Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[Northnovas]

North of Frankfurt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Venice Italy

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is my report.

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

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

Advise the scribe on the official report as follows,

Frankfurt Germany 1218

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

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

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

[Warluster]

North of Metz, 1226 AD
Part II
It was several kilometres from Prinz Jobst's camp, the sky was pitch black, as the moon dared not show itself onto a horrible night.

From the dark road out of Metz, in a building,meant for some farmers, who lay deadon the ground. At the table was a man, he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the wooden table,waiting for someone.

As if timed the door opened, and 3 men entered, all looking fearful, one kneeled down.
"Master, we have a problem with the plan" whispered the man, the master wiped his head with a white cloth.
"What now, Hugo?" said the man.
"There was a second investigation at the battle scene!" said Hugo, the master sat up straight.
"Did they find it!? Did they notice anything!? We can not let them know... It will be obvious!" said the man, clearly agitated. Hugo got up,
"No master, the men provided a clear summary to the Diet, I thought maybe..." the mans sentence disappeared into the misty fog outside.
"Of course I wasn't Hugo, our network was down for some time..." said the master.
"The men have in fact helped us! Prince Jobst, we heard, has calmed down and ordered for a quick marched to Dijon for a visit so he can see his family" whispered Hugo, the master sat back, twiddling his thumbs,
"Excellent"
________________________________________________________________
The Road to Dijon, 1228 AD

"Quick march, forward!" roared a voice, there was banging of armor then the organisedslam oif foot on ground. Horses neighed, voices were yelling to and fro around the camp. Prince Jobst and his boyguard has gone for a scouting mission, and he had left Fritz and Luka in charge.

Jobst breathed in the fresh air, he was finnaly going to visit Dijon again, the city he controlled, his home city, where his family resided, after all the fighting against Danes and allies.

Dieter rode up next to Jobst.
"Mein prinz, are you sure we are safe? I am sure the French would be happy to see your head on a pole over the Seine River." said Dieter, Jobst laughed.
"Well you see theres the first problem, the French don't control Paris anymore, the Swabian DUke recently caught it" said Jobst, and his bodyguard cheered. Dieter smiled, the German Empire had been flourishing lately, only the arrival of the Horse Lords had stopped the flow.

There was a thunder of hooves, Jobst looked behind him, Fritz with some heavily armored knights were galloping towards Jobst's Bodyguard. Fritz stopped next to Jobst.
"mein lord, a message from a offical in Rome" said Fritz,Jobst opened it up quickly and scanned it through equally fast, he covered his mouth in shock.
"It seems, young Erhart Von Mahren was killed near Durazzo" said Jobst, the men around him bowed and shook their heads,
"And worst of all, Duke Leopold was killed by the horse lords from China!" exclaimed Jobst, Jobst continued "But not before taking their Khan's life!" roared Jobst.

A arrow flew out of the surrounding foilage and embedded itself in the Knight standing next to Fritz, he watched the knight fall to the ground, dead.
"mein prinz, AMBUSH!" roared Fritz, the whole scene erupted as men jumped from the surrounding area, and arrows flew forward. Several more knights fell.

Fritz tackled Jobst to the ground, then got up and speared an incoming man through the chest,
"Defend the Prinz!" roared Fritz, more shouting came from nearby, Luka was coming with more soldiers. Fritz slew a couple more soldiers before the backed off, he sighed as Luka came around the corner with a battalion of more men, he pointed to behind Fritz,who wheeled around.

Standing in front of jobst,who was standing bearing a longsword, was a lightly ragged man, who drawled,
"We shall kill you in the end, milord, no matter how many times we try" a arrow flew from behind Jobst and hit the man between the eyes, and fell back,instantly dead.

Dieter walked forward,
"That was the best shoot I've ever had" said Dieter, inspecting the man. Luka gasped,
"Mein Prinz, look at the clothes this man is wearing!" said Luka, Fritz and Jobst came over, and looked as well. Jobst swore quite loudly,

It was the ensigna of the Reich.

That man was a German.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Outside of Damascus, 1232

Conrad Salier and a minor scouting party consisting of several friends and retinue members were on a mission east of the city to survey the lands in case of an attack from that direction. The day was ridiculously hot out and of course, little shade was offered, so the mission would not be as long or productive as the people back in Damascus wished it would.

“I don’t even see how this is helping anybody,” Hugo Bresch grumbled. Hugo was Conrad’s veteran warrior, who had been with Salier since his campaigns against the Milanese back in Europe. The two were only really together in battle, as Hugo did not share in Conrad’s interests in religion or governing. “I mean, the Mongols are all gone and we don’t really have to worry about Egypt for a while… Who’s going to attack us out here? The Turks?”

“Careful,” Conrad chided. “There is always the possibility of a surprise attack. Did you think that Pope Gregory, God rest his soul, expected Kaiser Heinrich to violate Papal borders and take Rome? The desert is large, and we do not know what is on the other side, willing to cross it and take new territory.” Hugo simply nodded. It was easier to simply agree silently than argue and have to listen to all of that religious rhetoric crap.

“Hill to the north,” someone pointed out. It looks pretty defensible, especially if the Turks do decide to attack.” There was some minor snickering. In silence, the party swung to the north to take a closer look. Once they had crested the hill, before they had the chance to survey the land around it, a dark shape was moving their way. Upon further inspection it was found to be a lone carriage carrying goods. The scouting party, by Conrad’s orders, blocked the driver’s way. The poor man got out and started shouting at them in Arabic.

“Translator!” Conrad called. “Kindly inform this man that the city of Damascus and its surrounding area is now under the control of the Kingdom of Outremer, and as such we are allowed to deny access to its borders. Ask him about his cargo and his destination.” After several moments, the translator replied.

“He’s carrying something called hashish, from the East,” said the translator. “It’s a certain form of some kind of plant that can be smoked. Apparently, this man says, it makes you very happy.” At the mention of “happy,” the driver grinned and started to nod furiously, saying something in garbled German: “Yes… happy… big happy… you try, yes?”

After a moment, Conrad nodded. The Bible didn’t really say anything about smoking, and if it was bad, he would ban it. Besides, one time couldn’t hurt…

The Arab driver showed Conrad how to prepare the hashish, and after Conrad did so and took his first whiff of the smoke…

…and after Conrad did so and took his first whiff of the smoke, the landscape gradually changed around him. What was once mostly desert was now solid rock of various shades or red, orange, brown, and black. All at once, the flat stagnant sand/rock suddenly rose in some places, depressed in others. And then the no longer flat but still stagnant sand/rock erupted into flames, so the whole land was burning except for a path that Conrad was conveniently riding on…

…Conrad looked back at his scouting party but now there was no scouting party, no Arab driver. Instead, behind him, neatly in marching line were thousands of horrible human/bat/gorilla creatures armed with swords and shields and spears of ancient times, beating their shields as instruments and chanting in unison:

“In eleven fifty-four! We shall be prepared for war!
In eleven fifty-four! We shall be prepared for war!”

…Horrified, Conrad urged his horse (who had mysteriously changed colors from brown to purple with yellow polka-dots) forward at a gallop, but over the next ridge was a sheer cliff, with a river of lava waiting a million feet below for whatever unlucky soul fell off.

…The purple with yellow polka-dotted horse did not stop in time and they went over the edge, with Conrad screaming, but they didn’t fall – they were just suspended in mid-air, and the horse continued to trot on absolutely nothing…

…Beside Conrad, also riding on nothing, was the Mongol lord that Otto von Kassel had just defeated, Jebe the Tyrant. He sidled up beside Conrad, looked at him, and smiled. “Hello Conrad,” Jebe said. “Hello Jebe,” Conrad replied. “Where am I?” “Why, you’re riding on thin air, a million feet above a hot river of lava. I suggest you don’t fall off.”

…a gust of wind blew Jebe’s head off (oh right, he was decapitated) and they both watched it fall a million feet below but then Jebe continued talking as if he didn’t notice, and Conrad could hear him clearly despite the fact that the headless body of Jebe had no mouth: “You know, you still have work to do,” Jebe said. “Another wave of my people is coming, and this one will be much larger and powerful than the previous wave.” “Oh really?” Conrad asked. “Why should I trust you? You’re a Horse Lord.”

…the headless body of Jebe laughed and Conrad’s horse changed colors again. This time it was plaid. “Dude” (Dude? What on earth does “dude” mean?) “Dude, I’m dead, remember? I have no personal gain either way in this matter.” “Oh yeah,” Conrad replied. That sounded reasonable. He paused, and then a thought struck him. “Hey Jebe, how come we can understand each other? I mean, I thought you couldn’t speak German, and I know I’m not speaking Mongolese…”

…Jebe laughed once again and put a hand on Conrad’s shoulder. “Actually my friend,” he said, “we’re both speaking English.”

English?

…all at once the body of Jebe and his horse disappeared and suddenly gravity kicked back in and Conrad and his horse started hurtling down to the river of lava a million feet below, but this was only momentary as they regained momentum and actually started to rise – his horse could fly? – and then they were racing upwards, flying in circles and dive-bombing nothing…

…all at once, a giant arm came out of the sky and grabbed the two. Conrad was facing the index finger, and at the tip, where the fingerprint would be, he instead saw the face of Maximillian Mandorf…

…the index finger began to speak, in Mandorf’s voice. “Conrad, wake up,” it said. “You need to get back to Damascus, somebody has something to say to you.” All at once, before he could reply, the hand started squeezing very hard, and Conrad screamed, he was losing air, he was going to burst under pressure…

…he was going to burst under pressure but he suddenly snapped back to life, fully aware of himself. He looked around at the scouting party who, to his horror, looked away, not wanting to face him eye-to-eye.

“How long was I out?” he asked. Finally, Hugo said something. “About two hours. Although I wouldn’t really say you were out, so much as not there… what do you want to do about this man?”

“Arrest him and burn the carriage. Hashish is an evil substance and the Lord most certainly did not put it on the Earth in this current form. We’re heading back to Damascus.”

The next sound heard was a unison sigh of relief, broken only by the Arab driver’s yelling and (presumably) cursing.

[OverKnight]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

A cooperative story between myself and GeneralHankerchief.

Acre, 1232

The King of Outremer had never fully recovered from the Battle of Galilee. The many wounds of countless battles had caught up with Otto von Kassel, and the loss of so many men had taken a toll as well. He aged quickly, wracked with pain and moving slowly. Still the past four years had been pleasant, as he had passed off the day to day affairs and battles of Outremer to others, enjoying a semi-retirement at Acre with Elsebeth.

In the spring of 1232, however, Otto fell ill. A chill that would not go away despite the warm weather. He was wise enough to know his end was coming and sent for Conrad Salier. While awaiting the arrival of the Count of Adana, he discussed his final wishes with his wife while on his deathbed.

"Have you got it all, my dear?", asked Otto weakly, "I know it is a lot ask, but the case for Outremer must be made in the Diet. I hope my words still carry weight there."

"Yes Otto," Elsebeth replied sitting next to him on the bed, tears in her eyes, but her voice clear, "I know what to say to the Diet. I am a Princess, I was raised in the Imperial Court. I did not spend my youth in the army after all."

She smiled as Otto chuckled and briefly touched her face before his arm dropped back down.

"As for the other. . .arrangements, I understand. Do not worry. . .save your strength."

https://forums.totalwar.org/vb/showp...&postcount=235

A servant entered and announced the arrival of the Count of Adana.

"Send him in, we must talk," said the dying King.

Conrad Salier was somewhat frightened upon his return to Damascus and his summons to Otto. He remembered with great clarity in his hashish vision the face of Maximillian Mandorf telling him that someone had something to say to him back in Damascus. He had passed the plant off as devil's work, but it had correctly predicted that King Otto was dying...

