Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Cecil XIX]

The following is a collaboratin between Cecil XIX and AussieGiant.

Prague, 1330

Edmund Becker stood atop the southern gate of the city. He had received a letter from Bane detailing his exact time and date when he would arrive, and Becker was making sure that things did not start off on the wrong foot.

It was late in the afternoon, that time when the sun's glare was just strong enough to make it unmistakably day. That is until the movement of the clouds began to obscure the sun and bask the land in shadow.

"Don't tell me he's going to show up now." Becker looked at the overcast sky for moment. When he looked back across the south of Prague, he sighed and walked down to the gate to greet his guest.

***

The journey north had taken Bane sometime. About half way towards Prague the War of Reformation had erupted making travel that much more difficult.

Dodging civilian armies had been a time consuming and a dangerous exercise, but he had finally made it. He had sent a messenger ahead to inform Becker of his arrival time and now, finally, he was here.

Dark clouds had gathered on an otherwise perfect day making the Dread Knight wonder if it was a sign of things to come.

As he approached Prague a lone figure appeared from behind the massive gates of the city.

Bowing briefly the hollow rasping voice of the Dread Knight was grating on the ears of the on looking guards.

"My Lord, I bring you greetings from Duke Arnold. He has instructed me to negotiate with you on his behalf. The letter gives written permission with his seal to do so."

With that the Dark Armored figure handed Becker a note with the Duke's seal clearly marked.

Becker took the note, and read it carefully.

"Thank you Sir Bane. Now then, let us begin our discussion in the Council Chambers. I've prepared a room."

Soon they had arrived in the main conference room, where the leaders of Bohemia’s boroughs and estates met to discuss business. They both took a seat at opposite ends of the table.

"Now then, let us begin. What is Duke Arnold's attitude towards and opinion of Bohemia?"

Bane sat perfectly still for some moments and seemed to consider the question.

The effect was a little unnerving. Finally he leaned forward placing his elbows on the table, his voice icy and calm.

"My master has no real opinion on Bohemia Lord Becker. What he would like to know is what it will take for you to rejoin the Duchy? You must clearly see the mounting risk approaching in the form of the Polish and Hungarian armies.

Alone you can not hope to defend against these armies with the forces at your disposal. The combined might of the Duchy is slowly failing to defend the Reich's eastern border. Only united will there be a chance.

Duke Arnold is extending his hand to you all and especially you Lord Becker. Outline your needs or propose something to bring the Duchy back together. Alone you will fall for certain. Joined again with the rest of the Duchy and we all stand a chance."

Becker frowns, and begins his reply.

"Before I answer, I will explain my thoughts. As you say, Austria is slowly losing ground. With the loss of the income from Budapest, and the departure of Tancred von Tyrolia and Frederich Karolinger, it will be that much harder to drive back Hungary when it strikes next. You are asking me to give Austria the money and manpower to defend itself properly.

And yet you also claim, mistakenly, that Bohemia cannot stand on it's own against the Poles. Believing this, you would have me weaken Bohemia further to aid you, which would inevitably result in a two-front war for Austria. Perhaps Duke Arnold thinks you can stop the Hungarians in time to prevent the Poles from taking Vienna. Perhaps he has another plan. Regardless, I know now that Duke Arnold needs me more than I need him.

So to answer your question, for me to even consider rejoining Austria I would need to believe that doing so would not put Prague in more danger than it is already in."

Bane shakes his head slowly at Becker’s reaction.

"My apologies Lord Becker, I am not well versed in diplomacy. It seems I have not been clear.

Duke Arnold doesn't need you more than you need him. If I have given you that impression then it is my mistake.

Duke Arnold's point is, how do you propose to defend yourself against Poland and Hungary where the combined efforts of Franconia and Austria can not?

Duke Arnold needs you... Yes, that is clear. Any and all nobles with an army are needed in this time of crisis.

Your forces could tip the tide, but if you don't rejoin the Duchy then all that will do, as Austria retreats, is place you at the front of the conflict. Your troop quality is not enough to stem the tide Lord Becker, surely you see that after your last encounter with the Poles?

So I say again. Duke Arnold is asking now...

...What it will take for you to rejoin the Duchy and help in the defense of the Reich against it's enemies?

Once this opportunity passes, in the form of this meeting, then you will be left to your own defense Lord Becker. Please do not take offence Lord Becker, the Duke believes you will do an excellent job, but you are isolated and alone. You defense will be a Forlorn Hope against the tide of our enemies. In conjunction with the rest of the Duchy we can conduct a far better defense.

More over, if and when the Reich reconvenes then you can not possibly hope to find a political solution in your favor if a Diet vote was to take place.

Essentially Lord Becker, you can negotiate now with the Duke... However, if you don't take this opportunity, then once the Diet is back in session you will have a united Duchy and a Duke using every political ounce of influence against you. Do you honestly think you could withstand that in the face of how other rebels have been treated?

With every passing moment that you fail to assist in the defense of Austria you place another nail in the coffin of your attempted separation.

Take this opportunity now to negotiate something in your favor. If you don't then it will simply be a matter of time before a political solution will cast you as a traitor and a rebel and end your separation without swinging even one sword.

Prague is in danger Lord Becker, and every month that passes without a resolution between you and the Duke places you closer to the combined armies of Poland and Hungary.

You say you have lost faith in the Dukes and in particular Duke Arnold... How can that be when it is in fact Kaiser Siegfried and now Elberhard who have given away our lands, made negotiations without OUR consent and plunged this Reich into chaos? The Duchy had nothing to do with that. If you have lost faith Lord Becker then it must be with the Kaisers, not the Duchies who have simply been thrown into this maelstrom due to the actions of our own Emperor.”

Bane fell silent...he seemed entirely spent in his passionate plea to you.

Becker sighed slightly, as Bane's plea had not failed to affect him.

"It is not men with whom I have lost faith, but an institution. But that's neither here nor there. I appreciate your earnestness on this matter, so let me start over with my previous line of thought, for I think I was being unclear.

Simply put, what would Duke Arnold have me do if I were to rejoin? No doubt he would want me to contribute soldiers, or money, or myself as a leader. How much would he expect me to do, when Prague needs so much to keep it safe from the Poles? As it stands, before I can seriously consider a reconciliation I need to know what Duke Arnold would have of me, and how it would affect Prague.

The Dark Knight considers Lord Becker’s words for sometime. Finally he leans back in his chair; his tone of voice hardened as he answers.

"Lord Becker, unfortunately the Duke did advised me that this might happen.

There is a stand off.

I understand that you want me to outline what the Duke wants from you so you may decide what to do...but this is inherent in you believing you have at least an equal footing in these negotiations.

The Duke does not see it this way.

Firstly you must survive and the Poles are approaching as we speak. If, you manage to defend yourself against the enemies of this Reich successfully, then you must still deal with the political consequences of your actions. This is again something the Duke, with some degree of objectivity, believes he has an advantage in.

If you do not take the opportunity now to state what you require to rejoin the Duchy the Duke has instructed me to wish you all the best in the defense of Prague. Should you survive and the Diet reconvenes, you will then have to survive the political conflict that will result. Either of these two areas may be resolved with little or no intervention by Duke Arnold.

You are regarded as "separated" from the Duchy now in the Duke’s mind. Once the Diet has reconvened you will then become a rebel and one that has forsaken his oath and duty to his Duke and by extension to the Kaiser himself.

Therefore, if you do not take this opportunity to negotiate now, then that is the direction the Duke will take.

Pausing again Bane considers his next words.

"Lord Becker;" clearly he is now speaking as himself and not on behalf of his Duke.

"The Duke is being very clear and frank with you on his intentions. Believe me when I say that he is entirely upset that you have separated... He does not understand why and has spent many nights trying to find out where he went wrong in his dealings with you."

Again he pauses.

"I can say this with all certainty. Once he decides that you have really forsaken him he will make every effort to correct the situation by any means necessary.

I urge you to take the first step in this process my lord.

In my professional opinion, you will be hard pressed to defend yourself in the coming years without outside assistance.

Lorenz Zirn has just been outfitted with a professional army that could come to your aid. If you rejoin the Duchy you will be re-included in the overall strategy. While I can not guarantee that Prague will not fall, you must realize that the Duke will regain all that is lost or die trying. That includes Prague and all other previous Austrian provinces. It is my belief that your militia force would be utilized to deal with the rebel forces while the professional armies would engage the Polish and Hungarian forces.

Austria is doing very well all things considered Lord Becker. You reuniting with the Duchy would be of great benefit to Austria. Of course that means you would also want to be part of Austria again.

Additionally, should you survive, then I do not believe you will be able to secure your independence in the Diet, which you would need to do or face a Reich wide response to your actions.

There is a precedent set with regards to rebels Lord Becker, and it has come from the Kaiser himself. All Duke Arnold will ask is that the same approach be taken with regards to you.

Take the first step Lord Becker, or I have been instructed to leave immediately."

Bane's demeanour in the last few moments becomes increasingly hard.

As he finished there was a knock on the door. An aide entered and handed Becker a note. It outlined the approach of a new Polish army not far from Prague.

Becker raised his head and stares the ceiling.

"Why..." He pondered the question a great while before speaking.

"I suppose I could have elucidated more when I made my announcement. Maybe I should have put more thought into it. But the truth is, I couldn't get myself to care. Back then I was just happy to finally be doing what I wanted, rather than wasting my career accomplishing little of any importance. It seems rather foolish when I think of it."

He lowers his gaze to meet Bane's, and Edmund's eyes have a sense of resolution that was never seen when he was in Austria.

"But it's different now. For the first time in my life, I have a purpose I can be proud of. The goals I had before I married Contzel and my experiences in Transylvania and Bulgaria all tell me what I must do."

Becker stands up, and gestures towards the window behind him that overlooks the city.

"This is my reason. This is my purpose. This is all I have, and all I ever will have. Prague. Bohemia. Mahren.

These places are my home, and these people need me to protect them. Rather than become like an Emperor or a Duke, who care about acquiring new territories, I will devote all my energy into one county and make it the best that it can be. That is why I will use every resource at my disposal, up to and including my very life, to ensure that Bohemia does not fall into the hands of the enemy. I do not fear the Poles, for they cannot muster a force capable of overcoming the strength of my conviction, the courageousness of my men, and the weight and glory of Prague's walls."

Edmund quickly returns to his seat.

"With this in mind, I present my terms. Until the Diet reconvenes, I will retain full control over Bohemia and it's resources. I will single-handedly prevent the opening of a third front against Austria while Duke Arnold and the Zirns defend against the Hungarians and the Byzantines. I will also send Duke Arnold one base unit of wealth every turn, starting in 1334.

Once the Diet reconvenes, I will renounce my claim of secession. Duke Arnold may orchestrate my apology and subsequent events in whatever way he thinks is best.

Regardless, I will remain Count of Prague. For the remainder of my life, I will remain therein, never to leave. As most of the Electors do not understand the depths of my feelings, this will seem like a rather severe punishment. I will, in effect, be forbidden from ever commanding an army again. And finally, I will abandon my political independence. My influence in the Diet will become the Duke's and I will vote the way he wants me to on every edict the Diet ever considers. I shall willingly become the Duke's pawn with my interactions with the other Electors.

If the Duke should consider me untrustworthy for such things, tell him that the lengths I will go to for him to allow me to direct Prague's future will be as extreme as the lengths I am going to now. As long as I remain Count of Prague, dictating build queues and setting tax levels from within the city, all my other duties and abilities as an elector will be at his disposal.

What say you?

Bane's body language is clearly animated at his final words.

"Lord Becker I can confirm that the terms you have laid out here are within my authority to agree on. If you can have a scribe draw up three copies I will have them sent to the Duke for signature and then bring them here in three months from today for counter signature by yourself.

Three copies are required, for you, the Duke and the official scribes of the Diet."

------------------------

Since the last meeting a document in triplicate was sent to Duke Arnold in Ragusa for signature. One copy is for him which Bane will take with him. One copy is for Lord Becker and one copy for the official scribe of the Diet who is current with the Kaiser.

------------------------

Prague 1334

Striding back into the agreed chamber at the agreed time and date the Dread Knight holds three parchments in his hands.

He lays them out for Edmund to see the signature and seal of the Duke of Austria.

In addition to the three official documents there is a hand written note.

"Welcome back Lord Becker. God speed and good luck against the Poles. If possible I will send professional troops to you.

Duke Arnold"

Holding his gaze steadily while you read the note Bane finally speaks.

"The Duke has instructed me that he would prefer it if you made an announcement using the Imperial Messenger Service. It does not have to be detailed but simply outline the agreement and good will we have found common ground on. All he asks is that you allow him to read it before you issue it to the Imperial riders.

Is that acceptable to you?

He has also asked me to provide my services to you for the defense of Prague until the next season."

Pausing, the Dread Knight extends his hand towards you in the form of a handshake.

"It's good you have you back my Lord."

[_Tristan_]

Hughes’ Story

The French Templar Renegade

The boat prow ploughed a deep furrow in the waves of the Mediterranean. Standing at the rail, the wind lashing at his face and sweeping from around his torso the red crossed white tabard, Hughes was contemplating all that happened in the last years of his life… The treachery of the French King, the fights, the travels, the pain of losing comrades in arms… All that would stay with him for his whole life…

As the boat neared the coast of Europe once more, Hughes thought about that time, what seemed so long ago now but was only two years back, at a time when he left those shores on a mission given to him by the Commander of the Order…


These were hard times for the Order. The King of France, once the Order staunchest ally, had turned against it out of simple greed. With the breaking up of the Holy Roman Empire, the King had seen his opportunity of re-conquering the lost parts of his ancestors’ land at last within reach. But conquest meant armies and armies meant funds to recruit them, alas the French coffers were quite empty. So the famed treasure of the Templars loomed great in the King’s mind as the means to that end.
For some time, he had done his utmost to get the approval of the Pope and thus had his wish granted of having the Templars declared heretics. Then he set Roger de Mauchaut, nothing more than a mercenary turned noble, to lead the “crusade” on the Templars. In less than a year, de Mauchaut had killed many brothers of the Order and arrested the rest. Those stood trial on grounds of heresy and refusing to confess of their alleged crimes were burned at the stake.
Now, only this greatest Commandery of the Order remained but de Mauchaut was on its way… In a day or two, the assault would come…

So, Hugues was surprised when the Order brother came knocking at his cell to give him the summons to the Commander’s chambers. Only once in his life of service to the Order had he been summoned to those halls, on reaching the brother rank with his fellow squires. Now, while still young, he had faced many battles against the Infidels and had risen through the ranks, on his merit alone.

On entering the Commander’s chamber, Hughes was struck by the number of high-ranked members present. Kneeling in front of the dais where the Commander sat, he awaited his master’s words.

“Hugues de Cervole, you are one of the youngest but also one of the most worthy of our men. The Order is greatly threatened this day and we have a mission for you, a mission of the utmost importance.
The French King has been courting the Pope these last years, up to the point where the Pope is ready to grant him his every favour. Fearful of our power in his lands and jealous of our influence, the French King has convinced the Pope to declare us heretics. On these grounds, he has been arresting our brothers and putting them to judgement. But we are not heretics and this is all a masquerade to lay his greedy fingers on the riches of the Order. This is our last stand, Hugues but should we fall, our riches must not fall into the hands of our enemy.
This is why you are needed. I know that you would preferably stand and fight with us, and should you not fall stand the trial and burning at the stake that awaits most of us, but this is not to be.
You are to stay free and leave here with a small company of men and take away our treasury out of reach of the French.”

At that, Hugues tried to object, but a swift and commanding gesture from the Commander silenced him.

“I know… There might be no glory in this mission but if the Order is to be reborn one day, as it will surely die with us, you must succeed...”

The Commander then fell silent for a moment. A scribe handed Hugues a sheaf of papers.

“Here are forged papers bearing the French seal that identify you as Hugo von Holland, from you mother’s name, a German lady, if I remember correctly. They will allow to impersonate a Flemish merchant en route from Antwerp to Palermo. This should allow you free passage to the coast.”

Sensing the dismissal, Hughes bowed deeply and went out of room, taking a good look at the faces of the men present, men he would see for the last time of his life.

On leaving the Commander’s halls, Hughes went directly for the men’s quarters and found Guillaume, the Old Templar brother that had served under his command during many campaigns.

“Guillaume, you are to choose sixty brothers. Have them make preparations for a long trip to I don’t know where yet. All arms and armour, victuals and such are to be prepared also. Have them take also civilian clothes as discretion might be the better part of valour on this mission. Have them be ready by tomorrow at noon… At least, we won’t be running shamefully… And one least thing, please fetch the maps from our campaigns in Africa… I think I might be onto something…”

With Guillaume’s departure, Hughes was left to himself. He was both proud of the trust put in him by the Order and angry at being forced to run when the Order faced its hour of greatest need.

Guillaume came back less than an hour later, handing Hughes the requested maps.

“Captain, the men have been chosen and are making preparations at the very moment. Will you give me an hint of what is going on ?”

“We are to secure the Order’s future and we’ll have to disguise ourselves as merchants doing so. I can’t tell you much more than that. See to the preparations. I’ve some work ahead of me.”

Hughes then set to studying the maps that covered the northern part of Africa, its unforgiving deserts and uncharted regions. Once something happened I those uncharted regions that gave Hughes an idea of what he had to do…

At noon the next day, Hugues donned his chain-mail armour, his red crossed white tabard and came to meet his men in the courtyard of the Commandery…

“Men, I know that you would all prefer facing the oncoming storm… But that is not to be… Our Master has put upon us the heaviest burden of them all : to carry on the crusading spirit of our forefathers and make sure that the Order survives even if only one of us still lives… So we will ride from these walls and not look back but instead look to the road in front of us and the future it leads to… Now, mount up and let’s be on our way…”

Mounting himself, Hughes took the head of the column of riders and wagons, all the men in armour and wearing the colours of the Order. At the gates of the Commandery, he halted his horse and turning in his saddle, he saluted the Commander watching from a balcony high in the main tower of the Commandery. The Commander returned the salute and Hughes spurred his horse through the gates to the head of the column.

The convoy had not covered five leagues that a young brother came riding hard on its tail, calling for Hughes.

Hughes came to meet him. He remembered his face but not his name, one of the last recruits, a boy his own age when he himself joined. The boy’s horse was covered in sweat, having been driven hard, the boy himself panting from the exertion of the ride.

“Cap… Captain… The Comm.. The Commander has sent me to warn you that you must make haste and be as far away as possible in the morning. The French have assaulted the Commandery. As I left, the fighting was still going on but we were on the losing side. Our brothers put a valiant fight but the French are vicious and numerous.”

Hughes was torn between his duty and his honour.

“Guillaume, take the lead and go as fast as you can to Aigues-Mortes. There buy passage on as many ships as necessary to carry us to Africa, at whatever price the captains of those ships require. I’ll meet you up the road.”
“Amaury, pick thirty men and join me. We ride to the Commandery. We must help our brothers. Boy, remain with the convoy. What’s your name ?”

“Arnoul”.

“Fine, Arnoul. You did well. Now, rest. You’re coming with us. Wherever we’re going…”

Hughes and his thirty men rode back to the Commandery, as hard as they could without taking too much strain on the horses. A full day ride passed before they reached the Commandery grounds.

When they crossed the last hill that hid the citadel from view, Hughes had a vision of Hell. The French catapults and mangonels had breached great holes in the citadels’ once impregnable walls. Fires burned within its halls. But more frightening were the upturned crosses where the men nailed to them hung limply and the stakes that finished burning. But most horrifying of all was the smell of burnt flesh that hung heavy in the air… the true smell of Hell…

Everything that Hughes had believed in, everything that he fought for lay in ruins at his feet. This was too much… Tears streaming from his eyes, Hughes turned to his men.

“What you see yonder is the work of the devil… The French devil… That devil has a name… de Mauchaut… We must root out this evil… Men !!! Form up !!!”

The thirty brothers put their horse in a tight line on the ridge overlooking the French siege camp. Hughes snapped a sharp order.

“Charge !!!”

As one, all the horses started down the hill… The French were still celebrating and had taken no notice of the riders coming… Death from above… Lucifer falling down to Earth…

The horses gained speed and the thunder of their hooves finally turned some French heads… But even above the thunderous roar of the horses’ charge, Hughes’ voice could be heard calling one and only name.

“de Mauchaut !!! de Mauchaut !!! Show yourself !!!”

Some of the French footmen tried to put up a fight but the momentum of the horses struck them down. Their lances broken, the Templar brothers took their swords out and struck left and right, driving their horses with their knees,

Hughes himself was making a bee-line for the largest tent in the camp, sure to find his nemesis in that tent.

Finally, he reached the tent and dropped from his horse. The guards at the entrance of the tent were quickly dispatched. And as Hughes was about to go in, a giant of a man came out, wearing a fine armour of plate, worked in intricate gold designs, a look of malevolence upon his face.

Hughes stepped back to regain his footing.

The man bellowed.

“It seems you have been looking for me. Let’s see if you fight better than your heretic brothers.”

With this the French leader lifted his double-handed sword in a high arc letting it swoop down towards Hughes. Hughes stepped aside and prepared to counter but however heavy that sword might seem, de Mauchaut was already ready to make a parry with it.

Then it was a flurry of combat… Strokes, parries, feints but to no avail… Hughes’ speed and agility was met by skill and brute force on de Mauchaut’s part, with none of the fighters getting the better on the other.

Still, the fight was not so even-handed in the camp. The sheer number of the French soldiers began to take its toll on the Order brothers. Hughes had the time to see Amaury, being taken down from his horse and clubbed to death by French fanatics…

A quick look around showed him that less than ten men were still fighting, three of them horseless…

It was a losing situation… Hughes remembered the mission he had been entrusted with, and how he was to fail without having accomplished anything towards that goal…

Taking profit of de Mauchaut rising its sword high above his head, Hughes rammed him in the chest, toppling him and ran for the tethered warhorse standing next to the tent. It carried de Mauchaut’s coat of arms : a sable griffin on a red field, as vicious a beast as its master… Hughes cut the reins of the horse and gripping them in his free hand, jumped in the saddle. The horse reared and Hughes called to de Mauchaut.

“Evil fiend !!! You’ll pay for your sins… The day we meet again will be your last…”

Hughes then spurred the horse and called to his men.

“Templars !!!… All is lost !!! Rally to me !!!”

Looking back, Hughes could see five of his men following and de Mauchaut rising up, calling for a horse…

At the top of the hill down which they had charged earlier, Hughes stopped his men… Only five of the thirty had made it through that fight… Two of them had mean cuts on their bodies, the three others bore large bruises. Pursuit had not yet begun but was sure to come.

The next days were spent hiding in woods or caves, the nights riding as hard as terrain would allow. Twice, the French nearly overtook them, but Hughes and his men were riding through lands they knew by heart, and so easily lost their pursuers.

Finally, Hughes and his five companions reached Aigues-Mortes, unopposed. There they met by Guillaume who provided them with civilian clothes, hiding the weapons and the telltale tabards in the wagons. Guillaume led Hughes to the inn where he had booked a room, while the wounded men were getting taken care of. Questions burned in the old Templar’s eyes but he knew better than to speak out of turn.

“No questions, Guillaume, please… I will perhaps tell you later but not for now… How are things going here ?”

“Well, Captain, or as well as might be expected given the circumstances. Everybody seems to accept the fact that we are Flemish merchants en route to Sicily. I’ve managed to find two ship captains ready to have us board with horses and “goods” and take us to Palermo. I’ve set aside a large sum of money, to have them change course while we are at sea.”

“Fine, fine… We’ll be sailing tomorrow as soon as the wind allows… Now, I shall rest…”

Guillaume took his leave and Hugues was left to a restless sleep, full of the nightmarish sights of the last days…

In the morning, after a quick breakfast at the inn, Hughes went to the docks to oversee the loading of the ships. Guillaume was dealing out orders as efficiently as if he had been a cargo-master his whole life.

Soon the whole cargo was loaded onto the boats and the horses had also been taken aboard, with much whinnying… Last to go was de Mauchaut’s warhorse, now Hughes’ own…

With everything onboard, the anchors were raised, the lines taken out, the sails let loose, and the ships left the safety of the harbour…

Hughes stood on the castle looking at the receding quays… A rider reached the jetty just as the ships exited the harbour… A giant of a man seemingly in full plate armour and waving a large sword high above his head…

Taking one last look at the coast, and the man upon the quay, Hughes made a promise to himself.

“If God permits, I will come back and France shall now my wrath… I will repay in blood the blood of our brothers… As for you, de Mauchaut, I shall take special care in dealing with you… You will wish you had met the Devil himself before you meet me…”

With this thoughts in mind, Hughes left the bridge of the ship and regained his cabin, where he once again took to surveying the maps of the uncharted deserts of Africa, to retrace a route from the past…

(to be continued…)

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1342

The journey from Nuremberg to Ragusa was the most impressive experience Duke Arnold's Priest had ever seen. Newly elected and emanating energy and passion for the position the Duke was a sight to behold. He had managed in his later years to temper his fierce and dreaded characteristics with a more lenient and patient approach. Of course just below the surface was his old demeanor, but this new aspect to him allowed people to at least approach him without fear of losing some part of their body if things didn't go well.

As his retinue and body guard had left Nuremberg, messengers and outriders poured back and forth from the Duke's mobile council to every corner of the Reich. The various personal banners of the nobles from Outremer, Franconia, Swabia, Bavaria and Austria mingled with the Royal Messengers of the Kaiser and Prinz to form a never ending queue of requests, pleas and outright demands.

As the light faded on each day the troop put down a massive marque and the work continued late into the night.

Drafted to write the Duke's most personal correspondence the Priest had little sleep throughout the journey and his hand ached from the continuous reading and writing it took to deal with a Reich that was teetering on the edge of collapse. Reports of all kinds had to be read, collated and responded too and most of those could only be signed by the Chancellors hand himself. The problem was that in addition to all that, there were the personal reports and visits to be received and answered by the man himself. There were literally just a few minutes sometimes in which important decisions had to be made. Those decisions were sending men to their deaths by the thousands, yet these demands were part and parcel of Duke Arnold's like and to date they seemed to be working in the Reich's favour. The general's were performing amazingly well under his oversight.

Venice had been relieved, as well as Antioch and Hamburg, Austria was fighting back and Duke Steffen was conducting what seemed to be psychological warfare with the Byzantines in northern Italy.

Where he shouldn't be he was, and what he shouldn't be doing he did.

Somehow everything was getting done and it was taking every single resource at the Dukes disposal. His entire retinue was marshaling The Chancellors Office as only they knew how. The men of the Exchequer and War Office has simply refused to budge when they were told that they had to leave Nuremberg for the long and arduous journey to Ragusa. In true form the Chancellor had stormed out of the meeting and sent Grom and Bane in his stead. The Duke had barked out clear instruction to the two of them and it had taken about 7 minutes for his left and right hand men to convince all 40 staff that leaving for Ragusa was the best course of action given their alternatives.

Sadly after so many decades of inactivity The Chancellors Office had been a shell of it former self, however by the time they had reached the outskirts of Ragusa things had begun running smoothly.

-----------------------

One of the many letters the Priest had read was the pending arrival of the daughter of a minor Russian noble. Somehow after the incident the previous season with the Russian diplomats arm being broken, the Duke had become acquainted with some of Russia's minor nobility in attendance for the Diet. Having just won the position of Chancellor it seemed at least one aspiring father wanted his daughter married to the new Chancellor. Arrangements had been made and the woman would be arriving at the docks of Ragusa about the same time as the Duke completed his trip.

Now, having crested the final hill between Nuremberg and Ragusa the Priest could see a ship docked at the harbour flying a Russian flag.

“Well I never!!” The surprise was clearly etched on Sigfreid's face, the military engineer had known the Duke longer than any of them. What had illicited the response from his lips was the sight of Duke Arnold galloping down the slope at full speed towards the ship, all the while letting out a shout of joy and happiness.

“Bloody hell...HE is glad to be finally getting married hey!! He's like a sixteen year old all of a sudden!!” Grinning from ear to ear Grom looked around in amusement as everyone else continued to stare at some of the most unusual behaviour anyone had seen out of their commander, ever.

“You don't think??” replied Bane dryly to the group.

Without another word the troop began a far more sedate pace down the hill towards the harbour. They chatted amongst themselves as various preparations now had to be organised for the pending event. They all looked on in clear amusement as the Duke jump of his horse and walk quickly into the ship.

Finally arriving at the dock Arnold's retinue broke into the familiar days end routine of orders and tasks. The Duke's body guard was dispatched to the Citadel while the his retinue dealt with the constant stream of riders following the Chancellor.

