and by night it was hard not to shiver.
Finally he turned on the scribe, who jolted upright at the sudden attention.

"I wouldn't be so sure about me entering Damascus. If you write in advance, maybe you should prepare for some different endings as well. You have heard the news. The Mongols are besieging Damascus and have brought a force that far outnumbers us."

"I am sure you will be able to defeat them, my Lord! You always do. Nobody stands a chance against our armies. The Austrian Household Army has never lost."

Leopold gave a snort of contempt and began pacing again. The man was right though. He had never lost a battle, now had he? But then his enemies had been Rebels, Hungarians, Venetians, and he had been head of the Austrian Household Army. Now he was commanding a band of Crusaders. Men that followed him, because they believed in some pious mission. He knew what he would have done with the Austrian Army at his back. Wait for the Mongols to deplete their forces against the Egyptian defenders and then move in for the kill. Maybe deplete their ranks through nightly raids.
But this was different. The men would not sit idly by, while some barbarians took their prized objective. They had come to conquer Damascus, and conquer it they would. No backing down, no strategical maneuvering. You went towards the enemy and fought it out, square and fair.

He couldn't believe his own thoughts! Now he sounded just like Sigismund. Maybe this Crusade had changed him though. There must be a reason why his brother Henry was now hailed as Henry the Chivalrous, although he had never shown much inclination before he left. Maybe as a Crusader you had to do things differently. You presented Christendom after all. And while you may well be a sneaky bastard you couldn't act like one, that just wouldn't sit well with the Pope, or Emperor Henry and the Diet for that matter.

And for his enemies, these were no minor European powers. This were savage barbarians from the Steppe to the East. Horse Lords, they were called. Many a foe had fallen against them and it was murmured that they're Empire stretched expanses that no European mind could imagine. The had sent their best generals to conquer all of Christendom before them, and they would not be stopped easily.

Once again Leopold stopped in his steps. He knew what he had to do. He had known it all along. He was not getting any younger, and he had always wanted die in battle. He had known that the Mongols would await him and now he had his chance before him. To prove whether those Raiders from the East really were such formidable foes as everybody made them out to be. And also to find out whether he had really earned his reputation of being the greatest general of the Reich, he added wryly.

"Rainer, my trusted friend. We have been through a lot together and it looks like soon our fates will be decided. I have one final thing I ask from you." The old veteran only nodded.

"If I die, take my sword and bring it to my son Arnold."

"Die? What do you mean die?" exclaimed the Biographer from his stool in the corner.

"Hush you fool!" Leopold turns back to Rainer "Tell him, tell him to remember his father. And now go get me Karl Zirn. I have to talk with him and then I will have to speak to the Crusader Council."

"Jawohl mein Herr!" Rainer bows and leaves the tent immediately. With a thin smile on his lips Leopold turns to the scrawny man sitting in the corner.

"Well, go ahead already. Write your stories, write a lot of them. If I should die, I want nothing less than the best version you got, understand?"

[GeneralHankerchief]

Outside of Damascus, 1228

The Second Holy Crusade had arrived in Outremer to much cheering and jubiliation. After months of hellish walking, riding, and sailing the Imperial Crusaders had finally arrived at Damascus and salvation. However, there was a slight complication:

Three large armies of the same people that the Crusade was designed to protect the Holy Land against had arrived at Damascus first.

And so, the Crusading Army was camped outside of the city, debating and deliberating on what to do. Finally, Duke Leopold, leader of the Crusade, had gotten fed up and decided to take on all three armies in the field. There was some grumbling among the soldiers, but debate was finished. Come the next morning, they would all take the field in a battle against the Horse Lords.

Conrad Salier was not particularly enthused about fighting so soon, although he would never say it out loud to the Kaiser's brother. There were other, more personal reasons why he had joined the Crusade in the first place and did desire to see certain things completed before he died in battle. He sat beside one of the many campfires burning quietly in the night, comtemplating. While his chances of entering Heaven would certainly be improved by dying while on Crusade against an unholy enemy, he wished to stick around to complete a little bit more of God's Work before he went. It would be a sleepless night for Conrad and, most likely, many others in the camp.