Enough. Now was not the time to debate the merits of the plant. The King of Outremer had some final words to say, and Conrad would go in and hear them.

Otto weakly waved Conrad over as the Count of Adana entered the bed chamber.

"Elsebeth would you give us a moment?"

The Princess, eyes red, glanced from her husband to the new arrival and left the room with some hesitation.

"I am sorry I cannot stand to greet you Sir. I am glad we have an opportunity to talk before the end. I wanted to thank you for answering my call for help those many years ago. It turns out we were both Pawns in the Kaiser's game, but I'm grateful you came, nonetheless."

Conrad chuckled. "I'm glad that I was a pawn in this Kaiser's plans rather than the last one's, sir. Although I came pretty late, I'm glad to be of service."

Otto's mouth quirked upward in a wry grimace. He was silent for a bit, as if lost in thought.

"Outremer is secure for now, Conrad. We put paid to the Mongols, the Egyptians have barely bothered us, and the Turks are restive, but contained by Adana. I am content. But even now the seeds of new threats are growing. My watch is done, but yours has just begun.

"Many in the Diet will point to the destruction of the Mongols and say that our work in Outremer is done. That the Crusaders should be brought home and a token force left behind. They will talk of the homeland and its needs. Our worst enemy here might be Electors of limited vision in Rome. I ask that you continue to argue our case in the Diet."

Conrad nodded. "The homeland seems to be doing well enough on its own. However, I of course shall do as you ask."

Otto continued: "Another threat, I am sad to say, lies among the men of Outremer themselves. I would like to think everyone who took the Cross did so out of true piety and patriotism, but that is not so. Hell, my own motivations for going on Crusade were less than ideal. There are those among us who would use Outremer for their own ends and ambitions, perhaps to set up their own Empire in the East. This must not happen."

"If anyone comes into Outremer with that attitude, I shall either correct their thinking or put them in a negligible position. You can be sure of that," Conrad said with a cough. Theoretically the whole point of Crusading was to give up titles for a higher purpose, but someone had to govern the Levant. He would make sure that only the worthy did.

"And, of course, there are the external threats to the Holy Land. The Turks are newly aggressive and the Egyptians might decide to put in a renewed claim to their old lands. I fear that the Mongols might return. We destroyed their forces here, but from the rumors I've heard their Empire stretches all the way to lands beyond imagination. Will they take their defeat here as a warning to go elsewhere or a challenge to meet again? I do not know."

The King of Outremer raised himself out of bed, grasping Conrad's arm for emphasis as he spoke, "But watch the East, Conrad, watch the East!"

Otto's impassioned plea had drained him, he fell back in bed, coughing and breathing heavily.

Conrad, slightly alarmed, knew to reassure the man on his deathbed. "Of course, my King. We will be safe from all threats, do not worry."

In the back of his mind, though, the hashish and the headless body of Jebe the Tyrant came through. More of us.

No. Now was not the time. Discipline. Otto wasn't quite done yet.

The King of Outremer gathered his little remaining strength and spoke again.

"Do not lose heart, Conrad, the Hordes of the East might seem limitless, but God, as my years in the Holy Land have shown me, is on our side. He guides us and sends us artifacts to aid us."

He motioned to a bureau at the side of the bed. A small chest stood atop it, "Open it."

Conrad did so and gasped. Staring at him upon first glance appeared to be an ugly bramble of long-dead sticks, but Conrad's experiences with religion told him that this was the famous Crown of Thorns that Christ Himself had worn before His crucifixion. And here it was... before him, presented to him.

"When I retook Jerusalem, this along with some other relics, was given into my safekeeping by the Christian residents of the City. At first, I thought it was a forgery, like so many others 'Holy Men' sell in the bazaars. Yet, I kept it, and over the years I became convinced the Crown is authentic. Just a feeling perhaps, but still. . .It was with me when I destroyed the last Mongol Army, in His name I did conquer. Much to my own amazement."

Once again Otto motioned to the chest.

"Take it, it is now yours. The Grail may have left the Holy Land, but Outremer should have its own relic. Real or no, it will serve as a rallying focus for our Crusaders, and an object of fear for our enemies. Keep it safe Conrad. But remember, it is men, men like you, who are the final arbiters of success or failure."

Conrad could only nod. After about a minute he found his voice again. "I shall not fail you, my King."

Otto now spoke in a whisper, "I almost forgot. I meant. . .do you remember when I sent you away from Rome so I could send Friedrich Scherer to deal with Pope Filippus?"

Conrad paused. Why was von Kassel bringing this up now? He was always conflicted by Otto's actions on this matter. Otto had twisted Conrad's edict, killed another Pope... but he had gotten the Reich reconciled. Conrad decided that it was best to simply nod.

"I must apologize for that. I sent you away because it was asked of me. She didn't want you to face the Pope in battle."

This was getting weirder and weirder. "She?" Conrad asked, thinking of Otto's wife. Did Elsebeth have that much influence over Otto? Power and influence did run strong in her blood though...

But then Otto said something that made Conrad wish that he was referring to Elsebeth. "Cardinal Otterbach. She didn't want you in that battle. It was her price for supporting Cardinal Aston for Pope. I assumed because of your religious upbringing. Seemed odd though."

Conrad gaped at the dying Duke. "You're trying to tell me that Cardinal Otterbach was... female?"

Otto blinked and looked up at Conrad trying to focus, "Oh. . .yes. Kaiser Heinrich once told me that Charles was actually a woman, if you could believe it. Seems the Priesthood is filled with them. Odd, but she served the Reich well, God rest her soul."

Conrad put his hands over his eyes. This wasn't happening. The Cardinal had been quite friendly with his father, Maximillian Mandorf, more than just your average priest/confessor relationship... Otterbach had always been there for Conrad, suspiciously turning up in his life at certain points, almost as if she was watching over him, as if she was his...

"Oh no. No, no no no..." Once again, Conrad seemed to sink in his own misery. Thank goodness he only had two parents.

"I am sorry Conrad. Outremer is your charge to keep now. God help you."

Otto paled and spoke in a smaller voice than before, "Goodbye Conrad. Could you please send my wife in? She would be very angry with me if I left without her."

Conrad composed himself enough to reply. "Goodbye, my King, and have a good journey. Thank you for everything." He gripped the King of Outremer's hand, turned around, and departed, carrying the chest. After nodding to Elsebeth, he realized that his father's face had been in his hashish-induced vision.

This was just too much to be coincidental.

Elsebeth returned to the room, glancing behind her at the departed Count.

"Can he be trusted? He has not always served you loyally."

Otto sighed and began to cough again. After a moment he responded.

"This isn't about me, Princess, it is about Outremer. Besides Henry, I trust him above all others to ensure the safety of the Kingdom. I will die, but Outremer must live on."

Elsebeth's facade cracked, with a moan she sunk to her knees besides the bed, seized Otto's hands and began to cry.

Otto comforted her as best he could, "Shhhh, 'Beth. Such is the fate of young woman wed to an older man. I am sorry."

Elsebeth looked up, tears running down her face, hair scattered.

"I love you. I will mourn you. . .a nunnery, I will join an order. . .take vows, I can't. . .can't, not without you."

Otto looked on his wife with compassion and sadness, "I have no doubt you would be Mother Superior within a month. But that is not your path. You must make you own way now."

He stroked her hair, "You are Elsebeth, daughter of an Emperor, Queen in her own right. A nun's habit is not for you. You have been my strength, my faith. There is much left for you to do."

Otto began to fade. His hand again fell to the bed. Pain flashed across his scarred face as he struggled to speak.

"Keep an eye for me on Bavaria. Gerhard is a good man. . .a good Duke. His sons. . .they grew up in a Reich triumphant. . .they did not know the humiliations and privation of Heinrich's early reign. . .before the reconquest. Do what you can for them, my love. Do what. . ."

Otto trailed off and drew a last ragged breath.

Elsebeth kissed him fiercely.

"Of course. It will be taken care of. All of it. Rest now, it will be done. Rest."

Otto eyes closed as the pain left him. His features relaxed as he let out his last breath. Otto was at peace, the King was dead.

Elsebeth collapsed onto his chest weeping. "My Roland," she kept saying, "My Roland."

[Northnovas]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Part 2 of story at request of Chancellor for the whereabouts of the Crusading Danish Army after the battle.

Chancellors Office Report

The Imperial Spy submitted his final report of the Frankfurt incident involving Prince Jobst.

To the Honourable Chancellor Hans,

I am advising you that I did not complete mandate of my original mission. I was ordered that there was a change in priorities I did not need to attend the battle site as originally directed. However, I am submitting what I was able to find out in my investigation.

I went to the camp of Prince Jobst but there was no information to be gathered there. The men gave inconsistent stories and the Nobles were not talking. I continued north and followed the trail of the Danish Army.
I was sometime behind them but I was able to obtain information. Most of the army broke up along the way. Some units joined local settlements for defenses. Some of the Nobles made a hasty route for the capital Arhus.

I continued on to the capital and picked up the stories along the way. The stories from the Danes were about the treachery of the Germans and death of the Prince or the Crusaders crushed the Germans on behalf of the Faith. The locals told there stories in song and tales but there was no consistent facts.
When I got to Arhus the Nobles had appeared to be associated with the Governor of Arhus Sweyn of Svanabyr. It came apparent that the state of the Danish government is dysfunctional by internal strife. This led me to further investigation of the country. It was rather difficult but information could be bought for a price.

In the battle Prince Jobst thought he was fighting the Danish Prince who was leading the Crusading Army. This was an assumption by most of the Crusading Army and some of the Danish court but it was far from the truth.
King Charles to be in better favour of the Pope joined the Crusade. He could not lead because of his need to defend Antwerp from the Scots and the English. Prince Haakon was ordered to lead this army.

However, the Prince not a young man himself had no intention of joining the Crusade. The life of nobility of wine, woman and song was just too good.
He had his first cousin Harold to take his place. The only condition that when he met a foreign dignitary he would advise that he was a representative of the Prince and not say he was the Crown. Most of the units in the Crusade thought they had the actual Prince with them with the exception of a few nobles. The Prince then traveled to Stockholm to have court and a low profile from the King.
King Charles was not aware who was really leading the Crusade. From Stockholm the Prince continued plotting to usurp the King. This has led to discord in the Danish House.

Even though this action led to war with the Danes nothing has happened. They cannot function to coordinate an offensive attack on the Reich in the most likely area Hamburg. The King is too tied up in Antwerp to deal with internal matters back home. The nobles are building up protection from each other. They are on the brink of civil war.

My final summation would be that the Danes had manipulated Prince Jobst into attacking their Crusaders. Why?, because of the turmoil in the House but how I do not know. The information Prince Jobst had was convincing enough for him to take the action he did but who was responsible from the Danish Nobility? I do not know and may never find that answer.
I had wished to source more of the information obtained but as you are aware are standing throughout Europe is low. It is very difficult to interact with other courts and diplomats in making inquiries of intelligence.

Respectfully Submitted,

Dimarus von Luxemburg

[GeneralHankerchief]

Damascus, 1234

Being King of Outremer was a very stressful job, Conrad Salier had discovered fairly on into his formal appointment to the post. As essentially the Kaiser’s viceroy and mouthpiece in the East, it fell on Conrad to make sure that borders were guarded, soldiers were inspected, and people of importance, both Imperial and foreign, were liaised with. Already the job had taken a small toll on him, and Conrad privately believed that the position made at least a small contribution to his predecessor’s death.

The always-present question of the hashish did not make matters any easier. While Conrad had banned the substance in Outremer and arrested those smuggling it in, the fact remained that the one time he had smoked it, he had seen visions in his high. Later on, the things he had seen had come to pass on multiple levels. The only thing that was still in question was whether the Mongols would return, and so far all rumors were that they would indeed return to the West. Ever since King Otto had passed on, Conrad found an internal battle raging within himself, concerned squarely with the merits of the hashish.

