Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

[GeneralHankerchief]

Baghdad, 1266

A hooded man was making his way through the wreckage of the recently-sacked city, distracted by nothing, noticed by no one. All around him were scenes of destruction – broken windows, buildings on fire, blood and corpses littering the streets, screams of women and children – but he took no notice, instead focusing on his destination.

As he progressed, the scene became more organized, but at the same time more chaotic. The blood grew more numerous and the screams louder, but it became evident that the soldiers who had sacked the city were the cause of this mayhem, and thus had the situation under control. Still the hooded man remained unnoticed. The soldiers’ attention was focused on other areas – mainly carrying out as much looting, carnal pleasure, and destruction as possible.

The man entered the Khan’s command tent, which on the inside looked no different aside from the fact that it was better-kept than the rest of the city. He paused, taking in his surroundings. To his left, five soldiers were counting and exchanging various trinkets taken in the looting of the city. To his right, three more soldiers were busy ripping the clothes off of two terrified-looking women. The man grunted and turned away. Attractive as the women surely were, he was not interested in them. He looked straight ahead and found the reason why he came. The Khan and his generals were sitting in a circle, having a discussion.

He walked closer to the circle, still unnoticed. He leaned in, trying to pick up what was being discussed. The language barrier was not a problem. There were not many things that were ever since that day.

“…do not want a repeat of the last two waves.”

“Nobody does, Mighty Khan, but it will not be easy. The Imperials have proven themselves most proficient in the area we excel at most – open-field battles. A siege assault will be unwise.”

“I agree,” said a third voice. “We must find out the weaknesses of the Westerners and exploit it.”

“Or rid them of their strength,” said the Khan.

“Mighty Khan?”

“Their strength is their generals,” said the Khan, sounding agitated. “I do not know why the soldiers listen to them when they are not feared like I am, but it is what it is. Cut off the head, and the body will die.”

The hooded man and the generals listened in earnest as the Khan continued. “Three men have defied us time and time again. One of them will surely be taken by age before we arrive. The other two are not so lucky. They have killed too many of us for too long, and accordingly will pay for their past actions.

“I want the heads of Salier and Elberhard before this is over.”

The hooded man stepped forward. He was, finally, no longer ignored or unseen. Instead, he was subject to scathing looks from all of the generals present, most notably the Khan.

“Who dares to interrupt this most important discussion? Speak quickly, before you find your head separated from your body.”

The hooded man bowed low. “Greetings, Mighty Khan Kuo Kan,” he said in a smooth, unctuous tone. “I apologize for intruding on your conversation but it appears that we share the same goals. My organization too wants Salier dead.”

The Khan started. “Oh, it does, does it? And tell me, what makes me believe that I can put my trust in this organization of yours? What are they compared to the might of the Mongol Empire?”

“Might?” The hooded man laughed. His hood slipped, briefly revealing a smooth mustache and dark complexion. “I failed to see any might in your prior two attempts at conquering the West.

“But I digress,” the man said quickly, for the Khan and his men looked ready to kill, “We have acted before. The man who eliminated your first invasion, for example. He was... in our way. We removed him.”

“You killed Henry? But Henry died in his sleep.”

“That was what our organization aimed for. Obviously we succeeded.”

“But...” The Khan was taken aback. This was what he had least expected: an offer that could actually help him, that seemed legitimate. “But if you have that kind of power, why do you need our assistance?”

“I have tried assassinating Salier before,” the man said, and bitterness spilled into his smooth voice for the first time. “He proved... difficult to kill.” The man ripped open his cloak to reveal a terrible scar on his chest, the same kind of scar that came from a longsword. “Ever since then he has had a heightened security detail. But in the heat of battle...”

“Enough,” said the Khan. “You will assist with Salier when one of our armies meets with his in battle. What of the other one? Elberhard?”

“My organization has taken an interest in the Prinz but at the moment he is not on our list. We will help you with Salier in return for the right to his body and ten thousand florins.”

“Ten... thousand?” one of the Khan’s generals sputtered. “You are bold to the point of recklessness.”

“If you refuse my offer then of course I am sure you will be able to finish him easily, like you have with the Reich’s other generals. I do not expect the money until after he is dead. Do we have an agreement?”

The Khan looked around, torn between wanting to kill this hooded man and grudgingly respecting him. Finally, he offered his palm. The two shook, and with it the King of Outremer’s final days began counting down.