At one point Bane turned to the Priest.

“Can you go and see what is keep the Chancellor. The Viceroy and Prinz have messengers that need his seal on some orders.”

Nodding the Priest headed aboard ship to see what was keeping the Chancellor. Surely the man must be behaving himself he thought...it would be poor form to have the two of them seen together intimately before the marriage.

Jumping down onto the main deck the ship was deathly quite, no noise, no orders being shouted and not a sailor could be seen.

Suddenly a weak cry from a gangway to his right made the Priest spin to see what had caused the sound. From one moment to the next the world tilted. There staggering up onto the deck was Duke Arnold, the Reich's newest Chancellor. Deathly white, blood was pouring from his nose, ears and mouth. The Priest raced over to catch him before he slumped to the deck.

“My lord!! What's happened??!!” Panic caused the Priest's voice to quiver.

“The plague, it's the plague.” Arnold's voice was but a whisper and even those few words caused the Duke to cough up more blood to stain his breast plate.

“Take this...” Arnold reached into his cloak and retrieved a letter. “Give it to Bane...he knows what to do with it...”

Arnold said no more as his head slumped to one side.

“BANE!!!! BANE!!!!”

Sprinting onto the deck the Dread Knight stopped dead in his tracks some ten yards distant. Knowing immediately what he was seeing Bane glanced with alarm at the letter in the blood soaked hand of his master, his voice was calm yet laced with concern.

“Give me the letter Priest, put it on the deck and slide it over.”

Without thinking the Priest prised the letter from Arnold's hand and slid it as best he could towards the Dark Knight.

Kneeling, Bane looked the Priest in eyes. “Get him to the captain quarters and I'll get the Royal surgeon immediately.”

With tears falling from his eyes the Priest managed to move the Duke. In the back ground he could hear the Dread Knight screaming orders to Arnold's retinue...the Chancellor was dying or dead, and the Kaiser must be informed...Bane mounted his horse and without a backward glance headed north west towards Venice, in his hand was a blood stained letter that would potentially change the Reich forever.

[econ21]

Venice, Christmas 1342


Elberhard lay restlessly in the cold bed chamber of the Venetian palace. The refined surroundings could not mask the stench of the water-logged city. But it was not the smell that was keeping the Kaiser awake. It was an eerie sense of foreboding.

Elberhard turned again, looking at the wall - crumbling and unkempt. The Byzantines had not maintained the city. It had only been a frontier settlement to them - too much on the frontline for any highborns to wish to settle there … yet. Elberhard smiled at the thought that he had frustrated any ambitions the Byzantines had of incorporating Venice fully into their Empire.

Then he stopped short. He heard foot steps outside the door … light, female foot steps. He waited for the door to be forced open and was just preparing to say “Not tonight, love, I’m @#$%^&!!!ed”. But the encroachment did not happen. There was just silence.

Elberhard listened. Some sixth sense told him that a woman was still outside his bedroom. Could it be his wife? But such diffidence was certainly not like her…

Elberhard’s skin prickled as the door slowly creaked open. With uncharacteristic reluctance, even fear, he turned over to face the door way. The light was dim, but he could see the door opening.

“Linyeve…” he ventured.

A shadow formed in the entrance, shrouded by the gloom. There was a pause.

“Who’s there?” Elberhard said hesitantly.

The figure started to move towards him, slow and graceful. Rising out of the darkness, he saw a raven haired woman with a haughty bearing. His mind was befuddled and he struggled to put a name to the face. Then it came, accompanied by a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Theodora...?”

The Empress Dowager looked down at the Kaiser with dead eyes.

“You did not save him.”

Elberhard could not speak.

“You let him die.”

The injustice of the charge galvanised Elberhard: “It was a vast conspiracy … I did not know. What could I have done?”

“You know now. And yet you do not act. You let him lie unavenged.”

“The conspiracy was too vast … I could not strike or the Reich would have fallen…”

“You dared not even speak out. You traded justice, even your voice, for what? For the loan of a lumpen city!”

Elberhard looked in horror as Theodora raised her hands and advanced towards him. Her hands were covered in a glistening dark liquid, which oozed drops on to the floor.



*****


Elberhard wiped the liquid off him. It was warm and thinner that he expected. It drenched his night gown. He struggled out of the bed and made for his desk. In the darkness, he fumbled to find a flint and then to light a candle.

He looked down at his night shirt. Thank God - it was not blood. It was merely sweat. The relief swept over the Kaiser and he collapsed down on the chair by his desk. Only then, freed from fear, was he aware of how dry his throat was. The decanter on his desk was empty. @#$%^&!!! it - did he have to do everything for himself?

Angrily, he got up and went towards the bathroom. He noticed that a glow of light coming from underneath the bathroom door. He thought nothing of it until he heard a faint sound coming from within.

Elberhard stopped sharply - his senses all alert. The sound… it was hard to discern. A laboured sound, as if an old man were fighting for breath. Were those words? Was someone muttering?

Elberhard’s nerves were already frayed, but now they were spent. In a flurry of action, he raced to his discarded clothes and grabbed the swordbelt that lay amidst them. Swiftly he drew his blade and advanced purposefully towards the bathroom.

He kicked open the door and the light temporarily blinded him. He shielded his eyes from the light and looked down. As he focused, he saw the floor was covered in a great pool of blood.

Elberhard uttered an animal cry and raised his sword to strike, and then he saw him … crumpled in the corner, soaked in blood, a man. The man was holding his stomach, and his head was skewed awkwardly at an angle, watching Elberhard’s sword arm poised to strike. Blood and mutilation obscured the man’s face.

Elberhard lowered his sword, staring at the helpless figure in horror and pity.

“Who are you? What happened…”

The man started as if to laugh, then choked on his own blood. His glazed eyes fixed on the Kaiser.

“I am you. … You happened…”

Elberhard could make no sense of the words. Then the wounded man appeared to gain new vitality and started to crawl towards him - one arm outstretched, determinedly reaching for Elberhard, the other still cradling his stomach.

Elberhard instinctively stepped back, out of the man’s reach. The man fell forward, both arms then pushing his prone body up off the floor. In horror, Elberhard saw the man’s intestines spilling out.

The man continued crawling forward, then raised his head and called out: ““I am sorry, your Excellency but honour demands that one of us not leave the field alive.”



*****


Elberhard slammed the bathroom door shut and ran to his bed. He jumped under the bedclothes and pulled them over his head. He listened. No sound came from the bathroom. He waited. Slowly, he lowered the sheets. There was no light under the bathroom door. He looked around - where was his sword? He saw his sword belt lying crumpled amidst his day clothes and started to relax, laughing at his own stupidity. This would be a @#$%^&!!! of a story to tell Linyeve tomorrow. He started to drift away.

A strange sensation woke him. A caressing of his face - almost as if he was being shaved. His face was wet … and the smell, as pungent as Venice but less stale. Something was on top of him. He heard panting. His arms pushed away the thing and he opened his eyes.

There, on top of him, sat Ernest, his father Henry’s old watchdog. Elberhard smiled bemusedly at the dog and was about to pat the gentle creature when he realised they were not alone. There was a presence beside them - sitting next to Elberhard’s bed.

Slowly, Elberhard turned. He saw a leg stretched stiffly out and a walking stick. A long black cloak and a man sat on a seat beside his bed. Again, the fog in Elberhard’s mind struggled to recognise the figure in front of him. The man saw he was being observed and stood up awkwardly, covering his face by with the hood of his black cloak. A claw like hand reached for Ernest’s collar. Elberhard noticed pox marks on the hand and then heard the stranger’s voice shatter the air.

“You think it is all over - this cataclysm that has befallen the Reich?” The stranger laughed - a harsh, humourless laugh. “It has not even begun…”

With that, the enigmatic figure turned and limped towards the door, dutifully followed by Ernst.

Elbehard watched as if transfixed, but as the odd couple left the room, he rose vengefully from the bed - heading again for his sword belt. He drew the blade and picked up speed, opening the door in a rush, sword in hand.

Outside a terrified courtier looked down at the blade levelled at his chest.

“I am sorry to disturb you, your Excellency…” said the petrified young man.

He was holding a silver platter with a parchment on it.

“I have an urgent letter, Sire ... from Duke Arnold in Ragusa…”

[OverKnight]

North of Adana, 1344

Adana had been reclaimed. The Greeks had been destroyed. His old nemesis Nikeforos Argyrus was mouldering in the ground for almost two decades. Despite all this, Matthias had been drawn here, to the mountain glade where his men had been ambushed, and he had been taken. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Looking around he found no evidence of the chaos and blood of that ambush. King Jan, pious man that he was, had buried the dead. A cairn of stones marked their resting place. The Viceroy stood before it, deep in thought. It had been a lifetime ago, he thought, the old Matthias had died that day. The quiet, technocratic Chancellor was gone, reborn as a Zealot, cruel and merciless.

He grunted, he had become prone to hyperbole in his middle years. Yet, there was truth to it. Gazing at the burial ground, he thought, What have I become?

His reverie was disturbed by Adalric, who came running up to him.

"A rider just came from the south my lord. . .terrible news, the Kaiser is dead!"

Matthias gaped at his bodyguard and then swore loudly. This was unexpected. Elberhard and Jan, the two men, not counting the young von Kassel, who had stood with him defiantly against the Greeks in those dark chaotic years just past, were now both dead. Each of them, who had faced so much danger in Outremer, had perished upon their return to Europe. Was that a tragic coincidence or God's judgement on abandoning their mission in the Holy Land?

He shook off the thought, there were now more important tasks at hand than idle woolgathering.

"Saddle my horse, Adalric, we're going back."

Riding south, Matthias left the glade behind him. The past should be left in the past.

Back at the Citadel, Matthias was about to enter his quarters when his Chamberlain stopped him.

"My Lord, I'm glad you got my message. Horrible news. Umm. . .there is a Nun waiting for you in your chambers."

Matthias, already a bit in shock, responded quizzically, "A nun? The repairs on the Chapel are going as quick. . .wait in my chambers? Why did you allow it?"

The man looked at his feet, "She was very. . .convincing my Lord."

The Viceroy's eyes narrowed, "Very well, I'll deal with it."

Entering his chambers, there was indeed a nun, gazing out the window of his, formerly Pelekanos of Akrokos's, study. Matthias was about to speak when the woman turned to face him.

Matthias gasped. She was older, and thin, painfully thin, but it was her.

"My God, Elsebeth."

To be continued.

Matthias's last meeting with Elsebeth (https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showpost.php?p=1686189&postcount=159) and his previous visit to the Glade (https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showpost.php?p=1695678&postcount=177).

[Cecil XIX]

Prague, 1348

From the Diary of Edmund Becker

It would seem this damnable plague is moving as fast as I had feared. Just two years ago it was limited to only the western parts of Turkish and Russian lands. Now it has spread from Caffa and Sarkel to the Reich’s coastal provinces, as well as Dijon. My only hope is that the plague’s relatively slow progress over land will allow Bohemia a longer reprieve, as all the neighboring territories have so far been spared. Otherwise, this Plague may kill any chance I had of seeing my plan for Bohemia with my mortal eyes. Still, I will persevere. During the cataclysm, when settlements were dwindled down by unrest, and all construction ceased, I managed to keep Bohemia growing while spending more time improving Prague’s infrastructure than all the other settlements of the Reich combined. No matter what, this plague will hurt Prague far less than it will the other cities and castles of the Reich. It could even strengthen Prague’s position relative to the other cities.

[Ferret]

Dieter walked briskly into his chamber and sat on the bed. He had done it. The Ducal crown of Franconia was in the family of the von Hamburgs. Now he could realise his greatest dreams and do what is right for the Franconian people, especially the Saxons, those were the true Franconians, the originals, not the Prussians. He had been toying with the idea of showing this to the world. There were no Prussian territories left anyway so why should it be called Franconia? The Duchy of Saxony would be a far more fitting name, and perhaps it shall become so.

[Northnovas]

Vienna Region 1346

The local noble had opened his estate for the Zirn’s to meet over the Christmas Holiday. The residence was full of activity. The 2nd Austrian Household Army had another victory and was being supplied to defend Vienna. Johann had left but returned to be with his family. A lavish supper had been completed and the guest had excused themselves from the table. Only the Zirn men remained Karl and his sons Johann, Jan and Maximilian. The debate between Karl and Johann developed some hard feelings and had been an issue for the past few months was ready to begin again. It was affecting both men especially Johann and his role in the family and the Duke’s House. This topic was never going to go away till an agreement could be reached. The younger siblings sat by the fireplace poking at the fire. This scene was getting familiar between the two men and the younger boys would try to ignore the debate but Jan was getting more interested in the discussion between his older brother and father. All the sons have the utmost respect for their father and each other.

Karl and Johann conversation was getting more heated then usual so much that the younger siblings turned their attention to the fire and not try look in the direction of the two men. Peter who was outside the room was also puzzled and embarrassed and prevented the help from entering the room to clean up. The Zirn’s would always have a debate but the tone of this one was different then others.

“No, I do not agree father, I can’t see it possible! Can’t you see what is going on? How can I accomplish this it is too much and will not discuss this further?” Johann was very angry with his father for not considering his request and to do his father’s bidding instead. It was not going to happen. He had a vision of the new Reich and the ideas that have been spoken the past few years in the places of learning and the streets.

Karl was getting tired quicker then usual and looking at his son knowing this was going no further tonight. Johann was more on edge then usual maybe it was the last siege of the city? It had a psychological effect on everyone. Karl was going to plea once more…..

“Enough father!” Johann raised his hand in a stopping motion, “I have am tired and will not discuss this anymore. I am retiring for the night.” Johann then left quickly out of the room not looking at his father or brothers and quickly brushing past Peter without a word.

Karl walked over to the fireplace were Jan and Max had been sitting quietly.

“Why is Joe so mad? Did he not get enough to eat?” said the youngest Zirn. Karl looked and smiled at the innocence of his son.

“No don’t be so daft. You are too young to understand these matters of importance just play with your toys. I understand it is not about food” continued Jan.

“Toys, you don’t call those figures of soldier’s on the table toys you play with all the time?!” shot back Max.

Shhhh! enough boys the hour is getting late. Karl sat in the chair and motioned his boys closer. They knew their “debate” was over and sat closer to hear what their father had to say. Karl looked at the boys wondering of the future that lay ahead the privileges of family and its pitfalls.

“Listen boys, Johann is upset because we are having a disagreement. He is young and full of new ideas and energy. There are great plans ahead of him and he is high favour with your Uncle Arnold.”

“The Duke!” exclaimed Max with a smile.

“Yes the Duke, having no children of his own you boys will take an important part in the future of this Duchy. You are all great-grandsons of Kaiser Heinrich and will all have a responsibility in the growth of this House. It is just Johann may have a larger role because he is older and he is seeing things differently. He may have some of the traits of your Uncle in his outlook but there is one trait that this family does have…..” Karl then stared over to the fire he got up and walked over grabbing a log. The boys walked over and picked up some small kindling.

“Loyalty, Trust and Integrity” Karl then reached in and removed a small ember from the hot bed. “You see boys this ember alone losing its glow. That is what happens when you do not work together.” Jan tried to light his stick with the ember but it would not light.
“Do you know why it will not light boys?”

Max reached to touch and quickly pulled his hand away. “Ouch it’s still hot” he quipped shaking his hand to cool his fingers.

Karl chuckled at Max’s wonderment. “Yes it is hot it still has some energy but not enough to light Jan’s little stick. Watch”

Karl then continued placing the log on the glowing embers. It started it ignite and flames grew from the log.

“See how the log ignites all those embers banded together and engulfed the log. That little ember could not light a little stick and on its own it may start off strong but cools off quickly and dies out. Why? Remember, cooperation is the key and utilizing the principles you have learned will keep you strong in adverse situations and overcome your enemies. Remember how important this is for the Austrian House and our family. Don’t forget and we will always remain together.”

Jan looked into the fire and threw his stick into the flames “loyalty, trust, integrity”

Max following his older brother’s lead and threw his stick into the flames “cooperation.”

Karl smiled down at the boys and in his heart he knew the Johann also understood.

Johann got to his room and was relieved to be alone. The room was warm and a glow with the fire roaring in the fireplace. He prepared to retire for the night and got to thinking of his after supper conversation with his father. He poured himself a goblet of wine and standing by the fireplace watching the flames leap from the logs, he stared deeply into the flames thinking; euphony came to him.
Maybe the old man is right I think I am being too short sighted he is always looking ahead. I must look further then my own needs. I was a little harsh and should apologize for what I said we have been arguing far too long. He thought of getting dressed and going back to his father but thought an apology over breakfast Christmas morning would be better when they are both rested.

He commenced his evening prayers and he prayed for his father and retired for the night.

Johann awoke it was Christmas morning, the sun light was penetrating through the window and a fire was roaring in the room the servants had been in to prepare the room for him to start his morning. There was activity outside his room but something did not seem right.

Johann quickly dressed and walked out into the hall there were servants quickly walking down the hall some weeping. “The master is gone.” He heard them crying. Johann quickly went to his father’s quarters.

When he got to the room his father was lying in his bed the priest was there, his mother and brothers weeping. The priest looked over to Johann with a sad look.

“He’s dead!?” Johann was stunned it felt like an out of body experience and only one thought raced in his head I didn’t apologize. The guilt of leaving on bad terms was overwhelming. He fell to his knees. How could he have left his father in that state last night? He prayed

“Forgive me father, I will honour your request.”

Johann composed himself has his mother came over to him. He hugged her and his brothers then thought; he must get back to Ragusa and his Uncle Arnold only the second man he admired after his father. Peter and Ingo arrived to the room. Johann directed his attention to them. Your last act of servitude is to prepare the funeral arrangements for my father.

Both men were heavy with grief has they completed their final orders.

[OverKnight]

The continuation of this (https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showpost.php?p=1791851&postcount=255) story.

Elsebeth calmly surveyed Matthias.

"Yes, it is me. Does my appearance shock you?", she focused on his eyepatch and grey hair and smiled, "I have not aged as gracefully as you."

Matthias grunted, "I was simply taken aback by your unexpected arrival here, particularly in such vestments. The last time I saw you in Rome, you had taken no vows."

Elsebeth cast her eyes down and smoothed her robes.

"Ah, yes, I am a Bride of Christ now. Much has changed in the years since last we met."

Matthias, playing for time, crossed to a sideboard and poured two glasses of wine. Offering her a glass, he spoke, "Indeed, so why have you traveled back east after so many years?"

Taking the glass, she drank deeply, and replied, "I have come back to be closer to Otto. When I heard that you had liberated Adana, I took ship from Ostia. I had been at a small convent there since the fall of Rome."

"You've been in Greek territory all these years?"

She nodded and finished her wine in a gulp.

"Yes, I was in Rome when the Byzantines stormed the city. It was terrible. Fortunately, the Kaiserin Theodora intervened on my behalf, and I was saved the depredations that befell the other inhabitants."

Elsebeth sighed, sinking down into a chair, "Of course, I was not to be completely trusted, Theodora had soured on Germans at that point. There is a tradition in their Empire. Inconvenient nobles are bundled off to isolated monasteries and 'encouraged' to take vows, and so that was my fate."

Matthias sat opposite her, "Why stay there? Why did you leave now?"

Shaking her head, she responded, "I was being watched and. . .before the death of Siegfried, I had become a confidant of Theodora. I. . .advised her on how to skillfully bring her influence to bear on the Electors. I served much the same role as I had with you. Once unification was destroyed, my service was remembered. It saved my life in Rome, but there are few Germans who would shelter me. Some might even seek to do me harm."

Elsebeth paused, glancing up at Matthias, "A woman with power is a rare thing, I felt it wise to seek out another like myself. In hindsight, not my best decision. When Kaiser Elberhard, God rest my nephew's soul, arrived in Italy, it loosened Greek control. I was able to escape when the time came."

Matthias sat in silence, thinking. He spoke after a moment, "Whatever has happened, you are welcome in Adana. We all consorted with the Greeks before the split. I myself spoon fed them Caesarea, much to my later regret. It is good to have you here."

Oddly, his words did not have a calming effect on her. Elsebeth paled at the mention of Caesarea and her grip on the wine glass became white knuckled. She abruptly stood, and crossed to Matthias. She gingerly brushed back some hair from above the patch over his right eye.

"Does it hurt?"

"What?"

"Your eye," she said, a tear running down her cheek.

Matthias looked up at her quizzically, "No, not for years. What are you getting at?"

Elsebeth looked miserable, she whispered, "I told her. To gain favor, I told her."

"What?!", asked Matthias again, anger rising in his voice.

Elsebeth drew herself up, regaining the composure and poise of a noblewoman. She swallowed and spoke clearly, "I told the Kaiserin of your plans to hold Adana. To defy the Kaiser and prevent the handover to the Greeks. I told her, and that most likely led to your capture. I am sorry."

Matthias batted her hand away from his head and stood bolt upright. A fire burned in his good eye as he loomed over Elsebeth. Swearing he turned and in a rage swept the contents of the sideboard to the floor. Once, twice, three times he brought his fists down on it. Lowering his head, he drew in a ragged breath.

"Get out," he seethed in a cold voice, not bothering to look at her, "You may stay in Adana, but you will remain out of my sight."

Elsebeth tentatively approached him, arms reaching out to him, "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I only wanted to stop you from doing something. . ."

"Get out!", screamed Matthias.

She left, head held high.

Matthias bowed his head after she was gone and prayed, but found no peace. The past could not be left behind. It came back unexpectedly, raw and sharp, carried by dark tidings and unexpected revelations. No matter how many times he thought himself reborn, it would still be there.

[econ21]

Nuremburg, 1346


“What is he like?” inquired the Empress Dowager Linyeve.

Sir Charles de Villiers thought for a moment: “His family are minor nobles from Luxemburg, they have conducted much trade with England. While the chaos in Swabia has been ruinous for the Reich, it has provided opportunities for those who know how to seize them. Armies have many needs and the disruption of regular trade routes provides rich profits for those who can work with unscrupulous generals.”

“Yes, yes - he is rich, I get it. But damn it, Charles, do you think that is all I care about?” reprimanded Linyeve.

Sir Charles raised a sceptical eyebrow and Linyeve scowled at him, although half in jest.

“What is the boy like?” Linyeve insisted.

“Not much to look at, but shows great promise in martial pursuits. He is brave and already has scars to show his martial practice. Involvement in his family’s affairs has given him some skill in organisation. He appears religious and earnest.”

“It sounds as if he would be fine as a soldier, but as a husband?”

“You are asking a soldier, not a woman, your Highness.”

“Bah. Very well - I will meet the boy. And what of you, Sir Charles? What will you do now?”

“My services are no longer required in the Reich, your Highness. I will return to serve our native England - perhaps in the Levant, to liaise between her new Crusader provinces and your Kingdom of Outremer.”

Linyeve smiled: “A most excellent idea, Sir Charles, I wish you well. For my part, Germany is my country now and I will not leave her although I fear I too am surplus to requirements. However, I do still have a young family to raise.”

The Empress Dowager sighed: “Speaking of which, I must break the news to Eue. I thank you for bringing this young man to my attention, Sir Charles, and we will speak again before we depart. But now you must wish me luck.”



*****


“No, I won’t do it!” Eue shouted at her mother. “The boy is a parvenu from a family of war profiteers! An upstart creep, using us to crawl up the greasy pole!”

“And we are using him. Your father had many virtues, but being good with money was not one of them. He has left us virtually penniless and while the Reich is fighting for survival, it has no money to lavish on orphaned royalty. Besides, after Theodora’s stunt, it will be a while before foreign Empress Dowagers become popular causes in the Reich!”

“You want me to marry someone just for their money?” Eue demanded.

“Not just for his money. The boy has great promise - Sir Charles has assured me…”

“Sir Charles!?! Well, why doesn’t Sir Charles damn well marry him then!” Eue stormed.

“Listen, Eue - you must understand your situation. You have gone from being the most sort after woman in the Reich to being a near outcast. The young men who lined up to court you - that Hapsburg boy, Karl Zirn’s eldest - will not look at you now. You must adjust to your new situation in life. It is a man’s world, my dear, and you must find the most promising man to attach yourself too. And in these violent times, it is martial men who offer the most chance of advancement.”

“And boys from filthy rich families?”

“Filthy rich helps.”

[Northnovas]

Ragusa 1346

Johann had found comfortable lodgings a few miles from the Citadel. There was very little movement on the road with the sickness spreading across all of Europe. He was fortunate to get this place whose owner’s were weary of travelers. However, once the young man’s family name was recognize he was given a place to stay.

“Bloody hell” Johann though to himself holding the last message from the Duke.

He had left Vienna to take command of the 1st AHA in Ragusa under the Duke’s orders but it has been one major disappointment. He left with high hopes that he was to get away from his father’s shadow and prove his worth. Unfortunately his father’s death this past year did not leave the two on best of terms. Rather then take command of the 2nd AHA and stay in Vienna he returned to Ragusa as originally ordered. This wandering the countryside with no command was making Joahnn feel very unappreciated.

“Another damn message, what is it this time head for Timbuktu?” Johann thought to himself. He had been alone a lot quite lately. “It is damn maddening back and forth without an Army and because of this sickness I have not even seen Uncle Arnold. He is bloody quarantined.” His only contact with the Duke had been by correspondence and healthy messengers. Only miles apart and they have had no met each other.

Johann opened the seal message

Johann,
I have new orders you are to return to Vienna to assist in the situation there. The Hungarians have besieged the city and no commander as sallied forth. My situation has improved but there is much sickness here in Ragusa. I feel it would be best for you to return to Vienna and fight the Hungarians.

Uncle Arnold

Johann stared at the message and then thought. He crumbled the paper and threw them into the fireplace. “Sickness, mmph,” thinking, “The Hungarians were father’s enemies not mine. I will make my own. I am heading into Ragusa to command an army... and find out what is going on with Uncle.”

His decision had been made he was continuing on his original orders. Sickness or Venetians he was heading for the Citadel.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Rosenheim, 1350

The journey from Prague to Italy had been a long one for Herrmann Steffen. Having come of age in Nuremburg in 1344, he rushed to the Austrian city to assist in its relief from the Poles. Everything went fine, Edmund Becker had not recommended knighthood, and ever since then he had been cut off from the events that concerned him most; on the long road to Italy.

In all fairness, he probably would have been there by now had it not been for the Plague. The dreaded sickness - which was labelled by some as the Black Death, its casualty count approaching the Byzantine genocide in Italy and the War of Reformation deaths - had knocked out every major center in which Herrmann wanted to resupply. As a result, his party, fueled by Herrmann's paranoia, had resulted to living off the land, which had slowed progress down significantly.

The hamlet of Rosenheim was, in 1300, a thriving market town; a budding center of commerce, situated roughly halfway between Nuremburg and Innsbruck. That was before the bad times. Years of war had whittled down the population, and the Byzantine takeover of the majority of Italy had severely hampered trade. Little by little Rosenheim was abandoned as its residents moved farther into the heart of the Reich or the nearby cities for protection. By the time the Black Death hit, it was a near-ghost town.

Herrmann and his party viewed the town from a nearby hill, surveying for signs of possible activity or sickness. All of them were filthy beyond belief after foraging for food and tromping through the wilderness. One of them still had a dribble of juice, no doubt from undercooked meat, rolling down his chin.

"Okay," he said, "Who do you want to send, Herrmann?" It had been Herrmann's policy to send only one of his retinue down at a time into towns in case of infection.

"Town looks pretty empty to me. Nobody left for the plague to kill. I'll go down myself; I need to ask questions."

A pause. It was highly unlikely that Herrmann's fear of getting sick would take such a 180.

"...but, you're all coming with me. Surround me, facing outward. Nobody is going to touch or breathe on me, I can guarantee that."

With knowing smiles, Herrmann's retinue, accompanied by their leader, packed their things and made their way down into Rosenheim. Walking down the main street, they surveyed their surroundings. The stench of death still lingered in the air, although it was only faint. More overpowering was the feeling of general emptiness. The buildings lining this street and others were meant to be filled.

They weren't.

One man approached the circle of soldiers making their way down the street; an old priest, still clean-shaven on the face but long and wild on the scalp. He stared at them, mumbling, and finally approached them. The wall around Herrmann tightened.

"What brings you lads to Rosenheim? Is this the newest, most powerful army the Kaiser sends to deliver Italy from the Byzantines? Oh, truly, better times have befallen us."

"Relax, old man," Herrmann said from behind the wall. "I am Herrmann Steffen, first of four sons of Duke Lothar Steffen of Bavaria. The young generation is alive and well and ready to continue the fight. Our armies are still large and powerful. My men and I have been called down to Italy to provide additional tactical as well as cavalry support to Count Fredericus Erlach. We require provisions for the journey as towns along the way have been few."