It is an evil substance and you should not be tempted by it.

But I saw the truth!

Some things are not intended to be seen. Did you wish to know your true relationship with Cardinal Otterbach?

But surely isn’t knowledge better than ignorance? What if God is sending these visions?

What if Satan is and he’s successfully leading you on by them?

Eventually one of the voices won out and Conrad finally decided to act. He made his way through the streets of the city accompanied by Hugo Bresch and eventually arrived at its dungeons. Room #19 was his target, as it contained two men of importance in the hashish smuggling cartel that were recently arrested.

As Hugo put the keys in the lock and prepared to open the door to Room #19, he turned and looked at Conrad.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Conrad, unable to look his veteran warrior in the eye, stared at the floor and nodded. Shrugging, Hugo opened the door.

Facing the Germans as they entered, shackled to the wall, were two Arabs. The one on the left wore a scraggly beard of modest size. He was tall and very muscular; he would have made a fine warrior had he chosen a different profession. The one on the right was less toned but still held an intimidating appearance. His thick, black mustache and hair were still very neat and slicked despite the weeks he had spent in the dungeon. His dark eyes, reminding Conrad of the bottomless pits in Hell that he had read about, regarded the two Imperial soldiers as they walked in.

“Hamid, Abdullah,” said Hugo, addressing the bearded and mustachioed prisoners, respectively, “The King of Outremer has a proposition for you.” Neither man said anything, and Abdullah’s dark eyes unnerved Conrad, causing him to stumble over his words.

“Be completely, uh, honest with me here,” Conrad began. “How much infl-influence do you have with the hashish, uh, growers and transporters?”

“You could say that we are a small part of the hierarchy,” said Hamid, the bearded one, in fluent German.

“Are you large enough to be trusted by the leaders of your outfit when it comes to negotiating with the Kingdom of Outremer and Holy Roman Empire?”

The two captives looked at each other, expressionless. After a moment Abdullah, the mustachioed one, nodded. In a voice as smooth and oily as his hair, he asked: “What sort of negotiations are you proposing, King Salier?”

Conrad was momentarily unable to speak at the mention of his title, handed to him by a dying King and friend. Hugo spoke in his stead.

“King Salier is hereby proposing the decriminalization of the hashish plant – that is, it’s still illegal per se, but no arrests will be made. You will be allowed to continue your business and sell at the same rates as before hashish was made illegal, provided…” Hugo stopped, almost ashamed to continue. “…provided that you supply King Salier and his staff with any amount that he requests for no charge.”

Once again the two captives looked at each other. Finally, there was a change in expression, as Abdullah slowly grinned. Hamid, however, continued to remain stoic. “I see one problem with this negotiation,” he said impassively. “We are currently unable to notify our people of this development, since we are in chains and cannot physically leave this very room.”

Conrad reluctantly nodded. He seemed to be immensely regretting this decision, but continued to follow through with the deal. “You will hereby be released and pardoned, under the condition that you remain in Damascus or another location under my eye. Do we have an agreement?”

After about a minute, the prisoners gave their answer. “Very well. Release us,” said Abdullah in his oily voice. With a look of utter exasperation on his face, Hugo Bresch undid the shackles of the two men. Abdullah and Hamid took several seconds to adjust and rub their wrists and ankles, and promptly headed out the door. Before doing so, Abdullah stared at Conrad from the distance of a foot. His endless black eyes seemed to hypnotize the King of Outremer.

“You can expect your first personal shipment three days from now.” With that, the two men returned to society and freedom, leaving Conrad and Hugo alone in the dark, smelly dungeon Room #19. The veteran warrior stared at his commander with an accusing look in his eye. Despite this, the look was still infinitely less frightening than anything that Abdul could give.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. I don’t trust those people at all.”

Conrad put a hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “I know, my friend. But if this hashish is truly a medium that connects me closer to the Lord, then surely it will be worth doing business with these people.”

The two men walked out of the dungeon into the streets of the city, but the day looked much less bright and sunny than it did for the two Arabs who had just exited the same place a minute ago.

[OverKnight]

Innsbruck, 1134

The woman's arm lay across Matthias's bare chest, her mouth close to his ear as they lay in the afterglow of their lovemaking. She was speaking to him, but he found it difficult to focus on anything at the moment. He was not a virgin, far from it, but this last encounter far surpassed any tussle in the hay with a serving wench. It had been, Matthias searched for the right word, sublime. As he emerged from the post-coital fog, he began to listen to her.

". . .so, my young Bavarian, you must understand the importance of Outremer. It is a fine place for a third son to find his fortune, to make his name. Of course if the Diet has it's way, that avenue might be shut off to you. You should speak out in favor of Outremer."

Matthias blinked, his mind still trying to focus, "Of course, Outremer must not be abandoned."

The only less than ideal moment in the encounter, had been when she, in ecstasy, had screamed the name of another man. "Otto!", she had cried, with a note of pain in her voice.

Elsebeth von Kassel raised herself up in the bed, gathering a sheet around her. She looked down at the young Squire with an inquisitive gaze.

"Are you paying attention Matthias? It would be wise of you to support Outremer. Your Brother attacks it, perhaps out of true feeling or as an attempt to divert the Diet from his own actions. You must defend it."

"Of course," Matthias mumbled, distracted by the curve of hip and breast.

"Listen, you young pup! You have potential, I would not have. . .mentored you otherwise. However, you lack finesse, subtlety and vision, the marks of a true leader. You need these if you are to be a force for Bavaria, Outremer and the Reich."

Matthias frowned, his fragile teenage ego bruised. He looked away, with a blush rising in his face.

Elsebeth laughed and cupped his face, turning him back to face her.

"Do not worry, I can teach you some of this, and experience will take care of the rest. Let your brother Lothar be the bludgeon, the frontal attack that tries to break through any opposition. You must be the dagger in the left hand. Unnoticed until too late and much more effective.

"A time of troubles is coming to the Reich, my sweet boy. A new Kaiser will bring changes. Alliances will shift, coalitions will fall apart and men of ambition will grasp and claw to gain advantage in the new reign. There will be many dangers, but an 'educated' young man will be able to take advantage of this, to advance his own cause and that of Bavaria. You must be ready."

Matthias swallowed hard, his world had been enlarged in more ways than one this day, it was a lot to take in. Still, best to enjoy the moment.

"If I am to be educated," Matthias said as he drew the sheet away from Elsebeth, "We should start right away, my Queen."

[GeneralHankerchief]

Antioch, 1236

Death stalked the streets of the capital of Outremer. A devastating plague, caused by an unknown substance, had made its way into the once-grand city and claimed thousands of lives. As a measure designed to prevent further spread of the outbreak, Antioch had locked down and was, in essence, completely cut off from the rest of the world, a vortex in time. Its citizens neither knew nor cared for outside events. The fact that Baghdad was being besieged by an unknown enemy, perhaps the long-foretold second wave of the Horse Lords, did not matter to them. Nor did it matter that Adana was no longer under immediate threat from the Turks, or that Kaiser Henry and his lewd son were about to complete the conquest of Edessa and thus bring Outremer to its envisioned size.

All they knew was death, death, death. Conditions inside the city were horrible. The streets were entirely deserted, aside from the rotting corpses of men and horses, unable to be properly buried for fear of the disease spreading to the gravediggers. The horrid stench reeking from these bodies didn’t help either. Nobody knew if the smell was a cause of the streets being empty or an effect of it. Perhaps it was both. Those people still healthy holed themselves up in their houses, generally in the smallest, least-accessible rooms. Thirteenth-century wisdom was that this was the best way of not getting sick, but as a result the people soon developed minor ailments if their own, generally bad coughs. Increasingly worried that what they had was the plague, they didn’t wash or bathe for fear of contamination, contributing to the city’s overall mood of dirt, death, and despair.

At least, these were the rumors that Conrad Salier had heard.

Damascus, 1236

The King of Outremer was safe from the disease, holed up in a city far to the southeast. Instead, he was slowly being claimed by another disease: the one brought on by constant use of the hashish, the one that was taking his mind. He had (so far) successfully hidden his use of the drug from the Diet, although this was in large part due to the Herculean efforts of Hugo Bresch, his veteran warrior, and Frederick Weinmuth, his Chief of Staff. The majority of the Reich lay blissfully distracted by Conrad’s partaking on the debate regarding Milan and his aggressive drive to bring more people to the East. However, in the inner circle of people that knew better, bets were being made to see how long he’d last before he finally cracked.

A knocking sound came from the door of Conrad’s study. “Enter,” he said, and four people did. Frederick Weinmuth was first. Trailing him were three Arabs, two of which Conrad was familiar with. They were Abdullah and Hamid, the pair that Conrad had released from the dungeon in order to provide him with hashish.

“Who’s the third?” Conrad asked. Abdullah, the man with the slicked mustache and dark, dark eyes, answered.

“His name is Achmed,” he said. “He’s a mute, so he’s not much good in the intelligence department. We use him for deliveries… and other work.” Achmed nodded, his expression similar to that of a statue. It was clear that he was well-suited for both purposes. He dwarfed even the large Hamid in stature, and was carrying a huge load of hashish. After being directed by Conrad to place it in a hidden compartment of the study, he resumed his place alongside Abdullah and Hamid.

A minute of silence ensued. Nobody was quite sure what to say. Conrad and Frederick looked especially befuddled. Finally, Hamid broke the silence.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked. “We are waiting for our best customer’s opinion on the quality of this latest shipment.” Conrad’s face flushed with red. The hashish did serve him well on many occasions, but there was still a part of him that was ashamed of what he was doing.

Hesitantly, Conrad rolled a huge batch of the plant, his biggest yet, and stuffed as much as he could into the wrapping (he was well-trained in this practice by now). He took a whiff with four sets of eyes watching him…

…he took a whiff with four sets of eyes watching him, but they disappeared quickly, the room disappeared, Conrad himself disappeared. He now consisted of an entity, some kind of something, overlooking a square surrounded by black…

…the square consisted of Outremer and the surrounding areas. Without any prompting, the view of the square changed, it was centering, focusing on Antioch. For some reason the term “zooming in” came to his mind but it meant nothing to him…

…the square changed again, it became 3D, with the buildings of the beleaguered city popping up suddenly. The view that was Conrad entered one of the buildings, he saw a young woman, her hair falling out, vomiting on her infant son, the son’s face was flushed and he was crying, he looked dangerously thin…

… Conrad departed from that particular house, entering others near it; the sights were each more gruesome than the last. Suddenly the square zoomed out again, it moved northeast, to the pass that led to either Adana or Caesarea, depending on which direction one was taking…

…in the pass, two large Turkish armies were camping, resting, preparing for a fight, probably against the Reich but who would know?… Conrad abruptly “zoomed in” on a group of soldiers, they were eating some kind of animal raw, biting it and watching its blood spill out gleefully…

…was what he saw typical? Conrad doubted it, the Turks were surely more civilized and pious than this, this was something more akin to the Horse Lords… a person in a normal state would realize that it was probably the hashish doing this, but Conrad was not in a normal state and all he saw was a large amount of bloodthirsty enemy soldiers marching on Adana, which currently had no Count…

..the view changed, the square “zoomed out” and headed east, east past Antioch, east past Kaiser Henry and Elberhard, nearing Edessa, east past the great desert, east to Baghdad, which was rumored to be under siege…

…there was no rumor, Baghdad was under siege again by a great force, they carried familiar flags of the Horse Lords, they had finally come again, would make their way west, and this time it was up to Conrad to defend the place, for Otto was dead and Henry aging rapidly…

…he “zoomed in”, again, without prompting, on a meeting of commanders, they were discussing strategy in some foreign language, then suddenly the headless body of a familiar friend (if he was a friend) appeared, it was Jebe the Tyrant, and somehow, he could… see… Conrad…

… “I told you,” he said simply, and suddenly Conrad “zoomed out” so fast it gave him nausea, he vomited on the square, Baghdad was shrinking and now covered with chunks, the desert was shrinking, Outremer was shrinking, suddenly the square itself exploded in a fiery ball and Conrad screamed…

…and Conrad screamed, and finally he returned to normal. He looked up, as pale as the thousands dead in Antioch, to the concerned eyes of Frederick. His own eyes glossed over to those of Frederick’s and set themselves on the three Arabs still in the room. All of them were smirking.

