Stories thread - King of the Romans PBM

**Cecil XIX** · 10-14-2007, 17:30

Prague, 1320

Filled with a new sense of purpose, Edmund Becker marches toward the center of Prague. Upon his arrival, he spot a great crowd ready to listen to his speech. Slowly but surely, he begins. It is his first time speaking publically in Czech.

"My fellow Bohemians! Currently, the Reich is in a time of crisis. Our enemies surround us, lawlessness breaks out amongst the people, and electors war amongst themselves instead of working together. Well, none of that will happen here!

Bohemia has been a part of the Reich for nearly one hundred and fifty years. It has always been a peaceful place, a place far away from war where the men and woman have been able to enjoy the protection that the Reich offers. I say to you now that will not change! This county will not fall as long as I am alive, I assure you!

I call upon every able-bodied peasant in Bohemia to report to Prague’s City Watch, and every noble infused with a martial spirit to make himself known in the Council Chambers! Together we need fear no enemy, for when the people from all walks of life unite in the defense of their homelands there is no enemy alive that can stop them!"

After much cheering, he steps down and returns to the Council Chambers thinking to himself.

"With a little luck, we just might pull this off."

**OverKnight** · 10-15-2007, 07:50

Antioch, 1320

In the newly rebuilt Church in the newly retaken capital of Outremer a solitary figure knelt in prayer. The Priest had given his blessing an hour ago and the other parishioners had shuffled out, yet Matthias stayed. He was troubled and he sought solace in this place, it reminded him of another Shrine he had prayed in long ago under similar grim circumstances. But this Church was not consecrated to Saint Maximillian, that Chapel most likely had been pulled down by the Greeks, and this place was not Adana, still under their heel, and this time he had no comfort. If God heard him, he sent no sign.

No doubt there were a few who found Matthias's piety at odds with his reputation. The King, perhaps, or the Kaiser, and only the Lord knew what the smallfolk thought, but he was a religious man and they did not truly know him. Jan was a proponent of the New Testament, a man of mercy and forgiveness, of turning the other cheek. Matthias, well, he took strength and guidance from the Old Testament. The Germans were the new Chosen People, following the Will of God in return for His protection and guidance.

The Reich, however, had fallen out of the Covenant. The mad Kaiser Siegfried had attempted to rebuild the Tower of Babel, to work against God's plan, and the Reich, despite Matthias's attempts to stop it, had been laid low. Matthias had fought on, enduring his time in the Lion's Den and striking where he could at his enemies, but the task before him, of bringing the Reich back to its primacy, or even just its survival, was daunting. The Empire had survived treachery, constant attack, interdiction and Mongols from the Steppe, but it had fallen to the only enemy that could stop it, the Reich itself.

How could Adana be returned to the light, or the Reich restored and brought back to the Grace of God? Matthias did not know, and so he knelt in a strange Church, seeking guidance. His heart fell as the silence encompassed him.

"Chancellor Matthias?"

Matthias looked up, a man stood before him holding a long wooden box. He had seen better days, his clothes were in rags and hung loosely. Despite his bedraggled state, he carried himself as a fighting man, a dagger hung at his hip. He seemed familiar.

"I haven't been Chancellor for twenty years, young man, and I'm barely a Count, but yes I am he. And you are?"

"Adalric, Sir, I was a soldier at Adana, before the. . .transfer. Been bouncing around Outremer since. It's good you made it out of Caesarea, my Lord. We all thought you were dead. Most of the lads left for home. I stayed in Antioch, untill I got booted out by those damned Greeks. Seemed they had a thing against Bavarians, after things went bad. We should have know you were alive. . ."

The soldier trailed off awkwardly. Matthias stood and put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's not your fault Adalric, I got myself captured. I should have stayed in Adana."

The man brightened and spoke up, "Adana, that's just it. That's why I wanted to find you. I've got something from Adana for you. Grabbed it before those damned Greeks took the place. I hid it here, but I only just got back. . ."

Matthias nodded and looked at the box with curiosity.

"These are chaotic times Adalric, we all do the best we can. Why don't you show me what you brought?"

Adalric smiled sheepishly and put the box down on a pew.

"Yeah, as I was saying, I took it from Adana, from St. Maximillian's Chapel, before they could get their hands on it. It felt wrong opening up King Salier's tomb like that but. . .I couldn't let them have it, Unified Church or not."

Matthias opened the box. Wrapped in cloth within it was a sword and scabbard. He gasped, "My God, is this. . .?"

Adalric nodded, happy, "Yes my Lord, Saint Maximillian's sword itself. The sword that cut through metal without a scratch, that killed that heathen General, that King Salier took with him to his last battle, poor bastard."

Matthias unsheathed the sword and raised it with reverence. After he had retrieved King Salier's head from Kitbuqa the Wrathful he had found his body and looted possessions, including the sword, and interred them in the Chapel of Adana next to his fellow Bavarian Crusader, St. Maximillian. Of course some said there was a stronger relation between them than nationality, but the Church frowned on that particular rumor.

Matthias thought that the sword, along with everything else, had been lost with Adana, but here was the Sword of the Saint delivered to him in his hour of need. Here was a sign, a talisman of hope and an instrument of God's Vengeance upon His enemies.

Matthias ran his thumb along the blade and pulled it back with a exclamation. A bit of blood shone on it. After all those years, the sword was still sharp.

"You have done well, Adalric, I would be honored if you joined my retinue."

The soldier nodded, tears in his eyes, "A Bavarian should have it, my Lord. The Count of Adana should use it."

Matthias raised the sword to the light poring through the windows of the Church. Gazing up at it, there was a grim set to his features, but a new fire burned in his eyes.

"Yes Adalric, you have the right of it. The Sword will be used, for God, St. Maximillian and the Reich. We will have restoration and, the Lord willing, revenge!"

**FactionHeir** · 10-17-2007, 17:29

Rheims, 1320 AD

Hans sat in his command tent, flanked by Dirk and Adalberth. A rare smile crossed his face in these dark times as the English King and Prince entered and were announced.
"His Majesty, by the grace of god, King Davy of England and Prince Davy, heir to the throne"

Hans rose from his wooden stool to bow before the visitors who had somehow managed to change into more formal attire, unlike himself, who was still clad in plate armor.

"Your majesty, your highness, it is good to see you safe and well here in my humble tent. May I offer you some herbal tea from the Eastern provinces?"
Without waiting for a reply, Hans motioned for one of the guards to fetch the kettle and serve tea to his guests.

"We thank you, Lord Hans, for your warm reception" after a slight pause the King added "and of course for your swift aid in battle."

"T'is nothing your majesty. It is always good to help an ally in need, especially if they are threatened by some rebellious knaves. Can I offer you something else?"

"Some milk would be nice. But yes indeed, these lands seem more troubled than I remember them when I attended my daughter's wedding to your emperor...your brother no less."

Hans could not help but wonder to himself why someone would want milk in their tea. Those English certainly were an odd people. "Indeed your majesty. Emperor Elberhard is my brother and his absence and the recent uprisings in these lands have caused me much heartache. As you could see first hand, I must make do with a small force gathered around me and can no longer rely on extensive patrols to keep order. The godless French returning with a large host might well threaten the very earth we now rest upon."

"The French you say? We have fought many a battle against these damnable folk and have even been forced to give up our rightful holding of Caen to them."

"Ah, Caen. I would gladly offer to return this mighty citadel to you, your majesty, however I am afraid a rebel has holed himself up there and proclaims himself Prince of Swabia."

"A pity really. England would welcome a foothold on Europe again to aid her worthy allies."

"Ah of course. But you see, no one would mind if the rebel Hümmel and his band were to go amiss and being the Duke of Swabia, you can be assured that Caen will be returned to England as soon as he is taken prisoner or executed."

"Very well Lord Hans, it is reassuring to hear that an attack by our royal forces on Caen would not be seen as an act of war against your people. I am certain we can bring mutual benefit to each other, would you not agree?"

"Definitely your majesty. This proposal would be most wise and worthy. Indeed, I am pleased to agree to a combined offensive against the French thereafter as well, if this would suit you."

"Then it is done, in the name of Jesus Christ our Lord, who shall be witness of this agreement between England and the Holy Roman Empire." King Davy seemed clearly enthusiastic as he rose and concluded "This meeting was fruitful my friend, I look forward to our next meeting and the fruits we shall reap against our common foes. I thank you for the audience, Lord Hans"

"The pleasure is all mine, King Davy. I trust your travels through these lands will be safer soon."