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1268

The great hall of Ragusa was a hive of activity. Since Duke Arnold arrived and turned it into the Austrian Head Quarters, there had been a steady stream of riders coming and going through the normally quiet Citadel. Running the House from the great hall had turned it into a sea of maps, documents and the usual collection of merchants, ambassadors and courtiers.

Striding through the massive doors of the hall the familiar figures of Bane and Grom immediately dominated the attention of all but the Duke and his engineer who were in deep discussion at the end of the great table.

Most people had gotten used to the two figures but no one could be called comfortable around them, especially Duke Arnolds new Priest, who upon seeing them both immediately crossed himself and silently mouthed a pray of some sort.

Somehow Bane caught the moment through his dark helmeted head and nodded towards the Priest in greeting.

Looking up from the maps Arnold grinned at the sight of his two enforcers.

“Report.”

Grinning hugely the barbarian took his helm off his head and ran his fingers through his sweat stained hair. “As you heard yesterday, they’re sitting there doing nothing. There about five miles from this very hall.”

“God damn it!! What the hell do these Sicilians think their doing!!? Surely they realise they are trespassing? Did you tell them what I told you?”

Arnold leaned back in his chair and studied the two men.

“Yes, your Gracce. We explained very clearly to the Captain what his choicess were. He sseemed indifferent to uss. Of coursse it was a front to ensure he didn’t show fear in front of hiss men.” Bane’s voice held the usual hollow, haunting sound it always did.

Arnold saw the Priest cross himself again out of the corner of his eye.

“Priest!!? Will you stop crossing yourself every time Bane talks!! He’s not the devil!!”

Pausing for a moment Arnold continued looking at his latest retinue advisor.

“What would you suggest we do given the situation?”

Grom was half way through his third pitcher of ale when he sprayed the contents of his full mouth over half the table at this question.

“Are you serious Duke Arnold!!?” placing the half empty pitcher on the table he wiped his face with the back of his hand, his face a look of confusion and shock.

“Well? What do you think Priest?”

Reluctantly the Priest sat at the table and looked at the map.

“Well sire I would not attack them…talking would be the best way to resolve this.”

“Talking, that’s the solution Priest?”

“Yes I’m sure of it your Grace. If you simply talk to the young captain I’m sure he will see reason and leave Austrian lands.”

“Well, that’s what we’ll do then. Grom, Bane, get my regiment ready immediately. We leave as soon as possible.”

[AussieGiant]

Ragusa 1268

Standing in his stirrups Arnold shaded his eyes to better look at the Sicilian encampment.

"%&$&ing Hell. They really think this is some type of joke don’t they!!!?

There was complete silence from the Duke’s party and his Bodyguard Captain. All of them knew it was a rhetorical question but designed to have someone answer, and then have the Duke vent on them.

“But your Grace they could be lost.” The Priest voice was full of hope that his explanation would be understood.

And audible groan could be heard from the other members of Arnold’s retinue.

“WHAT THE @#$%^&!!!ING HELL DID YOU JUST @#$%^&!!!ING SAY!!!??”

Before he could respond the Duke continued.

“Did I just hear you say they could be @#$%^&!!!ing lost!!?? LOST!!!?? WHAT @#$%^&!!!ING planet are you ON priest!!?

LOST!!?? What on God’s little green earth gives you the impression they are lost!!? Have you spoken to them!!? Look, they have even set up jakes!!”

“But, your Grace…”

“BUT WHAT?! Do you think men who are lost take the time to dig shiet HOUSES!!??

“Well no your Grace, but…”

“BUT WHAT?! Do you have any idea what you are talking about Priest!!??”

“Well no your Grace, but…”

“Mother of Merciful gods!! Will you just shut up then!!

“Yes your Grace.”

Sitting in silence for sometime the Dukes next order was not forthcoming.

Leaning across his saddle Grom whispered loudly to the Priest.

“That went well...did you actually engage your brain before speaking, or was that some blinding bit of insight sent to you by the Lord Himself?”

Before a response could come out of the priest’s mouth, Arnold yanked his horse’s head around and started off towards the Sicilian encampment.

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

Upon seeing the six riders approach, the Sicilian encampment suddenly looked like a hornet’s nest.

Within minutes a group of 20 riders where galloping out to meet the Duke’s party.