Leopold interrupted Conrad's meditations by placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Conrad. All officers are meeting at the Command Tent for a briefing about tomorrow." Conrad nodded and departed for the Command Tent, which was the largest tent and located a few hundred yards away. When he arrived, the tent was half-full with the high-rankers in the Army. Conrad took a seat in the front (log stumps had been set up as chairs) with the other Generals. He watched in silence as the tent began to fill up.

Finally, Leopold arrived, in conversation with a big man whom Conrad had never seen before. This man was tall, clearly German, wearing a suit of battle-armor that was incredibly scratched and dented. Clearly, this man had seen some fights.

Leopold took a seat beside Karl Zirn, a fellow Austrian. The other man continued standing in front of the crowd and waited for quiet. Since this was a military crowd, he quickly received it, and began to speak.

"Welcome to Outremer, gentlemen!" he began. Conrad thought he detected a small amount of sarcasm. "You gave up the plentiful green fields of Europe and your families up for this; this stinking heap of desert that would be completely worthless if it wasn't for the fact that several important religions started here. Aren't you glad of the choice you made?"

Silence. The man chuckled.

"Sorry, forgot who was talking to. You guys are Crusaders, you still hold the higher ideals and everything. Well, a few months out here will take care of that. Heh. You're probably wondering who I am, why I'm here. My name is Kurt Altman. Some of you older folks may recognize me as part of the Kaiser's bodyguard. I'm here to teach you how to fight who you're going to fight, and I don't mean the Egyptians either."

Ah, now it made sense. Essentially this meeting was a combat seminar. A veteran who had survived the first battle with the Horse Lords was passing on information.

"These people fight hard, gentlemen," Kurt continued. "Kaiser Henry thought that it would be prudent if I imparted some of my knowledge of their forces to you officers.

"Most of you fought, what, mainly infantry back in Europe? Italians, Poles, Hungarians, the French, that lot? I guarantee you you're going to be wishing that you're fighting those guys again after your first battle against the Horse Lords. They have no infantry. None." A brief murmur went through the crowd at this. Altman acted like he didn't notice. "Instead, they focus on foot archers, horse archers, and heavy, heavy cavalry. Cavalry where one single horseman can mow down dozens if not hundreds of crossbowmen. Do not question me on this, for I have seen it happen."

Kurt's smile was now long gone. "European tactics aren't going to work out here. Your crossbows are going to have to do a lot of work in chasing their missile cavalry down with arrows. The infantry is going to have to stand firm and take whatever's delivered to them, for that's the only way the Horse Lords are going to be stopped. And our cavalry, well... I feel your pain. You guys are going to have to be everywhere. Chances are good that if you survive, you're going to be either wounded or dying of exhaustion."

The cavalrymen in the audience, Conrad included, shuddered a bit. Meanwhile, a young sergeant in the back of the tent raised his hand.

"Sir, with all due respect, what makes these people different? Every nation we fight uses different tactics, and we've adjusted to all of them. Why should we be more scared of these people?"

Kurt's gaze now turned to stone. It was impossible to believe that he had been smiling, even sarcastically, a few minutes ago. In silence, he took out a wrinkled piece of parchment and began to read it in a monotone.

"Baghdad

They are here. They have come from the East, where the ground was flatter and lands more open. We thought the desert and our walls would stop them. They did not.

They have taken the city through strange rocket launchers and sophisticated siege equipment. We placed our best infantry on the walls, knowing they had little good foot soldiers, but it had no effect. And then the gate burst, and the soldiers in front of it were subject to a terrible thunder, simply trampled alive, the Horse Lords not even bothering to hack them down.

