Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[gibsonsg91921]

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

He did not sleep well that night.

[Ramses II CP]

Nuremburg, 1360.

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cavalry or infantry reserves Fritz's army was just a target waiting to be overrun by Stenkil's heavy cavalry, so he had withdrawn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[AussieGiant]

Outside Ragusa 1362

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where did you get these exactly?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Cardinal pondered his colleague for some time before continuing.

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

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

The Cardinal glanced at the Priest with an astute look.

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

With those final words the Cardinal and his entourage departed.

[Northnovas]

Vienna 1362

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gibsonsg91921]

Metz, 1362

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

"Sire, what are the plans?"

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

[TinCow]

Milan, 1364

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stoyan?”

He did not move.

“Stoyan? Jacobus Stoyan?”

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

“Are you Jacobus Stoyan, the Bohemian?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Www… wwwwhhhhooo?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jacobus nodded.

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

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

“Evening, Mikeus,” the Savior said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[econ21]

A village south of Frankfurt, 1364.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn it, why waste good rope …”

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

Jacobus tried not to flinch at the suggestion.

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

“What is it?” asked the Ritterbruder.

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Greetings Prinz Elberhard,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Kaiser Elberhard,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, shall it be peace, or war?

Lothar Steffen
Duke of Bavaria

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

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

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

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

Jacobus heart leapt: “And what of me?”

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

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

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

Southern France, 1368

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe? Hah!

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

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

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

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

"Sir?"

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

[Northnovas]

Vienna 1368 A Slow March

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

[TinCow]

(Written by OverKnight)

Florence - 1374 AD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"For the Republic," whispered Matthias to himself.

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

[Ferret]

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

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

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

OOC:shame we'll never see

[Cecil XIX]

Prague, 1380

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

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

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

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

Edmund closed his eyes, and sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

[Cecil XIX]

Trent, 1360

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

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

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

Edmund’s brow furrowed. “What battle?”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“Edmund!” Contzel cried out.

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

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

***

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

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

[Privateerkev]

Edessa 1380:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gibsonsg91921]

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

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

[TinCow]

Trent - 1380 AD

“What is it, m’lord?”

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

“What is what, Sir…?”

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

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

“Sire…”

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

The young knight nodded sheepishly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gibsonsg91921]

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

[AussieGiant]

Trent 1380

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Get me another messenger!!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[_Tristan_]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Will our Utopia be ruled by secrecy ?

[deguerra]

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

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

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

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

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

"I was not made for this."

[Cecil XIX]

Edmund Becker scoffed as he thought to himself.

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

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

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

[AussieGiant]

Trent 1380 AD

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have a message from von Hapsburg for you."

The man opens a scroll and begins to read:

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

Maximilian von Hapsburg.”

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

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

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

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

Without moving the Duke speaks to his Dread Knight.

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

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

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

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

Silence.

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

Speaking to Bane over his should the Duke calmly says:

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

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

An hour later:

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

Apparently the Republicans did not like the offer.

[gibsonsg91921]

EDIT: not canon

[Ramses II CP]

Sic Semper Tyrannus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

Trent, 1380

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[TinCow]

Milan, 1364

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mikeus nodded slightly without lifting his eyes from the cobblestones.

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

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

[Cecil XIX]

Edmund Becker was off his horse. Vomiting.

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

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

[gibsonsg91921]

Trent, 1380

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like a man possessed, the last Kaiser of the Holy Roman Empire charged. The Republicans would later describe his final charge as that of a Viking berserker, yet somehow holy. Peter was never a religious man, yet he was a god as he smashed through the crossbowmen and the Gothic Knights.

There were too many. The crossbowmen were utterly annhilated, but the heavily armored Gothic Knights were too many. Peter watched as Jonas, his longtime friend and veteran warrior, was brutally killed. Lars fell and Ulrich stood defending his body until he too was engulfed. Schwarz was hacked from under Peter, and if it wasn't for Sven Peter would have died then as well. Sven heroically chopped away at the assailants, as consumed with the lust for battle as Peter was. Where was Tancred? He should be by my side, to die with me as friends and brothers should.

Then Arnold came. Bane and Grom charged first. Sven fell defending his liegelord from the terrors. Arnold, the veiled nemesis of Peter, had won. He thrust his spear into Peter's heart - a void of the soul yet remaining a weakness of the flesh.

Thus ended Peter von Kastilien, Kaiser, Herzog der Wahrheit, former Duke of Franconia, Count of Breslau, Commander of the Prussian Army, and the First and Second Army of the Immortals.

