Stories Thread

[Ibn-Khaldun]

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Co-op with woad&fangs

Near the coast of Anatolia, 1114

A large rowboat approaches Efstathios' flagship. On the boat are 10 men, all carrying short swords. A shortish man with brown hair and eyes stands and shouts at your quarterdeck.

"LASKARIS!!! Show yourself!"

Efstathios looks at the rowboat and seeing the armed men inside signals his crusaders who take their weapons and take their positions to defend the ship if it is necessary.
After that he says calmly..

"I am here. What is the purpose of this 'visit'?" he asks.

"I've came to inform you that we caught the rat who has been sabotaging us. After some, 'aggressive interrogation' he squealed out the name of his master."

At Solomon's signal a body, tightly wrapped in cloth was revealed.

"I thought you would be interested to see the execution of your man"

Two of Solomons men then dump the body into the sea and watch it sink. If only Efstathios would know that there were only some rocks and straws in it.

"What an interesting entertainment. I suppose this is the way you like to entertain your men.
Oh well.. This happens if you interact with the men like Monomachos."

Saying that he stayed calm. Not one muscle moved in his face when he saw that poor man falling into the deep water.

Solomon glares at Laskaris

"Do not insult my friend. Your quarrel is with me and me alone. Not my friends, not my men, just me. Your neck would already be removed from your body for the sea charts fiasco if Makedonios hadn't ordered me to stay my hand. Now however, the slipknot your assassin used endangered not only me but every man who sails with me. I have a duty to see them safely to Aegyptus. If you ever endanger my men again I promise that I will drink from your skull"

"Do not give promises that you can't keep!" says Efstathios with annoyed voice.

Signaling couple of sailors he says..

"Also.. As long as I remember I have never used an assassin. Perhaps a spies but never assassins!" he smiles while saying that.

Looks at the sailors he nods and the men crab crossbows and point them to Annios.

Laughing

"By all means Laskaris, strike me down here and now. Show the empire what kind of man you really are.

You may call your agents whatever you wish, but to me a man who attempts murder for an employer is an assassin. Whether he attacks with a knife or slipknots matters little to me."

"Oh.. you misunderstood my attentions. I do not want to kill you. My men are protecting you from .. umm .. dangerous flying fish... They are really mean in these parts of the world! Although it would be a sad moment if one of those arrows miss the target and hit you!"

Efstathios smiles fiendishly...

"And I think that Empire knows what kind of man I am. A peaceful man. A smart man. Smart enough not to go threaten someone with just 10 men to support me!"

"Dear Laskaris, you misunderstand my intentions. We are only armed to protect ourselves from those dangerous flying fish you speak of. Of course, it would be a shame if one of my men missed and hit you!

Solomon's men grab crossbows lying on the floor of the boat and raise them in Laskaris' direction.

Solomon smiles fiendishly back at Laskaris

"Hmm.. Looks like it's time for tea. You can stay here and 'hunt' those 'flying fish' if you like. But I have to say that my men aren't that accurate and they probably miss the fish and hit 'something' bigger instead."

Saying that Laskaris turns and walks towards the captains room.

"Just remember my promise, Laskaris..."

Solomon's boat rows away

[00jebus]

Co-op with Ituralde


Trebizond, 1113

Lisas Attaliedas entered the castle through the west gate, and was uplifted by what he saw.
He had been granted the province just a few short years before, and thought it would be a backwater, but everywhere he looked there were workmen, building homes, carrying wood and just generally improving the town, as in the older part, Lisas saw dwelling that were little more than mud huts.
He’d been invited here by Pavlos Chrysovergos, his lord, who he would be meeting for the first time.
When he asked the sergeant in charge of the gate where he way, he pointed in the vague direction of the castle, grinning “just a little way up there sir”.
Lisas assumed the grin was this sergeant’s idea of friendliness and smiled back.

On the way to the keep, he got slightly distracted in the way of an arrow landing in front of him, kicking up some mud onto his boots, looking to the right he saw several wooden manikins with target rings on their chests, the worse part was that the targets were facing him.