"Provisions?" The old priest laughed. "Hah! You're many years late, lad. Sure, we had lots of provisions - at the turn of the century. Times have gotten worse since then, however."

"As they have for everybody. The Reich still survives."

"The Reich, maybe, but not this town."

"You still live. Tell me, is there anyone who can aid us? Surely those remaining who are not sick would jump at the chance to do business with travelers, as this town used to."

"Well..." The priest scratched his unkempt mane, trying to remember. "The leading trader, Gruber, got old and died a few years ago. He had five sons, but four of them went off to war and couldn't continue the family business. Their youngest, not yet of military age, got sick and passed away. The second leading trader, Demetrius, was robbed and beaten to death during the Cataclysm by a few deserted soldiers mistaking him for a Greek by his name. He had no heirs. The third leading trader simply lost his business and died penniless.

"And then we go to the minor moneymakers of Rosenheim. Two young gentlemen, appropriately named Hans and Dietrich, took their religious differences to the extreme and slaughtered each other. Both had pregnant wives and young sons. Both families starved to death the following winter, unable to provide for themselves. Our butcher, Ruprecht, moved away to Franconia. His brother stayed, trying to maintain the family business for a while. Then of course, he got sick and died.

"We lost our blacksmith to the Plague. Our main merchants, our government officials, our clergy, minus me. Anyone remotely connected with business is either gone or dead. Had you come earlier, I would have been able to direct you to our last remaining farmer in the area, one Jens Heinztelman. He had a nice little crop going in the area, was able to feed himself, his wife, his four kids, and still have some left over to sell to us. Last month he got sick, just him. In a fever-induced madness the second night of his illness, Jens Heintzelmen picked up a hatchet and killed everyone else in the house, screaming loud enough for us in town to hear. By the time I got to his place he was covered in blood, muttering something about demons. Right in front of me he picks up his bloody hatchet and implants it in his neck. Now, of course, his farm is ruined, already being reclaimed by nature.

"Young Steffen, if I could be of any help to you I honestly would. But I've watched the town die around me. There aren't very many of us left, and we pretty much keep to ourselves for fear of getting sick. We fend for ourselves, provide what we can. But can we give enough food for a dozen young men on their way to Italy? No sir, we cannot."

A long, terrible silence followed the close of the priest's speech, one that lasted for over two minutes. Herrmann's protective circle broke apart, each man taking a few steps, surveying the destruction that the priest had just described, now being able to visualize the horrors that must have taken place. Herrmann just stared, taking everything in.

"How far to the nearest town?" he finally asked.

"About fifteen miles to the south," the priest said.

"Get back to your horses." Herrmann turned to his men. "We move out immediately."

Several minutes later they were ready, bidding goodbye to the priest and departing the town of Rosenheim, heading south, wondering if the town fifteen miles away had a similar story to tell, wondering if they had fared any better.

[AussieGiant]

Outside Ragusa 1350

Arnold sat at the Chancellors desk oblivious to the passing of time. The intensity written across his face meant the servants simply left food and drink at a nearby table rather than interrupt their master.

The massive field tent was strewn with maps, recruiting orders and the continued reports of the Black Death and its spread across the known world.

Looking up from his paper's the Duke gazed at the unanswered orders sent to Erlach and von Hapsburg lying on a nearby table.

Snorting with disgust he walked over to the two parchments, picked them up with his Obsidian encased hand, then proceeded to throw them into the blazing hearth which dominated one wall of the Chancellors field office.

Taking his seat again he leaned back in his chair while sipping a goblet of red wine. Some moments past and again the Duke shook his head at some other issue that had come across his mind. This problem had also not gone well over the last few years.

##############################

In the adjacent room the grave yard shift at three o'clock in the morning comprised of just three staff, the Chancellor's private secretary, the head servant and a junior servant.

The junior servant, orderd to constantly peer through a small slit to prempt any of the Chancellors wishes, looked on with growing alarm as the slow groaning of metal on metal reached the ears of his colleagues behind him.

"Is he crushing another goblet? Things must not be going so well;" said the head servant from the back of the room.

"Bloody hell sir, I thought we swapped out the delicate stuff last month;" said the junior servant still looking on with growing alarm through the slit.

The Chancellors private secretary glanced up from his book and look on with some concern at the two servants developing discussion.

"We did!! Is he's crushing one of those new steel goblets we purchased from Venice??!!" the head servant voice was clearly full of disbelief.

Slapping his book shut the private secretary stood up in some alarm.

"Well from here it sure looks like it!!" The whisper from the junior servant peering through the slit was now nearly as loud as a normal speaking voice.

"Will you two stop blathering on and get the Priest!! Maybe the Chancellor is getting better!!?"

The private secretary wondered what a healthy Chancellor would be like. A sick and plagued one was already horrifying enough!!

[AussieGiant]

Above Ragusa 1350

The Chancellors priest sat on his horse looking through an eye glass at the carnage below.

Next to him was Hermann the Corrupt, and even though his title was the most inexplicable to ever grace a member of the Preferati, that in fact was what he was, one of the two current Preferati Cardinal's on earth.

Here at the behest of the Chancellor, one of the Pope's most favoured representatives looked on at the phenomenon Duke Arnold's priest had reported some time ago.

The outnumbered army of the Chancellor was destroying a force twice it's size with some ease. It was certainly chaotic but there was a method to its madness. What was even more startling to the two onlooking clergymen was that the garrison of Ragusa had not even made it to the fight before it was all over.

The reason for this...The Chancellor.

Where ever he rode the Venetian's ran screaming like banshee's who had seen the devil. If one flank was being threatened the Duke would wheel, realign his body guard and charge into the mass of men like the devil incarnate.

https://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x79/aussiegiant/1350/medieval22008-01-1210-32-58-59.jpg

Blood, flying apendiges and death would ensue and within minutes the screams of men that had seen walking death would be heard. In fact after a point in the battle the Chancellor's body guard rarely had to trade blows with the enemy. The Venetian's would simply run at the first sight of the Chancellor's approaching regiment and the man they all feared riding at it's head.

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“I see what you mean Priest.” The deep voice of the Preferati Cardinal made the Chancellor's priest look up from the gore below.

“Your report also mentioned unnatural physical acts...I don't see any. What has this got to do with his retinue?”

“Well your grace, I'm the only member of the Chancellor's seven strong retinue that I or anyone else for that matter have seen in the last few months...you remember what I said in the report?” The Priest tailed off not wanting to actually speak the words he had written down as a theoretical answer to the issue.

“Yes, yes, I remember your words, that is what worried the Pope so much, and that is why he decided to agree to your masters request and have me meet with Arnold regularly.”

There was a pause as the Chancellor's priest gazed at the Cardinal looking on the battle through his eye glass.

“Ah ha...I see what you mean.”

The priest look back through his eye glass just fast enough to see the Chancellor physically punch his obsidian plate covered hand through a man's shield, grab him by the top of his breast plate, pick him up bodily and impale him on a nearby lance that was broken and protruding from the ground.

“Exactly your grace, that, the aura he projects and the occasional glow from his eye's are the reasons I wrote what I did in the report to you.” The priest looked back at the Preferati Cardinal who had never ceased peering through his eye glass through the entire conversation.

Snapping the eye glass shut in one swift motion the Cardinal finally looked at the Priest and smiled.

“Well then, that's that, he's finished them off. Shall we go down there and meet this master of yours? Lets see if he's covered in blood and gore and sounds like the anti-Christ!!??”

https://i184.photobucket.com/albums/x79/aussiegiant/1350/medieval22008-01-1210-35-34-75.jpg

The priest blanched white at the Cardinal's tone and attitude. When he meets the man in person he was sure the cardinal would leave for Jerusalem with a far more concerned look on his face.

[OverKnight]

Adana, 1350

Adana was in the grip of the Black Death. The six year Greek siege had worsened the outbreak, confined quarters and privation had aided the spread of the disease. The Great Keep in the Citadel was now used as a quarantine for the sick and dying, with the troops stationed on the two outermost rings of the Citadel. Despite two sallies which had bloodied them, the Greeks had kept to their siege, they seemed to be in a race with the plague to see who could take Adana first. Or perhaps they were content to sit outside the walls and let pestilence do their work for them.

Matthias had steered clear of the Keep. Barring quarantine and prayer, there was little he could do for the afflicted, the Greeks, though, were another matter. He had spent his time since the last sally rallying the troops and working on a defense in case the Byzantines summoned up enough courage to attack. Grim tidings, however, had brought him from his new quarters at the Gate House of the second ring to the Keep. Despite the pleas of bodyguard, he had entered.

He found her among the dying in the Dining Hall. Elsebeth was lying on a straw pallet. A simple cotton shift had replaced her nun's habit. Matthias could see the black splotches dotting her skin, prevalent around the neck, that gave the disease its name. Her clothing hid the swollen buboes that would have surely formed at armpit and groin. She breathed shallowly, lost in a fever, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and a trickle of bloody sputum ran down her chin from the left side of her mouth.

With a groan he sank down beside her. Tremulously he reached out and took her hand, "Elsebeth? I'm so sorry, I just heard."

She opened her eyes, and smiled faintly.

"Pardon me Viceroy, if I do not stand in your presence. I find myself indisposed."

A coughing fit took her and Matthias could not help but recoil as more bloody sputum sprung from her mouth. After it had passed, he dapped at her face with a cloth and gave her some water, cradling her head so that she could drink. Elsebeth gasped in pain as she was moved.

"No apology needed," he belatedly replied, "for anything."

Elsebeth looked up, her eyes clearer, "You should not be here. That is how I was afflicted, tending to the sick."

Matthias silently shook his head, unable to speak. After a moment, his words came roughly, "It is in God's hands. Though. . .His Will has become difficult to discern lately. I had to come when I heard, the last time we spoke, I was harsh, I would not have our last. . ."

He paused.

"Last words?", Elsebeth interjected, her voice weak, "I am dying Matthias, that is evident. You need not dance around it."

He exhaled painfully, a mix of laughter and despair, "Of course. I would not have our last words be in anger. Whatever you told Theodora, you had no idea what it would lead to. I should have realized this. We have all done regretful things in the upheaval around unification. The past is the past."

Elsebeth visibly relaxed, though pain remained in her eyes. Her breathing became shallower.

"I'm glad. . .a request. . .bury me with Otto."

Matthias smiled sadly, "Of course. . .with Otto."

He paused again and then spoke quietly, "You're the only women I ever loved. A bit unfair to say this now, I know, but there it is. I hope that means something to you."

Elsebeth nodded weakly. Another coughing fit took her, she struggled to breath through the agony.

Matthias brought a vial from his belt.

"This will help, Laudanum. It will ease your path."

Gently he helped her drink from vial. Waiting, he held Elsebeth's hand as she began to fade.

"I'm here. I'll be here until the end."

Matthias prayed as the last child of Kaiser Heinrich passed on.

Adalric, the only member of the bodyguard who had dared to enter the Keep, found Matthias hunched over her body.

"My lord, the Greeks are mustering to attack! You are needed at the walls!"

The Viceroy of Outremer raised his head, blackness writ across his features. Standing he grasped the hilt of Iron Faith.

"We shall see if God still favors us. Deploy the men as planned, we have Greeks to kill."

With a sigh, Matthias turned and marched out of the Keep to face the attackers.

[Northnovas]

Zagreb Region 1352

The morning sun shone brightly on his face and he could feel the dew on the grass around him. He slowly pulled himself out from his slumber when he saw a figure of a man crouched in front of him. Startled he spun around and jumped to his feet reaching for his dagger it was not there. Damn it! He thought to himself has he saw the dagger lying on the ground partially covered by his blankets. Looking at the figure he could see he was uniformed and a member of the Reich.

“My lord, Captain Jacob with your orders.” The Captain held out a scrolled document and bowed before Johann. Looking beyond the Captain down the hill was an entourage of Knights on horsed waiting.

“What orders!? From who and what for…” Has he grabbed the document he saw the Chancellor’s Seal. Looking back at the Captain, “How did you find me? There hasn’t been anyone traveling these roads. I have resorted to sleeping out in the country to avoid the sickness and besides its almost impossible now to even find lodgings.”

The Captain smiled “The Reich has her agents still at work it took some time and Duke Arnold held no expense it was a priority. There wasn’t an agent who was not going to report back to the Duke that you could not be found.” The Captain thought it was not much of a noble to be found in this condition but like his unit the young noble was healthy and that was a good thing.



Johann,

I am most annoyed at your disappearance but have trusted it kept you healthy? We are in dire straits, the Hungarians have launched an offensive that has Vienna besieged and even Zagreb in danger.
I am ordering you to Vienna with the plague and all. It has been total incompetence of command with the city defenses. I want that siege broken and safety returned to the city.
Succeed and I will grant you your late father’s lands and title. You will be officially the Count of Zagreb. You will also have to go and relieve that city too!
I am counting on you make haste to Vienna!

Chancellor Arnold Duke of Austria

Johann folded up the document and put it in his breast pocket. Looking at the Captain he ordered “We ride to Vienna!”

[econ21]

Staufen province, 1352


Welf von Luxemburg's ersatz force of militia and professionals was making good time marching on Staufen. But he hurried and chided them on, nonetheless, keen to link up with his Duke and the Swabian Household Army.

The spread of the plague had overturned all of Swabia's plans. So far Welf's force itself had been kept clean but all around it, the Black Death was causing havoc with Swabia's defences. The Teutons that Welf thought he was to be escorting from Frankfurt to Bruges had been infected and so had been ordered towards poxed Magdeburg where a few more sick men would scarcely been noticed.

More importantly, the Swabian Household Army had been contaminated. As a precaution, Duke von Salza and some apparently clean mercenaries had kept themselves aside from the main formation, setting up a separate camp, but keeping close enough for mutual support.

Welf had volunteered to take command of the plague ridden army. He had expected some resistance from Eue, but his wife had merely said indifferently: "But of course you must." The cold demeanour of his young wife drove Welf on and the laggards in his force were lashed by the icy harshness it engendered in their general.

Welf's offer to brave certain infection and personally lead the SHA had not been taken up by the Duke, but regardless, Welf was hurrying to link up with them. The general had been shamed to realise that his force was incapable of even holding the bridge to Frankfurt against a determined French advance. However, the plight of the SHA made him realise he could make a bigger contribution acting in support of the main Swabian force than impotently cowering outside Frankfurt.

As his force approached Staufen, Welf made contact with a patrol from the Citadel:

"Is the Duke camped outside the Citadel? Or has he taken up position on the bridge?" he inquired of the lieutenant of the patrol.

These were the two options that Welf had discussed with the Chancellor's staff. They were both defensive moves, designed to avoid provoking the French armies milling around Metz from marching east. Just as Welf had advised the Chancellor not to try to hold the bridge near Frankfurt, so he had sought to keep the SHA out of reach of their foes. With Swabia's forces so vastly outmatched by the French, her only hope was to avoid conflict on all but the most advantageous terms. She must endure until the Kaiser's army and the Bavarians were able to come riding to her rescue.

"Sire, the Duke has crossed the river and is marching towards Dijon."

"What?" gawped Welf "He is marching into French held territory?! Has he united his force with the Household Army?"

"His mercenaries are forming an advance guard."

Welf bit his tongue - to criticise his Duke in front of one of the Duke's own men would be a gross breach of the protocol and army discipline. But this move by the Duke seemed rash in the extreme. Three full strength French armies stood within range of the SHA's route of advance.

Welf looked up to the heavens, agitated.

"Then we must pray for their success in this bold venture." he said solemnly to the lieutenant.

But inwardly, the young general could not help but fear that he had arrived in Staufen only to witness the destruction of the Swabian Household Army.

[AussieGiant]

1360: A Service Rendered

https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showpost.php?p=1823277&postcount=378

[gibsonsg91921]

1360: In the Middle of Nowhere

Good job, Péter, he thought sarcastically. What did he do during this chancellorship? Fight one battle for Milan? Submit more to his enemy, Lothar?

You are a weak Kaiser. Your legacy will be no different from your brother's.

"That's not true!" Péter shouted at the night. He trembled, realizing he was talking to himself.

My poor brother, he thought. A fool, yet an honest fool.

"He did not deserve to die!"

Hearing the ruckus, Péter's shieldbearer Lars came tumbling into the Imperial tent.

"Sire, are you well?"

"Nay, Lars, I am discontent. I am weary of idleness. For the past twenty years, I have marched back and forth and fought only one battle under the command of the young one, Herrmann Steffen."

"He is a noble man."

"Aye, yet he is still his father's son. I know not if I can trust him as my tribune."

"What do you mean to do?"

"He can go to Swabia as planned. Swabia needs commanders."

"And you?"

"Build me an army. I'm going back to Bavaria."

[Warluster]

Staufen

None knew of the Duke's condition except his most trusted. The city and many remained woefully uninformed of the scene transforming into a problem in the Duke's chambers. A handful of experienced veterans loyal to the Duke stood somberly outside his bedroom door. The Duke lay fast asleep on a bed while a darkness pitched the skies. A doctor sat on a rickety chair next to the Duke and wielded a quill and parchment. A steel clad man stood like a stone tower on the opposite of the bed and wiped a trickle of sweat of the Duke's forehead.

The doctor stood suddenly, and the knight glanced at him. The doctor went outside to the balcony and was joined by the Knight. it was daytime and very hot.
"What's wrong with him?" asked the Knight quietly, as if a dying person lay in the room. The doctor scanned his notes before speaking in a fatherly voice.
"He's sick. Very sick obviously." rumbled the smaller man. He adjusted his glasses and wiped a shade of sweat from the lenses.
"I figured that. Did it affect him in any way?" asked the Knight. The DUke had been riding back from Nuremburg after a short Diet session. He had not being looking forward to returning to his Duchy. it lay in trouble and he had been stuck in Staufen for a long time while his comrades fought. He had suffered a major dose of sun and soon collasped as he reached Staufen.
"It might make no difference... he has been stuck in this city for some time now..." started the Doctor. The Knight thudded a armored hand next to the doctor's.
"Get to it!" he growled threateningly. The doctor looked no different.
"It may have affected his brain. We can't be sure until time tells us." He infomred rushingly. The Knight stared out into the horizon.
"How the hell can time tell us!?" He demanded.
"Goddamit man! It can'rt bloody well do so, its a phrase!" said the doctor angrily, as his face reddended and he seemed to bottle up in anger.
"You're dismissed. I'll pay you later." said the Knight and sat beside the Swabian Duke. This could be dangerous... very dangerous indeed. he couldn't let word get out... If people found out the Duke of Swabia was indeed.. there was no other word for it, mad. The Knight screwed up his face. Then no one would believe a word he said. And he definitely couldn't let the DUke out of control, he was going to have to keep a very close eye on him from now on...

[gibsonsg91921]

Peter thought long and hard about it. How could he justify continuing a personal vendetta? It would plunge the Reich into civil war, destroy the good relations built between himself and his enemy's children, and put everyone in Bavaria at risk from the Greeks.

He did not sleep well that night.

[Ramses II CP]

Nuremburg, 1360.

As Frtiz von Kastilien, Fritz the Attacker, Butcher of Stockholm, Hero of Hamburg, and widely reputed to be the greatest general currently serving the Reich departed the Diet chambers he paused, just for a moment, to reflect on his recent humiliation at the hands of the Danish Prince Stenkil. The man had taken years to muster the courage to attack Fritz's army, and yet in the field his overwhelming masses of cavalry had consistently out-manuevered Fritz and driven him from the field. An ambush had failed when Prince Stenkil, upon seeing Fritz charge home out of the trees, turned tail and fled but commanded his cavalry to rush forward as one. Without sufficient cavalry or infantry reserves Fritz's army was just a target waiting to be overrun by Stenkil's heavy cavalry, so he had withdrawn.

Alas, Stenkil pursued and attacked the small draw force Fritz had placed under captain Sighvat, forcing Fritz's weary, plagued men back into the field for another series of ultimately purposeless feints. Worse yet, Fritz's army had been so worn out by these actions that they had been unable to escape the island which had been meant as a grave for Prince Stenkil. It looked as though it might become a grave for Fritz and his men.

Despite it all, Fritz had made his way to the Diet session to put his name forward for Chancellor, and now, although opposed by the incumbent Duke Arnold, he had won. It was because of that victory, and because he knew his own weaknesses well, that Fritz now summoned up the thought of his defeat, and further the thought that the voter turnout was among the weakest ever for a Chancellorship election. It was perspective that prevented the recurrence of disasters like Stettin, perspective provided by always being aware of your own failings, as well as those of others.

Still, a smile broke through Fritz's grim demeanor, and at his side Robert, never one to miss a chance to push his agenda, said, 'Right where we want them, eh m'Lord?'

'So it would seem. The plague recedes, the economy improves, the Byzantine grip on Italy is clearly weakening, and even Swabia shows signs of improvement. The recent Polish offensive will trouble Franconia for many years to come, but I dare say we shall weather it. The nobles are not enthusiastic about my proposed attacks, but I have a feeling most of them will carry forward. There will be much work for mercenaries in the Reich this next few years Robert.'

'In fact, Robert, I want you to be my liason with the Office of the Exchequer. The less I have to talk to money lenders and bankers, the better. Keep one hand on your dagger and the other on your purse when you speak to them, but don't let any of them through to me. They can provide written reports, but the first weasel faced idiot who demands the construction of a Merchant Bank while I've got soldiers dying in the field will have the option of taking a spear to the front, or my sword in his gut.'

'Of course Lord Fritz, it will be as you say. If I have to lean on them a bit to keep them in line it will be a pleasure,' Robert spoke cheerfully, with a gleam in his eye at the thought of intimidating a few fat merchants and pursers as Fritz continued.

'I fear a measure of stagnation will find us in two houses, Franconia and Austria, as the nature of their two front wars and in particular the length of the border in Austria prevent advancement. In Italy I expect great things. I am certain Duke Lothar despises the Byzantines as much as I do, and if I give him the resources I believe he and Prinz Dieter will have those vile fools driven entirely away from Bavaria before my term ends,' speaking of a return to German dominance in Italy brings an edge of enthusiasm to Fritz's voice, which carries on as he contemplates the other military matters.

'Swabia must advance or die, there is nowhere left for them to retreat. I fear for Bruges, but I expect success everywhere else. The French are mad to leave Metz so open, and the bridge to it's south unheld, and they will be made to pay. Count Ruppel and Sir von Luxemburg both show brilliant potential, and if I can get them in the field and keep them supplied the French will certainly have cause to regret their foolishness,' a note of anger and irritation edges into the Chancellor's voice.

'And once those fronts are secure, Outremer will be in position to deliver the true hammerblows against the Byzantines at their home cities. Father Luther's edict to see an end to Byzantium likely will not see it's goal accomplished in my lifetime, but I mean to make a good effort at it,' the anger has turned further towards tightly controlled rage and hate as Fritz whispers, 'in Siegfried's name.'

Shaking his head to clear the thoughts of bloody vengeance, Fritz returns to his reverie, 'The Polish front can hope to see Lord Becker roused to make a more forward defense of his beloved city, while the Hungarians, who seem ever to be shuffling immense armies about well behind their lines, have simply opened themselves up to having the head cut off of their force by capturing Zagreb. There's no question in my mind Duke Arnold will be immensely pleased to decapitate the Hungarian advance, and likely all the Hungarians participating in it as well.'

Fritz comes to stop before a somewhat dusty office door in a dimly lit corridor of Nuremburg's Town Hall.

'Here. Set up my resources here. A quiet place, little used and out of the way. It will be from here that I take hold of the lever which lifts the entire Reich into a new age of glory and power. Do you know what power is, gentlemen?'

Robert glanced uneasily at the men around him. It wasn't often that Fritz fell into such a contemplative mood, and never before had it seemed to leave the Count happy. Finally the longbowmen simply shook his head and waited.

'Power is the will to exert control. I have that will. The people of the Reich must move as I command them, following my orders even unto their own deaths. I have held power over armies, and conquered. I have held power over cities and citadels, and learned from my errors to become a competent administrator. Now I hold sway, not solely, not undiluted, but sway over a nation. There will be no time for mistakes, no second chances,' a black, frustrated look comes over Fritz's face as his voice coarsens at the end, 'no Stettins. Do you all understand me?'

Robert swallows nervously, and nods. Bergin, Fritz's lancebearer, watching his lord warily, nods as well. Gunther, the drillmaster, impassively offers a single short nod, while Kurt the swordbearer's customary wide grin slackens not one inch.

'If any of you finds fault with the course I set make yourself heard instantly. If word reaches you of some disagreement over my policies, make me aware of it immediately. I am rightly feared in some circles, but men must fear to keep information from me rather than fear to provide it.'

'If I can just know enough, if I can simply find enough of those critical components of knowledge, then the Reich will drive her enemies from their homes like culling bad sheep from a herd! And then? Then we shall shake the very pillars of the earth, and make such noise as to affright armies of angels.'

'Now, bring on the functionaries and their reports. Do not plan on resting any time soon lads, we're going through every bloody detail on every God-cursed sheet of paper that the least secretary of the Chancellor's office can see fit to drag before me. And when I've read them all, pored over every word, then we're going to grip the tiller and turn the Reich itself!'

:egypt:

[AussieGiant]

Outside Ragusa 1362

The meetings had continued with the Preferati even after the Duke had conceded defeat in the last elections. Duke Arnold had decided that having regular meetings with the Pope's senior advisers and potentially future Pope's was an advantage he would like to continue having.

It was after one of these such meetings that the Duke's Priest had again approach the Preferati Cardinal about his master.

“Look!” The priest held up a number of oil painting portraits of various nobles of the Holy Roman Empire.

Gazing at the images arrayed before him the Cardinal seems perplexed as to what he was meant to be seeing.

“I see a series of the most powerful men on this planet! What else am I meant to be noticing?” The sound of frustration was lost on the Priest who merely shook his head in amazement.

“Can't you see the difference in the men!?? Look at the portrait of Lord Becker and Duke Lothar...see how they have aged?”

“Yes I see that, so what's your point!? For God's sake man spell it out!!” The Cardinal was rapidly losing patience and simply wanted to depart back to Jerusalem.

“So look at Arnold...where is his grey hair, where are the lines etching his face, he looks the same now as he did when he was 20 years old!! What's more significant is the grey streak he had after the plague struck him down is now gone!! How did that happen your Grace? And before you state the obvious, I can confirm he does not dye his hair!!”

The Cardinal looked more closely at the portraits. Concern began to crease his brow as he saw what the priest was explaining.

While studying the portraits in more details he began to ponder.

“Where did you get these exactly?”

The priest raised an eyebrow in response; “The Imperial Historian's visits each of the Electors ever second year to update the royal archives. One of the things they do is take a portrait for the Empire's records. I simply had copies made when the Duke was Chancellor.”

“By god that costs a fortune! Where did you get the money for that?!!” The shock in the Cardinals voice was dramatic. A portrait cost a small fortune. The idea that the Holy Roman Empire could afford such record keeping was incredible.

“Your Grace...” The Priest voice was dripping with sarcasm at this point. “The Duke's personal wealth is beyond your imagination. The figures you and the Pope may be aware of are pure fiction and where created as a representative figure of the real money the Reich makes and moves around the world on a yearly basis.

The past centuries have lead to massive fortunes being sequestered away by various nobles and their families. If you want to check then I recommend you investigate how the families of those Reich nobles are looked after once the noble passes into the after life. The von Hamburgs, The Zirns, there's even second generation wives still alive. They are the matriarchs of the Reich and they live like some of the Kings of other countries even in their advanced years!!”

The Cardinal peered up from another portrait and looked at the Priest with an amazed expression.

“But didn't you say the Duke's retinue had returned. Our spies confirmed sitings of Grom and Bane about a year ago?”

“Yes, yes, their back, but look at the portrait in front of you...how do you explain that? It's not right and you know it.”

The Cardinal's brow furrowed again as he looked back at the Dread Dukes portrait and then compared it to the others. With a finger now tapping his chin in contemplation he began thinking out loud.

“You know the leaders of the other nations were quietly pleased with the plague and it's results...the thought of Duke Arnold leading the Reich caused great concern amongst them. A few of them even suggested that God himself had brought the plague down upon the earth to spare us from the onslaught most where expecting after his election. Some even mentioned that in addition to this piece of divine intervention he would also be closer to death once the plague passed."

The Cardinal pondered his colleague for some time before continuing.