A more efficient taking of the city I have never seen or heard of. A more efficient sacking of the city I have never seen or heard of. Baghdad is no longer recognizable. Everything of moderate worth has been looted; half of the city's buildings are destroyed. The stench of blood and sight of corpses rendered unrecognizable are now common.

There is no hope of renewal, even for those who survive. Our city is now just a giant slum. There is no hope. The only good thing that comes out of this is that the whirlwind of destruction is quickly gone, off to ravage another target. There is no hope."

Kurt sighed. "This was taken from a Mongol soldier during Kaiser Henry's battle with them. That Mongol most likely took it from the inhabitant of Baghdad who wrote the entry. It is a miracle that I am reading it to you now, for the original, non-translated copy was so bloodstained that it was almost illegible.

"Why, you ask?" Kurt pointed to the diary entry. "This is why. The fact that Kaiser Henry got into open-field combat with these people with a numerical advantage and lost his entire army is why. Most of you came here with the purpose of salvation in mind, correct? Good. Use it. You need to use whatever you can to gain an advantage when fighting these people. Killing the Horse Lords is your new career, gentlemen, secondary to everything else. You had better get good at it."

Kurt departed, and slowly the occupants of the tent shuffled out. Conrad thought to himself: Well, if anyone was going to get any sleep this night, after that little speech, nobody is now. Tomorrow would be an interesting day, to say the least.

[Kagemusha]

Home coming

After the battle of Durazzo, Jonas had quickly turned the control of Austrian army to Austrians and started travelling North with only his closest men,escorting a wagon pulled by two oxens,carrying the earthly remains of his eldest son.
An native Croatian elder man named Mirco had also joined the the escort to guide them through Austria safely to Prague,where Erhart Von Mahren was to find his final resting place.
Jonas had been very silent mostly, but not completely. Von Mahren had never spitted in the pint before and after the events of Durazzo his drinking had detoriated to the point where after nights of heavy drinking and burts of rage,the whole party had to wait untill noon sometimes before Jonas could get out from bed. Then he would ride silently or muttering to himself untill the first resting place along the way. Then everything would start again from sipping of beer and wine for the headache,then to lame jokes that drunken people tend to have and many times after the stop for the night ending into uncontrollable rage or sadness that formed by Jonas sitting near the wagon and him talking to his dead son for hours sometimes,untill the mercy for the night would come in form of passing out.
Days turned into weeks as the funeral escort rode through Austria. From the Dalmatian coast and its fresh sea air,to the the mountains of Croatia,crossing the fertile plains around Tonava. Through the Hungarian Pusta,climbing on the forested hills of Bohemia and finally they were infront of Prague.
There Jonas stopped as if he was scared to enter the city. He stubbornly found excuses not to enter inside the walls.The men reminded him that during the summer time human bodies wouldnt last long before decomposing and that Erhart should be buried so he could rest in peace. Jonas didnt listen to his men. The only one alive he talked mostly was Mirco. The old man had told that not long a go he had lost his entire family in a Hungarian raid and the two bonded in their misery,finally on the second night infront of Prague after the wife of Von Mahren had sent messenger asking what was keeping them,Mirco convinced Jonas to enter the quiet city.
The city was in mourning.All the flags were dropped in half and when the small escort entered the city,there was not usual sounds of night,but the city was like a tomb,people were home and there were no usual drunkyards travelling the streets,singing nasty songs that dunks know the best.
The messenger his wife had sent escorted Jonas to a large house in the middle of the city,while the others went towards the city church to put Erhart in the crypt to wait for his funerals to take place.
Jonas entered the room and there was only Willelda von Mahren in the room besides the unlit fire place. Only few candles were set alight to give some light on the large room.
Jonas walked to his wife and their eyes met for the first time in decades. Willelda was still beutifull,while age had left its marks on her. But her eyes were cold and the expression on her face didnt show any kind warm feelings towards the new comer.

"Wellcome Mi Lord."

Willelda sayed with cold voice. Jonas decided that it was better to stay silent.Willelda continued with now ironic voice.

"So you are back from you glorious quest to Holy land?I hear that you were mighty succesfull and people will long remember the mighty deeds of German crusaders."

Now Willelda´s voice turned deeper and her eyes fixed on Jonas.

"I hear you rendevouzed with my son near Durazzo.Its a shame that you too couldnt spend more time before you got your own son killed."

Next Willelda started screaming so furiously that Jonas took one step back.

"Why didnt you die yourself?! Why you couldnt die in Holy land,so my son wouldnt have died becouse of you bastard?! We had everything allright here before you stupid fool arrived back in Reich. Can you see that your other children are not here to wellcome their father? It is becouse they hate you,you murderer!"

Jonas just stood there as the woman before screamed and cursed to him. He stood there with a face like stone,eyes focused on the woman before him. Willellda continued.

"I hope that you will soon leave for the stinking hell hole of Magdeburg you love so much. You are not the man i married and bared children to. You are nothing but stinking murderer and it would be better for all if you would just die and go to hell where you belong!"

This was too much for Von Mahren. His eyes enlargened and he took a quick step forward and punched Willelda straight to the face.Willelda dropped on a floor, her nose and lip bloodied. Before she could get up.Jonas leaned towards her and sayed with silent but determined voice. With the expression of a madman on his face.

"Woman.Your wish is granted. I will leave from here and never come back. You are dead to me for now on. I hope that you will restrain on visiting in Magdeburg and i will stay out of Prague. I buried Erhart already on our way here,im sure you can do the honours for his remains in here."

After saying that Jonas turned around and walked away from the room,leaving Willelda crying on the floor.As he came out from the building,others had come back from the church and Wolf the trusted Teuton of Jonas started.

"Your son is now in the crypt.."

In the middle of the sentence Jonas interrupted Wolf and sayed.

"Yes.Now we are leaving to Franconia.Ready your horses we will depart to Magdeburg immediately"

Wolf muttered.

"But sire,the funeral? We cant leave now.We have to bury Erhard."

"Shut up!"

Jonas sayed and continued.

"We buried that boy in the field of Durazzo. There is nothing for us here now. We will leave now and thats my final word.Any who doesnt want to come can stay. I will not talk about this more. And last, any man that mentions my family ever again in my presence will taste my sword. I will swear this."

Jonas quickly mounted his horse and started gallopping out from the city.The rest looked at each other with stupified expressions on their faces. After a moment Rudolf the old Veteran captain of Jonas sayed with loud voice.

"Follow the Count! We cant let him ride alone at that state!"

After Rudolf´s words,the whole escort mounted and galloped after their leader,also Mirco joined the group. Soon after, first Jonas and bit after the rest of his men galloped out from the gates of Prague disappearing in the midst of the night and leaving the shocked night guards sitting on their arses near the gate as Jonas Von Mahren and his men headed towards North.

[Ituralde]

Dust was everywhere. His eyes stung as he closed them and they stung again as he opened them. Every tiny crack of his armour seemed to be filled with sand. His right arm was sore from swinging his sword, it was aching like mad and the pain that shot up through it with every thrust was hardly bearable. Uttering another inaudible cry he slashed away at the enemy in front of him.

It seemed like minutes and hours ago that he had taken the horse from under the Mongol Heir Khanzada Batudhun. The battle had gone well. Khan Jebuk had been captured by his personal bodyguard, after the coward had fled the field. It had been a good day so far. A perfect day, to be quite honest.

The man in front of him snarled his lips as he attempted a backwardslash against Leopolds throat. He rose is sword just in time to deflect the blow, once again searing pain shot through his arm, momentarily blinding his vision. There was no helping it. He was getting old. He had never been old. He did not want to be old. Die toothless in bed, or die snarling in battle? Leopold had made his choice. A thin smile on his lips he carefully, delicately lets go of his sword. Blocking another thrust at him with his shield arm he grabs for his helmet, which is sent hurtling to the ground.

Air and sound rush in at Leopold and he takes a deep breath, two. He had never felt so alive, so aware of his surroundings, of the battle raging around him. He could feel that they were winning, that his troops were pushing forward. They were so close. His smile ever broadening he looks at the man in front of him and triumphantly spreads hir arms wide. The Mongol can hardly believe it, just minutes ago he was hard-pressed for survival and now his foe offered him such an opportunity. After a moment of hesitation he struck home.

The fool! There he was unarmed and the Mongol had only managed to drive his sword between his breast and shoulder armor, piecing deep but not deadly. He could have made it quick, but he failed. His smile still on his lips Leopold slowly sunk from his horse, his vision blurring. Before the world tilted sideways he could see the head of his opponent slashed wide open by thrust from Rainer. He had been too late and Leopold could almost feel sorry for him.

As his eyesight finally returnd to him Leopold was lying on the ground. Fate had it that he was now facing his own troops. He could see Imperial soldiers advancing towards him. Some seemed astonished, others determined. The news of his demise must have already spread. But instead of discouraging the men it seemed to drive them ever onward, forward against the Horse Lords. The battle was won!

Leopold looked down at his side where with every breath his life was spilling out of him, coating his armour blood red. Looking up again ever so slowly he sees a familiar figure dismount in front of him. Cracking a wide smile he raises his right arm as if in triumph and opens his mouth as though to shout, but only blood emerges as with a last gurgle the life fades from Leopold. Duke of Austria, Greatest General of the Reich!

[flyd]

Outside of Damascus, 1228

It would be nice to say that the Khan of the mighty Horse Lords was a mighty man. That he was ten feet tall, and that the ground trembled when he spoke. He was not. The only thing that separated him from the other Mongol prisoners was his highly fancy armor. It was probably worth more than his life.

It would also be nice to say that the German commander and the Khan could engage in an emotional conversation after such a battle. A heated argument, perhaps. Insults, would be thrown! However, they were separated by a series of no fewer than three translators. It's the best that could be arranged on short notice. I think the intermediate languages were Arabic and Persian. In any case, little was said, but it took a very long time to say.

"Tell the Khan that I am considering accepting the ransom offer, but am worried that he will raise another army and attack us again."

The tedious process started. It would be a few minutes before the response came. The 2nd and 3rd translators had especial difficulty in understanding each other, I don't think either of them were very fluent in Persian.

Fredericus walked out of the tent, and looked at the battlefield. The wind had kicked up a lot of sand, and it was not possible to see very far, but as far as it could be seen, the ground was covered in bodies of men and horses. The final count was not in, but this piece of desert would be the final resting place to some 400 Germans, and a countless number of Mongols. Not a long distance away, up the hill to the south, would be the location of another mass grave in the future. At the present, occasional cries of men or horses could still be heard from up there, to say nothing of the sounds coming from this battlefield.

The German soldiers who remained had by now largely rallied at the camp. Most were sitting or lying, being extremely tired from having fought two battles within the span of a few hours. Damascus was not far away, and another would be coming soon. They were still roughly grouped with their regiments, and it was obvious that none of them were even close to full strength. Still, I expect the men would be ready to march given the order. They could be considered happy to be in a regiment which was still at one third strength. Their commander and most of his bodyguard had died, and their new commander now formed a one-man regiment, after his entire bodyguard had been wiped out. Though the troops were inspired, this created some administrative difficulties for Fredericus, as he did not know anyone.

"Hey, you. What was your purpose, again?"

"I was ordered to count the troops, sir."

"Oh. Right. Well, what is the count?"

"596 so far, but there are still men out there."

"Has Leopold's body been found?"

No. No, it hadn't. Everyone had seen it happen, but no one now knew where. They all had different versions of the story too. Some say he dropped his sword in the middle of the battle, and wanted to die. Others say he dropped his sword because he was wounded in the arm, and killed three Mongols with his bare hands before being killed. Others say he killed five. At least a few claim they saw him bite the Khan's head off, although I would dispute that one on the grounds that the Khan is sitting over in the tent.

By this time, the tedious translation process was over, and the Arab translator was ready to deliver the Khan's response. In broken German, the following was roughly delivered:

"The Khan says that it would be in your best interest to accept the offer of ransom. The Khan says that this attack that he has led was merely a scouting party. The Khan says that the real army is now forming in Persia, and that it is ten times bigger than all the armies you have seen, combined. The Khan says that unless he reports that there is nothing here worth conquering, that you will be attacked by this army. The Khan also says that if he should die, nothing will save you from the wrath of his brothers. He says that he was impressed with the fighting skill and bravery of you Germans, and that he may yet be convinced to spare you. But the Khan wants to make clear that if you choose to face the full might of the Mongol army, that you will be destroyed. That is all the Khan says."

Everyone was a bit stunned at this reply. It was common knowledge that these Mongols possessed a vast empire, one that stretched well beyond the point where everyone's knowledge of geography stopped. Where the hell was Transoxania, anyway? But how big of an army could they really field? Was this man telling the truth, or was he merely trying to save his worthless life?

Some of the guards started to quietly discuss these considerations, when they were interrupted by a soldier entering the tent, on his horse. For some reason, the guards outside had not stopped him, and it soon became clear why: he had with him the body of Leopold. It was clear that he had come here for the Khan. As he jumped off his horse and grabbed Leopold's sword, he was restrained by the guards, but just barely, at least two of them being injured in the process. Though not happy by Leopold's death, the guards were worried about the Khan's threat.

After a short pause, Fredericus spoke up:

"Today, just one of our armies destroyed three large armies of our enemy in the open field. We only needed to do that because we were in a hurry, for we wanted to reach Damascus before them. When and if they come for the second time, we will be ready. We will have many armies, and with each of them being three times better than an army of the enemy, we cannot lose. I don't care how many armies they have. Let them come."

Nobody found further reason to protect the Khan.

[Northnovas]

North of Frankfurt

The three men rode along the secondary road to the battle scene. The road had not been used since the battle between Prince Jobst and the Danish Crusading Army. It was considered unholy by the locals. The only users were scavengers of souvenirs and family recovering their dead. Apparently many bodies of man and animal had been left to rot in the open road.

The three men rode silently along the pine sided road where the fresh scent of pine and the light rainfall made it tranquil and mediating. The tallest of the three was preparing for the worst to come. He had travelled from Hamburg on “official government business” and was to report back to his superiors on his findings; his objective was to find out what really happened on this road. The two other figures were local ancient warriors who had fought long ago with Kaiser Henreich. They were brought for their expertise and for a hansom fee they were to keep their confidentiality to the Crown.

Slowly the road opened to a small clearing, the rain was like a mist and the small patches of fog settled in the low ground. There before them lay the disaster, turkey vultures sitting on corpses pecking away not even aware of the intruders as they busily gorged on the feast before them.

The men stopped the wagon the two old men got out and began to survey the scene, scanning very methodically over the landscape. The government official also jumped down and began to walk about the carnage. The vultures would jump of the corpse to the next closes as the men walked amongst them.

Movement! I saw an arm move the official shouted, the two men ran over. The body of the young soldier was turned over the foul odour of human decomposition filled there nostrils and movement of thousands of maggots slithered all over the body. That was the movement, the two men smiled at each other and continued on their work. The government official saw enough and immediately ran to the wagon to wait for the work to finish. The damp air no longer suppressed the foul odour it had penetrated his senses and no amount of snuff was going to remove it.

The men walked and looked at what appeared first contact. They examined the horses left to rot and saw the wounds inflicted from all sides of the animal. They went wide of the road and examined the heavy foot prints of man and animal coming to the road from within the deep forest. The broken and bend branches of the trees and shrub to show the direction of travel.

