Franconia, 1114

News of the loss of Frankfurt had reached Kaiser Heinrich's mostly mercenary army quickly. The Kaiser, already mercurial from the events of the past few years, had flown into a swift rage upon hearing that his capital had fallen. For two full days, he yelled at everybody that came across him, staying up to all hours of night in his tent, cursing Premyslid for not properly positioning himself, the other Dukes for having so recently fallen (they had "cowardly evaded their duty to the Kaiser and the Reich by dying", Heinrich had memorably ranted on one of the nights), somebody named "Dietrich von Saxony" for not being there, and Pope Gregory. Most of the all the Pope. Scarcely an hour went by where Heinrich did not swear the foulest of oaths against his old enemy, weather it was muttered under his breath or roared at the top of his lungs. The army, pushed forward by the Kaiser's rage and determination, was making excellent time.

However, when news of the death of Vaclav Premyslid hit the camp and the entire army braced for the Kaiser's intensity to ratchet up even farther, it appeared to have the opposite effect. Instead of blowing up at the world, the Kaiser retreated to his tent, brooding, apparently in a deep depression. Now, instead of sending his subordinates away in a hail of profanity, he simply ignored them, preferring to continue muttering to himself. All in all this was far more impactful on the army than the Kasier's previous behavior.

Ash, the Kaiser thought, all of it is ash.

It wasn't supposed to turn out this way. After the Kaiser returned from Corsica, there was supposed to be a glorious reconquest with him at the helm, restoring the Reich's former shine and making all things once again possible. Instead, what is there? Hummel falls, I have to go pick up the pieces in Antwerp and take that back. Becker recaptures Innsbruck, bleeds himself out doing so, and falls the next season. Meanwhile I'm out of position, the Poles get deep into Frankfurt, Premyslid takes up an inferior army, explicitly assures me that the city will not fall so I'm free to retake Antwerp, doesn't even position his army so that it can be of use in the defense of the city, and then falls after the unspoiled and victorious Polish army turns on him.

So now I'm down another capital, Heinrich continued. The issue of Rome, of course, was murky, but the Kaiser had always considered it rightfully his and treated it as such.

He sank into a deeper depression. What is it for? What is this all for? Even if we do manage to pick ourselves up out of this funk, how will I reshape the Reich again? I wanted fewer Dukes; the Lord certainly provided with that one. We are down to der Bartige now - a fine man, but so far that's it - and Leopold of course, indefatigable as always. The west is in ruins, the south a gigantic question mark. I realize now that I can't do it alone. All I've been able to do is mop-up work after Electors have fought and died; simply arriving too late, avenging the last army, and beating up on the battered enemy force that remains.

Did I dither too long? Did I spend too much time on that godforsaken island? In all his time of existence, Heinrich had never once experienced an once of self-doubt. Tonight, however, that emotion was making up for lost time. He was for the first time in his life completely directionless. Certainly, there was Frankfurt to take back and the Polish army to kill... but what after that? Where to go? How could he continue to push forward, dragging the entire Reich along with him if he had to, if he was not sure where forward was?

All he could do was once again start muttering oaths against Pope Gregory, this time more often than before.


Kaiser Heinrich's problems start to take a greater effect.