"You clearly know that Arnold has no children. This was a stated aim of many of the Kings and Sultans once he come to be known early in his life. They banned together to prevent his family line from continuing once they realised that "the son" was to be even more extreme that "the father".

The others nobles of House Austria are far more amenable to the rest of the royal families."

The Cardinal glanced at the Priest with an astute look.

“Maintain your vigil my friend. Keep us posted. The time is not right for action. I will contact you if our own group sees an opportunity or any of our associates do either.”

With those final words the Cardinal and his entourage departed.

[Northnovas]

Vienna 1362

Johann sat in front the fire staring the wine was finally having its effect that he desired. He was trying to forget the disaster on the Viennese Plain against the Hungarians. They have truly been a thorn in his side. His homeland Zagreb was sacked and the population exterminated by the Hungarians the poor souls. The Hungarians continue to tromp through the Austrian lands at will and he could do nothing about it. He had not spoken to his brother Jan since the battle nor seen the Duke. He was too embarrassed. He could not stop what was happening and now the 1st AHA was a shadow of it’s former self.

“Arrggh! I hate this sitting here!” Johann got up from his chair and threw his goblet into the fire. “More drink damn it!! Steward! Drink now!” he yelled. Johann was tired of yelling but the servants kept their distance from the master because of his moods.

Johann walked over to the desk where maps and official documents laid scattered. He picked up the scroll with the Chancellor’s Seal. Staring into the words trying to cipher …. “..sorry to hear of your lost …. more troops will be recruited… ah this is #@$%*.! What am I going to do with more troops, loose them? I can’t command any troops. The old man is laughing at me now with his chivalry and code of engagement and victories. Bah!! Stewart, more drink!”

“Here we are sire, some more wine and I brought some food you must be hungry it has been days.” the steward replied in a firm but nervous voice. He had been the Head Servant in charge of the residence and had a general concern for the Zirn’s family welfare. The Count was looking a little rough with the facial growth and wrinkled clothing that had been worn for days.

“Must be hungry oh yes mother!” Johann sarcastically replied. He went over to the table and grabbed the bottle of wine. He staggered over to the window looking out on the manicured grounds. He took a long hard swallow drinking like it was his first drink in a long time. “Hungry how can I need food? I am not no damn Hungarian. A burst of drunken laughter came from Johann. The Steward did not see the humour. I need well trained troops and a plan to attack those Hungarian dogs and horses damn it so many horses…. I couldn’t stop them there was just too many.” He stared over to the Steward almost waiting for an answer. Johann was feeling the room spin and his legs wobbling he staggered over to the chair and collapsed in to it.

“Too many horses, I tried to stop them but the guns stopped firing and they just kept coming and coming men and horses. Charles, leave me!” The Steward nodded and proceeded towards the door. He could hear the Count mumbling to himself in his drunken stupor.

“So many…. I ran off and I left my brother there… the men …. the guns… no money to pay the damn ransom! Where is the code…. honour…chivalry is dead … are there no knights? I so sorry father….. the Duke will have my head …. a defeat when we needed a victory......I can’t ……zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

[gibsonsg91921]

Metz, 1362

The destruction of the Pleasure Palace is a blessing in disguise. For one, the secret Order of Lothar will be incapacitated. Also, Lothar will be so myopically enraged that he won't have the brains to anticipate me.

"Sire, what are the plans?"

"After the siege, we move to Italy. Once all the Greeks are driven off the peninsula, and not a moment sooner, we strike. For the Reich."

[TinCow]

Milan, 1364

The rat crept slowly and cautiously forward. It smelled a presence several feet away; close enough to give it concern, but not close enough to deter it altogether. The scent of the bread crust was too strong to abandon because of a distant competitor. It advanced forward, its nose held high to detect any movement from the creature in the distance. When it reached within springing distance of the bread, it tensed and prepared to jump. It would grab the crust and dash back into the safety of its nest in the cold stone walls.

Too late, it sensed movement in the air nearby. The rat only had time to jerk its nose sharply upward before the slab of rock crushed its head, snuffing out its life in an instant. The creature grabbed the still twitching corpse and tore into it with its teeth. There was no revulsion or hesitation with its actions, only the pleasure of warm meat. It did not leave the bread crust either.

After the brief meal, the ragged creature shuffled back to the pile of filth-ridden straw in the corner. It picked up a small stone, one edge worn smooth from days of rubbing. Soon it would need to find another one. The figure ground it into the wall of the cell, making yet another line in the absent-minded assortment of geometric shapes that it had carved over the previous years.

So it was that the sound found it in that spot, crouched low like the rat it had just eaten, carving its own nest into the stone walls around it. At first it was just the sound of a door creaking open somewhere above him. This was followed by some muffled footsteps and a low-level conversation. Typical of a guard change or a steward bringing a meal to the jailer. What was not typical was the sharp increase in volume by one of the voices, and the even sharper manner in which it was cut off. Then came the sounds of scuffling bodies and a thump, as something heavy fell onto the hard stone floor.

His mind registered these abnormalities and slowly brought him out of his carving-trance. His eyes stared blankly at the dark wall for a moment, as Intelligence regained prominence over Instinct. It took a good half minute before he finally swiveled his head to look towards the iron-bound door that enclosed his cell. He could not see beyond it, but he knew the sounds and echoes of the dungeon well enough that he could sense the entire lower level of the dungeon, and every living object within it. Someone was coming down the stairs, and it was not a person who had ever been there before.

He did not move a muscle as the dim torchlight appeared through the small, barred window in the door. It got brighter and brighter, burning his heavily dilated eyes, and forcing him to cower slightly. The Outsider stopped in front of his cell and there was a moment of near-total silence. For a long moment, the only sound was the man’s breath.

“Stoyan?”

He did not move.

“Stoyan? Jacobus Stoyan?”

Somewhere deep in his memory, something began to stir. The sounds were words. The words were a name. His name. The Outsider was talking to him. Jacobus grunted to signal his existence and comprehension.

“Are you Jacobus Stoyan, the Bohemian?”

The memories began flooding back into his head. Bohemia. Prague. Home. He tried to remember the proper sound to respond with. His lips could only come up with “Yyyyyyyy…”

There was more shuffling from beyond the door, followed soon after by the sound of rattling metal. The keys. The Jailer’s ring of keys. Yet the Outsider was not the jailer. He smelled different. The smells were strange. Some fabric he did not know. Something that might have been flowers and smoke. On top of those, though, were more familiar scents. Things he knew. Sweat and fresh blood. Human blood. The Jailer. The Outsider had killed the Jailer.

Jacobus’ mind registered alarm at the same moment that the keys clinked in the lock. He spring back into the darkest corner of the cell and covered his face with his arms in a weak defense against the offensive light that poured through the opening doorway. The Outsider stopped in the doorway, peering at the occupant of the cell. He squinted through the darkness at Jacobus.

“You are the mercenary? You were with the group that killed Siegfried?”

Siegfried. Instinct resurfaced to register one thought, ‘Danger,’ and then fled back to the depths of his mind. Cold Intelligence flooded back into its place. He had told no one of his participation in that attack; to do so was as certain a death sentence as a man could hope for. When he was taken by the Bavarian guard, he had quickly confessed to thievery under torture. Better to confess to a lesser crime that would warrant at least a quick death, rather than the fate that awaited him for impericide.

It had been a wise gamble. Soon after he had been tossed in the Milanese dungeon, the invasions by the Catholic Alliance had begun. Criminal justice had been one of the first concepts to disappear in the city. As the entire Reich was mobilized for war, the jail’s guards were sent to man the city walls and eventually only the Jailer was left. The prisoners themselves were forgotten about, even those due to be executed. The only outside contact was at meal times. When the Byzantines took over the city, the dungeon itself was almost entirely ignored. Many prisoners starved to death. The Bavarians eventually reclaimed the city, but none of the records of the dungeon inhabitants could be found. The old Jailer was dead and any surviving guards had become permanent members of the militia. Even if the Bavarians hadn’t been too pre-occupied with the war to deal with common criminals, there was no way to identify him. This relieved any doubts Jacobus had that his true crime would be discovered, but his fate was no less miserable for it. With no indications of their crimes or sentences, the new Jailer left them all left to rot in their cells until they died from starvation or exposure.

“Hhhhhh…” Jacobus shook his head and grunted. He strained to find his voice. “Hhhow y-you kn-knnnow mmm-mmmeee?”

“Money will always find the information you need, if you have enough of it.” The Outsider tossed a bundle at Jacobus. He shrank back, but then slowly reached out a gnarled hand and touched it. It was clothing. Good clothing; wool and leather. It was all he could do not to start chewing on the boots. He looked up at the Outsider. “Fff-fffoood?”

The man nodded vigorously, and then jerked his head out to look down the dungeon passageway. “Yes, food. Much food, but we must go now. Quickly.” He gestured at the clothes. “Put those on.”

Jacobus remained crouched in the corner, one hand on the leathers, like a wolf protecting a fresh kill. The Outsider moved and metal suddenly shone in the torchlight. Steel. A blade. The mercenary jerked back and bared his teeth.

“No, no. It’s alright. This is for you.” The Outsider turned the dagger around, so that the hilt faced the prisoner, and slid it across the cold stone floor. It stopped when it hit Jacobus’ foot. He looked at it for a moment, then grabbed it greedily and pointed it at the Outsider.

“Www… wwwwhhhhooo?”

“My father was executed for the crime of being Milanese. He and many of his friends and business associates were murdered on the false pretense of assassinating Kaiser Siegfried.” He paused, glancing back into the corridor, before he continued. “My father had never even met Giovanni Legnano, let alone conspired with him. His death was simply a convenient way for the Duke of Bavaria to cover up his own treason. After all, when has a German shed any tears for my people?”

Jacobus stared at the Outsider in silence, his eyes asking the question that his mouth could not form.

“I am freeing you because you are the only way I can have my revenge.” He thrust his hand forward and revealed a small bag with several pieces of parchment inside. “These prove that it was the Duke of Bavaria who was responsible for Kaiser Siegfried’s death, not the Milanese or the Assassin’s Guild. Yet, I cannot give them to those who can act on them. No one would believe a Milanese.” His mouth opened in a wry smile. “But you, even in your decrepit state, would have a chance. No one would voluntarily admit to killing the Kaiser, which is exactly why they may believe you. Your word alone would not be enough, but the information you can provide them with, along with these,” he shook the bag of parchments again, “would suffice.”

The emaciated prisoner didn’t move, but his eyes looked at the dagger, then back at the Outsider.

“Yes, they may kill you, but then again they may not. If you remain here, you will surely die, and slowly. If you help me, you will have a chance at life. Even if they kill you, you will at least be free for a while, with warm clothing and good food.”

Food. FOOD. The mention of sustenance broke through any resistance that remained in Jacobus’ body. He did not trust the man, but if there was food to be had, he did not care. With jerky movements, he dressed himself in the wool and leathers at his feet, then slipped the dagger into his belt pocket and moved towards the doorway, his back stooped and his eyes wary.

The Outsider nodded and led him down the corridor, then up, up into Heaven. Even the upper level of the dungeon was Paradise to Jacobus. He could sense less stone around him, and with it the pressure on his mind began to ease. When he saw the open door and the city beyond, he began weeping silently. The mercenary paid no attention to the Jailer’s body as he walked by it, still seeping blood into the cold stone of the prison. He was free. Free.

The Savior led him through twisting and turning alleyways, but he paid no attention to his surroundings. He stared in wonder at the stars shining above him. The splendor of the night sky and the sheer space around him even quieted the hunger that had been his constant companion for so many years. Jacobus did not know how long they walked. It could have been minutes or years; he did not care. He drank in every moment of it with rapacious greed. Eventually, he became aware that they had stopped.

The Savior halted a few feet ahead and motioned for Jacobus to do the same. He peered around a corner, then walked back to whisper in the mercenary’s ear. “The city gate is ahead and guarded, and we must pass through. Beyond is your freedom, but you must do exactly as I say or you will never see it.”

Jacobus nodded.

“Good. Keep your head down and do not speak. Stay right behind me.”

The man started forward. The mercenary followed behind him, rounding the corner into a square lit by several large wall sconces. There were men with swords moving by a gateway in the middle of the square. The doors were open and the portcullis raised. There was nothing between Jacobus and freedom but air. His lip wavered and drool spilled down his jaw.

“Evening, Mikeus,” the Savior said.

One of the guards grunted at him. “A bit late for a walk, ain’t it?”

“It’s never too late for a whore, Mikeus.”

The guard grunted and gestured at Jacobus. “And him?”

The Savior shrugged and walked into the gateway. “The son of a client. His father wants him ‘educated’ in the ways of the world.”

Jacobus did not hear the guard’s response. Inside the gateway, the city’s massive walls rose up around him, blocking out all the stars. More stone around him, pressing down. Stone. Bars. Guards. He was caged once again. Jacobus could not help himself. He screamed.

Every head in the gateway rotated towards the sound. Torches came up and shed bright light on his face. Instinct returned and he thrust his arms up over his eyes to defend himself. In the inferno of suns that burst over him, his visage was bared. Sunken cheeks, wrinkled lips, deathly white skin.

“This is a client’s SON?!” Metal slid from scabbards and Jacobus screamed again. The Savior grabbed him by the shoulder and thrust a bag into his hands. He was yelling words that Instinct heard, but did not understand. “Kaiser… Chancellor… Franconia…” He stared blankly through tear-clouded eyes. Finally, the Savior said a word that Instinct knew. “…run…”

He ran. Behind him were shouts and the sound of steel on steel. The Savior screamed in pain and fear, and Jacobus ran harder. Into the night. Into the open air. Into freedom. He ran for hours. He ran for years.

***

The next morning he woke with a start, his hand clutching the dagger. He looked around and saw daylight drifting in through tall trees. He was in the midst of a vast forest, with no human presence around him, and best of all, no stone. It took several minutes to remember what had happened. He was sure that he was dreaming, but he did not care. This was a dream he wanted to have.

He opened the bag and the scent of bread overwhelmed him. He tore through the contents, scattering it on the ground around him. He found the bread and sated himself on it for an eternity. When at last his feeding slowed, his eyes began wandering to the items strewn about the ground.

Cloak. Heavy. Protection from cold. He stuffed it deep into the bag.

Dagger. Defense. Tool for skinning and eating. He thrust it back through his belt.

Florins. Sufficient for a long journey and good equipment. He grabbed them and placed them back in the bag, inside the cloak.

Parchments. Useless for survival. He moved to toss them aside, but his hand hovered over them, refusing to move. He remembered the Savior’s words. The parchments meant something.

There were at least half a dozen, but he picked up two and looked at them. There were broken wax seals on both. One, the sigil of the Duke of Bavaria, he recognized instantly. The other, a strange triangle with an oval inside, he did not. He unrolled them and stared at the marks inside. Jacobus could not read, but he knew that the marks meant something. He concentrated on them more closely.

The marks were smooth and flowing, not poorly scratched lines. He was reminded of the etching inside his cell. There had been hundreds of them, most made by hands other than his own. None had been identical, but over the years he had learned to recognize which marks belonged to which hand. Each had its own style of etching, even in the hard stone. Here, on the parchment in the easy-flowing ink, those signs were obvious to him. He looked back and forth between the two letters. Yes, he was certain. They were written in the same hand.

“These are important.” The sound of his voice, without stutters or lisps, startled him. “Important,” he repeated to himself, quietly, half to remind himself and half just to hear his own speech. He licked the last few crumbs off his lips and stuffed the parchments back in the bag. Then he picked up the bag and began to walk. He walked with his head held high, blinking into the rising sun. He walked with a smile on his face and a belly full of bread. He walked north. He walked towards Franconia.

[econ21]

A village south of Frankfurt, 1364.


“He was trying to knife me!” the fat farmer pointed indignantly at the vagabond.

Jacobus Stoyan made no attempt to break free from the Teuton’s steel grip. The knights were all around him. It was hopeless. The brief burst of sunlight he had enjoyed was drawing to a close. As the skies darkened around him, the prospect of further pain and imprisonment loomed. The approaching shadow of death appeared almost inviting. But self preservation prevailed.

“I have information … important information. I demand to speak to your Komtur. I will not talk to anyone else.”

The Ritterbruder leading the Teuton initiates looked at his bedraggled captive and laughed: “By God, what makes you think I would waste the Komtur’s time with your jabbering?”

The Teuton looked at the broken eggs around Jacobus. “It is obvious that you are a common thief.”

He picked up Jacobus’s cruel dagger and studied it, before gesturing at the fat farmer: “This good man says that you tried to kill him. I should just have you hung as a small contribution to making Franconia safe for decent people.”

The cataclysm and the invasion of the Catholic Alliance had led to a wave of violence throughout Franconia. However, sponsored by successive Chancellors, the Teutonic Order was expanding out from Frankfurt - slowly pacifying the countryside, even as it sent waves of new recruits to the frontline armies. The Ritterbruder glared at Jacobus - seeing in his feral form everything the Teutonic Order was struggling against. Impatiently, he drew his sword and moved towards the prisoner.

“Damn it, why waste good rope …”

Jacobus watched the blade emerge gradually from the Teuton's scabbard as if time itself was slowing. His instincts urged him to fall to his knees, to beg for mercy. But Jacobus had been in battle. A higher part of his brain told him that those who were easiest to execute were the men who prostrated themselves, who threw away their dignity. Killing them was no harder than butchering animals. No, the ones who soldiers spared were the noble and the brave. Jacobus met the Ritterbruder in the eye and took a deep breath:

“I am a soldier, a Captain of Mercenaries. I would not deign to try to kill one so unworthy as him.” He gestured at the fat farmer. “Yes, I have seen better times. But has not Franconia herself? And indeed the Reich? Yes, I stole the farmer’s eggs. I was starving and he, evidently, is not. Yes, I have committed a crime … but not one that warrants summary execution.”

The Ritterbruder paused, reassessing his prisoner. “This information you spoke of…?”

“I have documents … evidence of matters of state that are of the gravest importance. But I will only speak to your Komtur.”

Documents. The word seemed to deflate the Ritterbruder and he visibly lost interest in his quarry. Documents. Who among the Brotherhood stationed nearby could read, still less want to do so? Although supposedly a monastic order, the Teutons were recruiting men for the strength of their sword arms rather than any monkish learning. Then a thought occurred to the Ritterbruder. Captain Jan! Formerly of Kaiser Elberhard’s retinue, the veteran Teuton was often to be found reading some obscure manuscripts stashed away in the bowels of the castle.

“I will not trouble my Komtur with your fantasies. But there is one brother who may wish to indulge you.”



*****


Captain Jan looked from the Ritterbruder to Jacob’s documents and back again with scarcely concealed excitement. It had been so long since he had been asked to do anything, however mundane or trivial. The death of his master, Kaiser Elberhard, at Bologna had led to an immediate collapse in Captain Jan’s fortunes. Without his patron, Captain Jan was merely a figure of mirth and contempt in the Reich - famous for being the hero who had bravely escorted the Reich’s treasury into the hands of the traitor Empress Theodora. The Teutonic Order had provided shelter, but offered him little work except overseeing the efforts of the Diendebruders. These young recruits were assigned with pacification duties and law enforcement as an initiation to the Teutonic Order before they were deemed ready to send into battle. An aging, grey haired veteran such as Captain Jan was seen as a suitable person to help mentor them.

“So you will do it?” the Ritterbruder asked, as if Jan’s willingness to read the documents and interrogate Jacobus only confirmed everyone’s views that the Captain was the saddest excuse for a Teuton in the castle.

“Yes, yes. These seals … they are important documents. Leave them to me.”

“And this one?” The Ritterbruder gestured at Jacobus. “Shall I have him thrown in the dungeon until you are ready?”

Jacobus tried not to flinch at the suggestion.

“No, no … sit him down there…” said Captain Jan absentmindedly, before seeing the poverty of his accommodation - he was not accustomed to having a guest in his quarters. “Oh, better bring another stool in here. I will talk to him in a minute, when I have finished reading … my God…”

“What is it?” asked the Ritterbruder.

“Leave him here and go.” said Jan, a hard edge entering his voice. And then he looked up at the Ritterbruder. “Believe me, brother, you are better off not knowing.”


*****


Captain Jan studied the documents for a long while and then finally looked up at Jacobus, aghast - as if the itinerant mercenary were an ancient and terrible shade from Hell.

It was all coming back to Jan, nightmarish things he had buried and tried to forget. But here was Jacobus, like a ghoul, uncovering the hideous corpses of the past.

Jan drew out a parchment from his own desk. A note he had long kept safe, one entrusted to him by Elberhard, his now deceased master, who at the time was Prinz. Jan compared the hand writing on the note passed on from Elberhard with that on some of Jacobus’s documents. He had hoped for the handwriting to match, but no - no powerful secret society could be expected to expose itself so carelessly.

“What’s that?” Jacobus asked, innocently, looking the parchment Captain Jan had drawn out.

Jan shook his head. “It does not matter.”

He hurriedly put the parchment back inside his desk, closing it firmly, as if hoping to rebury what was best left undisturbed. But it was too late.

Jan’s mind drifted back, as if reliving a recurrent nightmare. The parchment he had stored away had been passed on by his master, then Prinz, who in turn had received it on the eve of the last Diet before the cataclysm. It was a strange note, sent by a mysterious Order of the All Seeing Eye, advising the Kaiser to sideline his brother Hans and his ally Jan von Hamburg.



Greetings Prinz Elberhard,

It has come to our attention that Kaiser Siegfried is currently unavailable for contact due to matters of a private nature. Though we have preferred to deal with him directly in the past, we simply cannot allow this state of affairs to disrupt the relationship we have built with him. As you are known to still be in contact with the Kaiser, we are contacting you in the hope that you will, in turn, convey the following words to him:

The Order notes that in the upcoming Diet session, the Kaiser will be required to appoint two Electors to office: the traditional appointment of King of Outremer and, as a result of Frederich Scherer's resignation, the next Duke of Swabia. While this has not been part of our previous negotiations, we feel that we have proven our abilities to the Kaiser and stand ready to do what he has asked of us in the near future. Accordingly, we believe it would be only proper for the Kaiser to take our opinions into consideration when choosing the next occupants of these posts.

Regarding the King of Outremer, Jan von Hamburg has caused much conflict between the Eastern provinces and the Duchies. We believe that a more neutral and less controversial man would better serve the interests of the Reich during the coming term. There are already several of these to choose from in Outremer. Regarding the Duke of Swabia, Frederich Scherer was an exceedingly fair and impartial Duke, but his chosen successor, Hans, is not cut from the same cloth. If he is appointed Duke, the fractures and rivalries between the Houses will likely only intensify. Once again, for the good of the Reich as well as Swabia itself, we believe that a Swabian with a slightly less biased history would be a better choice for Duke.

Prinz Elberhard, it is regretful that our first formal communication must be in the nature of a simple courier request. Perhaps in the future we will find the opportunity to deal with you personally. If you wish to contact us, either to convey a response from the Kaiser or for your own reasons, you may reach us by leaving a note behind the paupers' grave marker in the cemetery at the Church of St. Maximillian in Rome.



What had shocked Captain Jan, and the Kaiser, most had been the politeness and matter of fact nature of the note. As if the new Kaiser should have recognised immediately that his job was to bow to the wishes of this secret Order. The Kaiser had not been long in identifying suspected members of this Order - starting with those who had most to gain from Hans and Jan von Hamburg not being appointed to the positions of power that they were due. As the suspects endorsed and supported each other, they spun a dance that drew in new suspects and strengthened the Kaiser’s existing suspicions.

Of course, the inaugural note had seemed innocent compared to the subsequent assassination of Kaiser Siegfried. Elberhard, Hans and Jan von Hamburg had quickly surmised that the secret Order of the All Seeing Eye were behind his assassination. However, they had no hard evidence for this belief. Hans’s investigation of the death implied it was the work of a prominent Bavarian, but Duke Lothar of Bavaria had quickly launched his own inquiry - fingering the Milanese and the Assassin’s Guild. The trail had gone cold, as cold as the corpses of the Milanese aristocrats Lothar had accused. With no solid evidence for their heinous accusations, Elberhard and Hans had been forced to remain silent for fear of public ridicule. At times even Captain Jan wondered if it were all paranoid delusions.

Elberhard had attempted to use Peter von Kastilien to infiltrate the Order, to provide the evidence he needed to uncover the secret Order as Siegfried’s murderers. Captain Jan had been present as Elberhard offered Peter a trade while the rebel was imprisoned in Rome - freedom and the future Imperial crown in return for Peter’s services against the Order. But while the new Prinz had proved eager to seek out his brother’s killers, the killers were less keen to seek out the Prinz. The plan failed miserably.

But the cataclysm had re-opened the wound. Elberhard had duelled Lothar in a proxy war for Swabia. But in the minds of many of the “Swabian loyalist” protagonists - Elberhard, Hans and Jan von Hamburg - it had not been a war for Swabia. Still less was it a war of Catholicism against Lutheranism. Instead, it had been a war against the secret Order. The war had ended with the fratricide at Bern and subsequent death of Hummel at Staufen. But while the conflict had been a victory for the Swabian loyalists, the wider conflict with the Order had merely been a draw. Captain Jan still had a copy of the terms of the ceasefire sent by Lothar to Elberhard.



Kaiser Elberhard,

Welcome back to civilization. I regret to report that it is not in as good as shape as it was when you were last here, but it is certainly doing better than Outremer.

I will get right to the point. You and I seem to have been fighting a proxy war in Swabia. You supported your brother, and I have supported those who wished to overthrow him. The situation is now resolved, and my allies have been defeated. However, your brother and Jan von Hamburg were both killed in the process, depriving you of two very influential supporters.

You may have emerged the victor from this round, but we are still evenly matched, you and I. If you attempt to move against me, I will defend myself with all my power. I assure you, that power is great and I have many allies. It would benefit neither of us to engage in such a war when the Reich is already so weak. So, I would like to propose a ceasefire in this quiet little war of ours.

Given your side's victories in Swabia, it is only proper that I give the greater concessions. I am not a fool and I know when I must accept some humbling. Therefore I propose the following terms:

1) Nuremburg is to be returned to Imperial control and will serve as the capital of the Reich and the home of the Diet until such time as Rome is recaptured. When Rome is regained, Nuremburg will be returned to Bavaria.

2) Neither Duke Lothar Steffen nor Kaiser Elberhard will speak ill of the other in public or attempt to make the other accountable for previous actions. The past will remain in the past.

If you agree to these terms, I will pay proper homage to you as Kaiser of the Reich and work with you to regain what we have lost. If you do not, I will rally my allies and prepare for war.

Please know that this offer of mine is an attempt to do what is best for the Reich; it is not an admission of defeat on my part, nor is it an expression of absolute loyalty to your person. You may believe me to be a criminal, but I think of you in the same way. It was Siegfried and his mad unification plan that brought this all about, not me. You aided him in his crimes and are as guilty as he was. Good and evil, right and wrong, are all a matter of perspective, my dear Elberhard.

So, shall it be peace, or war?

Lothar Steffen
Duke of Bavaria

So, Elberhard had chosen peace. Better to save the Reich, he had argued, than tear it apart in a continued struggle against the illusive Order. Captain Jan grew pale. Now the choice that Elberhard had faced was confronting him. He looked up at Jacobus. Kill him. Burn the documents. No one need know. The Reich could continue undisturbed. She was weak and sick, but growing stronger. Let her rest, regroup and recover. Forget the past. Honour Elberhard’s wishes.

And yet, Elberhard was dead. His brother, Hans the fighter, was dead - murdered in cold blood by a man he believed to be an agent of the sinister secret Order. Something hardened inside Captain Jan. He remembered what Jan von Hamburg had said when Elberhard had pleaded for restraint. Elberhard had begged Jan von Hamburg to try to save the Reich by avoiding escalating the Swabian conflict and bringing in more of the Order’s supporters out in the open alongside Duke Lothar. But Jan von Hamburg had hauntily retorted that a Reich built on compromise with the hated Order would not be worth saving.

Captain Jan looked up, his face set. His master, Elberhard, had been a good man but ultimately a politician. Elberhard's foul language and bluff manners did not conceal the fact that he was as keen on compromise and harmony as his father Henry. But Captain Jan was not a politician. He was a soldier of God. He would do what was right, even if the world burned as a result.

Jan spoke: “Jacobus, I believe you. And when they read these documents, the Kaiser and Chancellor will believe you too. I will send them on immediately.”

Jacobus heart leapt: “And what of me?”

Captain Jan contemplated the figure in front of him. Another soldier like himself, who had seen better times. Whose life had been ruined by being ensnared in crimes not of his design.