“Leave me!” he cried, and then collapsed.

[Stig]

Thorn, 1238

Count of Thorn, that's not the most sought-after job. Ansehelm, the man who had the job, would absolutely agree with that. The last couple of years he had been busy in and around Thorn. Multiple enemy armies had been raiding the countryside. In 1232 and 1233 Ansehelm had been on a campaign to destroy two small Polish armies around Thorn itself. He and his knights had destroyed a small army that sieged the near to unprotected Thorn, and he then took one of his regiments and destroyed the second one. In 1236 he destroyed a Russian Horsemen Army that layed siege to Thorn and this very year he lead the Franconian Household Army to a victory over another big Russian army.
And next to all that he had the internal politics in the Reich to take care off. There had been big arguments in the Diets and in the summer months Ansehelm travelled to Rome to join the great politicians of the Reich.

Now things however turned to normal again, if they can even be called normal. Ansehelm hardly knew this. He had lived in the far north for all his life. He was born in Frankfurt, but at the age of 6 he beceame a Page to the old and jolly knight Karl von Bremen and he moved to Bremen at the North Sea coast. Soon after he moved with Karl to Stettin where he became a squire at the age of 14. When he came of age he lived in Thorn and at the normal age of 21 he was knighted.
He was used to the north and liked the long cold winters. He enjoyed staying at Schloss Folklung, his own personal estate which was converted to a small castle. There he had many servants, he could enjoy hunts in the abondoned forests of Prussia, he had good food and pleasant company. He often brought in great storytellers and jokers to enjoy him and his friends.
During the summers however he hardly ever was at Folklung, he travelled to Rome which took several months when he could, but often he was busy in his province, which he called Prussia. The last 20 years he only managed to visit Rome twice. And he certainly did not like what he saw, both time he had only been in Rome for nothing more then 2 weeks, but already he saw the Italian nobles enjoying their good and peacefull life. That was nothing for him. Rome was too hot for his liking, he liked the rough life he lived in the north. In Rome he was seen as something strange, something weird. After the almost 4 month travel to Rome he often looked like a viking with a beard, and he didn't fit in with the good looking Italians. No, Ansehelm didn't like Rome, but he had to come there every once in a while.
In the north he could enjoy himself, people where different there, used to a hard life and long winters. There was always something to do in the summer. If not in Folklung Ansehelm could go to Thorn itself or any of the little surrounding hamlets. But more importantly the summer was the season of war. That was when the Poles and the Russians came, when they sacked the countryside, and when Ansehelm dispatched the little forces he had to drive them back. From time to time the Poles and Russians send more than 20 men across the border, and that was when big action was needed. Ansehelm himself fully led 3 battles, and helped his brother Peter winning a fourth one. But it seemed the enemy kept coming. Ansehelm, against his true will decided to execute 600 prisoners, so that they would not fight another day. This for Ansehelm was one of the toughest decisions he ever made, but he was happy that he could atleast make a decision.

Now Ansehelm camped with the Franconian Household Army, the year 1238 AD, and time was moving on...

[GeneralHankerchief]

Rome, 1240

"Ggggghxxhxzz."

Conrad Salier woke up and returned to full alertness for the first time in days. Since he had overdosed on the hashish (if that was even possible) and unknowingly revealed his secret to the entire Diet, Conrad had slipped into a state halfway between life and death, temporarily suspending the session as he was given emergency medical attention. After that, his condition had improved slightly, but he was still in a coma for some time. When he finally arose he found himself in a large, comfortable bed that happened to be the exact bed that Kaiser Heinrich had died in many years ago, but no one in the room knew this little fact.

Present when he awoke were the most trusted members of his retinue: Hugo Bresch, his veteran warrior, Frederick Weinmuth, his Chief of Staff, and his old friend Wilhelm de Lannoy, the former Deputy Governor of Rome who had officially joined Conrad's staff upon his return to Rome.

"Ah, Conrad" said Wilhelm, his eyes brightening when he saw that Conrad had woken up, "Welcome back to the world of the living."

Conrad blinked for a second and then looked around. "Care to be more specific?"

Frederick spoke up. "You're in Rome, Conrad. Still in Rome . We've hidden you away from the public eye ever since that little display of yours a couple of days ago."

Although he heard Frederick's words clearly, Conrad thought that he was still groggy. They didn't make any sense to him. "Display? What display? I don't know what you're talking about."

"You blabbed, Conrad. You overdosed on the hashish, stumbled into the Diet, and told the entire esteemed body that Rome was going to fall thanks to the hands of Satan, and that the hashish had told you this. Then you collapsed. You're lucky to be alive."

Finally, everything fell into place. His three friends watched silently as Conrad put two and two together. "I… overdosed… hashish… Diet? …oh, no, oh God no…" He put his head in his hands. "Oh, no…"

"Oh yes," said Frederick unkindly. "You have exposed your secret to the world. Congratulations."

Wilhelm jumped in. "You've got to stop taking this stuff, Conrad. You barely survived this time, and I mean that both physically and career-wise. You're lucky that the Diet doesn't know more about this hashish or otherwise Kaiser Henry would have stripped you of your title and given it to Fredricus."

Conrad was now fully awake, but wished he wasn't. He could tell that this was going to be a massive argument with three of his friends. Not pleasant in any circumstances. "I can't stop taking it," he pleaded. "I see things in there. Visions. I can use the knowledge."

"You can't use the knowledge if you're dead, Conrad." Everybody jumped. That was Hugo Bresch speaking for the first time. They had forgotten that he was even present.

"It's just God testing my strength," Conrad said. "What will this say about my character if I quit?"

"It will say that you are a smart man who made the wiser choice," said Frederick patiently. "Conrad, you must realize what this is doing to you. For God's sake, for our sakes, stop taking this hashish!"

"NO!" Conrad roared, surprising everyone. "If I sacrifice myself for the sake of the Reich, so be it. But I will not consciously allow this gift of foresight that I have been granted to fade away. I am not deluding myself. I know what I am doing, and you will realize that if you wish to continue working with me."

"You say that because you-"

"Enough. Get out of here, all of you. I need some time to rest."

Silently, Conrad's three friends shuffled out of the room, exchanging looks of despair. They had failed."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, Conrad heard a knocking sound coming from his door.

"Enter."

The door opened, and a wizened old man, older than even Kaiser Henry, stepped into the room. Despite his age, he clearly did not look German. His ethnicity (Greek) was confirmed when he spoke.

"King Salier," the man said in a thick accent, "How is your recovery progressing?" Conrad was immediately suspicious. While this old Greek was far too aged to be an assassin, he wondered if it was another attempt at an intervention.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my room?"

The old man smiled. "Greetings to you too," he said in a sarcastic voice. There was a time when Conrad would have recognized his error and apologized, but that time was long gone now. The man continued as if he didn't expect an apology. "I am the official Byzantine ambassador to Rome, and also a historian of our great Empire, stretching back to the days when Constantinople was not even included in it and there was no Christianity to be divided over. I simply wished to liaise with the King of Outremer before he departed back East."

Conrad was still in a foul mood and cared little for diplomatic procedure at the moment. "Liaise with me then, and be done with it."

"Very well," said the old man, slightly taken aback. "The Byzantine Empire officially requests that the Kingdom of Outremer illegalize hashish. Before you can throw me out, I assure you that this request is official. Due to your lack of prosecution, deliveries of the plant have made it all the way to Constantinople, causing our citizens grief."

"I must respectfully disagree with your Emperor's assessment of the properties of the plant," said Conrad, gaining some diplomatic tactics back. “While under its influence I have seen many useful things.”

“But you do not deny that you have seen… upsetting things? Like, for instance, ‘Satan standing triumphant on Palatine Hill?’”

Conrad stared. “Is that what I said at the Diet? Wow…”

The ancient Greek continued on, business-like. I have with me here several transcripts of men speaking while on the hashish, their lives after they had been taking the plant for some time, and comments of their friends and family members. You will notice that many of them are, in fact, suicides.”

Horrified at the casualness of this man’s tone, Conrad took the first paper from the stack. It had already been translated into German.

“Strange things,” he read to himself, mumbling, “he thought he could see the future… started to scare him, eventually poisoned himself…”

“This next one is from our former Minister of Finance,” said the Greek pleasantly, handing Conrad another paper.

“Former?”

“Well, he apparently swallowed some Greek fire while under the influence. It burned right through him, poor man.” He was shaking his head sadly, but continued to rifle through the papers. “Here’s one visitor from your Outremer; he’s still living but thinks he’s Pope Gregory, poor chap… hey, what’s this one doing in here?”

“What? Is it actually a piece of good news?”

“Unfortunately, it is completely the wrong subject. Well, maybe not entirely off-topic, depending on the way you look at it.”

Conrad was mildly intrigued. “What is it?”

“It is a piece of the diary of your Marcellus Aemilius. It’s quite interesting, actually, not counting the fact that we Byzantines have a more complete record of the early Roman Republic than you Romans do. This one was written in 247 BC, in the second year of his shortened co-Consulship with Numerius Aureolus.”

“What does it say?”

“I’m getting to that, young fellow, hold on.” The Greek seemed amused. “The history behind it is interesting, actually. Most of you Germans and Italians consider Marcellus to be a hero, the one who saved the Republic from the evil Servius, right?” Conrad nodded. Everyone knew. “Do you know what happened to him after that little battle of his? This time, Conrad shook his head. Details were always murky after the Civil War. The Greek continued. “Well, it seemed as if the Hero was shirking some of his Consular duties in order to pursue Servius. Apparently, the night before that final day of battle, Marcellus had intercepted a message from Servius to his brother, Oppius. The message detailed Servius’s plans for his wife and legacy after the war. After there was a lack of activity in the Senate Session of 249, an official investigation was not permitted so Marcellus decided to go off on his own.

“Anyways, he grew obsessed with finding his nephew and bringing Servius to justice. In that letter that he had intercepted, it said that Servius’s wife, Eutropia, I think, was with child. Obviously, this was the ultimate bargaining chip to get Servius to come out of hiding and Marcellus knew it. So he tracked Eutropia and the kid down, leaving his army and any semblance of Roman decency behind, and basically made a public statement. Either Servius was to show himself or his wife and the kid were going to buy it. Sad, really.”

Conrad was intrigued. “Did he finally get Servius?”

“That’s not important. What’s important is that Marcellus was completely consumed by his obsession. This diary entry is him lamenting on what he had done and how he wishes that he had been more focused on the things that mattered – namely, rebuilding the Republic. It’s quite interesting, maybe you could learn something from it.” He absentmindedly tossed the old paper to Conrad, and glanced out the window. The sun was rather low in the sky. “Look at the time, I had best be leaving. An old man needs his rest, you know. Do think about illegalizing this hashish, will you? The Emperor would thank you very much if you did.”

He slowly got up to depart, leaving Conrad with the ability only to nod. Finally, Conrad obtained the vocal skills necessary to ask a question.

“I’m sorry, I never got your name?”

The old man turned and smiled.

“Iannis,” he said. “Have a safe trip back to the East.”