[Privateerkev]

Undisclosed apartment

After Max had noticed someone following them, he had recommended that they lose their "tail" and hole up. Alfgarda hated the waiting. Not sure how the Battle of Trent went. Not sure who won. Not sure who died.

Max, Jan's old Teutonic Knight returned to the apartment in a dirty brown cloak to maintain secrecy. He had just returned from meeting with a contact he had known from the Teutonic Order who now worked for the IMS.

"Did you find anything out?" Alfgarda looked up as Max arrived.

A look of great pain crossed Max's face. "My lady, Dieter is dead. He died charging Arnold. The whole Imperialist army is wiped out. Fritz turned on his allies but he was killed for his treachery by..."

A loud wail from Alfgarda interrupts Max's report. Her two children rush in to see what is the matter.

Holding their distraught mother, they don't know what to do.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Alfgarda composes herself. She looks up at Max with a fury in her eyes Max has never seen. "I need you to arrange a meeting with Duke Arnold. I have something I need to say to him. In person..."

Max bows, draws his hood, and leaves to fulfill his task.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Marseille, 1380

"So, let me get this straight... why are you taking my ship again?"

Maximilian von Hapsburg sighed. This time it was out of annoyance, not shortness of breath. "Kaiser Peter von Kastilien is requisitioning your vessel for military reasons. He has decisively triumphed at the Battle of Trent and the traitor Arnold has fled by sea. The Kaiser is ordering a massive search to finish the job and make sure that the Illuminati never rise as a threat again." It was a lie, of course, but the ship's owner didn't know that. The news had not yet spread of the Republican victory at Trent, and since Hapsburg had gone all-out in trying to get as far away from the battle as possible, he knew he had good odds of fooling the man.

"Well, I suppose, if it's for the good of the Reich... will I be compensated for this?"

"You misunderstand me, sir," Hapsburg said. "We are requisitioning this ship. The Kaiser is prepared to take a more active approach in sniffing out traitors to the Reich. Surely he will take notice if the owner of such a fine ship does not assist in the effort against Arnold... how many children did you say you had? Four?"

Defeated, the ship owner groaned. "All right, sir... she's all yours. Anything for the Empire, I suppose..."

"Much better," said Hapsburg, suddenly adopting a brisk tone. "My men will be leaving tonight and taking it to Rome for the assembly of the Grand Fleet. I do not expect any trouble on the docks when we come to take it."

With that, Hapsburg departed, making his way to a cheap hotel near the docks. Inside the lobby were the members of his escort, fellow survivors of Trent, waiting for him.

"Simon," he said, greeting the first one. "Did you get the food?"

"Yes, m'lord," Simon said. "And Erich got the drinks, and Johann got the girls."

"Are they good-looking, Johann?"

"Of course, mein Lord."

"Excellent," said Hapsburg. "Gentlemen," he said, addressing the entire body, "I have secured the ship. Tonight, we are going to board it, have the greatest party ever thrown in the dying Empire, get ridiculously drunk, and for the night forget that we are the last remaining Imperialists in a Republican country."

Everyone cheered.

That night

"Everyone on board the ship!" Hapsburg yelled. "Simon, do you know how to sail?"

"No, m'Lord."

"I don't care, get us out to sea a bit anyway!" Simon nodded and took the rudder of the rather large ship, trying to figure out how to get it moving. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is what remains of the Imperial government! I am the last Imperialist noble, so I suppose that makes me Kaiser! As Kaiser, I give you the following orders:

"Eat and drink as much as you can! Girls, begin the whoring! Men, enjoy yourselves! Any man who does not feel terrible in the morning will be thrown off the boat! Now, that said... begin the merriment!"

Someone dove into one of the large barrels of beer on board. Another snatched a large pile of food and began shoving it into his face. One of the girls laughed shrilly as she was jumped by three separate men.

The party was on.

The next morning

Maximilian von Hapsburg turned over on the floor, still asleep. Mouth closed, he involuntarily threw up. The acidic taste and smell finally got him to wake up and empty the contents of his mouth. His head was pounding.

"Oog... Can't remember anything... but that means it was probably worth it... being at sea certainly isn't helping. Simon!" he slurred. "Simon, where are you? Are we docked? Can you get us back?"

Simon, of course, didn't respond, still sleeping off the previous night. Hapsburg went to the deck and looked around. All around him was sea. No land was in sight anywhere. He rubbed his eyes, wondering if the alcohol was still playing havoc with his vision. Nope. No land. They were out to sea.

He stumbled around, waking up his retinue. A few of the women were up now too, asking him questions. He ignored them. They weren't just there for pleasure now, they had to be treated like people. This would take some getting used to. Finally, Hapsburg succeeded in getting everyone up. More than half of the people were moaning. He still felt terrible himself, but there was a group to lead.

"Men," he said, "It appears that we're far out to sea. I suppose that in all of the... excitement... last night, we forgot to maintain proper care of the ship. Until further notice, I guess I'm Captain."

"Does this take precedence over you being Kaiser?" someone shouted. Some people chuckled. Most of them groaned.

"Shut it, Fritz." Hapsburg shivered at the name. "First of all, we need to find land. Does anybody know how to sail?"

No response.

"Anyone at all?"

No response.

"Great..." he mumbled. "Okay, does anyone know their stars?" A few people raised their hands. "Okay, good. At night, we'll take a look at them, and try to go, uh... west. Yeah, that's it. We're fleeing to Spain. I don't want to get chased down and executed by Arnold or Cervole. We'll try to get refuge there. Any disagreement?"

No response.

"Excellent. Then, uh... let's haul the, er... anchor until night and we'll find west. Right now, go back to sleeping it off. Also, try cleaning this ship! There's a lot of debris from last night, some of which I don't even want to know what it is."

Everyone ran off somewhere, leaving Hapsburg with one of the women. Evidently she wanted a word.

"Excuse me, Captain."

"Yes, what is it...?"

"Gertrude. Anyway, my husband was a sailor-"

"You have a husband? And he... approves of your profession?"

"Well, no. He died two years ago. Infected wound from a cat scratching him."

"Indeed."

"Anyway, he was a sailor, and he told me some things about the profession. Basically, you need to be very careful when going by the stars. If you miss your angle by even a little bit, you'll go way off course and end up in Africa."

"Thank you, Gertrude. My men will be careful."

3 months later

"We should have hit Spain by now."

"Well, m'Lord," said Simon, "Nobody has any idea how slow or fast this ship is. Remember, I took it strictly because of its size! For all I know it's designed to be a party ship, not to seriously take on the open sea!"

"Still though... we should have at least seen some land."

"You're right, Simon. It's lucky that the men and some of the girls know how to fish; otherwise we'd all be dead."

"Indeed, m'Lord."

2 months later

"My lord!" said Gertrude, running up to Hapsburg. After five months at sea, the women on the ship were no longer whores. Rather, they were contributing members of the little community, trying to get back to land. Several of them began sporting noticeable bumps.

"What is it, Gertrude?"

"What star did you use to get your initial bearing?"

"We used Polaris, of course. Why, Gertrude?"

"Look at Polaris now. I think that we've gone off course. Remember what I said about being off even a little bit will wreck your whole trip?"

"Yes..." Hapsburg was starting to get worried.

"Well, I think that's happened here. Instead of going west, we've gone west by southwest. We've probably shot right through the Strait of Gibraltar without even knowing it!"

"Oh, God," said Hapsburg. He slumped down, suddenly getting a case of nausea. "Who knows how far out to sea we are? The ship wasn't going slow at all, it was going just fine... we could be out here forever..." He sank deeper and deeper into despair and misery, despite Gertrude's affections. After a few minutes, he finally snapped out of it, heading to the helm.

"Simon," he said, "turn this ship around. I need a precise 180-degree turn, and nothing else! We're far enough out to sea already; anything more and we'll be hopelessly lost. Do it in three... two..."

"LAND HO!!!"

"...one-what?!"

"Land ho!" said one of Hapsburg's men, getting more and more excited. "Look at it, sir! Dead ahead! No matter how far southwest we've gone, I guess there's something there!"

"Maybe we ran into India," Hapsburg said. "Or maybe wherever it is that the Mongols and Timurids came from."

"Or maybe something between Europe and India," Gertrude suggested.

"Prepare rowboats," Hapsburg said. "I want to check out where we are."

The men and women, the lost Imperialists of Europe, got on the rowboats and made their way to the unfamiliar territory ahead of them. It looked accomodating enough, with white sandy beaches to dock and forested land behind the beaches. Somebody checked out the trees and found fruit, exotic-looking but ripe, growing on it. That was reason enough to stay on the beach and keep exploring. After months of fish, it tasted like heaven.

Two days passed. Clearly, this land was something different entirely. Such a beach like this, such a paradise, the Indians would have been all over it. It was as hot as Africa, but still nice and wet, providing a humid climate but a nice refresher from the cold winters of Austria that most of Hapsburg's escort was used to. The explorers were taking a vote; deciding what to do next.