“You hail from Bohemia, do you not? I will send you to Count Becker. I believe he is an honest man and may be seen as impartial in this matter. He will keep you safe from the reaches of Duke Lothar. And one day you will be called to testify. When that day comes, your voice will carry more weight if you are sheltered within neutral Prague and not a vengeful Franconia.”

Jacobus stood up, eagerly - for the first time in many years, his future seemed bright. Captain Jan ruefully watched the man’s rise in spirits. If Jacobus’s future was bright, would it not merely be from the glare of the flames that were about to consume the Reich?

[GeneralHankerchief]

Southern France, 1368

Herrmann Steffen sat in his tent in solitude, with only the latest transcripts from the Diet to keep him company. It was not very much. The latest round of bickering had once again crossed the edge, with the old familiar allegations of a secret society coming out.

Peter and Fritz still wanted justice for their brother. Lothar, Herrmann's father, was still denying everything and grandstanding about how Siegfried was a disease for the Reich. Edmund Becker was still whining about his beloved Bohemia. The only real difference was that Fritz was now taking out his frustration on everybody who wasn't meeting his expectations.

Despite everything, it was still amazing that the Diet was functioning considering the allegations being thrown around. It seemed like everyone was waiting for someone else to make the first move. Everybody was savoring the last few moments of stability and organization before the Reich was once again plunged into civil war. The Kaiser and Lothar had pretty much said as much.

You would have thought they would have learned, Herrmann thought, crumbling the transcripts up and chucking them out of his tent. All of the people instigating this fight - Kaiser Peter, Fritz, Herrmann's father, Arnold and Becker to an extent - were all old enough. Every single one of them participated in the Cataclysm. Every single one of them knew firsthand what disunity and civil war could do to the Reich. And still they persisted!

It was all of the younger ones who were ignoring it, staying out of it. Out of the four Crusaders - himself, Hugo de Cervole, Welf von Luxemburg, and Ehrhart Ruppel - only Ruppel had participated in the Cataclysm, and for most of it he had simply safeguarded Staufen, which was away from any kind of front up until the catastrophic Battle of Bern. This fight, once again, would be the previous generation's fight. Their last hurrah, perhaps. Everyone in that special little group was now on the other side of fifty. Some of the oldest were even nearer to sixty. Would this be their final gift to Herrmann's generation? Shattering the Reich to its very foundations once and for all, leaving their children to pick up the pieces?

Herrmann joined the Crusade at first to knock around some French, but after the present conflict erupted, he used it as an excuse to get away from it all. Take a nice, long excursion away from the Diet and the Reich, and hope everything sorted itself out. Maybe by the time he got back it would be all over. Maybe the torch could finally pass and he could stand for Chancellor, and maybe win.

Maybe? Hah!

No, the second civil war would most likely happen. And Herrmann would be far from it, holding the fort, allowing the children that were his elders to fight out their little conflict in peace.

He left his tent. "Captain?" he called, "This French commander about to attack us. How old is he?"

"Fairly young, sir. Around thirty would be my guess."

"Oh, well. I was hoping for someone older."

"Sir?"

"Come on," Herrmann said, "let's see how well pilgrims fight."

[Northnovas]

Vienna 1368 A Slow March

The streets of the city were full of people. The city was in mourning. The siege had been lifted and there was a little relief for the populace. Everyone was out from their homes and the shops were closed.

The funeral procession of Count Johann Zirn began at the South Gate and proceeded slowly to the Town Square. The people were out and their mourning was very public and emotional. However, they did not necessarily mourn for the loss of the young Count. Johann did his duty and protected the city and in the end gave his life in service. They appreciated the sense of duty the Count possessed but it was not for him the mourned.

They were mourning for themselves and the years of fighting that had been around and in the City of Vienna. They remember the oppression and plundering of the Hungarians on a couple occasions and the loss of young men in the Reich and from the Vienna itself. The missing fathers and sons. That what this day of mourning was really about. There was not only the Count but all the men that fell with him in battle.

In act of compassion the Zirn Family had for the people of Austria the Count’s procession was followed by the funeral procession for soldiers of the Viennese Volunteers. They would make there process through the streets and in the Square. The Count will have his services in the church and a public Mass would be conducted in the Square for the other soldiers.

Jan and Maximilian Zirn followed their brother’s Hearst. The crowd was relatively sombre except for the few cries of anguish from the women. The clatter of the horses’ hooves echoed of the cobbled streets and kept the timing for the soldiers marching smartly in the procession. No drum did beat. The constant sound of the march brought a calming almost hypnotising effect on the crowd. The trance was broken when the procession arrived at the Square and the funeral bell rang out giving an ominous chime for every soldier that fell in the siege.

The services went well and the people dispersed some went to taverns that opened and there was an air relief almost a celebration that overcame the populace has they decided was now a time of peace no matter how short lived and take the opportunity to enjoy life.

Max lingered behind in the church and reflected on what had been occurring in the Reich the past few years. He could not understand it all at his age no matter what pearls of wisdom his father or Johann shared with him. He was to take on a new responsibility for his family. He hoped he was ready. Max got up to leave when he was confronted with a man wearing traditional robes of an advocate.

“Master Zirn, please accept my condolences to your family” the stranger paused and then continued. “Please forgive my rudeness to contact you here but I have pressing affairs relating to your family and thought it best to contact you as early has I could. Forgive me.”



“Well your timing is odd but if you are to deal with the estate affairs of my brother then you must speak with Jan. I have no business in these matters.” Max then went to walk pass the stranger.

“Yes my timing is odd but it is not of your brother’s estate it is more pressing and involves your family and you! I must meet with you in private.”

Not surprised or bothered by the man's boldness or urgency Max relented to his request “Fine, come tomorrow to the house and we will talk then. You must excuse me now.”
Max then left the lone figure in the sanctuary of the church and went to join his family.

[TinCow]

(Written by OverKnight)

Florence - 1374 AD

No one knew who started the fire. The Florentines blamed the Greeks, the Greeks blamed the Germans and most of the city's population had been killed, so the matter was in doubt. Yet the Cathedral of Sin had burned, all that was left was scorched stone and a few stray embers. The main building had collapsed in on itself, and the tower was half gone, a jagged black tooth thrust against the night sky. The locals said it was haunted and dared not approach.

A lone figure made his way toward the ruin. Stopping at the entrance, he lit a torch and shone the light into the depths. Shaking his head, the cloaked and hooded figure strode into the building.

Eventually, after a few twists and turns, the man emerged into a room neither the flames nor the Greeks had touched. The triangular table and ebony chairs remained. Only the presence of dust indicated the passage of time, all else was as it had been. The room was lit, and his Brothers waited for him.

"Have a seat, you are late, and there is much to speak of," said a cloaked man to his right. He pulled back his hood, it was Lothar Steffen.

A cloaked man spoke to the left, "Aye Voice, we can begin. You have news of the trial?"

Lothar smiled coldly, "Yes, Grand Master, I have been found guilty of Regicide. Though none of us should find that shocking. I am now an outlaw and condemned to death."

The latecomer spoke, "So, the moment of crisis has come. You took an awful risk Lothar, if you had been captured. . .You've always been a bit too overconfident."

Lother turned to face the latecomer, "You speak to me of risk? I am the Voice, it is. . .was. . .my job to be noticed. You helped in that matter, or do you forget our 'arguments'? And I was not the one who defied the Council, brother."

Matthias Steffen threw back his hood, "I did not defy the Council, I chose to stay in Outremer when everyone else fled. It was a risk but it has worked out well for us. Still, I always enjoyed playing the 'battling Steffens', but I am glad the time for action has come."

Matthias turned to his left, "Grand Master, with the Trial over, what do we do now?"

The Grand Master pulled back his hood, a glint of obsidian mail could be seen below the cloak.

"It is time," Duke Arnold responded, "To initiate the Plan. Do I have the Brotherhood's agreement?"

In turn, each man in the room spoke his assent. Then, as one, the remaining Brothers stood and approached the table; forming a pyramid around the pyramid, with the Grand Master as the eye. All voices spoke in unison. “Re acre accipemus, cuncti pro bono terrae, finorumqu'et regni.”

A cloaked Brother hissed afterward, "Sic Semper Tyrannis."

"For the Republic," whispered Matthias to himself.

When it was done, Matthias turned and walked back into the darkness from which he came. Eventually, he knew, he would emerge once again into the warmth and light of the world above. Soon, though, Kaiser Peter would not.

[Ferret]

Dieter sat in the courtyard of his manor in Frankfurt. With him were two boys, his son Sifridus and his nephew, Andreas. Despite their young ages Dieter could clearly see what kind of men they would become, his old age was good for something. Andreas was just like his father, Jan von Hamburg, he had a proud face and had showed nothing but honourable intentions since his birth. Dieter was proud of the lad and wished he could call him his own.

Sifridus, in Dieter's opinion, was a disaster. The boy's mother had died when he was very young and Dieter had no patience for young children. Sifridus had been left under the care of Alfgarda, Jan's widow, but it was clear she largely ignored him and favoured her own son. This had a great affect on the boy, Dieter thought the devil himself had infested him. He had been found torturing Dieter's guard dog and even once been found attacking an older girl late at night. The boy was stuck in a downward spiral. He did each thing to try and gain Dieter's attention but each time a bad deed occurred Dieter hated the boy more, he was more like a von Kastilien or even Arnold, that very name caused Dieter to shudder with anger. Thus the boy was punished but at least then he was able to see his father thus next time he would perform a greater act of mischief. He had a great tolerance for pain and clearly enjoyed spending time with his father despite supposedly being punished.

The problem had worsened over the past few years and he was now uncontrollable. Dieter was truly afraid of what kind of man his won son would become...

OOC:shame we'll never see:clown:

[Cecil XIX]

Prague, 1380

It was morning, and a thick fog clung to the city and it’s surroundings. From the south gate emerged a wagon, readying to depart. Behind it walked Edmund Becker and his overseer, Klem. The former turned to the latter, preparing to end their conversation.

“You have always done well in managing Prague, my friend. I know you will be the key to it’s reconstruction when I am gone.”

Klem cast another nervous glance at the wagon before them, before returning to face Edmund. It was now or never.

“My lord, are you truly going to leave us? After all that’s happened, how can you turn your back on this city?”

Edmund closed his eyes, and sighed.

“It pains me to say this, but I can no longer help Prague. I should hope when I am gone, the victor of this Civil War will be more prone to treat Prague as part of the Reich. Besides…” Edmund paused, pushing away the darker thoughts that had momentarily surfaced. He turned to away from the city to look at the road before him.

“All my life, I’ve been fighting for a future. It was a future I envisioned when I first married my wife, a future where I would live in peace at Prague with my family, using my talents to turn it into one of the Reich’s greatest cities. It was that vision of the future that kept me going, that convinced me it was worth being forced by necessity to play the role of General.”

“But now I find myself in old man, and if history is any indication than I shall die in six or seven years. The future that I dreamed of is dead. Perhaps it died long ago with the cataclysm, or with the plague. It doesn’t matter. All I know is that I thank god every day for my family, for their absence would mean that I have wasted my life serving the Reich. Now I go, to seize the future that a dreamed of elsewhere.”

He turned back to face Klem, and noting the not-quite-convinced look on his face handed him a small parcel. Klem quivered to receive it, for he knew the holy object that it contained.

“Make sure this finds it’s way to Hugo when he comes of age. I did not intend to borrow it for so long. Goodbye my friend, and may my departure signal a better era for Prague.” The man nodded, unable to give force to his feelings of disappointment.

Without another look back, Edmund took his place on the driver’s seat of the wagon. After taking a look at Contzel, Gredechin, Fredericus and Wilhelmus, their journey began.

***

As he expected, the air was not particularly pleasant. Edmund was both ashamed and slightly pleased that Fritz had decided not to remain in Austria. His name was unfortunately well-deserved, and he was certain to find a place in the new regime whatever it was to be. He turned his head to Contzel.

“I know this has been a trying ordeal, but it will be over soon. The English have shown themselves loathe to mount a major military campaign, and have been by the large content to live peacefully on their island. In that respect they may be the most civilized people in the word. At long last Contzel, we will have the life we always wanted.”

No one spoke. Again, Edmund was not surprised. He could only hope that time would make them more receptible to their new life. For now, Edmund concerned himself with the road ahead towards the Adriatic. In order to avoid pursuers he though it wiser to take the longer route to Vienna. That had it’s own dangers as well, and in order to avoid being recognized it was necessary to stay in smaller towns that were unlikely to be visited by electors. But Edmund had their route all planned out, and if all went according to plan they we would spend their last night on the continent in the city of Trent.

[Cecil XIX]

Trent, 1360

It was before dawn, and Edmund Becker was tending to the horses and the wagon in preperation for setting off. As he walked back to the inn where his family was staying, he noticed that there was an unusual quite in the city. He did not understand it, and he increased his pace until he entered the inn.

“Why are there no people on the streets? Surely I am not the only man who rises before the sun.” The owner shrugged.

“We’ve heard tell that the battle will be fought today, m’lud. Some have left the city to escape the victory party, and everyone who isn’t tending to a business like me is sleeping. We figure it’s gonna be a long night.”

Edmund’s brow furrowed. “What battle?”

“Why, the battle between the Imperialists and the Republicans of course! What have you been doing these last few days that you haven’t heard of it?”

Edmund did not hear that last sentence, as he was already bolting up the stairs. Only the greatest of restraint prevented him from scaring his family half to death when he opened the door.

***

Thankfully his skill at campaigning had been showing through in this trip, and they were back on the road with little fuss. But up ahead, he could see a checkpoint of soldiers.

“Halt!” Came the cry from ahead. Edmund complied, and turned his head to give his family a reassuring look. As the soldiers approached, a knight on horseback rode out to speak to them. Edmund could tell from his livery that he was one of Lothar’s men. “State your business.” The knight demanded briskly.

“My family and I are headed to port. If that tyrant Peter should be victorious, God forbid, we’ll be on the first ship to Outremer.” Edmund spoke irratably, emphasizing his Austrian accent. The knight nodded appreciatingly.

“You may pass, though your fear is unwarranted. Duke Lothar shall be victorious.” Before he could turn to join his fellows, Edmund spoke again.

“Good sir knight, I cannot let my family get involved in the battle. From where comes the violence, so that we may avoid it?”

“The battle shall be fought over yonder hill and the tyrant’s forces shall come from that direction.” The knight spoke as he pointed in the right directions. “Stay close to the road from here on, and you shall not be bothered.”

“Bless you sir knight. I pray the day brings you glory.”

***

After a while, the checkpoint was long out of sight. Edmund looked up at the Heavens. His wife noticed the look in his eyes.

“Edmund!” Contzel cried out.

“Contzel…” Edmund lowered his head, then looked her in the eye. “I won’t be long. And I will keep our promise.” Edmund quickly stopped the wagon, dismounted, and began to untether the spare horse.

“Fredericus! You’ll be in charge while I’m gone! Keep to the plan and get to the port, I’ll be right behind you.” Not wanting to burden himself with arms and armor, he quickly mounted the horse and galloped off towards the battlefield.

***

Having moved as quickly as his old body would let him, Edmund was quite pleased with the speed with which he had arrived at the battlefield. Looking towards the south and the north, he could see the smoke from the campfires. Though he was on the periphery, he could just make out the larger banners denoting the various lords under whom the armies had assembled. It appeared that the battle was just about to begin. Edmund sighed.

“Very well, noble Reich. At least allow me the honor of witnessing your death throes.”

[Privateerkev]

Edessa 1380:

On a farm owned by the von Hamburg family, a knight rode up on a horse. This place had been in the family since Jan was the Crusader Count of Edessa. Now it was the home of an old hermit.

Opening the door, the knight saw an old woman rocking in her chair by the fire. When she looked up, a smile brightened her face.

"Max! What do I owe the pleasure?", Alfgarda rose to greet her old friend.

The knight bowed, "My lady, it is good to see you. But we have something important to discuss."

Alfgarda went to the kitchen to fetch herself and her friend some tea.

"I'm afraid the Reich is descending into civil war. For real this time."

The former Queen of Outremer paused in mid-sip. "I'm sorry to hear that. But it's out of my hands. I retired ever since that monster entered my husband's city."

Max sat in silence for a second. "But it is that monster that needs your help. There has been proof. Proof that it was Lothar that killed Kaiser Siegfried. Proof of the Order. Proof that your husband was right all along. Roughly half of the Reich's nobles have joined with Fritz to fight Lothar."

Alfgarda took the information in. Sipping some tea she finally said, "But what can I do now? Earlier, when I had the ear of Kaiser Elberhard and some of the other nobles, I could maybe make a difference. Now? I'm just an old woman that everyone is glad to be rid of."

Max stared at her and swallowed. "Fritz could use some more legitimacy. Think of it. One of his great enemies goes to the Diet and proclaims her support. It might sway some of the neutral nobles. Plus, your husband owed Kaiser Siegfried big. And he never got the chance to repay."

That last hit Alfgarda hard. Max was right. For some reason, Siegfried had entrusted Jan with Outremer. Given him a promotion and a purpose. Even re-appointed him when it was politically difficult to do so. Jan had been obsessed with finding Siegfried's killer. He always suspected it was Lothar but he had no proof. All he could do was strike at Lothar's allies, like Dassel. And upset the career of others, like Matthias. Jan had died before he could do more.

"Alright, but what if I do what you suggest? From what you said, it seems the battle is almost underway. I could be too late."

Max looked at her with all seriousness and said, "My lady, your husband would say that it is never too late to do the right thing. Fritz may be a monster. But a Reich led by the Order would usher in a darkness that would blanket the whole world."

Alfgarda sat for a minute sipping her tea. Finally she said, "Fine, let me pack."

[gibsonsg91921]

Should Hapsburg survive the battle, there's no way he'll be Duke of Austria, Peter thought as he poised to charge. He came late and he's still just sitting there! The Zirns are a nobler family anyways.

The Republican forces were nearing him. His conscious thoughts fell apart as he drove Schwarz furiously into the fray.

[TinCow]

Trent - 1380 AD

“What is it, m’lord?”

Lothar swiveled his head to look at the man who had spoken. It was one of the younger Bavarian knights, Dietmar, or possibly Ditwin. Lothar hardly bothered learning their names anymore, at least not until they had survived a year. He arched his eyebrow at the young warrior.

“What is what, Sir…?”

The man’s face blushed red. “Uh, Sir Hartrad, m’lord.”

The Duke of Bavaria grimaced and looked back at the battle lines. Who in the hells was Sir Hartrad, and what had happened to Sir Dietmar? Had there ever been a Sir Dietmar? Lothar spat on the ground and looked out on the battle before him. A mass of men were swarming in, around, and away from each other everywhere his eye could see. Arrows and bolts fell from the sky, and the sound of gunpowder weapons firing still sprinkled the air. Men screamed and died, but the Voice of the Illuminati did not even break a sweat.

“Sire…”

Lothar turned back to Sir Hartrad. “Ah, you mean Duke Arnold’s banner, do you not?”

The young knight nodded sheepishly.

“It is the sign of the birth of the Republic.” Lothar gazed at the rippling red flag. It pleased him greatly to see the insignia of the Illuminati displayed so publicly, and so proudly. It had taken many years of hard work and sacrifice to reach this day, but total victory was at least within reach. He turned back towards Sir Hartrad and was about to say more, when a rider arrived from the right flank.

A blood-soaked bandage was wrapped around the man’s left thigh and his horse was soaked with sweat, but he managed to stammer out his message between gasps for air. “Lord Bernhard reports… the Imperials… right flank… fighting each other…”

Lothar smiled broadly and clapped the messenger on the shoulder. “Thank you, my good man. That is the news I have been waiting for.”

The rider nodded. “Any message to deliver, m’lord?”

The Voice of the Illuminati smiled. “Yes. Give my regards to my son. Oh, and if you see Brother Maximillian, tell him that his father and eldest brother would be proud of him. The Zirns have always been the most loyal and devoted of the Illuminati brotherhood. He honors their memory well. Brother Karl and Brother Johann are surely looking down on him with pride this day.”

When the Duke of Bavaria said nothing more, the rider simply gave a quick nod and began his ride back to the east. Lothar returned his attention to Sir Hartrad, whose gaze was now affixed to the immense black flag that waved from Duke Arnold’s position. He answered before the knight could ask his inevitable question.

“That, my young friend, is the sign of the impending doom of all the Imperialist fools.” Lothar laughed and clapped his hands together in mock applause. “How arrogant of them to believe that they could ever defeat us by force of arms. They do not even realize that this is not a battle, it is an execution. The war was won before any man took up arms.” The Voice of the Illuminati grinned broadly and looked deep into the eyes of the young knight. “This is simply the most efficient method of killing those who remain.”

[gibsonsg91921]

Peter slew the Dismounted Feudal Knights, and thought, "Why, Max? Now your end will be the same as all of the fools you fight for.

[AussieGiant]

Trent 1380

Bolts had been fizzing around the Dread Duke since the battle had begun. His shield had taken 3 direct hits while amazingly one bolt was still protruding from the join in his shoulder plate, blood oozed down his breast plate and onto his thigh guards and grieves. The plate barding of his horse was equally covered in arrows and bolts.

A rider approached the hive of activity that made up Arnold's retinue. Making his way past the Dread Knight and the Berserker Grom, the messenger kept his eyes down and finally spoke up.

"My Lord!!" He shouted over the din of the battle taking place forward of their position.

"Lord Bernhard has perished in his engagement with Ruppel, Max Zirn sends word that they have prevailed never the less. They request orders at this time!"

At that moment the sky seemed to darken, the messenger looked around in panic for a moment.

The Dread Duke looked across at the front lines for a second and said:

"Achtung!! Bolts incoming, SHIELDS UP!!"

With a barely noticeable movement the entire regiment complied, except the Duke himself who seemed totally oblivious to the hail of death approaching.

As the final bolts thudded home there was a small gurgling sound that drew the Duke's attention...turning back to the messenger,Arnold raised an eyebrow at the now dying man. He shook his head in disgust at his feeble attempts to remove the crossbow bolt that was now lodged in his throat.

"Get me another messenger!!"

Glancing at Grom the Duke said with an exasperated tone. "When will these young knights start listening to me??!! I say things for a reason!!

Grom, get over to the right flank and give Max, and Ludwig this message!" The Duke handed the huge man a note covered in the Dukes own blood.

"And don't get yourself killed, get back here with their answers immediately."

Arnold looked to his left and saw Hugo and Lothar’s standards still flying, behind him the two massive BLACK and RED flags were still being waved back and forth as he had ordered.

The work was getting grim now and it was certainly not over yet he thought to himself.

Swinging his war horse around to his personal regiment the Duke thundered;

"Right you stinking whoresons!! It looks like we are going to see some action, when that bastard GROM gets back we are going to see how these Imperial scum handle the Dread LORD and his Regiment!!

Say your prayers and touch your lucky charms men, because I'm taking you to HELL AND BACK!!"

The roar from Arnold's personal retinue was staggering, for a moment the front line paused at the noise before resuming their deadly battle, the critical point was now upon everyone...who would rise to the occasion and cement themselves into history and who would fall and be forgotten forever?

[_Tristan_]

Tears washed down the blood and dirt from Hughes' cheeks as he was comtemplating the western side of the battlefield.

All the good men that had joined him on his name alone, men that believed in the ideals Hughes fought for, chivalric ideals, utopian ideals, not one of them was alive to see the brighter future that their fight was destined to bring out for the people of what was once known as the Holy Roman Empire.

Hughes' gaze was taken from the gruesome sight by the sound of cheering on the other side of the battlefield. What he saw defied reason... It seemed that Imperials were fighting among themselves. He saw Ruppel's banner brought down and wondered what befell of his fellow Swabian.

Now he understood the meaning of the red flag waving constantly behind Duke Arnold, that immense flag with its eye symbol. Now he witnessed another flag being unfurled, this one black... Black as a bad omen, mused Hughes...

Those men have secret deep in the marrow of their bones... Why didn't they trust me with their battle plan ? Did they think I would turn on them ? Didn't I commit myself to their cause against my House, against the Kaiser who gave me asylum when I was without a country ?

Is this why they have sent my men to their deaths ? Did they see me and my men as a threat ?

I don't know where this whole bloody business is leading but seeing all this bloodshed I wonder if I chose the good side...

Will our Utopia be ruled by secrecy ?

[deguerra]

Similar thoughts befell Ludwig von Böhmen on the other side of the same battlefield

"They are gone Heinrich. Dead or dying or wounded. Flanders' best men. Flanders' last men. And for what? To take down the one loyalist Swabian I always respected? And then to find that Zirn was on our side all along, that we might not have needed them all to die..."

"Purge such thoughts from your mind Ludwig!" The face of his childhood friend was solid stone "They will do you no good here. What's done is done. They died fighting for a cause they believed in. Their bravery opened a breach in the Imerpial line that we could then exploit. But we are far from done. Let's not sit here and wallow in misery while the Loyalists have a change to reform. We need to move, or the Chancellor will be upon us, and all this will have been for naught"

"You are right, as always" Ludwig smiled up at the older man "You were always the more level-headed."

Ludwig muttered a brief prayer for the fallen Swabians, loyalist and rebel, and for Erhard Ruppel. Mounting his horse, the thought burrowed into his mind

"I was not made for this."

[Cecil XIX]

Edmund Becker scoffed as he thought to himself.

"How appropriate that the Illuminati cannot even hold their own without resorting to deceit. If Matthias doesn't show up soon they won't even be able to take the von Kastiliens with them."

He glanced at the sun, still raising in the air.

"At least there's chance they'll finish before evening."

[AussieGiant]

Trent 1380 AD

At the perimeter of Arnold's regiment there is a commotion that finally draws the attention of the Duke. As usual crossbow bolts fly through the air making most sane men cover themselves with their shields before luck would take their lives.

On the other hand, Arnold, without thought of the danger, turns to face the interruption as he speaks calmly to one of the multitude of heralds that are keeping the Republican General's in constant contact with each other.

As he turns he notices from the corner of his eye that the Great Cross has finally appeared.

There is a pause while a huge cheers erupts from the Republican forces at its appearance.

The Viceroy has finally arrived with the crack Crusader troops from Outremer Arnold thought. That £$%£ing Christ for that!!

Turning to his grizzled Military Engineer Sigfreid; “Siggy, send my compliments to the Viceroy!! Tell him to get a bloody move on!!”

With that Arnold's Military Engineer gallops off towards the Crusader forces now entering the field.

The Duke steps over the now dead messenger who reported the news of Bernhard Steffen and Count Ruppel's death. Upon seeing the livery of Hapsburg at the edge of his retinue Arnold raises an eyebrow in amusement.

“Let him through!! I want to hear what The Scum has to say!”

Finally with a series of pushes and shoves a Hapsburg messenger is escorted to Duke Arnold.

It is clear that he is exhausted, and he is covered in mud.

"I apologise for mein appearence, Duke Arnold, but it was imperative for me not to be spotted by the Imperials.

I have a message from von Hapsburg for you."

The man opens a scroll and begins to read:

“I am not a fool to fight for a losing side with no prospect of reward should we overcome our obstacles and be victorious. The Kaiser is a liar, and I will not draw steel for such a treacherous dog. I will defect to you as soon as we attack again(this turn). I just ask that you pardon mein harsh words against Duke Arnold and de Cervole, confirm mein family's rights to their estates, and give me governorship of Tyrolia when this bloody battle is done. As a show of faith, I and mein knights will run through Tancred's crossbowmen, and mein crossbowmen and spearmen will dispatch von Tyrolia and von Salza before joining you.

Maximilian von Hapsburg.”

Behind Arnold his retinue minus Grom and Siegfried, can be seen fanning out either side of their master.

“Hmmm, an interesting proposition you have there my boy...it seems Hapsburg has finally seen some sense after all.”

Pausing the Duke stares into space for a few unnerving minutes. In that time another hail of bolts land around his position making the messenger whimper in response to the torment he's being put though.

Finally the Duke speak: “I tell you what, I can't make up my mind about this because Hapsburg is such a low life scum sucking sack of treacherous merde. So what I'm going to do is let Bane here make the decision.”

Without moving the Duke speaks to his Dread Knight.

“What do you think Bane, what's your opinion on this proposition?”

In a sudden and inhumanly fast action the Dread Knights sword flashes across Arnold's front.

The fine spray of blood misting in the air is the only indication that something has happened.

Another moment passes then finally, with a slow and appalling motion the assembled onlookers realise that the head of the messenger has been cut off. As if on command the head and body of the Hapsburg messenger take separate paths and fall to the ground at the feet of the Dread Duke.

Silence.

Arnold wipes a few spots of blood from his face. He then turns back to the assembled heralds who are, to a man, rooted to the spots they were standing in when the slaughter occurred.