[Ituralde]

Prague, 1228:

Willellda sat in front of the large fireplace, a crumbled piece of parchment in her hand, tears were rolling down her cheeks as she watched the flickering flames in front of her. Gunhilde, her trusted midwife was standing behind her and had laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

"I am sorry, mistress! It seems there is no end to the suffering of our family. First Ehrhart dies, then your husband leaves you and now this grim news from the East."

Willellda shakes herself out of her reverie, takes a final look at the parchment in her hand and then defiantly throws it into the flames. It takes her some time to tear away her gaze from the flames licking at the letter, which had told her of Leopold's demise.

"These are dark times Gunhilde. Very dark. Send for my son will you. He has to know, I will tell him everything. Hurry!"

"Are you sure this is wise, mistress? After all he has done for us?"

"He deserves to know, now go and bring him here, and send for Contzel and Niesenn too!"

____________________________________

This is a coop story between Ituralde and Cecil XIX


Thunder rolled overhead as Sigismund von Mahren entered the Council Chambers in Prague. His mother Willellda had wanted him to come and as he entered the Great Hall he could see three women clad in black huddled around the sole fireplace, the fire banked so that the warmth hardly penetrated the large room and the light was subdued. There were his two sisters Contzel and Niesenn along with his mother Willellda. His mother's eyes were red from tears while his sisters wore a glum determination on their faces. As soon as Willellda lays her eyes on Sigismund she storms forward and grasps him in her arms.

"Oh you have come, my son! You have come, what grief has befallen our family! Why do the Gods curse us so?" She clings on to her son, silently sobbing.

Sigismund returned his mother's embrace, and let her cry in his arms. His brother's death had been a terrible blow to the family, but with his mother in hysterics and his fathers descent into drink he felt an obligation to keep a stiff upper lip.

"There there, mother. Ehrhart's in a better place now. I'm sure he wouldn't want you to cry like this, and neither would I or father."

At the mention of Sigismund's father Willellda lets out another stifled moan. "It's just not... it's just not right. First your brother dies and then they take away your father!" She manages inbetween sobs, still clinging on to Sigismund's shoulder.

Contzel and Niesenn share embarrassed looks as they see their mother reduced to tears, clinging on to their brother, as though he were the only thing that kept her upright. At the same time, they seem to be casting expectant looks towards Sigismund, as though they knew something he didn't.

"He's a soldier, mother." Sigismund replied. "I too would dearly like for us to all be together again, but he and I have our duties to the Reich."

With a final shudder, Willellda seems to draw herself together, and slightly more composed she moves away from her now eldest son. "A foolish old soldier, he was." she states with contempt on her face. She looks at Sigismund sternly: "Don't you think you can run off and get yourself killed in some foolish battle, my boy!"

Sigismund takes a step back, aghast at the words that have come out of his mother's mouth. "M-mother! There was nothing foolish about that battle! And you can't blame father for Erhart's death, or Erhart himself for that matter! Father is even more distraught than you are, because he blames himself as well!"

Willellda looks at her son with a puzzled expression on her face and slowly the realization dawns on her, she raises her hand to cup his cheek, stroking it slightly. "My poor boy, it's not your brother I was talking about, although he should have known better. I was referring to Leopold, your father." She smiles at him reassuringly.

Should Sigismund look up at his sisters he will see an apologetic look on Contze's face. Niesenn on the other hand shows a mishievous grin, just as if this had been some rather good prank, like the ones she used to play on him in their childhood.

Sigismund's face is blank for a moment, then it explodes. "WHAT?!? Duke Leopold is my father?!?"

She gently strokes his cheek once more: "Oh don't be upset my poor boy, you should have figured it out by now. Why do you think Jonas left us, after Ehrhart died? Why do you think Leopold was so eager to have you become an Austrian noble? His blood runs through your veins. That's why I called you here. Now that he is dead, you deserve to know." She gives him a comforting look, waiting for his next reaction.

"How did this happen?" Sigismund responds. "You were married to father, and Leopold was married as well! And what of Ehrhart? He became part of House Austria as well!"

Willellda chuckles lightly. "You have much to learn, my boy! We were both married, but we were also in love. Why do you think Leopold only fathered two children, stopping after he had his heir? He did his marital duty and nothing more. Your father was away on Crusade anyways, he didn't care. At least Leopold had the decency to take his wife with him to Outremere."

She shakes a little bit once more and stifles a sigh, as the emotions well up in her once again. "As for your brother. He was a fool like Jonas, but he was needed too. To make you an Austrian noble. How would it have looked if only you were to become part of the Austrian nobility." She dabs at her cheeks with a handkerchief where tears have welled up.

"No, he did it for you, for his first son, to serve the House he loved so much, he gave his life for it." She lowers her head and a low sobbing can be heard.

Contze looks slightly ashamed from Sigismund to her mother, while Niesenn still somehow managed to find the whole situation amusing.

For a moment Sigismunds just stands, shoulders slumped and looking at the floor. Then he straightens himself out and turns to leave.

"I can't stay here anymore. I must speak with my father."

Willellda grabs her son by her sleeve and turns him around again as he tries to leave. She looks infuriated: "Haven't you listened to me? Your father is dead! Jonas has left us, he doesn't want anything to do with us! You are Leopolds son, you can't change that by running away now. Don't you realize the implications, my little boy? You are his eldest son, his true heir. That Arnold is nothing against you, nothing!"

Willellda stares at her son exasperated, once again tears are welling up in her eyes.

At this Sigismunds expression suddenly mirrors his mother's earlier rage. "No, this changes nothing! I am Sigismund von Mahren! Even if it is Leopold's blood that flows through my veins, Jonas von Mahren was the one who raised me! Even when he was off saving the Holy Land, he sent Erhart and me letters on how to behave like a true knight! Brother and I cherished those letters dearly, and no son of Leopold could have ever received something so precious. Now you ask me to usurp the man I have sworn fealty to, and call another man my forebear? I will not betray my duke, and I will not abandon my father!"

Sigismund turns around and walks away, muttering to himself. "A trueborn son, not a bastard, deserves to be Duke."

[econ21]

Night time, at camp on the road to Mosul, 1240


“I knew you would come back.” Henry murmured, staring at the black cloaked figure in the shadows. The figure bowed gently.

“Is it time?” Henry asked faintly, but he knew the answer already. The strength was leaving his body. He had a high fever and his bed was drenched with sweat.

“You always were a disappointment, Henry.” said the figure. Henry’s mind felt numbed and in his stupor he could not tell if the harsh voice of the intruder was that of his pagan magician or his father. “You came all this way to the East. You could have established an Empire from the Pyrenees to Alexandria. And what did you do? Gave Jerusalem to a jumped up priest and tried to block all further expansion. This is not the destiny of the Reich. This is a mere interruption. And it must end.”

Henry closed his eyes. “You are wrong, Kolar …” he started, but the words would not come.

The intruder limped out of the shadows and continued vindictively: “You have just lived long enough to see it start to unravel. The true nature of the Reich is re-asserting itself. Ambitious young men are replacing the foolish and dying old guard. They strain at the restraints you seek to impose on them and soon will break free. Ulrich Hummel’s election confirms it. You tried to use all your influence to stop him, but you failed.”

The figure stepped back. “But you do not know the extent of your failure. Do you think I work alone?”

Henry was gasping for breath. “Hashshashins…”

“Yes, yes, I use the Hashshashins on occasion. They were the ones who supplied that nice cake you ate this evening, by the way. That talented Syrian cook you hired?” the figure smiled: “A mean chef by day, but one of their master assassins by night”.

The intruder paused and continued on his aside, as if he had all the time in the world: “You would not believe how hard it was to persuade the Old Man of the Mountains to authorise your assassination. He actually thought he owed you a favour for defeating the Horse Lords. The Mongols have done a more effective job of clamping down on the cult than ever you or the Egyptians did. But now the Horse Lords are back and anyway, I convinced the Old Man that the crusaders were the true long term threat.”

The dark figure reigned himself in and turned back to Henry: “But no, when I referred to my partners, I did not mean the Hashshashins. I no more work with them than I work with my horse or my servant. I use them and in return I pay them their exorbitant fees. No, I speak not of the Hashshashins but rather of my associates - a group of like minded men, who work behind the scenes directing the future of this Reich you so foolishly believe you rule. We have done rather well during your inattentive rule - we have the ear of the future Kaiser and the current Chancellor. There is nothing you or your pathetic Charter Amendments can do to stop us now.”

Henry tried to lift himself out of bed, but succeeded only in temporarily raising himself before he collapsed back down. His eyelids started to flutter, as he saw the dark figure leaning over him. What will they say after am I dead? wondered Henry. When the Reich burns?

The intruder sat down beside Henry’s bed. “You made a mistake letting me go, taking your eye off your opponent.” he whispered. “I won’t make the same mistake. But I will repay your kindness. I will stay with you until the end.”

The dark figure held Henry’s hand. Henry looked at long gnarled fingers clasping his own in revulsion, but was powerless to pull back.

“The toxin used by the Hashshashins is very rare and leaves no traces. As far as the rest of the Reich will know, you passed away peacefully in your sleep. Which, after a fashion, is the truth, I suppose.”

The wry smile on intruder’s face was the last thing Henry ever saw. He closed his eyes, not knowing if the dark figure by his side was real, a fevered hallucination or a demon, come to escort him to the next world.

*****

During the night, Henry’s shieldbearer had slept heavily, with unusually vivid dreams which he could not shake. In one, he saw a tall, black cloaked figure leave the Kaiser’s tent, followed dutifully by Henry’s devoted dog, Ernest. When the shieldbearer awoke in the morning, he found Henry had passed away in the night, but his dog was no where to be seen. Fearful of the appearance of negligence, the shieldbearer told no one of his dream. Ernest the dog was never found.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Eastern Mediterranean Sea, 1240

Three AM. Conrad Salier woke up, sweating, after approximately forty-five minutes of sleep. He groaned. That feeling was back again. He made his way up to the ship's deck, staggering. Silently praising the Lord that he didn't stumble or fall, he leaned over the ship's side and vomited. Not for the first time that night. Seasickness combined with hashish withdrawal did not make for a fun extended sea voyage back to Damascus.

He silently returned to his quarters, feeling only slightly better. The feeling that he needed to vomit was gone (for the moment), but now he had to deal with that unpleasant acidic aftertaste currently present in his mouth. He climbed into bed, at first trying to sleep, and later simply contemplating. It was evident that sleep would not come. Conrad sighed.

While it was still affected by withdrawal and lack of sleep, Conrad found his mind to be clearer than it had been in years. This "awakening" of sorts had led him to discover certain unpleasant details. Firstly, Ulrich Hummel, perennial election loser and Diet pariah (he had one time taken the entire Swabian Household Army and gone through half of France on an unconstitutional rampage) had somehow ascended to the position of Chancellor. Although Hummel was Count of Acre, Conrad would sooner entrust Outremer's security to an Egyptian. At least they would leave everything untouched.

The other problem that Conrad had awoken to was the unfortunate shift of power that was taking place in the Diet. On the out was his greatest ally and fellow lover of religion, Kaiser Henry. The Kaiser, with his increasing authority, had managed almost singlehandedly to continue the implementation of pro-Papal policies with the death of the Old Guard. Taking his place, a dearth of brash, young Electors who grew up under the aftermath of Kaiser Heinrich had risen in the Diet. The incoming Kaiser, Jobst von Salza, was no friend of religion (he had attacked an army on Crusade, no matter what the report had said). And his daughter was reportedly engaged to Lothar Steffin, who openly stated he cared little for Outremer or Kaiser Henry.