As the two groups approached the Captain and Duke moved slightly forward to speak.

“Duke Arnold, a pleasure to finally meet you” said the Sicilian.

His answer was met with stone silence and a grim stare from the Duke.

The captain’s face slowly betrayed his anger at the lack of response.

Staring at the Duke with increasing offence as no answer was forthcoming, the Captains face began to turn red at the insult being accorded to him.

Finally the Duke responded. “Are you married?”

The confusion on his face evident at the strange question; “What do you mean Lord Arnold?”

“ARE YOU MARRIED CAPTAIN!!?” The fury in Arnold voice cracked over the Captain making him flinch in his armour.

“YES!!”

Reaching into his saddle bag the Duke pulled out a bag of coins.

“Who’s the second in command here??!!!” No one answered. Dropping the bag on the ground in front of the gathered Sicilian’s Arnold turned back to the Captain.

“Defend yourself Captain!!”

“WHAT!!?”

Managing to duck the half speed swipe Arnold took at the Captains head the entire area burst into action.

Swords were drawn en mass, but with a practised move the four members of Arnold’s retinue, minus one horrified priest, quickly moved to block the twenty or so Sicilian’s in the field.

“IF ANY ONE OF YOU SCUM WANTS A PIECE OF ACTION I’LL KILL YOU!!” Grom’s huge frame dominated the gap between the two opposing groups.

Only the barbarians bludgeoning voice and the grim look of the Dread Knight and his two companions forced the Sicilian’s into no action.

Circling each other warily the Duke spoke softly; “You’re a fool Captain, and for that you will die.”

Arnold quickly took the measure of the Sicilian. It was going to be a short fight he thought.

“Your Grace, what are you doing!!??” The priest’s voice cut through the silence as both groups watched the unfolding duel.

With a quick lean in the saddle, a clean miss from the Captain, and a brutally fast counter strike by the Duke, it was all over.

The Captain’s headless corpse remained in the saddle for a few moments before clattering to the ground.

Riding back to the Sicilian’s, Arnold stood in the stirrups as he had done an hour before when observing the encampment.

His voice full of venom and strength it carried to the army some one hundred yards distant; “The money is for his wife and family, make sure it goes to them. If not then I’ll find out and you’ll follow him into the after life.

You’re trespassing!! Get off my land or there will be more bloodshed and it won’t be Austrian!!!”

With that, the Duke turned and rode back towards the Citadel without a backward glance.

[flyd]

Edessa, 1272

It had rained during the night. It usually doesn't, but it had, and everything was wet and slippery. Like every other early morning, Fredericus von Hamburg was up, performing some sort of inspection, review, or other useful task. This morning, it was the walls.

He walked along the eastern wall with some of his most trusted bodyguards (or, as trusted as they could get in the short time, the turnover for his bodyguard group was rather short). The Mongols were the topic of discussion.

"I don't know what they're hoping to accomplish," said one of them, "this wave seems similar to the others, and they didn't stand a chance."

"We should not underestimate them," added another, "the last wave insisted on pressing forward and ended up being surrounded. The leader of this one might be a little smarter."

"And do what exactly?" responded the first, "Not press forward? Stay back, sit in the desert until... what?"

"Until we attack them," Fredericus interrupted.

Everyone looked at him as they reached one of the gates.

"Let's head to ground level to inspect the gate," he added, and then continued, "I made the mistake last time of thinking that the Mongols could be induced into attacking. I guess they thought they could find an easier target somewhere along, but we were prepared. We'll be even better prepared this time, they might end up avoiding us altogether. We have to attack."

"But why? If they avoid us, have we not already succeeded?" said one of the bodyguards as the group approached the stairway in the gatehouse which was wet because the roof was not built to cope with the amount of rain that had fallen.

"Because it is glorious to fall in battle to defend the Outremer. You may have other chances, but I..."

Fredericus von Hamburg (the Brave, the Crusader, the Honorable...), Ex-Chancellor of the Holy Roman Empire, Count of Hamburg, Crusader Count of Aleppo, Grand Crusader and Knight of the Holy Roman Empire, on that day, the twenty-third day of August in the year of our Lord one thousand two hundred and seventy-two, did slip, and being unable to regain his balance, tumbled down the stairway, losing his life.