Speaking to Bane over his should the Duke calmly says:

“Bane, I wish you wouldn't that so close to me all the time!!! Being sprayed with blood DOESN'T help me do my job.

Never the less, I like OUR response, so send that messenger back as best you can and lets get on with the job shall we!!?

An hour later:

A small object comes sailing over the Republican lines and lands in the mud between the two lines. It does not take Hapsburg long to recognise it as his messenger's head.

Apparently the Republicans did not like the offer.

[gibsonsg91921]

EDIT: not canon

[Ramses II CP]

Sic Semper Tyrannus

In front of him Fritz could see a more than a dozen companies of German soldiers battling valiantly for possession of the field near Trent. Hundreds of men were already dead as the nobles of the Reich contended against one another. After this day the Empire would never be the same, no matter which side won. And now his force, the largest Imperial army, was ready to throw it's weight into the battle. Fritz opened his mouth to give the order, and, just for a second, hesitated...

This was the moment. The true test. Over the next few hours the destiny of the Reich would be decided for the forseeable future, and it was Fritz von Kastilien whose hand once again gripped the tiller to turn the Empire itself! Not Ansehelm, the favored son, certain to inherit a Duchy on no merit but birth order. Nor was it Siegfried, fate's fortunate fool, who never fell off a horse without hitting a pot of gold and a soft blanket on the way to the ground. Nor even Peter, who combined the traits of both his brothers, certain and destined by being born third to become a soldier with little hope of power, but also in the right place at the right time to sieze power and become not only Prinz, but eventually Kaiser of the Reich.

No, it was the second son. The reserve. Not allowed to spend his youth training full time as a soldier, like Peter, nor foppishly running from one carefree pursuit to the next like Siegfried. Always held back, waiting in safety like a coward, just in case Ansehelm should fall, but never to be shown the reigns of true power either. Fritz's life had been one of buried rage and subsumed fury in the face of an incomprehensible fate. When his father had taken up religion late in life, as his strength began to fail, Fritz had taken the lesson to heart and even, in his youth, considered running off to join a monastic order. In the end all his faith had availed Gunther little in the face of age, and on his death Fritz abandoned all thought of a life devoted to the church. Their answers were for the next life, and gave little solace in this one.

As the instant drew on in his mind Fritz thought back to his childhood. His earliest memories were of chasing after Ansehelm, wearing his older brother's discarded clothes, begging to be admitted to the older boy's games. Ever the target of their pranks and cruel jokes, while little Peter was protected and watched by their Mother, until Siegfried replaced him as youngest at least. His recollection grew specific.

A moment when he was eight. He and Peter were just pretending to duel with simple wooden toys, but when Fritz struck his own head and drew blood, earning the first of the many scars his life would see, father was enraged. He lectured Fritz endlessly on his duties as second son, vowing that if Fritz could not be careful a nanny would be assigned to follow him about. Meanwhile Peter stood in the courtyard coverd in dirt and bruises, twirling his sword and grinning ear to ear at the thought of Fritz being chased by some old ninny.

A year later Fritz's first real sword, a notched and battered hand me down from Ansehelm. Peter, who was just barely a year younger, got a gleaming new sword the very same day! Father's comment was 'Can't leave my little soldier out,' as he fondly rubbed Peter's head.

Forward three years, and little Siegfried was belting out some fool song directly at Fritz while he struggled to study economic reports hastily copied from those Gunther and his advisors were even now discussing with Ansehelm. Whenever Ansehelm said something clever one of father's men would slip him a candy from his pocket while father pretended not to notice. Once in a great while Gunther would glance up to ensure Fritz was paying attention, but otherwise the men ignored him. As soon as father shifted position, Fritz turned and whispered a demand that Siegfried be silent, but the boy just made a face and cupped his hands around his mouth while he carried on. Rage burned on Fritz's face as he dashed over and struck his little brother in the stomach, to quiet him. Siegfried cried out petulantly, as Peter never would have, and father looked up in annoyance. As soon as he grasped the situation he took Fritz brutally by the hair and drug him back to his chair, shoving the illegible reports into his hands. Meanwhile out of the corner of his helplessly tearing eyes Fritz saw father's advisor slipping Siegfried one of the candies out of his pocket to quiet him.

A year later and Ansehelm was already riding with parties of soldiers to collect brigands, or joining father as he toured the countryside enforcing order. Fritz was never invited on these trips, though soon rough and tumble Peter would begin to join them. The excuse was that someone must stay behind and manage the castle. Fritz would hear that excuse for years yet, but listening to the muttered conversations between his father and the officers of his court Fritz often also heard the words 'insurance policy,' and eventually realized it referred to him.

At last when he matured Fritz was, on rare occassions, given the chance to ride to battle, but always under another's care. Never given a command himself. Never placed in the way of danger. Still an insurance policy. Thus his frustration only grew as the years went by, boiling forth in infrequent and sometimes bloody episodes of brawling and wenching in taverns. As his life neared it's peaceful end, Gunther turned increasingly away from practical concerns and bent his will more and more to improving his reputation as an honorable man. It looked like an absurd sham to Fritz, the cruel and cunning man whose youthful exploits Fritz had studied now took to releasing prisoners taken fairly in battle and showing a soft hand in dispensing justice. One part of his father's life had been a lie, and Fritz could not help but think it was this late blooming honor.

In short order then father died, leaving the Duchy of Franconia to Ansehelm. Just a few years later Kaiser Jobst was killed by a freakish catapult shot, and Fritz's unimaginably lucky, weak stomached, and carefree younger brother Siegfried was vaulted into the Emperor's seat. Peter was already a renowned general in the Reich, clearly a rising star in the field of battle and destined for greatness. And what was Fritz? Still just second son? Still following other men's lead in battle. Oh Ansehelm had promised him one of the minor Counties, and Fritz didn't doubt he would deliver in his own time, but what had Fritz done to earn it?

Into this gap stepped Lothar Steffen, Voice of the Illuminati. He seemed to know Fritz's heart better even than Fritz's own brothers. Fritz's desperate need to find meaning and order, to bring glory and triumph to the Reich and thus to himself. Lothar vowed that the Illuminati did not measure a man on the order of his birth or the luck of his stars, but by the power of his mind and the strength of his contributions to the Empire. Would Fritz join? In those glorious moments he might well have sold his soul for just the chance!

And so it was that Fritz von Kastilien, second son, destined ever to follow, became one of the secret leaders of the Reich. Reading over the Order's documents Fritz came to realize that much of Ansehelm's frustration in life came at the hands of the Illuminati, and his respect for them grew. For a time the Reich itself grew and clearly took profit from the actions of the Illuminati, but Kaiser Siegfried, Fritz's little brother, was increasingly distant from Fritz and indeed from the Reich itself. He was the first Kaiser in living memory to keep a fool always at his side, and much mocked for it. He took to wearing an absurd set of ornamental armour, and let his royal escort deal with many of the minor matters of state. At last, however, the personal accolades began to roll in as Fritz won success in the field and the political aims of the Order were achieved, but what little sentiment Fritz had for his brothers vanished.

Kaiser Siegfried, increasingly out of touch since his assumption of the throne, began to display truly unusual behavior only after spending extensive time in Byzantium. It was at this point that Fritz himself proposed to the Illuminati that a movement be created to oppose the Kaiser's will, though the purpose was to be deceptive. The Illuminati were meant to take the lead in quelling the resistance they had themselves created, thus winning favor with the Kaiser. Subsequent events made that impossible.

Fritz would eventually be passed over in the appointment of a Ducal heir to Franconia in favor of his brother, Peter, but by that point it meant far less to him than it once would have. Peter was a worthy candidate to stand in the open channels of power, but Fritz would still be one of the hands behind the Reich.

Then, near disaster! Fritz went out tavern wenching one night, though it was already rarely his custom, and told a certain young lass a rather fanciful tale of his membership in a secret order. Lothar discovered that the woman was an accomplished agent who manipulated her knowledge into a working relationship with the Order. Fritz swore off of drinking and never broke his vow. He very nearly swore off women as well, and never found himself able to trust such a creature again. His life would be wifeless and childless; all his love he would give to the Reich herself.

When Siegfried and his foreign Empress began to conspire to reshape the world, Fritz and both of his other brothers, who knew all too well Siegfried's flippant nature, stood against that act. The Illuminati too recognized the danger. They struggled to win influence with the Kaiser and break him away from Theodora, but unsuccessfully. Subsequently the Kaiser proposed a series of incredible territorial transfers to tie the Reich to the Byzantines, demanding support for them from the Illuminati; Fritz vocally expressed his disgust for his birth brother and Kaiser with his Brothers in the Order, whom he now felt closer to than his family. As Siegfried withdrew deeper and deeper into seclusion and his plans spun ever greater madness the Illuminati began to plot ways to usurp his power.

Fritz spoke openly, passionately, heatedly in the Diet about his brother, and was expelled for it. He struggled to reach the distant boy he'd once knew, and even loved, but the situation in the Reich was spinning out of control. The appointment of Emperess Theodora as co-Steward of the Reich was a hideous act of betrayal. Giving away the territories in Outremer started a furor amongst the Illuminati brothers, and indeed, all the Reich. The proposal of religious unification was the last straw. Surely God himself would oppose such a compromise of holy, sacred doctrine! A great man and powerful speaker, Father Luther, arose in this time to proclaim exactly that, and won Fritz's unwavering support. Fritz became fervently religious and tried to convince Peter that God himself opposed Siegfried. Peter was dismissive of the religious aspect, but happy to capitalize on a power base to oppose Siegfried; thus despite his disinterest matters of religion Peter declared himself the Voice of the Lutherans. That title in the hands of his brother, who had never espoused much faith, would always rankle Fritz.

Desperate measures were proposed amongst the Illuminati Brotherhood to halt the destruction of the Empire and her religion. Fritz himself was the first to, tentatively, propose regicide. It pained him to think of little Siegfried, the thoughtlessly happy boy he remembered so fondly from his own childhood, pouring out his life under an assassin's blade, but it caused him more pain and anger to watch his nation, his faith, and his whole people torn apart by an ironically named Unification plan.

Eventually, after much debate, a plan was put in place to hire mercenaries and have them ambush the Kaiser as he travelled through Bavaria. Most of the details were handled by Lothar, but Fritz compiled and assessed a listing of the available mercenary companies of Europe seeking just the right mix of loyalty to coin, gullibility, and disposability. The contacts he made in the mercenary industry would serve him well in the Cataclysmic years to come, though few would truly understand how he came by them. The black act was done. Guilt and hope gnawed at Fritz together, and for weeks he suffered blinding rage induced headaches. Would the Order's plan protect the Reich from Byzantium's blatant power grab? Alas, it was not to be. Most horrific and frustrating of all, Siegfried's death seemed purposeless. Elberhard the blowhard carried on with placing the Reich at the mercy of a nation that had manipulated Siegfried into a unimaginably poor arrangement, even to some extent expanded the trust placed in Theodora.

A plan was concocted to launch a war with Byzantium, but their illicit capture of Matthias Steffen destroyed that hope. With Fritz's none too subtle urging Peter came close to launching that war in the name of Lutherism, but failed and was imprisoned by the Reich. At last the Order voted to cause a state of war to come into being between the Papacy and the Reich, the resultant excommunication being virtually certain to break the mad unification scheme. As it happened the sack of Constantinople and the casting down of Pope Abbate were nearly simultaneous, and while they ended the political threat to the Reich, they also helped plunge it deep into the chaos of the Cataclysm when Jan von Hamburg returned to the Empire from Outremer and called up a sectarian army to oppose the Lutheran aims in Swabia. Fritz proposed that the Order try to stabilize what parts of the Empire each individual member could reach, and be prepared to pick up the pieces afterward to forge a new Reich.

The years of the Cataclysm were dark. Ansehelm died early on, victim of his youngest sibling's wild abuse of power, and Peter became Duke of Franconia in addition to declaring himself Prinz. Killing the Kaiser, his own brother, was not Fritz's blackest act during those years, though Fritz would forever feel that stain on his soul and see Siegfried's silly, childish grin in his dreams. Still, it was done in the name of God and the Reich! The name of carving order out of chaos, and preserving the light of civilization! The untamed world would not serve mankind except at the point of a sword, and once the political power of the brotherhood became less meaningful Fritz discovered a passion and ability for war. He began a vicious and very personal struggle with the Danish people that ruined his once beloved County, but ended with the utter destruction of their nation.

As the seemingly endless struggle against overwhelming odds and complete chaos dragged on and on Fritz dismissed politics from his mind. He gradually lost contact with the other members of the Illuminati. Fritz watched with interest Peter's ascent to power, on the basis of his more open but less effective resistance to their brother Siegfried's proposals, as carried forward by Elberhard. Prinz Peter, ever ready to call on Lutheran support, but hardly ever seen actually attending a Lutheran church. By the time the Cataclysm came to an end, Peter was fully established as Prinz and Fritz was a well known general. Shortly before the Diet reconvened and order returned to the Reich Lothar contacted Fritz to make certain he was still committed to the ideals of the Illuminati. There could be no question, Fritz was eager to return to power and restore the Reich to it's rightful place in the world.

Afterward, the Order asked him to reconcile with Elberhard and attempt to win influence with the Emperor. Fritz made the attempt, but when it failed he was secretly glad. Needling Elberhard and constantly recalling to him his failures provided Fritz with immense pleasure and a small measure of revenge for Elberhard following through with Siegfried's mad plans despite his death, though it never made up for the pain of Siegfried's murder. Elberhard's death gave Fritz no satisfaction, as he'd secretly hoped to someday face the man on the field of battle. Peter's choice of Dieter Bresch to be Duke of Franconia while he became Kaiser rankled Fritz little, as he no longer sought the open reigns of power, but despite his vow to restore Franconia to it's pre-Cataclysm prosperity Bresch did little but lay about Madgeburg seeing off Polish sieges. Year after year Fritz toiled in the field with armies of ill equipped militia while his Duke sat behind high walls with hardy professional soldiers. The uneven distribution of resources against successes began to grate, especially when Duke Dieter so loudly prattled on about his honor and his reverence for so called Saint Jan.

Fritz played many roles as the years wore on, protecting the Illuminati, running for Chancellor as a stalking horse for the Grand Master, and finally, at the moment of his destiny, taking on the Chancellorship himself to prepare the Reich for the final assumption of Illuminati power. When the time came for the Illuminati to declare themselves, Fritz was ready. While the Kaiser was relatively quiet in the Diet Fritz spoke violently and made bloodthirsty calls for vengeance, trying to drive the men who rejected those ideas towards the Order. The extermination of Stockholm and the utter destruction of the Danes was meant to goad the chivalrous subjects of the Reich to reject the power of Peter the Tyrant and his brother's bloody ways. It was a sacrifice, a sacrifice both of Danish lives and of Fritz's already black reputation, but if it put even one more hand to sword for the Illuminati, then it was a price Fritz was prepared to pay.

Abruptly snapping back to himself, Fritz grimly looked back up at the struggling Imperial soldiers who were expecting his aid. Time to settle all those old accounts. Time to tear down the old system of tyranny and inequality. In the Republic there would be no second sons. With an angry twist to his mouth he looked towards his gunners and shouted, 'Fire!'

:egypt:

[GeneralHankerchief]

Trent, 1380

You are Péter von Kastilien, son of Günther, brother of Ansehelm, Siegfried, and Fritz, Holy Roman Emperor. All your life, you have fought for what you believed was right. Sure, some of these opinions were in contrast with the majority’s belief, such as your arguments against Outremer when the land was in its heyday, or in conflict with each other at points, but you always did the best you could. More importantly, you never abandoned your main priorities: The advancement of your family, your House, and your Reich.

You watched as the country around you grew and shrank; all the while you were fighting to keep it great, against the Russians, Poles, Hungarians, and whoever else was stupid enough to invade Imperial territory. You wish it could always have been that simple. Unfortunately, it wasn’t.

The tragedy and the complexity probably began when your brother Siegfried became Kaiser through a freak accident. Everything that man ever did was controversial and contested, beginning with his very ascension to the throne. You supported him, as a good Franconian and loving brother would naturally do. Unfortunately, Siegfried did not reciprocate, as he became infatuated with the Byzantines in general and Theodora specifically.

He proposed a hare-brained reunification plan that most of the Diet, you included, saw could be catastrophic. Ansehelm and Fritz, your two older siblings, agreed with the majority opinion and did your very best to convince Siegfried to listen to reason. Instead he banned you and made Fritz apologize before he let the man back in. As reunification plans went on and the overall outcome became more and more clear, you and several people realized that they had to take things into your own hands. Deciding that a blunt, direct approach was always effective, you took a large army and drove right for Constantinople. You failed, but Tancred von Tyrolia succeeded. Reunification, however, still dragged on. And then Siegfried died, killed by the Illuminati.

You now had a new passion in life. For whatever Siegfried had done wrong, he did not deserve to die for it. You were certain that your brothers stood with you on this. Fritz did, as did Ansehelm, at least for a little while before he perished. And so, you began your slow rise to power, again killing the foreign enemies and helping restructure the Reich, but never taking that main goal out of your mind. Neither did Fritz.

It all came to a head after the new evidence surfaced that Lothar, in fact, did order Siegfried to die. Finally, you had an excuse to act. Finally, there was general outrage. You and Fritz, by this time Chancellor and pretty much second-in-command to you, despite Dieter von Kassel’s official title, declared Lothar and the rest of the Illuminati outlaws. The time had come to strike.

Instead, the Illuminati turned it all around, blaming you and Fritz for causing tyranny, blasting Fritz’s over-the-top antics as proof, declaring that the Kaisership over and proclaiming the Reich a Republic. Amazingly, it worked, with most of the defectors citing Fritz’s menacing demeanor as the chief reason why they did what they did. Still, you never told him to cool it down, to watch what he was saying. Instead, you were encouraged by his behavior and also ramped up yours. Fritz, of course, took it in stride.

You found yourself at Trent, finally ready to shape the Reich according to your beliefs, finally ready to rid the world of the evil Illuminati, after all these years. But not all went well. During the first critical moment, with the red flag waving, Max Zirn switched sides and annihilated Ehrhart Ruppel’s flank. You were surprised at this, for treachery was always in the back of your mind, but not too concerned. After all, Fritz, your brother, your last brother alive, your comrade until the end, was up and in a good position to correct the mistake. He would take up the flank and prevent the east from closing in.

With that in mind, you ordered an all-out charge for the center. It would be the glorious charge you had always hoped for, somehow righting the world. But it was different. Your horsemen were depleted, having participated in two other charges and undergoing heavy missile fire, and Tancred was off commanding in the west. Still you charged, running through Arnold’s crossbowmen whose only objective seemed to be to stand in your way. Still you charged, despite Arnold activating his dismounted Gothic Knights. Still you charged, killing quite a few of the armored terrors, because you knew that righteousness was on your side. Of course you would break through.

But what you didn’t notice is that you were the only spot where you were breaking through. To the immediate west, Jan Zirn and his horsemen were giving the same treatment to your remaining Dismounted Imperial Knights, shattering them without any thought to the cost. To the north, Dieter Bresch was closing in around you. Not betraying you, as you suspected, for the black flag was up, but trying to get a shot in at Arnold. And to the east, Ludwig von Bohmen and Max Zirn were closing in, unchecked, ready to roll over your flank.

You had put everything into the frontal attack, trusting that the flank would be safe. And it wasn’t, for here the Republicans came, the crossbowmen and Gothic Knights just holding on long enough for help to come. And then you looked north while setting up for another charge, with the handful of men left, and you realized why in an instant.

You saw Fritz’s cavalry charging at Dieter’s unsuspecting crossbowmen, killing them. You saw Fritz’s gunners getting their last shots in at Dieter’s infantry before the flank closed up. You saw Fritz’s infantry simply standing there, doing nothing as the flank closed around them.

In an instant, you realized it all. Everything. The black flag. It was all a setup, everything. Fritz had always been one of them, playing an elaborate deception game all of these years. He had dawdled getting to the battlefield, maybe not so much as to hire as many mercenaries as he could, but maybe to ensure that he was in the rear and hitting you the hardest.

How long? How long had the Illuminati been plotting this? Since Lothar revealed himself as a Brother? Since Fritz became Chancellor? Since you became Kaiser? Did they rig the Chancellor election to make it look like an Illuminati loss? Were they the ones who had brought the prisoner the new information? Was Fritz involved in the Siegfried assassination plot? Was he the one that proposed it?

In the end, it didn’t matter how they did it, only that they did do it. You realized that you had lost the war just by fighting it in the first place.

As the rest of the horsemen go down around you, you realize it’s just you left. You try to get out, but cannot. Dieter Bresch’s men are all around you, pressed by Max, Ludwig, and of course, Fritz, closing in. You have nowhere left to go.

In the distance, you see a new body of cavalry coming in, charging right for you. Their lances are drawn, ready to destroy what was left of the breakthrough. As the charge draws closer, you see that it is led by a figure, armored in black obsidian as well as the usual metal. The Grand Master has come to finish the job.

You wait for the inevitable lance blow to come, to finish the Illuminati’s plan. For while Arnold is about to end your physical life, it’s already over. Fritz von Kastilien has killed you.

[TinCow]

Milan, 1364

The city gate was well-guarded by the militia. Within the walls, and without, there was little security beyond private guards. Milan, like so many other cities in the Reich, controlled its population by policing choke-points such as this one. Unsavory activity was easy to commit, so long as you did not have to pass through such a place. Yet there was no other way out of the city. A tunnel could be dug, but that required time and men. He did not have the former and could not risk the latter.

Behind him, the mercenary Stoyan stood, staring at the sky, oblivious to all else around him. The man was almost certainly insane. Thus, the satchel of documents that the man carried with him. The perfect evidence to incriminate the Duke of Bavaria. Documents signed in his own hand, sealed with his own ring, and bearing words too damning to be ignored.

He walked back to Jacobus, and whispered into his ear. “The city gate is ahead and guarded, and we must pass through. Beyond is your freedom, but you must do exactly as I say or you will never see it.”

The emaciated fool jerked his head in what must have been a nod. The man did his best not to gag at the smell emanating from the husk that remained of the mercenary’s body.

“Good. Keep your head down and do not speak. Stay right behind me.”

He walked forward, openly and with a spring in his step, directly towards the militia guarding the gate. Jacobus shuffled along behind him.

He nodded at the captain of the watch. “Evening, Mikeus.”

The guard arched an eyebrow, silently questioning how the hooded man knew his name. He grunted and spat, then replied, “A bit late for a walk, ain’t it?”

The man put on his broadest grin. “It’s never too late for a whore, Mikeus.”

The imbecile captain eyed him again and then pointed towards Jacobus. “And him?”

This game was already growing tiresome. It was late already and there was work to be done. He shrugged and walked into the gateway. “The son of a client. His father wants him ‘educated’ in the ways of the world.”

At that, Captain Mikeus’ mouth lit up. “Ah! Taking him to Emilia’s then? Or Old Prath’s? If it’s Prath, let ‘em know I sent ya.” The guard winked. “He’ll give you a discount, and I get a florin for each patron I pass their way.”

The man opened his mouth to reply, but Jacobus chose that moment to experiment with true madness. An ungodly banshee wail came from the man’s lips. The guards were drunkards and louts, but they were still Bavarians and they knew their duty. Light burst forth from half a dozen torches, revealing the desiccated face of the former prisoner.

“This is a client’s SON?!” shouted Mikeus.

The man sighed. There were always complications; nothing was ever simple. Jacobus was screaming again, when the man turned and grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. He thrust the bag into his arms and shouted into his ear.

“Take that to the Kaiser, you bloody fool! If not him, then the Chancellor! Get it to someone who can damn well read! Franconia! Go to Franconia!” There was no intelligence on the mercenary’s face at all. It was a good thing he had forged those documents; there was no way that any man would believe this lunatic’s story without hard evidence. He just hoped no one would realize that the Duke of Bavaria was not stupid enough to ever put such incriminating evidence on parchment. “Go, you idiot! Run!”

Finally, understanding bloomed on Jacobus’ face and he turned to flee. The man knew he would run until he fell from total fatigue. As long as the guards could be delayed until he was gone, his work would be done. He turned and drew his sword, the cold steel glittering on the night sky.

He parried the guards’ first, clumsy blows with ease. He had been trained well, and it would take more than a few fattened militiamen to best him in battle. Yet victory was not what he desired. He swung wide in a flourish intended to drive the guards back, then cried out in mock pain, tinged with just a hint of fear. The guards hesitated at this unexpected and unexplained sound. The brief interval was long enough for the man to turn and see that Jacobus had vanished into the night, undoubtedly propelled by the thought of death behind him. With him went the dogs of war.

The man turned back towards the guards, and lowered his sword. They advanced warily, weapons held high to strike. “Stay where you are, you are under arrest!”

“Now, now, Captain Mikeus,” the man said, “is that any way to speak to one of your betters?”

For a moment, it seemed as if the guard would strike him, then the man pulled back his hood and exposed his face. Every watchman took a step back and lowered their weapons. Mikeus, stood wide-eyed, staring at the man in front of him.

He gestured to Mikeus’ sword. “Were you planning on using that, Captain?”

The guard blinked and dropped his sword, before collapsing to the floor in a full bow. “I… I’m sorry m’lord. I didn’t know…”

“Now, now, no need to grovel, Captain. You were just doing your duty, and no one can fault you for that; not even me. We must all do our duty to Bavaria and the Reich, isn’t that so?”

Mikeus nodded slightly without lifting his eyes from the cobblestones.

The man sheathed his sword. “Let’s just forget all about this little incident, shall we?” No one replied.

He smirked as he walked back into Milan. The die was cast and the game was about to begin. It was a game he had played more times than he could remember, and he had never lost. What better way to ensure victory, than to control both sides in a battle? Lothar Steffen bit back a laugh as he disappeared into the dark of the Bavarian night.

[Cecil XIX]

Edmund Becker was off his horse. Vomiting.

"Even when I decided to leave the Reich, there was still hope. Now this... The Illuminati are victorious, and Fritz von Kastilien is alive. I could not have imagined a worse outcome. Fritz, my son... Have I sacrificed your soul because I was too weak to make a clean break from the Empire?"

Edmund weakily remounted his horse, and set off in pursuit of his family. The Reich would continue to grow strong. He had never heard worse news in his life.

[gibsonsg91921]

Trent, 1380

Peter charged at Arnold. Here was the embodiment of everything he despised throughout his life. Secrecy. Manipulation. Treachery. Dishonor. He hoped that by eradicating the head of the Illuminati, their influence would wholly diminish.

The nagging thing was, he was fooled. He thought Lothar was the one he was after. He thought he could trust Maximillian Zirn. He respected Matthias. Arnold may have been a little crazy, but he was a great soldier. Lothar was once his friend - had he been manipulating him that whole time?

Where is Tancred? He should be at my side for this. He knew Tancred's heart well - going outlaw with a friend is the deepest bond of trust, Peter always said.

Fritz was a trustworthy man, as well. Ehrhart's death will not be in vain when Fritz avenges it mercilessly.

Dieter, on the other hand - Peter gave him the Duchy of Franconia over his own brother because he hoped Dieter would not divide the Reich. Instead, he stayed locked up in Magdeburg for years. Peter couldn't believe the mistake he made. Now the black flag saying "SIC SEMPER TYRANNUS" threatened him,
cursing his name. Dieter would betray him, he had warned his troops before. He'd be ready.

His fists clenched. His feet tightened in the stirrup. A crow cawed in the distance, no one paid any mind. Fratricide was in the atmosphere on this tumultuous day. Peter was about to learn the real meaning of the flag.

Fritz's gunners opened fire on Dieter's men. That coward Dieter had already struck! But wait, his men were bearing down into Arnold's troops. It couldn't be true. Fritz? Could Fritz have killed Siegfried? It all made sense. Peter told Fritz about his intentions to attack Lothar, and Fritz recommissions Peter's army to Lothar. Ansehelm picked Peter as his heir, not Fritz, the older son. A minor chord was struck in Peter's consciousness as he realized the truth.

Like a man possessed, the last Kaiser of the Holy Roman Empire charged. The Republicans would later describe his final charge as that of a Viking berserker, yet somehow holy. Peter was never a religious man, yet he was a god as he smashed through the crossbowmen and the Gothic Knights.

There were too many. The crossbowmen were utterly annhilated, but the heavily armored Gothic Knights were too many. Peter watched as Jonas, his longtime friend and veteran warrior, was brutally killed. Lars fell and Ulrich stood defending his body until he too was engulfed. Schwarz was hacked from under Peter, and if it wasn't for Sven Peter would have died then as well. Sven heroically chopped away at the assailants, as consumed with the lust for battle as Peter was. Where was Tancred? He should be by my side, to die with me as friends and brothers should.