When the Kaiser died, the Old Guard would die with him, leaving only Conrad to uphold its principles and beliefs. Sure, Matthias Steffin was promising, but he was overshadowed by his brother. To put it simply, Conrad's faction, for the first time in decades, was outnumbered. The question was, how would he prevent the worst?

It never went through Conrad's mind that he was on the wrong side. Of course I am right, he thought. How can one be wrong when he sides with the Lord? Obviously people would see the wisdom in time. Hummel might be a bumbling Chancellor. With his style of running things, there would be discontent.

Do I point it out? No, he decided. He would still be outnumbered. People knew him, knew his devotion to religion, knew his former hashish problems. They would take it for what it was - deliberately laying the blame on all that might go wrong on the Chancellor in order to recruit more people to his side.

No, he decided. Stay silent, watch, wait, pray. God would see that everything would go right in the end. The values of the Old Guard would remain in the Reich; this was just a relaxed period. Conrad would let events run their course and not endanger them by rocking the boat too much.

Rocking the boat, ugh. At the thought, the feeling to vomit returned and Conrad staggered out of bed once again. It would be a long night, but there was much to do. He was glad to be rid of the hashish so that he could get some actual work done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damascus

The headquarters of the hashish cartel was inconspicuously located, probably not a surprising fact. Even though the sale of the drug was legal, the cartel realized that secrecy was always best. The headquarters were in the residential sector of the city, more appropriately under the residential sector. A lone house, indistinguishable from the others aside from the fact that it appeared to be abandoned, was the sole means of entering or exiting the underground complex. Once inside, assuming the person was allowed entry by the sizeable amount of guards, one would be privy to a series of large, connected rooms that contained delivery transcripts, the hashish itself, a large amount of florins, and the offices of the higher-ups in the cartel. It was in one of these offices where Abdullah, the mustachioed man with slick hair and dark eyes was discussing a series of events, both fortunate and unfortunate, to his fellow members of the cartel.

"So, it seems that we are facing a return to illegalization. Is that correct?"

"The Byzantine government has officially requested that Outremer illegalize the drug, yes," said Theofilos, one of the few Greeks represented in the cartel. He was nothing like the ancient, proud Iannis that Conrad met in Rome.

"And, judging by Salier's outburst in the Diet and that old fool's visit, it seems likely that this will occur once he lands in Damascus," said Hamid, the big man with the beard.

Abdullah looked around to Theofilos. "Do you agree?" He was met with a nod. He turned to the only man who did not speak, Achmed, who was a huge bear of a man and a mute. Achmed also nodded. Abdullah sighed.

"Outremer is becoming filled up with dirty Catholics and Germans. We could not take a hit like criminalization. It wouldn't be like last time."

"I agree," Hamid said.

"Then we should take steps to ensure that criminalization does not occur. The time has come to act, gentlemen. I have received word that Kaiser Henry is dead. That fool Jobst will be taking over, he does not care for Outremer. Hummel is Chancellor, but is not fully committed. The rest of the Diet couldn't care less what happens out here. Hamid, Achmed, prepare your men. We strike Salier when he least expects it. Kaiser Jobst places one of his followers as King, allows us to continue sale of hashish, we stay rich."

Hamid looked slightly discontented. "Assassinate Salier? Is that the smartest move? What if they come after us."

Abdullah laughed. "They won't care, Hamid! Haven't you heard? Henry is dead, Hummel's Chancellor. Salier is in the minority now. Nobody will care about him."

The three men nodded and departed, plotting on how to bring Conrad's newly-meaningful life to an abrupt end.

[TinCow]

“Back for more, are ye?” Adelman snorted and spat on the ground. “I hear they call you the ‘Count of Florence’ or something equally ridiculous these days.” He eyed Lothar Steffen coolly. “You still look like a spoiled pup to me. The ‘Count of Flatulence,’ perhaps.”

“I may still be young, but I have learned a great deal since last we trained together. It is unwise of you to underestimate me,” the Bavarian noble deadpanned.

“Underestimate you? For the love of… you go and win yourself a few minor battles and you think yourself a master now? By the Devil’s Tits, I swear I never thought it was possible for you to get even more arrogant than you were before you left.” Adelman popped his jaw; an act that somehow managing to convey immense disdain.

Lothar Steffen paced across the room to a rack of practice swords. He traced his fingers along the hilts of half a dozen, before he found one he liked. With a deft movement he lifted it, feeling the balance. He flipped it back and forth between his hands and swung it in smooth arcs. Satisfied with the results he turned back to face the weapons master. “Perhaps you should give me another lesson in humility.”

Adelman stared at the Bavarian for a moment, then laughed. “Now? You’re not even armored! Even with the dulled edge, you’d take such a drubbing that your father would have my head on a pike!”

Lothar shrugged and lifted a round wooden shield propped against the nearby wall. “Is this better? I would not want to put you at too much of a disadvantage. It would not be… ah, what is that word… chivalrous.” He looked his old trainer in the eye. “Or perhaps you are simply a coward.”

There was no verbal response, but none was needed. Adelman lifted his sword high, bringing the hilt in line with his right shoulder. He held it two-handed, his fingers flexing slightly to achieve the perfect grip. Lothar could see his opponent’s weight shift as he adjusted his stance. Adelman’s body angled backwards, narrowing his exposed front. The shieldless man was preparing for a rush; a brutal direct assault on his opponent that was designed to overwhelm and subdue through sheer force.

In response, Lothar slipped his hand more firmly into the leather straps of the shield. He held it lightly on his left, prepared to bring it up in front of him at a moment’s notice. The training yard was inundated with the silent expectation of combat. Several long moments passed as both men stared into each other’s eyes, in an effort to shake the other’s confidence; victory before the fight had even begun.

Lothar grinned. Adelman charged.

The speed with which the huge man moved was startling. Lothar himself could barely move that fast without armor, and he was half Adelman’s age. The intensity in the man’s eyes was disturbing to behold. Had Lothar not experienced such an expression dozens of times before, he might have broken at the sight. It was a berserker’s charge, being wielded by a man who never yielded to rage. Cold, calculating, and deadly. There was no way to deflect, dodge, or riposte. One could only endure and hope to survive. Lothar braced himself and raised his shield to meet the oncoming blow.

Adelman swung his sword down with every ounce of strength he could summon. Rarely had he put as much effort into a single blow as he did at that moment. It was a stroke that would split a man in two in a real battle, and even with the blunted practice weapon it could seriously maim. The sound of the impact was so slight, the opposition to his blade so weak, that at first he thought he had smashed the eldest son of the Duke to the ground. It took him a moment to realize that Lothar was still standing, unphased by the blow. A loud clattering sound came from his right. It took him a moment to realize that his blade had sheered cleanly from the hilt. A moment after that he noticed the sharpened dagger at his throat.

“You taught me well, Adelman.” Lothar cocked his head, the tip of his dagger drawing a drop of blood from his opponent’s throat. “Never fight a battle that you cannot win. Those are your words, not mine. I will never best you in even combat, so I will not engage in even combat.” He nodded towards the hilt still clutched in Adelman’s hand. There, clearly visible in the afternoon light, were fine marks spanning three-quarters of the width of the blade. The tool used to file through the hardened steel must have been incredibly narrow, to keep the split imperceptible to casual inspection. “I have learned a new lesson since the last time you trained me; Exitus acta probat.”

Adelman smiled broadly, then let out a hearty laugh. “Perhaps you are not the dummkopf you were when last we met. Very well, then…” He touched the dagger gently, moving it away from his throat, and bowed deeply. “I yield, my Lord.”

Triumph glittered in Lothar’s eyes. “Do not forget it.” In a flash, his dagger whipped out and sliced deeply into Adelman’s cheek. Blood poured in sheets down the side of the man’s face. He raised his hand to the gash, but was greeted with a boot to the chest. Adelman fell backwards in a sprawl. “That is for your many years of disrespect. If you ever fail to address me in the proper manner again, I’ll have your head.” The Count of Florence bowed.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Damascus, 1242

The Cathedral of the Virgin Mary located in the city was not part of the new, rapid re-Christianization movement taking place. A great number of smaller places of worship had popped up since Damascus changed hands some years ago, but none could match the splendor or grandeur of what had been there for a millennium. Built by the Romans in the Second Century AD, the Cathedral had seen its share of history over the years. It currently housed the Crown of Thorns, Conrad Salier having lent it to the Diocese prior to his departure to Rome.

Today, however, seemed like just another ordinary day inside the Cathedral. Mass was taking place; the usual Gospel passages (Romans 20, others) were posted for all to see, and Communion was being administered.

Conrad and his aides having taken Communion first (being King of Outremer did have its benefits), they silently returned to their pews, and, after prayer, observed the rest of the congregation.

"Lots of Arabs getting Communion today," whispered Wilhelm de Lannoy.

"Good," Conrad whispered back. "The Word of the Lord is spreading."

"I don't like it," said Hugo Bresch, Conrad's veteran warrior. "It seems like the number jumped at once. Unless a priest gave a particularly powerful sermon a few days ago, I suspect foul play is involved."

“Rubbish,” said Frederick Weinmuth, Conrad’s chief of staff. “You’re paranoid and need to get to church more often, Bresch.”

Conrad was annoyed. “Can we be silent? In case you haven’t noticed, a holy ritual *is* taking place.” Hugo muttered something under his breath but the matter was not pursued further. The remainder of Mass continued without incident.

Following the priest’s exit from the main hall, the congregation rose to depart, as did Conrad’s staff. He, however, motioned for them to sit, saying that he wished to observe the Crown of Thorns before leaving. The three men, especially Hugo, reluctantly returned to their seats. They all knew better than to annoy Conrad while he was in church.

Conrad, however, was focused on other matters. He could not help but linger on what Hugo had said, and noticed how many of the Arabs present were taking their time leaving the church. Perhaps one of them would try to kill him, after all. Conrad had brought no weapon to church, but put his senses on high alert as he silently prayed for peace. Which one would attack? Was it the one lingering by the altar who had badly fumbled an easy song in the hymnal? The one currently ambling down the aisle, about to pass their pew, who had turned east during the reading of the Apostle’s Creed? The one behind them, who had arrived late? The one diagonally in front and to the left of them, who had held up the Communion line? The one still in his pew off to the side, who kept his face hidden?

As it turned out, the answer was all of them. After the last people had departed the cathedral, those five Arabs plus three more drew knives out as one and charged at Conrad’s group.

They were badly outnumbered and out-armed. The only member of Conrad’s group with a weapon of any kind was Hugo, who drew out a longsword. Conrad saw with displeasure that one of them was the mountain of a man, Achmed, the mute one. Another, the one with his face hidden, was the also-powerful Hamid. He was suddenly giving orders in Arabic. This assassination attempt was obviously not designed to fail.

“HELP! ATTACK! IN THE CATHEDRAL!” Frederick screamed shortly before the tussle began. It was not out of cowardice; he was just trying to even the odds.

The attack came. Hugo was able to hold off three of the potential assailants by holding out his sword; they could not compete with his reach. That still left five. Wilhelm ducked behind the pew; if the attackers were to come for him they would have to go over the top. Frederick was desperately fighting off one trying to plunge his knife in. Most were going for Conrad, however. The King of Outremer, thinking quick, had counter-rushed three men coming at him from the side, surprising the men and spilling the fight out into the center aisle of the Cathedral.

Elated at his success, Conrad tried to wrestle the knife from the closest man, but he wasn’t giving it up easily and now the other two were up and closing in on him. Realizing that this was a battle he could not win, he kicked the first man in his privates and retreated a few steps back. The man was hunched over in pain, blocking the aisle and impeding the other two’s momentum. Conrad had earned a brief respite.

Back in the main pew, a series of wrestling matches were occurring. Somebody had decided to climb over a pew and try for Wilhelm, who was still hunched and ready. However, the pew had slipped and gone askew, causing the man to lose his footing and trip onto Wilhelm. Both were now on the ground, fighting for the knife. Frederick now had Hamid gunning for his throat and it was taking the full strength of both of his arms to try to push the knife away. Despite this, he was still losing.

However, it was Hugo who drew first blood. One of the men he was fending off feinted, paused, and threw his knife at Hugo’s neck. Hugo easily parried it aside and quickly lunged at the now-unarmed thrower, stabbing him in the chest. He went down, moaning, and blood spilled on the stone floor and pews. Hugo turned to the other two men, who were now more cautious.

The three men chasing Conrad were now all up again and closing in on him. Conrad turned and ran down a pew aisle. He reached the other side with the men in about the middle. He gripped the end of the pew and with all his might swung the side. The pew moved, crashing into Conrad’s pursuers, buying him more time. He needed to find a weapon. He found some in the vigil candles (God forgive me, but this is a time of great need), and rushed over to them, grabbing a handful. He only had a split second of grace before he could fire them (Achmed was one of the men chasing him and had recovered instantly). Tossing all the candles in his right hand, he watched as they found their target. Achmed slowed, emitting a wordless scream.

Wilhelm had finally succeeded in wrenching the knife from his attacker’s grip and had managed to stab him in the throat. He turned around and locked blades for a second with a surprised Hamid, who had just overcome Frederick. Wilhelm quickly withdrew, his feet splashing in the blood created by three separate stab wounds. Six to three.

One of the men pursuing Conrad broke off from the chase and ran towards the altar, more specifically the Tabernacle off to the side. Grunting, he picked up the heavy golden box and staggered over to Hugo, chucking it over the heads of the two men he was holding off right at him. Hugo ducked, and the two men rushed him. One managed to implant his knife in Hugo’s back. Hugo, screaming, swung his sword wildly, lopping off the arm of his attacker. The man retreated back to the cathedral’s wall, groaning, and sat down. He was out of the fight, simply waiting to die. Meanwhile, the other two men still on Hugo were pushing him back little by little. Eventually he was back-to-back with Wilhelm, who was being marked by Hamid. The two men were surrounded by pews and attackers. Hamid grinned.

Finally, someone ran back into the church. It was the priest who presided over Mass that day, his white robes flailing as he ran. He couldn’t have been younger than fifty. Nevertheless, he did what was required of him. Hamid, who was completely focused on Wilhelm, never saw him coming. The priest began to choke him from behind. Hamid, surprised, flailed his arms for a minute, allowing Wilhelm to stab him in the stomach. Hamid went down but not before his knife found the priest’s shoulder. Both men went down, Wilhelm’s knife still implanted in Hamid as he fell, causing a large incision to be made. Wilhelm looked ready to vomit, but somehow managed to turn away and face Hugo’s attackers.

Three to four. Conrad ran over to the main action, eager to finally get a knife. As always, he was closely pursued by Achmed and the other man. In one fluid movement, he bounded over the bodies, picked up Hamid’s knife, and slashed, making contact with Achmed’s knee. Good. Maybe that will take some of the speed out of him. Achmed turned around to the other man and gestured rapidly. They switched positions, but Conrad struck as the other man was off-balance. The second that Conrad’s knife was in the other man’s groin, he was vulnerable. As he went down, the other man slashed, making a deep cut in Conrad’s arm. Conrad groaned, staring at Achmed. Both men were injured. After a second, Achmed charged but tripped over all of the corpses. He fell face-first to the ground, the blood splashing up onto Conrad’s shirt. Conrad switched the knife to his uninjured arm and quickly put the knife into the back of Achmed’s neck before he got up. Achmed did not rise.

“Exit’s clear!” Conrad yelled. “Watch for the bodies!”

The three men turned and ran for the exit doors. They were about halfway there when suddenly the doors to three confessional rooms opened. Out rushed Abdullah and two bodyguards. The exit was blocked. The two pursuing them blocked them from going out another way. They were trapped.

Abdullah, drawing a dagger along with his bodyguards, grinned. “One way out of this, Salier. You know it as well as I do. If you legalize the hashish, I might just let you live.”

“Ha!” Conrad spat back. “I would not allow myself to make your ‘generous offer’ be used as a crutch for me so soon.”

“So be it,” Abdullah said simply. He jerked his head in the slightest of motions. At that instant there were footsteps behind Conrad’s group. Hugo reacted quickest, spinning his sword around and making contact with his two attackers. They both fell in a pool of blood. After about five seconds Hugo joined them, his back wound finally getting the better of him. Hugo Bresch, poor Hugo Bresch, the veteran warrior who was against the hashish from the start, now became a casualty, a victim, of the substance. He died doing what he was supposed to do: protect the King of Outremer.

Conrad had no time to weep. He was bleeding freely from his arm and Wilhelm had taken quite a few bruises. The path to retreat was now open, but then all the deaths would have been meaningless. Abdullah would escape and surely organize another assassination attempt, and the next time Conrad wouldn’t have Hugo to protect him.

Without warning, Abdullah and his men charged, catching Conrad and Wilhelm unprepared for a moment. It was enough. They wrestled the two remaining Germans to the ground, the thin layer of blood between them and the hard ground somewhat dulling the impact.

Knives flew everywhere. Conrad took another slash, this time to the leg. Neither had any time to grab Hugo’s sword, and so they were forced to defend themselves at close range. The fighting soon got dirty. One of Abdullah’s men spat in Wilhelm’s eye, temporarily blinding him. Wilhelm took half a second to wipe the spit away, and his attacker used that short period of time as an opening. He plunged the knife in the German’s throat. Wilhelm, crying out silently, did the same in retaliation.

Conrad did not notice. He was too busy with his own battle. A knife was drawing perilously close to his own throat. In desperation, he bit the man’s hand, for his own weapon was being used to fight off Abdullah. Conrad rolled away, managing to grab a second knife from one of the many corpses on the ground.

He took stock of the situation: He was outnumbered, injured in two places, and facing relatively fresh and unhurt foes.

Jesus, grant me strength, he thought, and for a second, his wish was granted. The pain in his arm seemed to wash away, and with all his might Conrad threw both knives at Abdullah’s remaining bodyguard. The aim was off on one, but by luck (or the will of a higher power) that was the one that was blocked. The second throw’s aim was true and the knife embedded itself right in the man’s heart. He was dead before he hit the ground.

It was down to Conrad and Abdullah. The two men stared at each other, and for the first time in his life Conrad was able to stand Abdullah’s bottomless eyes for more than a second. Abdullah was no longer grinning; his face was the epitome of hatred. He raised his knife and flung it. For a third time Conrad was wounded; this time it was in the shoulder. Moaning, he went down.

He opened his eyes and stared at the cathedral’s elaborate ceiling. It seemed to change before his eyes into a blue sky complete with white puffy clouds and white doves flying across his field of view. Is this a hashish vision, or is my life flashing before my eyes?

Suddenly, the brightness of the vision turned dark, and the ceiling returned. A moment later Abdullah’s face, once again grinning, blocked his view. He had picked up another knife. Conrad somehow found the strength to crawl back to avoid Abdullah’s final blow. Finally, though, he came across a roadblock – a corpse – and could crawl no more. Abdullah’s face came into view once more.

“End of the ro-OOMPH!” Abdullah’s speech was interrupted by Conrad shoving his hand in Abdullah’s face. His other hand was busy groping around for a weapon. He had to work quickly, Abdullah was strong and had position, both of his hands were working to get Conrad’s out of the way…

Abdullah finally did so and recovered his vision. In that brief moment he saw Conrad, tired and bloody but still triumphant, holding a longsword and stabbing it forward. Abdullah screamed and fell, adding his blood to the drenched cathedral floor.

Conrad paused and eventually got himself up with the help of two pews. He did not observe the carnage, and slowly limped out of the Cathedral of the Virgin Mary, seeking medical attention. There would be time to grieve later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some time later, before the masses arrived, a dark, hooded figure stepped into the church. A barely-conscious Abdullah was the only person still living to witness it. This figure seemed to know this fact and made his way straight for Abdullah.

“Rise, Abdullah. That wound is nothing.” The man’s accent was indistinguishable, but his voice was that of poison.

Somehow, at these words Abdullah’s wound did not seem to hurt him anymore. He rose slowly but without a grimace.

“Do you wish revenge on the man who did this to you?”

Abdullah nodded, being unable to speak. After all, the man had just saved his life!

“You will not go back to the hashish. You are done with that silly substance and that foolish cartel. You will go to work for my associates. We are much more powerful and influential than any illegal operation that deals in drugs. We work behind the scenes and control the Reich’s affairs from afar. And we… deal with those Electors that do not cooperate. Your Salier is a target. Will you work with us?”

“Yes, of course… my master.” Abdullah did not consciously remember saying that last bit, but it just came out and he did not correct himself. He did not wish to correct himself.

“Good.” The dark figure clapped his hands. “We will begin immediately. Your first assignment is regarding Ulrich Hummel. He is becoming somewhat of a liability…”

Abdullah, fully reinvigorated with life, followed his new employer, his new master, out of the bloody cathedral and into the light of the day.

[Ituralde]

Deep in Imperial territory, 1245:

Siegfried retched a final time, as the stench of his own vomit slowly arrived in his nostrils. He was leaning off his horse, but still couldn't tear his gaze from the lonely eye on the ground, which was staring back at him. A fleshy cord was connecting it to the eye socket of what once had been a hare. The body flattened by a wagon wheel, its intestines squeezed upon the road.

He hadn't felt quite well ever since a messenger had brought him a scroll bearing the Emperor's seal. It had interested him ever since, why the Emperor was interested in him. The fourth son of the Duke of Franconia could count himself lucky not to be sent to some monastery and spend the rest of his life in devout contemplation. But suddenly, Emperor Jobst himself had taken an interest in him and every explanation he had so far come up with had left him a little more nauseated.

Finally, he managed to tear his gaze from the dead animal and focused on the men standing around him. It was a small entourage, but he knew most of the men well enough to recognize their uneasy looks. Straightening up he stared down at them, a feat he had learned long ago, although some of his companions were well larger than him.

"As far as you are concerned this has not happened! Have I made myself clear?" His gaze lingers for a moment, before he continues: "And now get me some water, will you!"

As the first gulp of water washed the vile taste out of his mouth, Siegfrieds thoughts once again turned to the encounter ahead of him. What was it the Emperor saw in him. Was he to be used in an elaborate ploy or another to then be discarded later on, or was this an opportunity for genuine advancement. He hoped for the latter, but believed it to be the former. Still, as the fourth son of the Duke of Franconia he couldn't be too picky, besides, you couldn't deny the Emperor. Not yet, anyway.

[Northnovas]

Governor’s residence Damascus 1242

“Meckle, I think this consulting with the soothsayer is not good for you or the image you are presenting to this family.” Karl was continuing an ongoing topic with his wife about a gentleman that she was consulting on occult matters.

“Karl, I have told you many times that this man is able to see into the future. He has told many things, things I want to know for this family. He said a son will come to us. There are great things ahead for you and my brother Arnold. I was told that he can reach the spirits of the dead. I want to speak with my father. It is unfair what he done to me.”

“Enough! It appears that this person has influenced you somewhat or the ladies of the house. It is nonsense to speak with the spirits. That kind of talk can you into trouble, our faith is much stronger to believe in such things.” Karl toned his voice down and continued.
“Great things will come to a man who trust his faith in God and obeys his Kaiser and Duke. It is with hard work, he is only telling things you want to hear. Of course a son will come that is what we want to carry the Austrian family line. I will have no more talk of this and I want you stop consulting with this magician”

“Gihadji is his name” cried Meckle in frustration. “If you want me to stop seeing him then I only ask one thing that you meet him and see what he says is true or not”

The Count thought for a moment, “Alright I will this afternoon, briefly and then put an end to this nonsense before everyone starts talking.”