"I think we should move inland," one person said. "If we stay on the beach, eventually our supplies will run out and we'll have to go back on the ship. If we explore, we might encounter a civilization who can point us in the right direction."

"I agree," said Hapsburg. "Move inland, get a better idea of where we are. Does anyone think otherwise?"

Silence.

"Excellent, it's decided then. Let's move inland."

And so, the former Imperialists blazed a trail through the jungle, every moment discovering something new and wonderful. They still had no idea where they were, but if they ever got back to Europe they certainly would have a story to tell.

On the third day through their trek inland, a large, yellow, spotted animal came tearing through the jungle right for them. Several of the women screamed, but it changed course abruptly and darted away from them. Clearly, it was running from something.

A second later, three men burst through the jungle, no doubt in pursuit of the strange animal... and stopped in surprise.

These men were of a darker complexion than all of Hapsburg's party, and almost completely naked aside from strange cloth around their groin areas and paint on their faces. They were shaven bald and carrying spears, but dropped them in surprise.

Everybody stared at each other in shock for a good amount of minutes, the odd newcomers directing their attention mostly at Hapsburg, whose armor, the shiniest out of everyone's, had a large red cross painted on it. Eventually one pulled the other two aside and began muttering in a strange language. Hapsburg couldn't make any sense of it, but he did catch the word "Quetzalcoatl", whatever that meant.

"Maximilian, what are they doing?" Gertrude asked.

"I don't know... it looks like... they're bowing to me?"

"Evidently, they think you're a god," said Simon, chuckling.

After the bowing concluded (lasting several minutes), one of them pointed at Hapsburg and said "Quetzalcoatl?" in a questioning tone.

"Yes," said Hapsburg, pointing at himself. "Quetzalcoatl."

The bowing began again. After another five minutes, Hapsburg cleared his throat. The three natives instantly stopped, eyeing him intently.

"Quetzalcoatl," Hapsburg said again, pointing at himself. "Also, Hapsburg."

"Happurg," one of them said, trying their god's new name out.

Another one made a gesture to follow him. "Happurg, waha. Tenochtitlan."

"Should we follow?" asked Gertrude.

"If they think I'm a god, it surely can't be bad."

One week later

The trek through the jungle became a lot easier now that the party had guides, especially guides that believed in Hapsburg's divinity. Thanks to the natives, the Imperialist explorers now had meat and fruit in their diet, and although there were various bowel problems the first days, it was worth it. On the seventh day, the guides stopped abruptly, approaching Hapsburg.

"Happurg," one of them said, "Tenochtitlan. Tenochtitlan, Acamapichtli." At this last word, they began bowing. "Acamapichtli, Quetzalcoatl." They bowed again.

"Anyone wanna guess what that means?"

"I think they're saying that this Acamapichtli is their ruler, but they will still bow to me because I am apparently Quetzalcoatl, who is a god. That had better be it, anyway. Let's hope it's not some Mongol commander who's friends with Arnold."

The party walked a little bit farther. Everyone could sense that the end of their journey was near, for better or for wose. They scaled the final hill... and gasped.

Ahead of them, a gigantic city, seemingly made of gold, was waiting.

They made their way into the city, Tenochtitlan, to great fanfare. Everyone gasped at the pale color of the Imperialists' skin and crowded around, torn between wanting to touch Hapsburg and scared to death to. They walked to the largest building, either the palace or some religious temple, and waited.

Down the largest stairs descended an elaborately-dressed figure. The guides bowed to him, apparently Acamapichtli, and began speaking in their own tongue. After some minutes, the ruler looked at Hapsburg.

"Quetzalcoatl?" he asked.

"Quetzalcoatl," Hapsburg replied, confidently.

"QUETZALCOATL!!!" Acamapichtli boomed. The entire crowd, several thousands-strong, cheered. All began bowing, including the ruler. Maximilian von Hapsburg grinned and took it all in. Oh, what a reversal it was from when he was fleeing Trent, not sure whether he would live or die.

Hapsburg looked at Acamapichtli, who looked up.

He pointed to himself. "Hapsburg," he said. "Emperor Hapsburg."

"Impror Happurg," Acamapichtli said, and bowed again.

Somebody started pouring gold on all the Europeans. They began carrying Hapsburg up the steps of the large building and seated him on the elaborate throne in the very top room. More gold was poured everywhere. Five beautiful women began dancing for his pleasure.

The possibilities were endless. Europe? It would wait. The Reich? It would wait. After all, Maximilian von Hapsburg was a god. He had all the time in the world. And half of its resources.