Then Arnold came. Bane and Grom charged first. Sven fell defending his liegelord from the terrors. Arnold, the veiled nemesis of Peter, had won. He thrust his spear into Peter's heart - a void of the soul yet remaining a weakness of the flesh.

Thus ended Peter von Kastilien, Kaiser, Herzog der Wahrheit, former Duke of Franconia, Count of Breslau, Commander of the Prussian Army, and the First and Second Army of the Immortals.

[Privateerkev]

Undisclosed apartment

After Max had noticed someone following them, he had recommended that they lose their "tail" and hole up. Alfgarda hated the waiting. Not sure how the Battle of Trent went. Not sure who won. Not sure who died.

Max, Jan's old Teutonic Knight returned to the apartment in a dirty brown cloak to maintain secrecy. He had just returned from meeting with a contact he had known from the Teutonic Order who now worked for the IMS.

"Did you find anything out?" Alfgarda looked up as Max arrived.

A look of great pain crossed Max's face. "My lady, Dieter is dead. He died charging Arnold. The whole Imperialist army is wiped out. Fritz turned on his allies but he was killed for his treachery by..."

A loud wail from Alfgarda interrupts Max's report. Her two children rush in to see what is the matter.

Holding their distraught mother, they don't know what to do.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Alfgarda composes herself. She looks up at Max with a fury in her eyes Max has never seen. "I need you to arrange a meeting with Duke Arnold. I have something I need to say to him. In person..."

Max bows, draws his hood, and leaves to fulfill his task.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Marseille, 1380

"So, let me get this straight... why are you taking my ship again?"

Maximilian von Hapsburg sighed. This time it was out of annoyance, not shortness of breath. "Kaiser Peter von Kastilien is requisitioning your vessel for military reasons. He has decisively triumphed at the Battle of Trent and the traitor Arnold has fled by sea. The Kaiser is ordering a massive search to finish the job and make sure that the Illuminati never rise as a threat again." It was a lie, of course, but the ship's owner didn't know that. The news had not yet spread of the Republican victory at Trent, and since Hapsburg had gone all-out in trying to get as far away from the battle as possible, he knew he had good odds of fooling the man.

"Well, I suppose, if it's for the good of the Reich... will I be compensated for this?"

"You misunderstand me, sir," Hapsburg said. "We are requisitioning this ship. The Kaiser is prepared to take a more active approach in sniffing out traitors to the Reich. Surely he will take notice if the owner of such a fine ship does not assist in the effort against Arnold... how many children did you say you had? Four?"

Defeated, the ship owner groaned. "All right, sir... she's all yours. Anything for the Empire, I suppose..."

"Much better," said Hapsburg, suddenly adopting a brisk tone. "My men will be leaving tonight and taking it to Rome for the assembly of the Grand Fleet. I do not expect any trouble on the docks when we come to take it."

With that, Hapsburg departed, making his way to a cheap hotel near the docks. Inside the lobby were the members of his escort, fellow survivors of Trent, waiting for him.

"Simon," he said, greeting the first one. "Did you get the food?"

"Yes, m'lord," Simon said. "And Erich got the drinks, and Johann got the girls."

"Are they good-looking, Johann?"

"Of course, mein Lord."

"Excellent," said Hapsburg. "Gentlemen," he said, addressing the entire body, "I have secured the ship. Tonight, we are going to board it, have the greatest party ever thrown in the dying Empire, get ridiculously drunk, and for the night forget that we are the last remaining Imperialists in a Republican country."

Everyone cheered.

That night

"Everyone on board the ship!" Hapsburg yelled. "Simon, do you know how to sail?"

"No, m'Lord."

"I don't care, get us out to sea a bit anyway!" Simon nodded and took the rudder of the rather large ship, trying to figure out how to get it moving. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is what remains of the Imperial government! I am the last Imperialist noble, so I suppose that makes me Kaiser! As Kaiser, I give you the following orders:

"Eat and drink as much as you can! Girls, begin the whoring! Men, enjoy yourselves! Any man who does not feel terrible in the morning will be thrown off the boat! Now, that said... begin the merriment!"

Someone dove into one of the large barrels of beer on board. Another snatched a large pile of food and began shoving it into his face. One of the girls laughed shrilly as she was jumped by three separate men.

The party was on.

The next morning

Maximilian von Hapsburg turned over on the floor, still asleep. Mouth closed, he involuntarily threw up. The acidic taste and smell finally got him to wake up and empty the contents of his mouth. His head was pounding.

"Oog... Can't remember anything... but that means it was probably worth it... being at sea certainly isn't helping. Simon!" he slurred. "Simon, where are you? Are we docked? Can you get us back?"

Simon, of course, didn't respond, still sleeping off the previous night. Hapsburg went to the deck and looked around. All around him was sea. No land was in sight anywhere. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if the alcohol was still playing havoc with his vision. Nope. No land. They were out to sea.

He stumbled around, waking up his retinue. A few of the women were up now too, asking him questions. He ignored them. They weren't just there for pleasure now, they had to be treated like people. This would take some getting used to. Finally, Hapsburg succeeded in getting everyone up. More than half of the people were moaning. He still felt terrible himself, but there was a group to lead.

"Men," he said, "It appears that we're far out to sea. I suppose that in all of the... excitement... last night, we forgot to maintain proper care of the ship. Until further notice, I guess I'm Captain."

"Does this take precedence over you being Kaiser?" someone shouted. Some people chuckled. Most of them groaned.

"Shut it, Fritz." Hapsburg shivered at the name. "First of all, we need to find land. Does anybody know how to sail?"

No response.

"Anyone at all?"

No response.

"Great..." he mumbled. "Okay, does anyone know their stars?" A few people raised their hands. "Okay, good. At night, we'll take a look at them, and try to go, uh... west. Yeah, that's it. We're fleeing to Spain. I don't want to get chased down and executed by Arnold or Cervole. We'll try to get refuge there. Any disagreement?"

No response.

"Excellent. Then, uh... let's haul the, er... anchor until night and we'll find west. Right now, go back to sleeping it off. Also, try cleaning this ship! There's a lot of debris from last night, some of which I don't even want to know what it is."

Everyone ran off somewhere, leaving Hapsburg with one of the women. Evidently she wanted a word.

"Excuse me, Captain."

"Yes, what is it...?"

"Gertrude. Anyway, my husband was a sailor-"

"You have a husband? And he... approves of your profession?"

"Well, no. He died two years ago. Infected wound from a cat scratching him."

"Indeed."

"Anyway, he was a sailor, and he told me some things about the profession. Basically, you need to be very careful when going by the stars. If you miss your angle by even a little bit, you'll go way off course and end up in Africa."

"Thank you, Gertrude. My men will be careful."

3 months later

"We should have hit Spain by now."

"Well, m'Lord," said Simon, "Nobody has any idea how slow or fast this ship is. Remember, I took it strictly because of its size! For all I know it's designed to be a party ship, not to seriously take on the open sea!"

"Still though... we should have at least seen some land."

"You're right, Simon. It's lucky that the men and some of the girls know how to fish; otherwise we'd all be dead."

"Indeed, m'Lord."

2 months later

"My lord!" said Gertrude, running up to Hapsburg. After five months at sea, the women on the ship were no longer whores. Rather, they were contributing members of the little community, trying to get back to land. Several of them began sporting noticeable bumps.

"What is it, Gertrude?"

"What star did you use to get your initial bearing?"

"We used Polaris, of course. Why, Gertrude?"

"Look at Polaris now. I think that we've gone off course. Remember what I said about being off even a little bit will wreck your whole trip?"

"Yes..." Hapsburg was starting to get worried.

"Well, I think that's happened here. Instead of going west, we've gone west by southwest. We've probably shot right through the Strait of Gibraltar without even knowing it!"

"Oh, God," said Hapsburg. He slumped down, suddenly getting a case of nausea. "Who knows how far out to sea we are? The ship wasn't going slow at all, it was going just fine... we could be out here forever..." He sank deeper and deeper into despair and misery, despite Gertrude's affections. After a few minutes, he finally snapped out of it, heading to the helm.

"Simon," he said, "turn this ship around. I need a precise 180-degree turn, and nothing else! We're far enough out to sea already; anything more and we'll be hopelessly lost. Do it in three... two..."

"LAND HO!!!"

"...one-what?!"

"Land ho!" said one of Hapsburg's men, getting more and more excited. "Look at it, sir! Dead ahead! No matter how far southwest we've gone, I guess there's something there!"

"Maybe we ran into India," Hapsburg said. "Or maybe wherever it is that the Mongols and Timurids came from."

"Or maybe something between Europe and India," Gertrude suggested.

"Prepare rowboats," Hapsburg said. "I want to check out where we are."

The men and women, the lost Imperialists of Europe, got on the rowboats and made their way to the unfamiliar territory ahead of them. It looked accomodating enough, with white sandy beaches to dock and forested land behind the beaches. Somebody checked out the trees and found fruit, exotic-looking but ripe, growing on it. That was reason enough to stay on the beach and keep exploring. After months of fish, it tasted like heaven.

Two days passed. Clearly, this land was something different entirely. Such a beach like this, such a paradise, the Indians would have been all over it. It was as hot as Africa, but still nice and wet, providing a humid climate but a nice refresher from the cold winters of Austria that most of Hapsburg's escort was used to. The explorers were taking a vote; deciding what to do next.

"I think we should move inland," one person said. "If we stay on the beach, eventually our supplies will run out and we'll have to go back on the ship. If we explore, we might encounter a civilization who can point us in the right direction."

"I agree," said Hapsburg. "Move inland, get a better idea of where we are. Does anyone think otherwise?"

Silence.

"Excellent, it's decided then. Let's move inland."

And so, the former Imperialists blazed a trail through the jungle, every moment discovering something new and wonderful. They still had no idea where they were, but if they ever got back to Europe they certainly would have a story to tell.

On the third day through their trek inland, a large, yellow, spotted animal came tearing through the jungle right for them. Several of the women screamed, but it changed course abruptly and darted away from them. Clearly, it was running from something.

A second later, three men burst through the jungle, no doubt in pursuit of the strange animal... and stopped in surprise.

These men were of a darker complexion than all of Hapsburg's party, and almost completely naked aside from strange cloth around their groin areas and paint on their faces. They were shaven bald and carrying spears, but dropped them in surprise.

Everybody stared at each other in shock for a good amount of minutes, the odd newcomers directing their attention mostly at Hapsburg, whose armor, the shiniest out of everyone's, had a large red cross painted on it. Eventually one pulled the other two aside and began muttering in a strange language. Hapsburg couldn't make any sense of it, but he did catch the word "Quetzalcoatl", whatever that meant.

"Maximilian, what are they doing?" Gertrude asked.

"I don't know... it looks like... they're bowing to me?"

"Evidently, they think you're a god," said Simon, chuckling.

After the bowing concluded (lasting several minutes), one of them pointed at Hapsburg and said "Quetzalcoatl?" in a questioning tone.

"Yes," said Hapsburg, pointing at himself. "Quetzalcoatl."

The bowing began again. After another five minutes, Hapsburg cleared his throat. The three natives instantly stopped, eyeing him intently.

"Quetzalcoatl," Hapsburg said again, pointing at himself. "Also, Hapsburg."

"Happurg," one of them said, trying their god's new name out.

Another one made a gesture to follow him. "Happurg, waha. Tenochtitlan."

"Should we follow?" asked Gertrude.

"If they think I'm a god, it surely can't be bad."

One week later

The trek through the jungle became a lot easier now that the party had guides, especially guides that believed in Hapsburg's divinity. Thanks to the natives, the Imperialist explorers now had meat and fruit in their diet, and although there were various bowel problems the first days, it was worth it. On the seventh day, the guides stopped abruptly, approaching Hapsburg.

"Happurg," one of them said, "Tenochtitlan. Tenochtitlan, Acamapichtli." At this last word, they began bowing. "Acamapichtli, Quetzalcoatl." They bowed again.

"Anyone wanna guess what that means?"

"I think they're saying that this Acamapichtli is their ruler, but they will still bow to me because I am apparently Quetzalcoatl, who is a god. That had better be it, anyway. Let's hope it's not some Mongol commander who's friends with Arnold."

The party walked a little bit farther. Everyone could sense that the end of their journey was near, for better or for wose. They scaled the final hill... and gasped.

Ahead of them, a gigantic city, seemingly made of gold, was waiting.

They made their way into the city, Tenochtitlan, to great fanfare. Everyone gasped at the pale color of the Imperialists' skin and crowded around, torn between wanting to touch Hapsburg and scared to death to. They walked to the largest building, either the palace or some religious temple, and waited.

Down the largest stairs descended an elaborately-dressed figure. The guides bowed to him, apparently Acamapichtli, and began speaking in their own tongue. After some minutes, the ruler looked at Hapsburg.

"Quetzalcoatl?" he asked.

"Quetzalcoatl," Hapsburg replied, confidently.

"QUETZALCOATL!!!" Acamapichtli boomed. The entire crowd, several thousands-strong, cheered. All began bowing, including the ruler. Maximilian von Hapsburg grinned and took it all in. Oh, what a reversal it was from when he was fleeing Trent, not sure whether he would live or die.

Hapsburg looked at Acamapichtli, who looked up.

He pointed to himself. "Hapsburg," he said. "Emperor Hapsburg."

"Impror Happurg," Acamapichtli said, and bowed again.

Somebody started pouring gold on all the Europeans. They began carrying Hapsburg up the steps of the large building and seated him on the elaborate throne in the very top room. More gold was poured everywhere. Five beautiful women began dancing for his pleasure.

The possibilities were endless. Europe? It would wait. The Reich? It would wait. After all, Maximilian von Hapsburg was a god. He had all the time in the world. And half of its resources.

[Ferret]

Sifridus arrived at his final destination, Florence. despite his young age the boy knew his country well and managed to hitchhike and steal a variety of transport methods to get to where he now was from Magdeburg. After interrogating an unfortunate guard the boy found his way to the pleasure palace. Despite a lot of the building being made up of rubble he knew the people he wanted to see were still in there. He tentatively knocked on the door...

[Privateerkev]

This a co-op between myself and AG

Part 1

Lady Alfgarda, Max the Teutonic Knight, Clare, and Andreas wait in the apartment. Max had done as the Lady asked and sent a letter to Duke Arnold requesting help. Right after Jan was killed at Bern, Arnold had sent an offer to shelter the family in Ragusa. It was an offer Alfgarda politely refused. But now, it seemed to be a convenient way to get the Duke to come meet with them.

“I see people coming!” Andreas shouted from his lookout position in the second floor window. He readied his musket but waited for word from his mother before doing anything. Downstairs, the small group got into position. Alfgarda went to the front door ready to open it. Max was behind an over-turned table with two pistols just behind the door. Clare was kept in a slightly safer position behind the corner in the kitchen. But she had a pistol out too if needed.

Alfgarda hoped the Duke would stride right in full of ego and pride. And then she planned to put a bullet in his head. He would pay for what he did to her brother-in-law Dieter Bresch. She waited behind the front door with two pistols under her robes as hooves grew closer from outside.

The Dread Knight Bane dismounts and wraps his gauntlet hand on the door.

"Lady Alfgarda, I bring you word from Duke Arnold. He's instructed me to wait for your response or take you to safety."

Behind Bane she can see Arnold's entire retinue and more than a few squadrons of the Duke's personal Cavalry Regiment. They are blood stained and have seen serious action but are alert and making sure there no immediate danger to their position.

She opens the note Bane hands her:


Lady Alfgarda,

The offer still stands my lady. I'm not going to rehash the past!

Children and women have always been exempt from and immune from any military actions.

I will offer you sanctuary anywhere you require. I would however recommend the Estate just north of Ragusa. It was left as it was all those years ago and I have security measure already in place.

Let Bane know what you would like to and he will ensure it is done.

The other option is to accompany Bane back to my location. My position is will be the most secure location until the remainder of the Imperial forces are found and the new government can be installed.

Yours
Duke Arnold

Lady Alfgarda peeks out and sees the massive Dread Knight. She had hoped for Arnold to come in person so they could just get this over with. Time to go to plan B.

"Thank you Sir Bane. Please don't take offense but I would like to be taken to Duke Arnold. I am afraid we are being hunted by Fritz's mercenaries. I would feel safer if we were with the Duke for now."

Lady Alfgarda turns back into the apartment to say something. She then emerges and dons a cloak. Three people come out after her.

"This is all of us. Max you know. He was my husband's Teutonic Knight. Also, here is my daughter Clare, and my son Andreas."

Max is looking middle aged these days. He eyes Bane but keeps quiet. It's clear he hasn't forgotten that Bane killed his fellow Teutonic Knight Fredericus all those years ago. Clare is a beautiful young lady of 15. She looks nervous and sticks by her mother. Andreas looks very much like Jan and is 14. Defiant and proud, he simply walks past Bane and joins the others.

Bane observes the four figures as they head towards the waiting mounts. Standing at the doorway his hand slowly falls to his sword. His head cocks slightly as he continues to observe the movements of the four people he has been entrusted to protect.

As the members of Jan von Hamburg’s family mount and the Duke's Cavalry squadrons prepare to depart, the only person they are finally all waiting for is the Dread Knight himself.

With Bane’s unnatural ability to convey thoughts and moods even with his night black full helm, the small and imperceptible shake of his head is enough to warn Grom that something is not right.

The air stills, movement in the courtyard seems to stop momentarily, a threatening and dreaded feeling falls across the clearing. Horses whinny and stamp their feet, pricking their ears to an unseen danger, a number of the Dukes soldiers shiver at an unexpected chill and those with "the sense" prepare for danger.

The moment is broken by the cold hard and unyielding voice of the Dread Knight.

"My Lady, I've just realized that the Duke will not be able to receive you. Now that the battle has been decided I had entirely forgotten about a meeting of the Order to begin reorganizing the Reich. May I suggest we take you to the estate near Ragusa. That would be far safer at this time."

Lady Alfgarda pauses. Bane can tell she is contemplating something but he can't tell what. All four people are just sitting on their mounts and staring at Bane. Bane can't put his finger on it but if he was capable of feeling fear, he would be trembling.

Finally, the lady speaks. "I'm sorry but the deal was very precise. It has to be with Duke Arnold present or nothing. I understand he is busy. And you must be busy as well. So, I will waste no more of your time. I deeply apologize for your wasted efforts but I think we will find our own way to safety. Good day Sir Bane."

With that, Alfgarda dismounts and her party follows. Pulling their hoods over their heads, the group slips down an alley and into the shadows.

[OverKnight]

Matthias reined in his horse, a loud oath escaping his lips. There was no way his men would be able to catch Maximillian von Hapsburg. With a bellowed command that betrayed the Viceroy's frustration, the Crusader Cavalry pivoted and began trotting back to the battlefield.

Matthias rode in stony silence. In the past he had fought against impossible odds, gone on Crusade, liberated Outremer from the Greeks, killed Khans and Strategoi and yet for the most important battle in the history of the Reich he had contributed nothing. He and his men had assembled a great armada, braved stormy seas and sailed halfway across the known world only to have their plans ruined by a simple broken axle on the wagon carrying the Great Cross. The largest host on the Republican side, at least before the battle started, was reduced to capturing a few fleeing Imperials, and even that with limited success.

Shaking his head, Matthias tried to look on the bright side. The Republicans were victorious, Imperial resistance had been crushed and few had escaped to fight again. All had gone according to plan, a rare event. Yet in this moment of triumph, his mind returned to Outremer. The Civil War was over, but would there be enough men and florins available to face the newest threat from the Steppes, much less the Greeks, Turks and Egyptians? He was old, had never felt older then when he watched von Hapsburg disappear over the horizon, who would take the Cross to replace him and the much missed Andreas? Both Hughes de Cervole and Ludwig von Bohmen had expressed interest in the past, but those two were now the last Swabians left standing. With such losses in the battle, could the Houses spare anyone?

He had thought of offering positions in Outremer to any surviving Imperial nobles who surrendered and pledged loyalty. However, as he pursued Hapsburg he had glimpsed the Count's compatriots charging into the fray, choosing death over surrender. A gallant gesture, but of little help to the Kingdom.

As if summoned by these thoughts, Matthias and his men came upon the aftermath of the last engagement of the battle. Dead men and horses were scattered the area, bearing the livery of Duke von Salza, Tancred von Tyrolia and, surprisingly, Fritz von Kastilien. Survivors milled about, Republicans herding a few prisoners, wounded men crying out and mercenaries stripping the Imperial dead of valuables.

It was then, with a shock, that Matthias recognized one of the fallen, it was Fritz von Kastilien himself. Not only a Brother of the Order, but the man who's arrival on the field had turned the battle to the Republic.

Dismounting, he slowly walked over to Fritz. Kneeling, he checked for a pulse, but the horrible wounds visible on the Franconian mocked that effort. All he could do was close the dead man's eyes. Groaning, Matthias fell heavily back, sitting in the mud and filth of the field as he gazed at his fallen comrade.

They had fought, and Fritz had died, to bring down the Empire. The Throne could have been his, a simple act of taking down one Kastilien and putting another in his place. It had been discussed, but when Matthias had proposed a Republic, Fritz had enthusiatically agreed. Yet what shape was the New Order to have? The idea of the Republic was a fine rallying cry, but would it actually come to pass? The Order had ruled from the shadows for so long, would they be able to come into the light of day, to rule with, not over, the brave men who had taken their side? Matthias bowed his head, he hoped so, but old habits might die hard.

Matthias slowly pulled himself up out of the mud. The last battle of the Empire was over, but it was only the first for the Republic. The future was uncertain for Outremer and the Republic, but he would fight for both to his last breath.

Walking back to his horse, Matthias retrieved a black cloak from his saddlebags. It had been given to him many years ago by Lothar when his brother had welcomed him into the Order. Matthias carefully laid the cloak over Fritz's body as he said the Lord's Prayer. It was hardly a proper shroud, but it would serve.

"No more secrets," Matthias said to the fallen.

There was much left to do.

[_Tristan_]

TRENT, 1380, in the aftermath of the battle.

The battle was over…

Fritz’s intervention for the Republicans had finished to turn the tide of battle in their favour. I’m sorry it cost him his life, I could have befriended such a man, Hughes mused.

Hughes had fought as hard as he could but looking over the field, all he could see was the mass of dead bodies, a large part the men he had led to that final confrontation…

But looking a bit further, Hughes could see some riders spurring their horses away from the battlefield as fast as their horses would go. From the distance he could see that the men wore the livery of Hapsburg, the man that had defiled his arms in front of the whole Diet, the man who in the midst of battle had been ready to betray his fellow fighters to save his own life.

Looking around him, he saw Guillaume, his old Templar brother nursing a bleeding arm and Thierry Foucault the French quartermaster turned bodyguard, dry-retching from the stink of blood and death that was slowly spreading over the battlefield.

Sensing his stare, the men looked as one towards him. Hughes looked back to the distance where the riders were rapidly getting away. Knowing full well what was on Hughes’ mind, Guillaume gave the order.

“Men, get on your horses !!! We ride !!!”

Soon, all men were mounted and riding at a fast pace on the trail of Hapsburg, leaving the battlefield behind.

And ride they did… For every single day of the following week… Hapsburg horses had been fresher than those of Hughes’ men and thus had quickly gain enough distance to be lost. However, a noble of the Reich could pass unnoticed in the villages he went through. Added to the fact that only the best inns could only suit the expensive tastes of the felon, the trail remained hot, allowing Hughes to follow if only one or two days late…

Finally, they reached Marseille. From the gatekeepers, they learned that Hapsburg had entered the city but no more information was available.

Hughes took lodging at the “Port-blocking Whale”, an inn where Thierry had often provided lodging for the commanding officers he had been serving. Having washed away the dirt and grime from the battle and the trip, Hughes gathered his men in the inn main room to give them his orders.

“Hapsburg is here… We are sure of that… We will comb the city, street by street, inn by inn until we find him… Go at it by squads of two so that one can remain watching whatever premises you find him in while the other comes back here to report their findings… Thierry, we will search together… We’ll meet here at dusk… We must bring him to justice… For our dead comrades…”

The search parties went through the town questioning inn- and shop-keepers, militiamen, sailors, whores and beggars…

Hughes and Guillaume were among the last of the search parties to come back to the inn. Only Thierry and one of the other men were still missing. Though some had heard news of Hapsburg’s passage through the city, the trail went cold two days before. Nobody had seen him since either going out of the city or within its walls.

Hughes was growing tense the more reports he heard. Dusk had fallen and still Thierry hadn’t come back. This added to the tension Hughes felt. If Thierry had fallen into an ambush, there would be nowhere on Earth Hapsburg could run to avoid Hughes’ wrath…

As the evening progressed, one by one the men filed out of the main room to their upstairs rooms until Hughes was alone in the inn, save for the innkeeper, a rudy fiftyish man counting coins behind his counter, with hardly a glance for Hughes.

The call for midnight went by and still no sign of Thierry. Out of sheer exhaustion, Hughes dropped asleep, his resting on his elbows on the table, an unfinished mug of wine in front of him.

Raucous laughter brought him out of dark dreams of blood and gore, the battle unfolding once more in his mind’s eye. Someone started banging on the inn’s door with un-articulate calls.

Master Labarthe, the innkeeper, ran down the stairs with a large cudgel in hand and taking a large iron key from behind the counter, went to the door. Signalling for Hughes to remain where he was, he put the key in the lock and opened the door to reveal Thierry and his comrade, fully in their cups. Recognizing them as some of his patrons, Master Labarthe dropped the cudgel he had lifted over his head and with a shake of head slowly went back to his own apartments.

Shoving his comrade towards the stairs, Thierry swerved between the tables in the direction of Hughes. Finally sitting himself after upturning several stools and benches, Thierry reached for the mug in front of Hughes and drained it in one gulp. Letting go of a huge belch, he suddenly seemed to sober up as if his drunken state had all been a sham.

“Sorry for being late but we had to go through a few taverns and sailors’ bars to follow some trail we heard… Hopefully, I’ve been through so many drinking matches that I can hold my own, even when faced with hard-drinking sailors… Anyway, ten drinks led to one sailor telling us of a noble inquiring for passage on a ship, ten more in another tavern led us to a cargo-master who loaded the said ship, ten more in another bar led us to the captain of the ship which confirmed that a noble whose description fit Hapsburg had requisitioned his ship, without its crew and has put sail two days ago…”

Hughes cut him short

“Where is he heading ?”… Wait a minute… You said without a crew ?”

“Yes, strange, isn’t it ? I thought I had gone too heavy on the liquor with the man at that point but his boatswain confirmed that the ship had left without a single one of its crew onboard…”

“Surely Hapsburg will have procured some other sailors for the voyage…”

“No, no hiring has been made for that ship… There is only Hapsburg, his men and some whores, if I heard’ em right…”

“So there’s no way to tell where they are heading ? Par les couilles du Grand Maître… He will succeed in getting away… I can’t believe it… »

“There is one more thing I must tell you… Some more drinks led us to another ship captain who crossed the path of Hapsburg’ ship… It was headed roughly south-west towards the Straits at Gibraltar and it seems it was a woman who was manning the helm… The man who told me the story swore on his own ship that was the truth…”

“Thank you, Thierry… Once more, you’ve been of great help… Go get some rest, I’ll meet you tomorrow…”

Seeing the sad look on his friend’s face, Thierry hesitated but a gesture from Hughes chased him up the stairs to his room.

Hughes reached behind the counter, took the key and opened the door. The breeze from the sea brought a cool and refreshing air in the heat of this summer’s night. Walking through the streets towards the harbour, Hughes contemplated the last years of his life : his flight deemed to secure the Templars’ future, his return to Europe and his joining the Reich, the years of fighting the French, making them pay for the destruction of his Order, his last fight for an utopian idea of a Republic, an idea that would never see fruition even though the Illuminati had won the day… Hughes couldn’t believe that they would release the reins of power they had held for so long. It seemed his fight by their side had been in vain although it was better than having fought for the Kaiser. It saddened him to think of all the lives lost because men chose to follow him, to their doom.

Lost in his thoughts, Hughes had finally reached the harbour where the many ships riding at anchor bobbed up and down in the calm waters of the port. There were all kind of ships to be seen, from slim Byzantine galleys laden with the riches of Orient to heavy and bulgy cogs plying the waters of the Mediterranean Sea from Italy to Spain and down to the northern coast of Africa… Hughes’ gaze went to the horizon and beyond to the coast of Africa with its riches of gold and ivory…

Africa… Gold…

Having reached a decision, Hughes turned on his heels and went strolling slowly back to the inn, oblivious to the spectacle of the sun slowly rising in the east and casting shimmering golden rays on the waters of the bay.