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

Later that night, Hans filed through the many letters that he had written in these past years, concerning the Swabian rebellion.

The letter to the governors seemed to have resulted in at least Rheims and Bern staying with Swabia and seen their garrisons bolstered. Hans read through it once again.

He wondered why Metz, Dijon and Paris fell regardless. Metz he could somewhat understand, but the other two were held by his now only remaining loyal Count, Athalwolf. Could it be due to his Lutheran beliefs? He would have to have a serious word with him eventually, if Athalwolf was hoping to become the next Duke.

The next two letters, or rather notices, had been aimed at Hümmel's troops. The first one was read to them shortly after Hans had sent orders to the governors.

The second right before the battle for Normandy.

Yet none of them seemed to have resulted in any loss of men on Hümmel's side. What drove these men forward, Hans wondered. What could Hümmel possibly offer them and bind them with that not a single man would desert him, forsaking even their families, while his own soldiers had been deserting in broad daylight even.

It did not matter any longer though. For even without the loss of men, Hümmel's days were numbered. The English invasion fleet would arrive in droves the next few years and end this rebellion once and for all. The gifting of Caen to them was no great loss to Hans either, as he would rather have the English battle the French than his Swabians taking the full brunt of the French attacks.
Indeed, it was quite a fortunate coincidence that the small English delegation, the King and Prince no less, had been cornered by a large rebel force, only to be saved by him.

**Privateerkev** · 10-18-2007, 07:51

Aleppo 1322:

The King of Outremer stood in his bedchamber in the citadel. The normally tough and powerful man was holding something in his arms with the tenderest of care. It was his newborn daughter Clare. Jan, King of Outremer, slayer of Mongols, shining example of piety and chivalry, and staunch political opponent to those of the dreadful persuasion everywhere, had finally met a situation he felt unprepared for. He was a father.

He stood there just looking at her. She was sleeping peacefully wrapped in a soft blanket. She was amazing. She hadn't done anything yet of course, but that didn't matter. To Jan, she was this little bundle of joy that brought light into his life. A voice from the bed said playfully, "staring at her isn't going to do anything. She is still going to be there even if you look away."

Jan turned to look at his wife. She had that radiant smile that Jan noticed on that day at the refugee camp. Jan walked over to her gently. He lowered Clare down to her mother's arms. He then sat down on the bed carefully. Everything was perfect. Except for the large Byzantine army outside the walls of course.

Alfgarda looked up at Jan. "Something tells me your going to stay here." She said this rhetorically knowing full well that her husband would not dream of leaving the settlement behind while it was in danger."

Jan answered, "Gunther did find a tunnel the other day. I won't take it of course. But you and Clare could get out of here."

Jan's wife was adamant. "Oh no you don't. Your not sending us away. The other families trapped here don't get to escape through some tunnel. Besides, we trust you to defend us just like the people in this citadel trust you."

The King simply sighed. He knew better than to argue with his wife when she was being stubborn. They were much alike in that way. Not only stubborn, but selfless. In her position, Jan would do the same thing and they both knew it. No one had ever quite understood Jan like Alfgarda did. Until he met her, no one else had cared as much for their fellow man like he did either. But their shared passion for humanity had brought them together. And it was one of many things that they had in common. And that commonality was one of the many things that kept their marriage strong. Clare's very existence was only the most obvious and recent evidence of their love for each other.

Jan leaned over and held his wife as she held their daughter. Together they both stared at her as she slept. The von Hamburg family sat together in blissful silence. Outside, an army of people prepared to storm the citadel and kill them all.

**Tamur** · 10-18-2007, 17:34

There was nothing kind in the way Fritz von Kastilien looked at the woman. She huddled there as far away from Fritz as she could get, with two pike-bearing veterans behind her, barring her way. The wailing coming from the first storey was annoying, but it would stop soon hopefully.

"I'm surprised you haven't warmed to my hospitality, Gunehild. Berchtold must have said many things in praise of the fine accomodations I gave to him and his men when we went to Magdeburg."

The woman simply looked at the floor.

"Oh, come now, isn't there any of this fine food you would like? Here, I know," he said, turning and picking a plate off the table behind him, "grapes, from the vineyards of France. There was a great deal of expense that went to bringing these here to Stettin." Fritz paused and cocked his head. "You should know, of all people."

The woman glanced up for the briefest of moments, her face contorted between sorrow and rage, then shook her head and looked back down.

Fritz frowned. "I'm disappointed, truly. Berchtold appreciated these things a great deal. Surely you enjoyed the same pleasures with him oft..."

The woman began weeping. Fritz shook his head, placed the plate back on the table, and looked at the men. He nodded.

Almost instantly the woman began crying, "No, no!" over and over as the soldiers each took one arm and dragged her to the door. The wails upstairs turned to shrieks, which were silenced quickly. The woman continued to cry out as she was taken across the grass.

Fritz watched until they were at the city gate, then turned and walked back inside the cosy home. He strode around idly, fingering this and that trinket.

"My lord," came a voice from the stairs. "We found the treasury."

"Excellent!" cried Fritz, slapping hands together.

"The children, lord. What do you wish done with them?" There were sounds of scuffling on the upstairs floorboards.

"Let them join their mother." Fritz smiled as the wails began anew, and waited for the three youngsters to be removed before going up to count the coin.

**Tamur** · 10-19-2007, 16:57

Fritz von Kastilien paced back and forth across the floor while the other five men in the room waited. They watched him as they fingered engraved pommels, or examined their richly jeweled rings, or sniffed slightly and brought hard-heeled feet down on the floor a bit too heavily.

This was not a time for timidness, and Fritz was well aware of that. His moves had cost him in his own county. But what could the people expect after rebelling against him? That he would be a saintly figure of forgiveness? The loss of the Saxon army had been a blow, but the men who now followed him would be loyal through thick and thin -- so long as he kept the money flowing.

And that was the problem. Stettin had its limits, and they were low. Fritz stopped pacing.

"Very well, then. I agree to your terms, though you will have to work out details with my quartermaster. In reply I can promise you greater plunder than any of you have ever witnessed. But you will need to be patient. The plan I have begun is not an overnight ambition."

One of the men guffawed.

"I've seen more plunder than you can dream of, Count. No disrespect intended, but what you've done is slight pickings compared to the sacking of a great city. In fact..."

"Have no worries, Oswy," cut in Fritz with a deep smile that made his eyes mere slits. "What we have done is only the beginning."

Ah, yes. The chaos around them would be a good mistress.

**OverKnight** · 10-20-2007, 09:47

Caesarea, 1322

Nikeforos Argyrus was a troubled man. Seated in his study, he reviewed the latest reports. The seamless seizure of Outremer from the Germans had done much to raise his reputation at the Imperial Court, but lately, the news had turned sour. Matthias Steffen had escaped in a brazen raid by Jan von Hamburg, the so-called King of what was left of the German lands in the Levant. Antioch and Aleppo had been reclaimed by the Crusaders despite strong Roman armies in the area. Regardless of the implosion of the Reich, the Germans in the east still seemed capable of resistance.

Nikeforos's contacts in newly reclaimed Constantinople informed him that the Basileus was displeased with progress in the east. Unfortunate comparisons were being made with the campaign in Italy. This did not bode well for his career or standing in the Empire. New efforts were under way however, Aleppo and Antioch were besieged, and Jan and Matthias were trapped. Those two thorns in his side would soon be removed. Crushing them, reclaiming those cities and hunting down their Kaiser would raise his star again.

A knock sounded at the door, and after the Strategos gave permission, a servant came in bearing a heavy square box. Placing the package on the desk the messenger spoke, "This just came in with Strategos Diogenes's seal, my lord."

Waving the man away, Nikeforos turned his attention to the box. Opening it he pulled out a large class container.

There, floating in brandy, was the head of Demetrios Diogenes. His features were still contorted in agony and surprise. His right eye was missing.

Swearing, Nikeforos searched the box, he found a letter.

Strategos,

Greetings from the Iron Bridge. It seems your man Demetrios underestimated Imperial accuracy at Antioch, and Captain Draganos underestimated Imperial bravery here. I would have sent you his head too, but it was somewhat unrecognizable after he was trampled.

I do wish you would come south so that we could resume our acquaintance, we have much to catch up on. Of course, if you wish to hide in Anatolia, that is your decision. Either way, I will find you.

Matthias