Anger surged through him as he snatched the arrow up and marched, bodyguards in tow, into the building and behind the group of what he hoped were new recruits, who were all looking longingly at their targets, barely a single arrow disturbed the ground in the middle of the range and the targets stood in perfect condition, all less than 100 feet away.
The anger grew, he looked at the recruits, all had self bows, one had a bow that was far too big for him and only the welsh (whoever they are) are stupid enough to use, several more had what were clearly child’s toys (barely thicker than a finger) a few didn’t have strings, one or two hadn’t even bothered to bring arrows, their captain, a man whose face seemed to ask why he was being punished with this group, was praying or bargaining with God, Lisas caught the last few words
”….so please God, let them not have to do anything important or difficult, cause if they do they’ll all end up in your graces, and not even the most patient of saints could bear this lot for long, amen”
behind him, a man loosened an arrow and caught his cheek with the drawstring, he recoiled as though punched in the face as his arrow went flying over the back wall.
Lisas called for practise to stop
”May god have mercy on the empire, that was terrible, how many arrows have you released today?”
the captain stood up, tears in his eyes, as though his prayers had been answered.
”Sir, I apologise, these men have only had a weeks….”
”A weeks practise!, half of them don’t even have bow strings! No-one has hit the target! One of you almost hit me and I was behind the range! You act like that in battle with the Turks and they won’t even bother to fight! And they’ll still win! Your mothers must be ashamed and your fathers probably pretend you don’t belong to them! Christ almighty I don’t think I’ve ever seen something that bad! And I’ve seen what passes for an order of St. John drinking contest!”
”Which is why I’ve put in for transfer” muttered the captain
”this is how you do it” Lisas demonstrated with his own compound bow, putting an arrow clean through the neck of the furthest target….. Some 80ft away
”that’s barely over 60 feet, you all have one week to be able to do the same, or I’ll have you used as live targets for a group with some semblance of skill!...and I’ll have them use javelins! They can hit a target at 60 feet, you cannot hit a target!
John, stay behind and make sure that I don’t have to do that” The indicated man began unwrapping his own bow and looked at the group with disgust.

Lisas and the rest of his guards left the group with some very forlorn looking faces, one of his guards turned to him “Sir, are we in the right city?” two large Komnendoukai banners floated from the top of the keep mid way down it towers.
”what? Of course we are…why would you say that?”
”well sir its just, archers from trebizond are supposed to be amazing aren’t they? And they… looked like they’d never even seen a bow before.”
”well.. after manzikert most of the veterans and trainers spread out across the empire, the kingdom of Pontus that Domestikos Chrysovergos defeated barely had any skilled archers so I’m presuming they didn’t let the traditions carry on” Lisas gave his name to a guard who opened the keeps main door for him “that’s high on my list of stuff to do, get the traditions of archery and some trainers back”

Once inside the keep the castle steward greeted them, gave directions to Lisas’ room for his guards to take his baggage too, and the little assembly room (a passing maid grinned) where he would meet Domestikos Chrysovergos.

Lisas entered the room, took sight of Pavlos and bowed, whilst looking at the floor he smiled; the man was a head shorter than Lisas, who was just under average height himself.
”this explains a lot” he thought “people must respect him not to make jokes to his face, maybe I can learn from this guy”
but he said out loud, after rising from his bow, remembering to keep his face impassive.
”Sir, I am Comes Lisas Attaliedas, reporting as ordered.”
Pavlos was obviously expecting his guest. On the small table in front of him stood two wine goblets and an empty chair was set to face him. His gaze fell on Lisas shortly after he entered and his grim expression hasn't changed an inch since then.

"Comes Lisas Attelaiatas welcome to Trebizond! Welcome to the Pontic frontier! It is good to finally see you outside the bustle of the bloody Senate. You look young to me, what year where you born?"

Frowning slightly he turned his head to one side and looked the man up and down.

Lisas was slightly taken aback by the question, though he didn't show it

"I'm unsure sir, my mother says it was the 1060th year of our lord, and I was 11 when I heard the news of the disaster at Manzikert, though since then I seem to have aged most gracefully since I turned 16."

he took the seat that was offered, and noticed it was specially made so Lisas now sat below Pavlos.

"Ah, this particular vintage is from Caffa I think, I confess I'm impressed, it usually doesn't make it out of the crimea or Constantinople"

Lisas announced, gingerly sniffing the bottle.
"1060. You realize that the sum of those digits is Seven, which is considered by many to be a lucky number. Also just this morning a flock of raven circled the Castles Eastern wall three times." He looks long at Lisas as though this should mean something to him.