[Ferret]

This is a co-op story between AG and I.

Sifridus takes a seat in a massive room just next to the new Diet Chamber in Rome. His audience with the Illuminati Grand Master had been granted and he sat patiently waiting for Arnold's arrival.

From a side door to the room the still young looking Arnold walks quickly into the massive study and sits behind a large table.

Sitting he picks up a parchment that is the letter Sifridus wrote requesting the meeting.

After looking up he found that Arnold's stare bored into and through him.

"I've been informed young Sifridus that you wish to join the Order. What exactly are you trying to accomplish young man!!??"

At the end of his sentence Sifridus heard a click behind him.

Turning to glance backwards he saw, standing no more than two feet away, the Berserker Grom and the Dread Knight Bane, both eying him intently.

The click seems to have come from a massive crossbow now aimed at his back. The third man holding the crossbow, Sifridus had never seen him before.

A trickle of sweat dripped down Sifridus' forehead as he began a hasty explanation to Arnold, "I want to be like you, Lord. I am not like my father, the man was forever a fool for following those self defeating principles of his. he used to lecture me about never doing anything similar in any way to men like you and Fritz. I heard great tales of your victories and the way that you mercilessly, yet logically, dealt with the remnants of enemy forces. I believe I am of the right frame of mid to join the sacred order, though that is the decision..."

He tailed off speaking far too fast to be heard properly.

Picking up where the young man left off, Arnold's gaze continues to hold Sifridus' attention;

"that is the decision We in the Order will have to make. Yes you are correct in your statement there.

You need understand Sifridus. The Order has only just recently decided to reveal itself to the unenlightened, therefore we have never received a proactive request for anyone to join. I understand that this would seem a logical thing to have happen but all future members will not be disclosed to the world as a rule. While the Five remaining members of the Order are known to all at this time...the Order's new recruits will not be. They will therefore slowly fade back into the background over the course of time and again take it's position in the shadows.

I would therefore recommend that you go about your life as you wish and know that, as usual, the Illuminati will deliberate on potential candidates and their relative merits and flaws. If you are regarded as someone worthy of joining you will be contacted in due course.

Does that satisfy you Sifridus?"

Arnold leans forward on the desk wit his elbow, while he steeples his hands waiting for a response.

A look of utter disappointment crosses Sifridus' face.

"But I am made of the same things as you all are, I know how to make this nation as great as it can be! Surely you can at least take my plea to the other members, I assure no-one knows I am here, no one!"

The look on Arnold's face tells him that there is no point in trying but the boy will stop at nothing, he now speaks slowly and clearly and with a sinister tinge,

"you do know that of I am refused acceptance then there is a strong possibility my talents will be used against you...trust me when I say it is not in your best interests to make me want to do what my father failed to do. I can achieve where he cannot, there are no stupid morals to stop me. All my goals will be achieved."

It is a wonder that a boy of such a young age can muster the confidence to speak in such a way to the most feared man in all the known world.

The lone raised brow of Arnold is all that can be seen in response to such a thinly veiled threat. Leaning back in his chair the Grand Master smiles broadly.

"You have an impressive amount of courage for one so young...especially considering who and what is stationed behind you.

Unfortunately Sifridus, you must understand that threats and pressure tactics are something I've experienced a great deal that in my life time. Given your statement I will say this.

The Order WILL NOT change it's recruitment process for you, or anyone, and certainly not under the guise of having run the risk of you work against us. I hope you can understand, that under those conditions I would take that risk every time and I would hope you can see my point of view.

Having said that, you do seem to be motivated and you do not lack courage, which is a fine trait to have. Therefore I will raise your name for discussion at the next council. But I will not discuss this topic with you any further than now.

If you are deemed worthy then the Order will make contact with you as we have done so since the very beginning of our existence.

Is that acceptable to you?"

The tone of the Grand Masters voice leaves little room for doubt about accepting the statement or not. However he does seem prepared to wait for you answer.

"this will do for now, I trust the Gods will have the council see sense. Please pass the message on to them that their lives depend on the decision."

He turned slightly in his chair and smirked at the crossbow, "such old contraptions do not frighten me. I have full confidence in my abilities and have no doubt that I could be the only man alive in this room should I wish it. Thank you for considering me Arnold, it has been a pleasure talking to you."

With that the boy got up and headed for the door, not bothering to look back to check whether the men standing behind him had decided to stop him or not.

The door closes behind the young man leaving the room is silence for a time while the four men contemplate what just happened.

Finally Grom begins to chuckle, drawing the attention of the others to him. Realising everyone is clearly waiting for some explanation, Grom shrugs his massive shoulders and says; "He's either completely mad or the four of us are just getting old."

There's a pause as the other three men continue to look at the Berserker with questioning stares.

"I find the whole thing fun because I swear I just heard him say that the Orders future will be finished if we don't admit him, AND that the four of us would be dead if he so wished it!"

Again the big barbarian starts to chuckle at the whole situation. After some moments he realises the others aren't joining in the humour.

Finally the Grand Master turns towards the door that admitted the young man. In a quizzical and thoughtful tone the Grand Master says to no one in particular.

"Indeed my large friend, that IS what he just said."

[AussieGiant]

This is Co-op between the lads, GH, TC, OK, NN. Special mention to our fallen friend Ramses...and a special special mention to Tamur who contributed to the beginning of the Fritz persona.

Trent 1380: (Three weeks after the battle)

Dawn was broken by the first rays of light. Arnold and the four remaining members of the Order stood as a group overlooking the battle ground.

Behind them were the collective members of their retinues, many of them had fought together, spent countless years with each other serving their respective masters. Each of them seemed subdued but where glad to see that some of their fellow advisers, bodyguards, priests and servants had survived the years and more importantly the final epic battle that was strewn below them.

The burial parties could be seen yet again commencing their grim work. That work had been going on from dawn until dusk, and still now, three weeks later, burial pyres where being lit in the early morning light.

On a hill some miles distance from the battlefield a group of men had gathered in the early morning light.

Arnold was dressed in his familiar obsidian plate with his deep red surcoat emblazoned with the blood red dragon, he shielded his eyes as he gazed at the horizon taking shape in the distance. He realised finally he was lost deep in thought and that only a few men where now conversing behind him. Turning to the assembled group the Duke of Austria and Grand Master of the Illuminati looked at the gathering of men assembled before him with pride and determination.

His voice finally broke the silence on the small hill top.

“Gentlemen, I'm glad you could all make it at such an early hour. God knows we have all been working hard reorganising the Reich into a Republic. I can say with certainty that what we will present to the Diet next week will create the future we have seen together in our discussion over the past twenty one days.”

Turning back to the battle field, Arnold swept his plate covered arm over the scene before him.

“What I can honestly say to everyone here is that all those decades ago when Lothar and I first began this, I never envisaged that battle ground and who would be fighting on it.”

Pausing Arnold began his familiar pacing.

“We made this Order for the good of the Reich and to ensure that for eternity, there would be a force in place, in the background, holding steady the Reich's course as we navigated through history, against all events and all people that would endanger what we stood for.

Recent history has shown that while I was expecting external threats, it was in fact ourselves that we were going to face as the principle threat to our existence.

The whims of Kaisers became our most pressing danger, Unification, the Cataclysm, these where the events that took centre stage in our lives and these are the events that we have overcome. That battle field below sadly shows just how gruesome the reality of ruling is. More importantly it shows what a steep price must be paid to ensure that Tyranny and Mayhem are not visited upon us by the opinions of a few people, placed by fate to be born at a certain time to a certain set of people.

I stand before you today to recommit myself to making sure that it is not these same issues that will threaten us in the future, that the Republic, AND the Order will ensure that history doesn't repeat itself.”

Arnold turned back to the assembled men. His jaw clenched and his gauntlets groaned as his hands balled into black metal fists.

“At this time I would like to honour our fallen brothers. Karl Zirn, his son Johann, Jens Hümmel, Dietrich von Dassel and finally our most recently departed Brother Fritz von Kastillen. They were to a man the most dedicated, loyal and brilliant men I've had the privilege of knowing and I pray that they are able to see what we will make of this opportunity their sacrifice has allowed us to accomplish.”

Turn to each of the Illuminati members Arnold used the warriors handshake to look each of them in the eye as he spoke to them in turn.

“Max, your father would be proud of you and so would your brother. Know this...you did what was right and you and Fritz ensured that even though the bloodshed was horrific, it was at least much less than what it could have been.

Herrmann, your uncle and father have been part of the Order from the very beginning. You've been a credit to them both and the service the Steffen family has given to the Reich and the Order will be overshadowed by what you alone will accomplish in the New Republic.

Matthias, my friend, you've been a stalwart of consistency and brilliance. Your handling of Outremer and house politics as a whole has been incredible. You and your brother form one of the most impressive set of minds I've even encountered.

Lothar, my friend, we grew up together, your brother has been my brother, your father was my father and you have been everything and more to me as a companion, as the Voice, as the Duke of Bavaria and as the one man that has kept everything together no matter what situations we faced together.

Standing back, Arnold now addressed everyone on the hill top. His voice swept across the hill top, full of energy and passion.

“My Brothers, your loyal retinues, we stand on the steps of an old Reich, a Reich that we will turn into a New Republic, a Republic that will stand for the principles of our Charter, a Charter that has proved its worth, a Charter that has drawn together the greatest collection of men the world has seen to date.

A salute to you all in the name of the new Republic and in the name of the Illuminati Order!!!”

There was no cheering among the men, of course. The battle was too horrible and the effort expended too great to make that sort of thing appropriate. Instead, each of the Brothers simply nodded, lost in their own thoughts and what Arnold had said, supremely satisfied in their own unique ways.

Herrmann Steffen looked down from the hill at the gravediggers, sitting quietly. He was the only one in the group whose armor was shiny, the only one who had not participated in the battle. Maybe it was for the best. His two predecessors, Jens Hümmel and Dietrich von Dassel, had notoriously short life spans. Jens had died the year after he was formally inducted, barely getting his feet wet before fate had taken him, and Dietrich had already made his sacrifice, destroying two of the enemy’s greatest supporters and depriving them of much influence.

Herrmann silently saluted his fallen comrades and predecessors, as well as the Zirns and Fritz. Without their devotion, this day, this moment, would never have happened.

The salute only lasted for a few moments, as the past was gone. He was the future. Even though the Reich was to become a Republic, there would still be leaders. With the death of so many nobles at Trent, there would be a massive power vacuum to fill. This vacuum would be intensified in a few short years, when the senior Brothers would inevitably die off. Then, Herrmann realized, he would have a very good chance of becoming the second Grand Master, not to mention the leading voice in the Diet along with Maximilian Zirn. It had been a long road for the Steffen family ever since a young noble named Gerhard set foot on the Genoese battlefield so many years ago and vowed his assistance in the destruction of another enemy of the Reich.

Would the road end with the deaths of Lothar and Matthias? Herrmann doubted it. He had two more brothers to take up in their stead. For Herrmann Steffen, the possibilities of what he could accomplish were limited only by his dreams.

Lothar turned his gaze from the field of battle and surveyed the surviving Brothers of the Illuminati. It was a victory indeed, for all of them, but at such a cost that Lothar’s heart had been heavy for every moment that had past since that momentous day. With sadness in his eyes, he turned to Matthias.

“You are my brother twice over, Matthias. In blood and in shadow. Yet for so much of our lives, we have been forced to put on a façade of rivalry. I am glad that those days are finally over. Our family has suffered too much in recent years, and it is sometimes more than I think I can bear. I do not know how deep Dannae’s curse runs in our family, but it seems I have never shaken free of its grasp. For a time, I thought our family was safe and our destinies true, but Bernhard’s death was no coincidence. Two Steffens have now died under my command. It was bad enough losing our brother, Markus, but no man should outlive his own son. I am old now, and I must do what I can to remove this curse before it takes more Steffen blood. Father and I were the two most afflicted by this curse. It can be no coincidence that neither of us ever set foot in Outremer. I intend to end that discrepancy and break the curse once and for all. When you return to Outremer, Matthias, I shall go with you. I shall make a pilgrimage to the tomb of Saint Maximilian, and then to Jerusalem itself. Perhaps with the blessing of God, the Pope, and, of course, the Viceroy, I can rid our family of this vile plague once and for all. Even if I fail, I will end my days in the company of family, and there is little I desire more these days.”

Lothar smiled slightly, and turned to Herrmann.

“My son, I have trained you for great things since the day you were born. You have proven your abilities many times over the past years. I am proud to be your father and even more proud to be your Brother. The future of the Steffen family now falls on your shoulders. Matthias and I are old and we will soon depart this world. You will need to look after your brothers and ensure that they thrive and prosper. Yet, there is one more burden that I must now place on your shoulders.”

“A man cannot govern his lands effectively when he is at a great distance from them. I will leave for Outremer soon, and I may never return. It is therefore my intention to abdicate. As my eldest son and heir, I hereby name you the new Duke of Bavaria.”

With this, Lothar knelt in deep homage to his son, before rising and ruffling his hair in an affectionate manner.

“Remember the example your grandfather set, Herrmann, and you will do well. Always protect your people first, no matter what price you must pay personally. Those of us who are superior in mind have a duty to watch over those who are more mundane. The future of Bavaria is in your hands, my son.”

Lothar turned next to Maximillian Zirn.

“I regret that I have not had much time to get to know you, Brother Zirn, but your father and I were always good friends. Your family has given more than any other to the Order, and thus to the Reich. The Zirns are a paragon of virtue and gifted with the wisdom of the ages. You are a worthy heir to your father’s reputation. I know he would be proud to see you here with us today.”

The former Duke of Bavaria looked over at his old friend, Arnold. The two had birthed the Illuminati in the bloom of life and dedicated their lives to growing and nurturing it. Never had the Reich seen two stronger allies, or two closer friends. Throughout the decades, age and battle had changed their visages. The decades had not been kind to either man. The gray hair and scars had wiped away the frivolity of youth; marks on the soul as well as the body. Yet, despite the many years that had past, not one falsehood had ever passed between these two men. Such absolute trust was rare indeed. Arnold saw the growing seriousness in his friend’s eye and unleashed a grin that wiped away Lothar’s misery in a moment. The Voice of the Illuminati raised an eyebrow and looked at the field of Trent.

“I still think we should have called ourselves The Drunken Whoremongers.”

The men laughed heartily together, and for a moment, they were boys once again.

Max sat on a knoll looking over the field and thinking it was finally over.

Thinking back since the death of Johann his mind had not stopped turning. He was exhausted and just wanted to lie down on the sodden field.

This was not his to do and he was overcome with emotion sobbing quietly, he was the youngest, the carefree life of a wealthy family. This was Johann’s duty passed down from their father, or was it? Max could not think of all the work he had to do to be part of this battle and what scheme his father had orchestrated to have him fulfill the family responsibility to the Order. He missed the old man and his Brother Johann and to date he had not the time to grieve his death. However there was Jan, and thankful he survived the battle.

It was a father figure that had been missing though, and strangely Fritz had been a source of confidence in the days leading up to the battle. He listened intently for his words of wisdom as he always saw a different man in Fritz then the rest of the nobles and this was especially true now he was gone. “Rest my brother” Max whispered has he gazed out over the dead, still littering the field. He saw the other members grouped together and wiping the tears he got up and walked over to them.

He barely heard Lothar’s words of praise for the family but he shook his hand heartily and said thank you to him for all his support.

Looking over at Hermann, Max smiled; “I guess we have a lot of work to do in the near future, we have to pick up after these Old Men.” Motioning towards the Elder Illuminate members, Hermann smirked and nodded in agreement.

Max then spoke to his Uncle, thanking him for his support and being there for the family for as long as he could remember. He hoped that he had proven himself in battle to the fearless leader. “Uncle, I just have one request to make and I ask for your blessing” Arnold nodded in agreement and Max turned to the last living member of the Order who had been in the East.

“Matthias, my father has spoken very highly of you and of the work in the Outremer. Your service has been above reproach and it something every knight should be looking at to measure there own worth.” Max thought of his father and was momentarily silent before speaking again. “I wish to be one of those men and I ask that I accompany you back to the Outremer. There is much more work to be done there. I want to go to Damascus.”

Hearing the younger man’s words, Matthias smiled, the first time he done so since the grim day had began.

“You’ve got a good name for Outremer, Maximillian Zirn, son of a great Crusader and namesake of a Saint. I’d be honored if you took the Cross. The Kingdom will need defenders, now and in the future. If you live up to the promise you showed on this terrible field, the Crown of Thorns will be yours one day.”

He turned to Lothar and his smile disappeared.

“The loss of Bernhard is a terrible one. I wish I had known the boy better. If you feel you need to come to Outremer, then you are most certainly welcome. You are my brother; I would not refuse you anything. My only regret is that our father died without knowing that our feud was just a ruse. The old man would have been proud.”

The smile returned, a bit more sardonic.

“Lothar Steffen in the Holy Land? A sign of the end of days if there ever was one.”

“As for you,” said Matthias turning to Hermann, “Not a bad days work, my Duke.”

Matthias sketched a bow and then clapped his nephew on the shoulder.

“The path ahead of you is difficult, what we did today established the foundation of the Republic, but it will be up to your generation to build it. Royalists, rebels and the armies of half of Europe will be arrayed against you, but I have no doubt you will succeed. You are a Steffen after all. Take care of Wenzel, you never know what third sons are capable of.”

Matthias turned to Arnold.

“Good show today, you magnificent #@$@%$ Bastard! Though I wish you had waited another day before attacking so I could have done something more than chase routers. You lead us to victory and held your nerve when things looked grim. A lesser man, knowing about Max and Fritz, would have stayed on the defensive, but you charged in, pinning their line for the killing blow. I expected nothing less from the Dread Duke.”

His one eye took in all his Brothers, and he spoke again.

“I once said ‘We are effective as long as we are unknown. As soon as we step into the light of day, our power will dissipate.’ This has come to pass, though with Fritz’s sacrifice our final deception won the battle. The power of the Order will now fall away, but we must emerge from the shadows to build the Republic side by side with the others who fought for it. I pray that it will be enough.”

As the sun set on the field of battle, the gravediggers and peasants began to disperse to their homes. Soon, only the surviving Brothers of the Illuminati remained to watch over the dead. Silence descended on the group for a long time, before the Grand Master gave a great sigh.

“I suppose our work is done. The Kaiser has been overthrown and the Republic now rules the Reich. The next time we enter the Diet, all Electors will be equal.”

The Voice let the solemnity of the moment wash over them, before replying. “In the Republic, all Electors are equal, but some Electors are more equal than others.”

[Privateerkev]

Part 2

Alfgarda, Max, Clare, and Andreas quickly made their way down an alley in an attempt to escape from Arnold's men. Something had gone wrong. The plan was working perfectly. They had an invitation to meet with the Duke. And then they were going to fill his body full of lead. They might have lived, they might have died, it didn't matter. But for some reason, Bane had sensed something and called the meeting off.

I blew it! Now what do we do? Alfgarda thought as she hurried along the dark path between buildings. Her party of four rounded a corner and ran into two cloaked figures. Instantly all 4 had their guns out from their robes and pointed at the 2 men.

"Please, you don't need those. Your safe for now. You won't see them but many men are in the area protecting you. We thought it was best if just the two of us show ourselves. Here, this should help calm your nerves."

The man speaks with a funny accent and hands a letter to Alfgarda bearing the seal of Empress Theodora. Alfgarda opens it:


Lady Alfgarda,

This man will see to whatever you need. To prove who I am, here is a story only myself and your husband would know.

When Jan went to see Pope Abbate, I warned him that I might need his help one day. That I might need his protection. Now it seems you need mine. Hopefully that story will prove who this letter comes from.

Good luck,
Yours,
Empress Theodora

"I'm Nickolaus and I work for the Empress. We don't have much time but I can answer a few questions. The Duke's men have left the area. Apparently he was serious when he promised your protection. His people did not follow you. However, there are agents and mercenaries hunting for you as you feared. But none are in this area of the city... anymore..."

Alfgarda remembered Jan mentioning something about his talk with the Empress during his visit to the Holy Father. "And who is your friend there." She pointed to the quiet companion.

Without speaking, the man reached into his robe and pulled out a letter. When the robe moved, Alfgarda could see that the man was dressed in the uniform of the Swiss Guard. Alfgarda opened that letter:


Lady Alfgarda,

While the idea of religious unification is long dead, there seems to be one thing that the two churches can agree on. And that is that the family of Saint Jan must be protected. This man and his Greek colleague will see to anything you need.

I will pray for you.

Respectfully,
The Holy Father

"What are our options?" Alfgarda asked.

Nickolaus prattled off a list. "You have a few options. We can take you to Greek territories. I know the Empress could put you up at the royal court in Constantinople. Edessa is also an option. I know your family still has land there. Jerusalem is a possibility. The Holy Father would ensure your safety. A Muslim nation is a possibility. Your husband famously released thousands of Muslim prisoners. Both the Turks and the Egyptians have quietly sent word that they would help shelter the family of such a pious and chivalrous man. Jan was best friends with Kaiser Elberhard so his wife could set you up in England. The choice is yours."

Alfgarda contemplated for a few seconds. "I'll have to think about it. First, we need to get out of here. I want us to head north and pick up my niece. She has expressed interest in coming with. With both of her parents dead, and her brother running off to do Lord knows what, there is nothing for her here."

The group all donned their cloaks and continued on to the next leg of their journey.

[Privateerkev]

Constantinople: 1380

Alfgarda brought a bite of delicious food to her mouth. Looking around the great dining hall, she admired the paintings, tapestries, and armor adorning the walls.

"How's the food?" Empress Theodora asked as she paused in eating her meal. While older now, she still had a regal presence.

"It's wonderful, thank you. And thank you again for letting us stay here." Tonight, dinner was just for the two women. Alfgarda's niece and Max were watching the kids play with other nobles' children out in the courtyard.

Theodora smiled, "It's my pleasure. It is the least we can do. I do however wish to talk to you about something."

Alfgarda stopped eating and listened.

"The direction the Reich is heading has us worried. Not just us but all the heads of state in Europe and Asia. Now that this Order has taken full control, who knows what evil they will bring. An alliance among the other nations is forming quietly. Not amateurs like the Catholic Alliance, though some of them are in this one. But nations of all faiths and from all regions. If there is one thing that can unite all of the nations, it is fear of a Reich led by a small cabal of truly evil men."

Alfgarda sat patiently and nodded. Theodora continued.

"We could use someone to be an adviser. Someone who knows the Reich. Someone who knows the nobles. Sure we have spies but someone who knows the inner workings of the politics could be of great use to us. I'd like to offer you that job. Now I'll make this clear, you staying here is absolutely free with no strings attached. If you say no, nothing will be held against you and you and your family can stay here indefinitely. But I couldn't think of someone better qualified. You were part of the political structure and so was your husband. You have his files which, I have heard, are quite extensive."

Jan's widow thought for a moment. The offer was intriguing but something bothered her. "I'm not a traitor."

The Empress gave Alfgarda a kind thoughtful look. "Oh my dear, of course your not. What were looking to do is apply international political pressure on the Order. To do that well, we need information. This isn't about war. You wouldn't be leading to the deaths of your people. Are you really loyal to those now in charge? Do they deserve your loyalty? The group who killed your husband, your brother-in-law, and my dear Siegfried? The other nations are looking for an insurance policy against the Order. We wish to make clear that if they are going to continue conquering and exterminating whole peoples, then they are going to become quite lonely in the world. You would be doing a great service. Please think it over."

"May I sleep on it?" Alfgarda asked still looking troubled by the idea.

"Of course my dear" the Empress said as she beamed.

------------------------------------------------


That night, Alfgarda dreamed.

She rose from her bed, out of the chamber, through the roof, above the great city, and up to the heavens.

She ended up in a large tavern. Over to her left, she could see Jan, playing cards with Sigismund von Mahren, Dieter Bresch, and Elberhard. The men were laughing and drinking. Not a care in the world. Others that Jan knew and liked were also in the tavern.

Hans walked in, nodded hello to Jan, and walked to the bar, aloof as always. Elberhard excused himself and went to his brother to keep him company.

Siegfried was in the corner by himself smoking a hookah with a content look on his face. It seemed like he had his own private joke and did not feel like sharing.

Gunther and Jonas walked into the bar together and took their usual seats at the bar. Gunther asked the group if anyone had heard from Peter yet.

Jan spoke up, "Last I heard, him and Tancred are still in Purgatory. But I had breakfast with Pope Abbate this morning and I got the 'inside word' that those two will eventually be allowed up here."

Slightly annoyed at being interrupted, Fredericus and Conrad look up from their chess game. Conrad looks at Fred and says, "I still can't believe you fell down the stairs." Fred smiles and says, "I still can't believe you ate poisoned sausage." The two men laugh and resume their game.

Looking over at his two mentors, Jan remembers a story about Arnold. He proceeds to tell the group about how Arnold came to Outremer to kill him but he got his rear-end kicked by Jan. The whole tavern laughs at Arnold's expense. Everyone that is but Elberhard. He just stares into his beer and mutters something that people can't hear. All they can make out is "Me poor poor Arnolds..."

Gunther gets up and walks over to the chess game. Him and Fred stare at each other for a long time and finally shake hands.

Seeing his father sitting alone, Sigismund excuses himself from the game and goes and joins his father at the bar. Seeing his wife walk in, Dieter leaves the game, runs up to her, and they begin dancing.

Alfgarda sees all of this and wishes she could join. If it wasn't for the children, there would be nothing holding her back. She could be here, with Jan, and be happy.

Finally Jan looks up and sees his wife. With that big grin of his, he signals for Alfgarda to sit on his lap. She happily does so and just basks in being held by her husband again. Sitting on his lap, she looks down at Jan. He puts his hand on her face and it feels warm. Looking into her eyes, Jan gives her a nod. Alfgarda knows now what she must do.


--------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, Alfgarda joined Empress Theodora for breakfast and accepted the job.

[Ferret]

It had been months and Sifridus had still not heard back from the Illuminati. He knew he had not been accepted. Perhaps he should have gone with Alfgarda? The old hag must have had some use, maybe he would go back North to look for her, though he no longer kept in touch. He leapt up from the chair he was in and strided out of the room.

"If you can't join them, beat them."

OOC:great dream PK :yes:

[Cecil XIX]

Approximately three centuries after the battle of Bern, an unpublished letter of Edmund Becker's was discovered in Northumbria, at the manor he settled at with his family shortly after the so-called 'Illuminati' tore down the Reich. While Becker's inward-looking nature made him something of a footnote in the Reich's history outside of the Cataclysm, the letter in particular was still notable for it's unique message. It was evidently written while Becker and the First Austrian Household Army where besieged in Bucharest by the Hungarians from 1312-1316. What follows is the letter itself, neither changed nor altered from the state in which it was found.


Throughout my entire service to the Reich, I have only wanted one thing: To enjoy the peace that the Reich’s constant wars should have earned us by living peacefully in Prague as it’s count. My heart’s desire was to live amongst my people, enriching their happy and peaceful lives with my benevolent rule.

But it is all for naught. Despite my conclusion that Bucharest could not be held, I was ordered by Arnold to reclaim the city anyway. To attack the city when there was an army of Hungarians greater than my own so close was madness. I knew this, and now Arnold knows it as well. But god forbid the Reich simply leaves a people alone, not when we have already slain their sons, brothers and husbands and claimed their homes as ours. The Holy Roman Empire is a demon who knows only war. So here I sit, writing my final letter as a man who is already dead. Perhaps I am being premature, but if so than no one else will know of it.

Now my heart is black, and as I can see the Hungarian banners just outside the city I have a new hope that occupies my heart: I hope the Reich burns. I hope it’s Duke’s are slain, for they give nothing to the Reich save a lust for war. I hope that every elector in the Diet who slaughtered prisoners, sacked cities, executed civilians and taxed their supposed subjects to keep the cycle going is drawn and quartered. I hope their memories are alternately ridiculed and spat upon as the ultimate folly that man is capable of. Clearly it was Milanese who knew how to deal with the Reich.

Yes, I am bitter. I have spent my service to the Reich trying to escape the fate of my brothers. But now I too am dead, another sacrifice in the name of the Reich’s expansion. By god, I hope that every one of you share my fate.
OOC: When this when I was rummaging through my computer, and I thought it might interest someone. Remind me to post all the corresponence I've been saving in two or three years. :laugh4: