Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[OverKnight]

Innsbruck, 1134

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[GeneralHankerchief]

Antioch, 1236

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

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

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

Damascus, 1236

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Stig]

Thorn, 1238

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

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

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