Latter that afternoon at the residence

Karl knew this was not a good idea and had no use for such nonsense. However, he loved his wife dearly and this was the only issue that has come out since she has been travelling with in the Outremer. If he did not put an end to this soon there will be talk and embarrassment from the nobility. There has been a few of these individuals “preying” on the his peers and to only accumulate wealth as they leach and telling their clients of good omens and luck. A good opportunity comes along and these magicians fool them to say it was there doing. They only remember the good and not bad misinformation.

Karl came into the parlour where Meckle was talking to a man. It was quick to make the assumption that this was Gihadji the Soothsayer. He was tall and slender looking, he had the look of the Horse Lords but not quite. His skin was more olive colour, and he had very little facial hair except some scarce hair on his chin. He looked to be in his 50’s and his eyes were very dark. He had a calmness about him and almost approachable yet mysterious. His clothing was nothing extravagant, tan coloured robe and a head dress that was unfamiliar.

“My lord, it is a great honour to meet you” Gihadji made a low bowing motion.

“Yes, I am sure it is” said Karl has he went to sit in the main chair.

“Karl this Gihadji, the man I wanted you meet and listen too. I will excuse myself and let the two of you talk.” Meckle curtsied towards her husband and left the room closing the doors.

The soothsayer sat down across for the Count and began to speak.
“My lord, I know that you have some doubts of my abilities but I come from a family that as for many generations been able to see into the future and assist important people like yourself.”

“I am sure you have been of a great service to many let’s get on with this.” the Count already having no patience and regretting that he agreed to this meet.

“Yes, yes my lord, I am only hear to assure you that I come with sincere intentions.”

Gihadji then pulled some cards on the table that looked like playing cards similar to the ones that Karl remembered from his time in Italy. With his long slender hands he laid the cards out and shuffled them around all the time talking to the Count. He also told the Count that he could read the hands of people and advise them of their health and future.

The afternoon wore on as the Gihadji continued to explain the cards and what was in store for the Count. Though the Count kept his doubts to himself he went along with what he was being told. Even though his faith was great there was something tangible about these pagan beliefs. Asking or wishing for something material and not having God involved. Carrying that good luck charm gave a tangible hope.

The meeting finally ended in the late afternoon. It was getting near dinner time and Karl was getting hungry.

The conversation was wrapping up and Gihadji continued,

“.. there will be an heir for you. You will have success in the battlefield however, beware. I must remind you what the cards have told me. Careful who you have into your confidence for there could be a great betrayal the number 64 is not a good omen. Also be very mindful of the letters WITHS.

“Yes, thank you I will. I must leave I have other pressing matters and spent more then enough time with you today. How much?”

“How much!? Nothing my lord I ask nothing I have come on my own good will had the request of the Countess. I only wish to share my knowledge.”

“Alright, grab yourself a meal in the servant’s quarters before you leave. I would not want to have your services go unpaid.” With that Karl got up and left the room. Leaving Gihadji to head for the kitchen to eat.

Meckle saw her husband in the hall and approached him.

“Well?” she asked in anticipation

“Well what, there was nothing I need to know from him” said Karl flatly

A look of disappointment crossed Meckle’s face.

“However.” Continued Karl. “I do find the chap amusing I will let you and your ladies consult with him while we are in the city. But it goes no further he will not be part of our entourage when travelling to Europe. Hopefully you will get tired of the parlour games and see on your own accord that it is just amusement and nothing more and only by then I hope the rest of the nobility doesn’t find out and begin talking about the pagan magician of the Zirn’s.


Later that evening in the courtyard

“Ingo what brings you out tonight?” asked Karl. Who was very pleased to speak with Ingo the Rhinelander. Ingo had joined the Count after the fall of Damascus. He was a little older then Karl but was very wise and battle experienced in these lands. Besides a protector he was also mentor on military matters. The Count found great comfort discussing issues with Ingo since the passing of Duke Leopold. He did not get a chance to really learn from his father in law.

“It is a beautiful clear night and I wished to speak with you My lord if I may be frank?” said Ingo.

“Of course what concerns you?”

“Your meeting today with that magician character. I don’t like the likes of it and it will get people talking. Those kinds of traits are not for a noble of your stature.”

“Yes, you are correct Ingo but do not concern yourself. It is a matter to please the Countess while she is out in this god forsaken land. I wanted to meet him personally and I will see in time that she will grow tired and dismiss him.” Karl gave a pat on the back to his friend and reassured him that there was nothing to be worried about. However, he did not look to convincing.

“Very well my lord I know you know better of these matters. The horses are ready for our ride out tomorrow for some scouting and preparation of our forces in Adanna.” With that Ingo said goodnight and headed to his quarters leaving the Count alone in the courtyard to think things over.

[AussieGiant]

Budapest 1254

Two hulking figures could be seen walking their horses through the battlefield just outside the gates of Budapest. It was early dawn and the first rays of light were breaking the gloom of a moonless night.

The first man was dressed in chain mail and bear skins...and he was huge. At six foot six, he stood as tall as his horse and if it wasn't for the massive double headed ax slung on his back it might have been a comical sight.

The other was covered in night black plate mail from head to foot. Not a single piece of livery, markings or other armour type could be seen. It was an unnatural construction of armour to look at. His helmet completely enclosed his head, and from this came the hollow empty sound of his voice.

“I think you were right my friend. This is a place of death and destruction. We have chosen well it seems.”

The Black Knight was greeted with little more than a grunt in acknowledgment from his hulking companion.

As they approached the massive gates of Budapest, soldiers could be seen carrying bodies out to the mass grave lining one side of the battlefield. Crows and other carrion birds circled above in anticipation of a lucky morning.

Upon approaching the gates the two figures were confronted by a unit of heavy foot knights blocking their path.

“Halt and be identified!!” The unit leader shouted the command with authority.

The Barbarian did as request, the Black Knight however flick the reins of his horse to his companion and walk steadily and silently towards the unit commander.

At this action, the ten man squad immediately drew weapons and prepared themselves for action.

Raising a jet black gauntlet the knight boomed in an unholy and echoing voice; “Calm yourselves children!!”

The men froze instantly, the feeling of cold ice ran through them at hearing the dark knights voice.

Stopping inches from the unit leader the knight continued in a harsh whisper.

“My friend here is the Berserker Grom, and I am called, in some lands, the Dread Knight Bane. WE...WILL...pass, or I will kill you, and your men....”

The unit commander could feel the icy breath of the Dread Knights words not more than a few centimeters from his face.

Time stood still for what seemed like minutes to the Austrian heavy foot knights.

Suddenly, the Dread Knight stepped passed the unit commander, caught the reins of his horse in one motion and proceeded past the Austrian soldiers.

Both figures moved through the gloom filled gates without another word.

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

Arnold stood from the tavern table surrounded by his captains, Sigfried and Sigismund.

Looking at the door in concentration, Arnold suddenly began walking towards it, collected his sword as he went.

Glancing around nervously the captains looked expectedly at Sigismund for an answer. With none forth coming they rose as one and followed the Duke outside.

Once outside the scene before them was both confusing and fearful.

Two of the most imposing figures any of them had ever seen were kneeling at the Duke's feet receiving a field knighting in the dawn gloom.

Turning towards his Captains, Arnold proceeded back inside the tavern. Halfway past them he said; “Men, we have two knew members of my retinue. Make them feel welcome will you.”

Both figures made there way inside the tavern leaving the captains in a state of awe and fear outside the tavern entrance.

Finally one said; “Christ on the cross, who, or what were they?”

One of the grizzled senior captains replied; “I've been around since Leopold was Duke and I've never seen or felt anything more chilling than those two.”

The other replied: “Agreed, but how did Duke Arnold know to meet them outside when he did?”

After some moments with no reply they we collectively left with more concerns than they ever had before.

[Warluster]

Frankfurt, 1252

It was a dark, foggy midnight. A heavy mist was hanging over Frankfurt, the City was asleep. Only the sound of dogs could be heard.

IN one of the dirty, horrible slums, sat a Danish man. A man who'd be hiding for 30 Years. He used to be a Lord of Denmakr, now he was a peasent. A simple peasent in Germany.

A knock could be heard, a knock which sounded through the house. The man jumped, drawing what was his hair from his face. He wore rags. The man grabbed a knife, his eye twicthing, he walked catiously towards the door.

A pistol sounded from behind him. He stopped, and a silence procedded, a silence, of uttermost dread. The man turned around, to find a man cloaked in blakc, his face covered, standing behind him, a small gun aiming at the peasents head.
"Sit" drawled the cloaked man, the peasent sat, but sat as if there was a bomb stuck to the chair. The cloaked man sat. No one spoke, as moonlight lit the room.
"I'm sorry..." started the man, but was stopped by the intruder by a raised hand.
"You did not fufill your promise, I thought you, a Count of Denmark, could at least provide some sort of... service." said the man, his voice like stabbing daggers at the Peasent. The man broke down, and dropped from his chair to the cloaked mans feet.
"I tryed too... It was too hard!" he cried, tears splashing down his face.
"Then how... how did He do it?" asked the man, speaking of some other man.
"He,he... must be working with the Kaiser!" declared the peasent, still sobbing.
"Don't you dare say his name!" hissed the cloaked man, and the peasent backed away fearfully.
"You are no more use... the Kaiser suspects something, though that was 10 years ago. I have new people serving me. I came here, not for your apologies, but to dispose of you." he whispered, drawing in the man.
"NO!! YOU CAN'T!!" screamed the peasent, a bang sounded through the air, and the man dropped dead, hitting the ground. The cloaked man walked over to the peasent, and kneeled. He grabbed the mans arm, and raised it. THen he gave him a knife, and finally the knife in the dead peasents hand, was sticking from the mans head.

The cloaked man whisked away, leaving a man, a man who had been at the forests of Frankfurt, 1218 with the then Prinz Jobst.

His services, were dealed and done.

Kaiser Jobst's encampment

Jobst coughed and heaved, as he lay in his cosy tent. He was sick, very sick. So sick he sometimes fainted. The tent was littered with things marking his status. Seals, notes and letters bearing names.

Dieter entered, a long blakc cloak trailing behind him.
"Sir, are you al right?' he wondered, Jobstvomited into a bucket.
"Of course I am Dieter, just-" he vomited again "great" finished Jobst, his eyes bloodshot.
"What did you summon me for?" asked Dieter, his nose wrinkled from the smell.
"Dieter, I have a important task. You of course, are my most loyal servant" stated Jobst, coughing. Dieter nodded, "I need you to keep a eye on some troublesome men from the Diet. There is one, I think, who knows too much..." finished Jobst, looking Dieter in the eyes.
"Yes,sir. If anyone finds out, I am sure the consequences shall be severe. The Diet, for one, shall spit it out like duck-" The curtain to the tent opened, in came Lucas, eyeing them suspicously.
"Sir, this has gone too far." Lucas stabbed a accusing finger at Dieter.
"He, he is planning something. Yesterday, the Guards told me, he left the camp, and came back some 7 hours later." accused Lucas, speaking directly to Jobst.
"I was observing the Danes"
"I bloody well know you weren't!" roared Lucas, "you went to them, didn't you!? Or maybe Frankfurt!?" he roared,he turned on the spot, and left.

"Sir, I assure you I never went anywhere..." started Dieter,
"I know you didn''t. he is too tired from this whole... mess. All will be fine" finished Jobst, beckoning Dieter too leave.

Dieter stepped outside, the camp was in a fluury. THe two guards stood firm, and saluted. Nodding, Dieter walked away.
But not too soon, a figure loomed in the shadows of a tent. Dieter ignored the person, and soon, was gone.

All, for now. Was well.