[Privateerkev]

Edessa 1272

Jan walked into the city. All around him was teeming with activity. Finishing touches were being put on the huge walls. Work had already begun on making the towers tall and strong enough to hold ballistas. Provisions were being stockpiled. Regiments were training in the courtyard. The city was preparing for the Mongol horde that was approaching. But all of that could wait because Jan had something else he had to attend to.

With Maximillian and Gunther in tow, Jan strode through the streets and up to the chapel. By himself, Jan strode inside. It was empty except for the body of Fredericus von Hamburg. Jan walked up to his father and kneeled at the casket. On his knees, Jan thought of his father. He never knew him very well. His father was always distant. Jan knew his father loved him but Fredericus was not one to show it. Well, he showed it in other ways. Like when he was Chancellor he kept Jan from joining him at Edessa during the second Mongol wave. Fredericus had said he did not want the whole Hamburg line to die at once. When he was kept away from the action, Jan was devastated.

All of Jan's adult life, he had been trying to win his father's approval. It was why he was so headstrong. Why he was so outspoken. Why he took risks in the Diet and on the battlefield. Jan thought that if he proved himself, his father would be proud of him and let Jan join him in battle against the Mongols. It was why he had picked a fight with Duke Arnold.

As Jan knelt, he remembered what little his father had taught him. He remembered his fathers plans to become Duke and secede Franconia from the Reich. For some reason though, Dietrich gave the Duchy to Gunther Kastilian. Fredericus had traveled to Outremer to find glory and took a young Jan in tow. But, as many do, Fredericus found God in Outremer and became a changed man. He taught Jan that it was out here in Outremer that one could do good work. He said the Reich was filled with self-serving men back home that would sell out Germany for a handful of florins. Jan grew up learning that the Kastilians were just going to destroy their House with their own selfishness and ineptitude. And that only a couple of men could be trusted to do what was right like the King and Ebelhard. Jan remembered his father's last words to the Diet. He had said that it was time for Outremer to become a house.

His father was right. The people back home had no idea about the Holy mission. All they cared about was expanding their duchies until their borders became impossible to defend. Fools like Lothar questioned the expense of Outremer. In order to secure its future, Outremer needed to be made a fifth house. Crusader Counts needed to be loyal to the cause and the cause only. Otherwise, they are still susceptible to the whims of their Dukes. Only by becoming a house, could Outremer guarantee that its holy mission would be fulfilled. But Jan was not that naive. This would not happen quickly or easily. It might take Jan's whole life. It might not even happen in Jan's lifetime. But, Jan thought, I can start.

He would have to be quiet and he would have to be careful. Ansehelm had become Duke and he was going to drive the duchy into the ground, Jan was sure of it. Jan was already feeling the pressure. Ansehelm had blamed Jan for CA 11.8 and claimed that it was an attempt by Jan to get him killed. The fool, Jan thought, I wasn't trying to get him killed, I just wanted him to stop murdering others. But, Ansehelm was paranoid and power hungry. He assumed the Kaiser would always be his little brother so he could get away with anything he wanted. Ansehelm had already made clear to Jan that he considered him a threat. Jan knew a recall order from his Duke was going to come for him and order him back to Germany. Jan would ignore it as long as he could. Outremer was his home. The Crusaders were his family.

Kneeling at his father's casket thinking all of these thoughts, Jan realized something. He realized that one of the reasons he was sad was because he now would never be able to prove himself to his father. He shouldn't have to prove himself to anyone. He had his God. He had his purpose. And he had a mission. If he wanted to do good work, he had to stop worrying about what others thought. Those that understood, would help. Those that didn't, would not help until they one day understood. Jan had started serving the King because his father had asked him to. Now he did it because he believed it was the right thing to do. Crusading into Jerusalem had changed him. Jan was always a pious man but now he was starting to realize that the mission was bigger than him. And he not only realized it but started, for the first time in his life, to be ok with it.

There was much to do before the Mongols came. For Outremer to become a powerful enough political force to fulfill its Holy mission, it first had to survive. And the Mongols were a threat to that survival. They had to be stopped. And the King had entrusted Jan with Edessa's survival. The Mongols were exterminating every city in their way. Well, they are not going to get this city as long as I am alive, Jan thought. With that sense of urgent purpose, Jan stood up, made the sign of the cross at his father's body, said a prayer for his father to find peace in heaven, and strode out of the chapel.

[Kagemusha]

Rome 1272

Few hours after his seizure in the Diet hall, Jonas Von Mahren sat on his bedside doing absolutely nothing. Just sitting there without any thoughts, emotions or anything. He just couldnt believe what had happened. First Erhart at the battle of Durazzo and now Sigismund at the walls of Bran. He still had daughters, but no sons, atleast men he had thought to be his sons. His wife had told him during an awfull fight after Jonas had came from Holy land that indeed the sons he thought as his were infact bastards of the Late Leopold, Duke of Austria that he had always considered his friend.

While Jonas had been separated from his family, most of his life, he had always loved his children, even after the claim that they were not his. He had kept contact with his remaining son Sigismund after the reveeak of his wife about the sons being from another seed. Sigismund had swore that whether Jonas was his father in blood or not,he would be his true father always.

Jonas had received an letter from his dead son the same day that he had been informed about the same sons death in battle. Jonas just didnt have any strength left to read the words of his dead son until now. He took the letter on his hand and looked at the Austrian seal of it, touched the rough surface of the scroll and opened it. He started reading slowly:

"Father,

I apologize for not having written to you in so long, but I've been busy with the AHA. Things aren't easy, but I am confident that before the Chancellors term ends the Reich will once again be reminded of the our family's martial prowess.

That being said, I've spoken to Mother and that business I mentioned before. She admits she has no proof, only her word. But what is more troubling is that Duke Arnold has independantly confirmed her story, and has called me brother himself. I did not press the matter further, but I cannot think of a reason for him to think this if it were not true.

It has been deeply troubling, not only that my mother could break the Lord's Seventh Commandment, but also that Leopolds barbarity could reach such heights. But I will not pursue the matter further, as I doubt there is any proof left to be found. I have done this out of a sense of filial obligation to you, an obligation that will not diminish. I am your son. Whatever blood flows through my veins will not change that.

Once Transylvannia is stable, I would very much like to visit you in Stettin. We have spent precious little time face to face.

Your loving son,
Sigismund"

Jonas lifted his eyes from the letter and breathed heavily saying out loud.

" Well son. Next time we will meet. It will be in heaven, or maybe in hell."

The old man stood up and walked to an window,where the midsummer sun of Italy scorched the earth, the hills that were covered with shades of yellow and brown as the wheat fields were starting to be ready for harvest.

"I wish that the harvester man of eternity will soon visit me also. There is no point in living when my sons are dead and my family name will die with me. My God,what i have done to deserve this?"

the old man thought as sun touched his old and wrinkled skin.

[GeneralHankerchief]

Outside of Edessa, 1276

The hooded man made his way through the camp. It was two in the morning, the ideal time for activities of a stealthy nature. The entire army, including its officers, was finally getting some sleep before the engagement the following day. Nobody would be up late, nobody would be awake early.

Perfect.

Of course, there were exceptions to this rule. Most annoyingly for the hooded man, these exceptions happened to be stationed around his target's tent. The King of Outremer took his security seriously. The only more-guarded men in the entire Empire were the current Chancellor and the Kaiser himself. If he was attacking a lesser figure, the hooded man would take his chances but trying to enter Salier's tent would be suicide. Not what his organization wanted.

This would be only a small hinderance to a man of his caliber, however. There were plenty of other ways to get to his target; you just had to know where to look.

In the dark, his nose, not his eyes, guided him. He sniffed away, sifting through the different aromas permeating the camp until he found the one he wanted. Ignoring the all-too-present scents of the dying embers, armor being tinkered with, and urine, he found what he was looking for: the unmistakable scent of meat.

He made his way into the cook's tent where the smell briefly overwhelmed him. He stepped outside, ignoring the urge to cough. Giving in would not have been ideal. He stepped back in, more adjusted, and sorted through the various items of food present.

Eventually he found what he was looking for: The finest cut of bratwurst. This was certainly going to be his target's breakfast. Obviously the King would have the heartiest meal, and being one of the few people in the army who lived in Germany for a significant period he would have time to develop a liking for that disgusting food.

Why risk capture when you can be just as effective by going down a subtle path? the man thought. You're smart, Salier, but not that smart. There are a thousand different ways I can kill you.

He produced a small vial from his cloak. "Iocane", it read. After eyeing it up and taking a sniff, the man sprinkled it on the bratwurst.

Let's see how well you feel tomorrow. Satisfied, the man snuck out of the tent and the camp, undetected.