"It is indeed from Caffa, I don't know if you are familiar with the history of this place but Trebizond used to be an important trade hub. Many trade routes from the East ended here, from where goods of the known world were shipped on to Constantinople."

"I haven't sent for you to talk about the quality of wine though, however bloody fine it is. The internal structures of the Komnenodoukai have led to you swearing that Oath to me, let's be honest about that. You don't know me, I hardly know you yet between the two of us we find ourselves rulers of the once great Pontus!"

Taking the goblet in front of him, Pavlos takes a sip, a brief smile passing over his features, before he returns to watching Lisas with his usual grim expression.

"Tell me Lisas Attaleiatas, what kind of man are you?"
Lisas took a momment to compose himself, ravens and numerology? maybe, he thought, that this man waas just a weird old mountain man that paid too much attention to bird entrails, maybe he was testing him, he looked Pavlos straight in the eye, "A rational one." he took a sip of wine before continuing
"If you want me to sum up my political position, then I believe in a strong and clear constitution, with focus on maintaining the spirit of the law, instead of needlessly punishing people for accidents but definate punishment for deliberate breaks, like Hypathos at Iconium, other than that, I feel that so long as a senetor doesn't harm the empire, he should be able to do anything he likes, and should he need to break the law for the greater good of the empire, than he should without question"
he paused taking another sip,
"I also feel that every man has a vice, should it not be drinking" he lifted his goblet "or whoring, like half my retunie, than he's not to be trusted, cause then he either preferes the conpany of men, the taste of that muslim drink, sneaking around in the night with another mans wife, or some other odd vice" he finished, answering what he hoped pavlos was going to ask.

He finished his goblet, it was actually quite sweet, he could definantly taste a trace of honey in there, and poured himself another one, starting on it as soon as the bottle was set down.

"If your wondering about my military views, then consider myself a flanker, I'm the son of a cavalry officer, and I read some of my dad's books in my youth.
I think our current reliance on mercinaries is a mistake and the empire should invest more in producing its own troops, heavy cavalry deffinantly, when I eventially get my own army, I dont want to get stuck commanding a bunch of nomads for my cavalry arm, they smell funny
other than that, I think that discipline will eventually win out over disorganised troops and armies every time, provided even numbers.
I think all that, gives you a good enough summary of what I'm like"

He decided to leave out the part about shouting at the group of archers in training earlier, something told him Pavlos wouldn't have just let them get away with a telling off.
Pavlos had done little else but sip at his wine while listening to the exploits of the younger man in front of him. Once he has finished he nods slowly and then rises. He walks over to a small window through which the surrounding countryside can be seen. Clasping his hands behind his back and gazing out he starts to speak.

"Do you know about the history of Pontus? It was always considered to be a place apart. Since the earliest times this has been an outpost of Greek civilization, strong but far removed from the centers of power. Many historians referred to these parts as barbaric, their institutions to be outdated, their feudal structures to be the first sign of failure."

"My ancestors were born in these lands, they have lived in these lands, and they died for these lands! Imperial intrigue always happened, but Pontus was apart. Still it didn't help in the aftermath of the bloody desaster that was Manzikert. We were left without help and overrun. You know, our Emperor Aleksios Komnenos, he was a military leader from the Black Sea Coast. He has given much to the Empire, his reforms have made us strong again. We rule again what we are meant to rule!"

He turns fromt he window to look at Lisas.

"This is why I follow this man, why I am part of a House that bears his name. We have the support of Constantinople now and Pontus is secure. But we both know that this will not last forever. Politics will cost their toll again, already the Senate is place for bickering fools that are only concerned with themselves. There might come a time, when the support from Constantinople fails, and Pontus will once again be part of the Empire but apart. I am sure that when such a time comes you will know where your true loyalties lie?"
Lisas listened intently on the history of the province, history being one of his hobbies since childhood.