After several hours they completed their work and reported back to the official who was not looking well and was has discoloured as some of the remains they had seen. They both knew why confidentiality was so important.

Venice Italy

The government official was well rested from his mission but yet the images and smells of that day were still vivid. He was now reporting to his superiors. The meeting was held in a fashionable building of a local merchant with a very ornate study under the guise of great secrecy. The room presented not only wealth but that have power and tradition. His superiors were men of great influence and yet faceless to most nobles of the Reich. They each represented the Kaiser and the respective Houses. They were the policy behind each and made things happen that had to be done for the benefit of the Reich.

Gentleman, my report is before you and I will only elaborate on the highlights of my findings. This was indeed an ambush by the Prince on the Crusading Danish Army. The reasons I do not know but the evidence of the field suggest so. I have also taken the prerogative of cleaning the site up upon the completion of my investigation. To continue:

The road the Danish were on was a secondary road. This was a large army that we were aware of and because of their mission we let them have the right to move through. The Danes not wanting to alarm our locals utilized secondary roads as they travelled through hence their slow movement through our land.

The Prince with the European Imperial Army (EIA) was on routine patrol for rebels and French invaders of our territory. I don’t know if the Prince was aware of the exact location of the Danes? He had his army in a loose formation travelling through the woods. We found the camps location several kilometres from the scene.

To start the “contact” by the initial was small and by “contact” we feel that it was staged. The scouting party of the Danes was very lightly armed and protected. I think they felt secure travelling through and were not manoeuvring under SOP for hostile territory.
The road comes to an opening and is flanked by high ground and thick brush. The evidence does suggest that the Prince waited for the Danes to expose themselves and then he attacked with his small army. The report shows the various wounds inflicted on man and animal to support our conclusions. Though I must say the attack by the Prince was strategically brilliant unfortunately it was not a recognized enemy of the Reich.

From the reports released by the Prince the contact did not occur as reported. If it did happen and the location the actual fighting would not have occurred in the location it did.

That is my report.

Silence in the room... the chair of the group then speaks,

Councillors, our friend here has done an admirable job and has not disappointed us. I also approve the action of having the scene cleaned up.
This indeed a bit of quandary and not something we want debated by the Diet members. At this time we do not know the Prince’s mind thought for his actions and we have to be strongly remembered that he will soon be our new leader of the Reich.
Though his actions have caused a War with the Danes it is only that a minor war that was inevitable. The true concern was the loss of our faith with the Church. However, through God’s providence we were spared the humiliation of ex-communication and have relatively remained unscathed by this incident. Therefore, we will protect the future Kaiser and the interest of the Reich has it our job to do and speak of this incident no more.

Advise the scribe on the official report as follows,

Frankfurt Germany 1218

The battle that was fought by Prince Jobst and the Danish Crusading Army was a combination of unfortunate events by both parties.
For unknown reason the Danes travelled a secondary road and neither party was aware of each others location.
The EIA were on policing patrol to route out rebels identified in the area. Also an intelligence report received suggested the French had amassed a large army that was converging on Frankfurt or another significant city in the north.
The weather conditions were not a clear as documented by the biographers. There was a heavy fog and coming into the twilight hours.
The EIA had split there small force as procedure to locate a rebel camp being hidden in that area.
The scouts of the EIA heard the army coming along the road but could not identify any banners but heard French being spoken.
A small patrol of EIA came out of the road to confront the unknown army moving towards them. An exchange of identification was ordered by passwords and from their chaos ensued. Through a series of miscommunication by the contact parties and the divided EIA a melee ensued that only progressed because of the difficult external conditions present.
It was only after the Prince realized who he was fighting and what occurred did he try to rally is men to halt any further offensive action.

Then we will advise the usual apology and reconciliation towards the Danes and other rhetoric that follows such reports.

In conclusion, we will send this report to the Kaiser and leave it at his discretion to announce the findings to the Diet. Otherwise it will remain buried in the archives with all the other documentation. That is all for today’s business.