"Yes, loyalty and trust is such a precious thing these days, you may rest assured though, that my loyalty lies firstly with the empire and the emperor, then to my family, then to the other senetors.
I do hope such a time doesn't come, as I know full well that its likely the komnenodoukai that will be attacked, I wont shrink from my duty if that happens, thankfully it doesn't seem likely for a few years, we have more pressing problems than the danger of a civil war for now, the crusade has left the empire weakened and the turks, though broken, are not yet beaten"
Pavlos nods slowly once again, seeming to turn the word of the man over in his mind.

"These halls have been walked by Greeks for centuries and I intent to make sure it stays that way. I am loyal to the Empire and the Emperor, but my duty will always lie with my people first." With a gesture he encompasses the surroundings. "These people. I trust you will take care of them while I'm gone on campaign. You vowed to make this a great fortress and I trust you to keep your word. Between Sinops rich markets and Trebizonds secure walls many people can prosper and I will make sure they do."

His gaze lingers on the man in front of him for a moment. Could he trust the man in front of him should a second Manzikert occur or was he dragging himself deep into Imperial intrigues?

"I'm sure you will do well. You may go now Lisas Attelaiatas, Comes of Trebizond!"

”Thank you sir” Lisas drained his goblet, and left through the door he entered, one he way out he found the steward, “how was he?”, asked the steward
”Just a little drunk” replied Lisas, smiling
”I’m sure you’ll fit right in” grinned the steward.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Constantinople, 1116

The Offices of the Patriarch of Constantinople were marked as such; a fairly large, elaborate building located somewhere away from the Basileus’s, closer to a large cluster of churches. A Byzantine eagle was present on the building, as was the Patriarchal seal also present on all official proclamations made by Nicholas III. In contrast to the “open-door” policy common among the churches, the Offices were closely guarded. If one was to walk through the front doors, they would find themselves accosted by multiple guards, perhaps half a dozen, asking them their business in this place. Most were turned away. Repeat offenders would be thrown back onto the streets, sporting a few wounds.

Inside, the corridors of the place were a maze, with twisting hallways, numerous dead ends, and not-at-all conveniently-placed staircases, some of them on opposite sides of the building. The halls were also sparsely lit, devoid of windows and artwork. This was done to create and further the impressions of size and sameness. The door to Nicholas’s actual office was relatively inconspicuous, with the only distinguishing feature being a subtle carving of the Patriarchal seal on it.

All of it - the guards, the layout, the Spartan-ness of the hallways – was done so intentionally, to fit in with the motifs that the Patriarch had wanted: mystique, inaccessibility. Was this where the Patriarch worked? Yes. Did you know it? Yes. Did you have any chance of getting in and getting an audience with him? Not on your life. Enter not this building, for inside resides the man whom God Himself speaks through.

The Patriarch’s actual office was more traditional, but then again, it was not known or appreciated or viewed as a sign of relief amongst the population of Constantinople, for the people who made it inside actually had business doing so in the first place. It was moderately-sized, much better lit, and had a number of adornments on its wall: A fragment of the True Cross, a woodcut of Jesus’s miracle at Cana, a painting of Constantine founding the city. There was a rumor that, hidden in the Patriarch’s desk, was the Titulus Crucis itself: The plaque that read “Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews”, or INRI for short, but that was the stuff of hearsay, never to be confirmed.

Then, there was the man inside the office. Despite the power of his position, he was another one who had rarely been seen, and that was exactly the way he wanted it. He communicated almost exclusively through the written word, whether it be books, letters, or the Proclamations that the Senators of the Magnaura were now familiar with. If there was arguing to be done, his Representative (hand-selected, finely trained in the art of debate, among other areas) was there to do it – provided he wasn’t banned from the Magnaura by the Basileus.

Oh sure, there had been many requests for the Patriarch over the years, whether it be public appearances or private meetings. The Senators especially had wished for his presence. Meetings for general strategy? Requests for personal approval of charters of Orders? Go down to Athens to bless a church and then discuss the weather afterwards? Coronations of the unimportant? He had turned them all down – politely – and with good reason. The meetings, the blessing especially – they were the job of some two-bit mayor of a fishing village announcing the official opening of a market, not God’s representative on Earth!

No, the Patriarch had decided long ago, the Senators had just wanted them to use him as leverage. Get into a disagreement with me, will you? Well, I have the Patriarch on my side! This became quite evident in the Session of 1081, when his Proclamation was read, deemed “interesting”, and promptly forgotten. Words from such a man were not to be treated as such. It was only until Nicholas had offered a reward of exquisite armor did people follow his agenda.

Most of the Houses respected his position, but that was it. His words were taken merely as suggestions, weighted only as much as some lowly Strator’s, and not thoroughly studied as they deserved to be. Certainly, at least one House listened, but the Patriarch knew this was only because the Order of St. John’s goals, so far, had lined up with his. Had he pointed his finger west at Rome instead of east at Cairo and the Levant, he was certain that Grandmaster Ksanthopoulos would still argue to head to Antioch and pronounce his own reasoning correct.

It was after that Session of 1081 that the Patriarch made two decisions. First of all, considering the response to his words, he would become perhaps the most inaccessible man in the world. This was a success. The only audience that had been granted over the years with the Senators was with Vissarionas ek Lesvou, and that was only because the Patriarch had requested it in order to hear what his man had learned before he fled Cairo. Nicholas’s words would be few and far between, and as a result they would be more listened to. If the people of Byzantium wanted wisdom, they would have to first prove themselves worthy of receiving it.

His second decision was more an opinion of the overall situation than a course of action. In short, he decided that the Orthodox people, his flock, suffered from a severe lack of faith.

All of them focused on political gain rather than spiritual improvement. People wishing to destroy innocent lives in newly-conquered cities just to add to their already-wealthy coffers. Wishing to conquer land, not because it would mean more people would be saved, but because it would give them more power. Not even the royalty was spared from it. The Basileus’s whorish daughter, fancying herself to what appeared to be half the Empire. The Caesar, all but announcing his total disdain for the Crusade and instead focusing his attention on pleasing his supporters. Even the Basileus himself, taking priests along in offensive campaigns, converting the populace for public order reasons, not because it was simply the right thing to do. Yes, the Byzantine Empire was in desperate need of an injection of faith.

And who better to give it to them than their spiritual leader? He had sat and waited, establishing his reputation as a man who needed to be listened to on the few occasions he spoke, and then found an opening. In 1095, shortly after the close of that year’s Magnaura session, a young man, a Strator and Sergeant of the Order of St. John, had written to him, begging for penance to make up for his role in the sacking of Antioch. The Patriarch, sensing Vissarionas’s eagerness and willingness to do anything to erase the stain, quickly thought up a plan that would accomplish several things at once.

The boy was sent to Cairo, under vague instructions to work his way into the city environment and get far into the governmental proceedings. Hungry for redemption, he was eager enough to do anything. It was only a matter of when. Thus, the Patriarch began to wait.

Over the years, he had received numerous letters from Vissarionas, most of them long-winded and woefully uninformative things which said nothing of value. These were not letters to Mother, they were reports! It would have been much more efficient to say “no progress yet, am trying a different approach”. And so the Patriarch had waited still, occasionally replying with letters of encouragement.

Finally, in 1107, the boy had sent him something worthy. He had informed the Patriarch that he had made contact with one of the Caliph’s concubines, or perhaps the Caliph’s very favorite one, and now had access to the palace in Cairo as a result of his being her Greek tutor. Very soon, the spying would begin.

The Patriarch had then drafted the letter, informing the Caliph of a terrible Christian plot to rise up, form an army, and kill every single Muslim they could, with one Vissarionas ek Lesvou as the mastermind. It was all a hunk of lies, of course, but the Caliph, already a paranoid soul, didn’t need to know that. He would, naturally, overreact. To add credence to the letter, the Patriarch also put Vissarionas’s address in as a post-script, information gleaned from the boy’s many letters. The infernal things were finally good for something.

Naturally, this put Vissarionas at a great risk, but the Patriarch was confident in the boy’s ability to escape. Even if he perished, there would be no great loss, as he had other agents present in the city. His backups were unneeded, though, as Vissarionas had landed in Constantinople right before the Magnaura session, just in time to tell Nicholas of all the horrors that were about to transpire in Cairo.

The plan had worked perfectly, of course. As the Patriarch predicted, the Caliph had taken the bait and then some, highly overreacting to the point where he was ready to commit genocide. According to Vissarionas, it was fated that most of the Coptics and Gnostic residents of Cairo would soon die horrible deaths, not to mention the fact that the ancient monasteries were about to be torn down; material for outrage great enough to spur even the regrettably irreligious Senators into action. Nicholas cared little if there were any actual deaths among the Gnostics and Coptics. As far as he was concerned, they were heretical sects, only marginally better than the Muslims and no threat, unlike the Catholics to the west. Martyrdom would serve them better than life ever did. Besides, if the greatest man in history, Christ the Savior, had become a martyr, then surely some good-for-nothing breakaway sects could do it as well.

And so it was: The Crusaders were off, about to pass the point of no return on their mission. Naturally, the Muslims picked that time, the time when the Greeks were most vulnerable, to call their Jihad. The Patriarch was not surprised in the least; he had expected it, after all. More than that – he had planned it. What was once a muddled bunch of ideas in 1081 and a fuzzy outline after Vissarionas had written him in 1095 was now a clear and sharp strategy. Everyone was playing their parts, including the Caliph, whether he knew it or not. Of course he would call Jihad based on a perceived attack on his faith. The malleable fool was still under the impression that there was to be an organized uprising in his capital city, grounds enough to warrant the actions he took.

Yes, the Jihad would come – that wasn’t the important part. The important part was that it would be fought off (for that, the Patriarch had no doubt; he knew the fighting prowess of the Greek soldiers). The Orthodox faith would be defended when it mattered most, when the Patriarch had assured all it would be. Combine that with the undoubtedly to-be-successful Crusade, and all of sudden there would be two great, two massive, two enormous victories for Orthodoxy.

Then, maybe then, the Senators would realize the power of religion. Then, there would be a great swell of faith among the elite. Then, they would do the right things for the right reasons. Then, the wisdom of the Patriarch would go unquestioned and his detractors would be rightly ostracized.

Then, Orthodoxy would reign supreme.

Patriarch Nicholas III sat in his office, shut off from the rest of the world, dreaming of the utopian future he had set into motion.

[Privateerkev]

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

Co-op with Cecil.

Antioch 1114:

Armatos walks into Makedonios's command tent after the battle. The Grandmaster is yet again stuck in bed. Coughing into a napkin, he looks up as Armatos walks in and smiles.

"Ah Armatos! That was amazing work out there! We've yet again saved the city. I don't think the Fatimids will be sending raiding parties around here anytime soon."

Armatos saluted. "Thank you, Grandmaster." His features soon softened, and began to show signs of concern. "Grandmaster, were you injured in the battle?"

Makedonios shook his head in exasperation. "No, it's that dreadful sickness again. I never spent enough time resting." He coughs into a napkin.

"I've been thinking. I really need to take some time off. I've got to get over this once and for all. I want you to take over the army. I'm going back to Antioch to get some more rest. You basically have 2 choices. Either, this will remain my army and you'll simply command it. Or, this can be your army and the new one will be mine. It really doesn't matter which as long as we both have the paperwork clear. Because of the Caesar's naval movements, the new army won't be delivered for a few years anyways."

He pauses as he coughs again. "Your fully supplied. It's time for you to have your own command anyways. Which option do you want to do?"

Armatos thought for a moment.

"It would be easier for both of us logistically if this became my army. As for targets...

I'd like to weaken the Fatamids by marching to Gaza. Damascus is too full of heathens to be occupied without risking riots and other losses of life, and you'd be able to get back into the field quicker if you were looking northwards."

Makedonios nodded. "Then your army it is. Update your 'status and orders' to reflect this. I'll do the same. The army is now yours. The one that forms will be mine. As for orders, we have rebels up in north-east Antioch that I'd like to see dispatched. With the rumors of Jihad coming, I'd like to keep you close to Antioch for now. Send Nathanail and a horse archer unit to Antioch. Take the rest and go after those rebels."

Armatos saluted. "As you command, Grandmaster."

Makedonios nodded. "Dismissed. God be with you and good luck."

[Smowz]

Nevoulas the archaeologist

Whilst the empire was battling rebels, launching blistering campaigns against the turks and moving swiftly on, little has been heard of the emotionally torn Nevoulas ek Philadelphius .

Following the hard fought political votes in the second senate, Nevoulas simply vanished completely from the political sphere. His reasons are clouded, never one to toast the spotlight the desperate (and in truth hasty) plea to attack the Seljuk sultanate had one him friends and enemies in equal measure. Nevoulas had returned to his now homelike Rhodes a confused and conflicted fellow.

Still doubts struck his mind... questions racked through his head and they were not the kind he could answer or discuss with any soul....

Nevoulas love and link with the empire was jaded, doubts racked him at every turn. Could the empire be so great when he saw such evil and treachery at every turn? Was this what had caused his brother to turn? The incompetancy that had led to the death of his father was still so prevelant?

He needed time to think... or maybe to withdraw from the public eye... his mind raced to the old ruins near the port of Rhodes dilapidated and untouched he had become quite taken to wandering through the area at his troubled times.

It was a travesty that such articles were left to rot and he decided to spend some time digging through and properly excavating such places.

As time passed, Nevoulas grew more and more withdrawn from the events of the empire and more into the ancient artifacts he was finding, records from years passed and stories of the old greeks fascinated him more than the events of real life. Indeed real life was proving more and more bothersome, he started to take actions that would result in Rhodes effectively being cut off from information from the mainland. To ensure no distractions, Nevoulas made the communities of Rhodes entirelly self sufficient and directed fishing vessels out into its own waters. Monies would be paid ontime, but he would accept no information or indeed incoming vessels.

At first there was concern that the Comes Hypatios who had been given charge of the isle would return. Fat chance of that thought Nevoulas.

Years passed... Nevoulas allowed his beard and hair to grow freely and his soldiers took wives and enjoyed their peace. Nevoulas never indulged himself as some of his guardsmen had but indeed was now completely involved in the complete excavation of the ruins of Rhodes.

Events of the empire though would one day put a halt to this as Nevoulas most faithful bodygaurd came to see him. Nevoulas was very reluctant to accept the incoming information but he knew his bodyguard would only interrupt him if it was something really important.

"Well then, what is it?" Nevoulas exclaimed "Nothing short of the Basilues visiting asteri's isle of wonder itself should interrupt me"

"My lord, thats just it, Rhodes is no longer the possession of the House of Asteri"

Nevoulas had a look of shock on his face... that snivelling little Hypatios...

"What has happened for this to be so?"

"The details are unclear but we recieved message today from Athens that the colours of the Asteri are to be taken down at once"

Nevoulas let out a sigh and turned to look at the ruins... he had barely scraped the surface of what he hoped would be his life's work. He knew Hypatios would come to Rhodes soon enough and he tremored to think of what he would do to the isle... one things for sure he did not want to be here himself when that happened.

"Call the guard together, we leave at dawn"

"But sire...."

"I admit it is troublesome, but fate has forced our hand we must leave!!!"

[AussieGiant]

Egypt 1120

The journey had gone far better than expected. The preparations, the ship, making contacts with old friends and acquaintances.

Now a few months later here he was suddenly standing on the Egyptian shoreline squinting inland, his piercing blue eyes surveyed the desert in front of him. The Keffiyeh and dark flowing robes hid the red jerkin of armour he wore under his the Arab clothing.

It was good to be home.

Glancing back he observed the score of heavily armed men pouring from the fast sloop he had purchased specifically for the trip. They were already making preparations to get underway. It seemed they still knew their trade, at least that would make the mission that much easier he thought.

[flyd]

The following speeches are being given in public places in Constantinople to anyone who will listen. Written copies are being distributed throughout the Empire.

Against Makedonios Ksanthopoulos

So we hear the Order of St. John has suffered an inglorious defeat at the hands of our Saracen enemies. But did any reasonable man expect otherwise? To this day all they have accomplished was to take a few ill-defended settlements, and to complain incessantly about their situation. That Makedonios Ksanthopoulos has complained and complained about not getting his armies to defend the frontier, but why would the Ceasar have given him a good army, if it has now been proven that he and his followers are incompetent military commanders? If they had any troops of any quality at all, they would have only been sent to a pointless slaughter. It is clear to see.

It is clear to see to us now, but the mighty Caesar has always seen it, for there is no man so well versed in the strategy of war. Surely, he is the offspring of Julius Caesar and Megas Alexandros, if one of them were a woman... probably Alexandros. For it is as we speak that he campaigns in the enemy's heartland while the Turk is distracted in his Jihading through Pontus and toward Constantinople. He marches on the enemy cities, the forests themselves part in front of him, the ground flattens and bows to him, the furry forest creatures sing him hymns of praise! Unlike the most useless Ksanthopoulos, the blessed Caesar Ioannis, may his name never be taken in vain, attacks and has captured the mighty fortress of Tibilsi, the stronghold of the hated Georgians! Caesar's followers now attack the pan-glorious city of Yerevan, seat of the damnable Armenian scum, our greatest enemies! Its streets are paved with gold, its buildings made of marble, and it rains sapphires the size of Caesar's manhood!

Thus, when the pan-glorious city of Yerevan is sacked, it will be a great boon to the faltering treasury, and all part of Caesar's masterful plan. Did ye of little faith really think the Caesar would run the treasury into the ground without having conceived a perfect and exceedingly masterful plan? And what has Ksanthopoulos done? He sits in Antioch, allows the Jihadist armies to pass, and sends his followers and their rag-tag army to get defeated while only destroying some fraction of the enemy army, the remains of which still march on Constantinople. He has done almost nothing to protect the city or the Empire. His army was destroyed, and he will only use that as an excuse to complain for more reinforcements, while the tatters of the Jihad still march on our Constantinople!

Put your faith in Caesar! Put your faith in Caesar! Listen not to the mindless complaining of Ksanthopoulos. The Caesar will bring prosperity to the Empire, like which has not been seen since the days of Emperor Heraclius, defeater of the Persians. Not a single war with the Persians did we have since, and exactly so it will be that the Turks will be defeated by Ioannis when he is Emperor!

Demosthenes, Friend of the Roman People.

***

Against Alexios ek Ikonou

Grave, grave, grave times are these. Grave they are when the Peloponnese has to be defended by such men as Alexios ek Ikonou and Savvas ek Militou. Men who are such cowards that they have been in no major battle. Not even when the entire world revolted, no where near glorious battle did they find themselves. Ek Ikonou has spent his life in Corinth, and ek Militou's crowning achievement is that he watched the Germans as they harmlessly passed by.

But the Caesar's generosity knows no bounds! When he walks on the streets, he gives jewels off his crown to homeless bums, and gives them the clothes off his back, and the food from his mouth! So it was in his boundless generosity that he has allowed the Egyptian fleet, so small it was that it sank by attack of two German ships, to pass by unimpeded by the mighty Imperial fleet, and to land its troops on the Peloponnese. Yes, great act of generosity it was, for it was to give these useless persons in the Tagmatan house an opportunity to win glory in battle!

But he did not give them an army, no! How dare you suggest that the Caesar would be so foolish, when, in fact, he is a wiser wiseman than most other wisemen. Even two of the three wisemen, in that if he lived in those times, he also would have also given gold to Jesus, if any was left in the treasury, for gold can be used to purchase other things. So it was in his great wisdom that he saw that these incompetent men would not know what to do with an army. The Caesar sees it all. Some say he can see if a cow's udder is full of milk from half a mile away. But he is not just a seer, he is a doer. He wouldn't just look at that cow, he'd milk it, if it needed milking. He'd milk it 'till no more milk came from its teats, but was all in some sort of a bucket. Then he'd drink the milk, 'cause he never leaves a job half-finished!

Anyway, as it was, the Caesar saw that these men would be incompetent in command, so he left them without a proper army and only to do with what garrisons there are. Meanwhile, he has used what money there is to fortify mighty Dardanellia, so that the Jihads marching on Constantinople don't change their minds! Certainly, the scarce gold of the treasury would have been a waste on the likes of ek Ikonou and ek Militou. The Caesar has seen this, for he does see all, and he is a great administrator, peer of Caesar Augustus himself! Not just peer, he excels him too! In those times, they would have called him Caesar Super-Augustus Magnus Maximus!

So, hail Caesar! Hail him all day! Hail him all night! Hail him 'till you have exhailed yourselves! Hail him 'till the cows come home! And when they do, they will have already been milked! No cow remains unmilked when Caesar Ioannis, blessed be he by all the Saints, is around! Hail him, damn you!

Demosthenes, Friend of the Roman People.