It's a good suggestion, and exactly what I'd intended to do. Problem is the forum only allows 50 pics per post apparently. Not sure if there's a workaround.
I see… Well there is little to be done about it then, at least at this point… Because I don’t think you should somehow cut down on pics due to some stupid regulations by the management. Carry on and hopefully, we can come up with better solution eventually.
not knowing enough about forum mechanics, I don´t know if something like that is possible: To make a sort of sticky of posts within the thread and keep the different chapters on top, the comments underneath. Any chance for that?
I see… Well there is little to be done about it then, at least at this point… Because I don’t think you should somehow cut down on pics due to some stupid regulations by the management. Carry on and hopefully, we can come up with better solution eventually.
- A
Thanks, @Axalon It would definitely be preferable for convenience's sake (and much better aesthetically) to have it all in one post. I'll PM one of the mods and see if it isn't possible. Maybe @drone has some ideas.
not knowing enough about forum mechanics, I don´t know if something like that is possible: To make a sort of sticky of posts within the thread and keep the different chapters on top, the comments underneath. Any chance for that?
greetings, daigaku
A very good idea, @daigaku. I've actually been planning to do this.
The Spanish host followed a track through grassy wetland. Wagons bogged down in a slurry of horse-scat and mud, their drivers exchanging curses with riders who splashed them as they passed.
King Alfonso — now 67-years-old and hale, called the "Silver Haired" — rode beside a wagon full of his favourite provisions. There was a hard cheese from LaMancha, soft bread from the castle bakery at Burgos, and a cask of rich Valencia wine (imported before the fall of that province to the Moors) — all things he found handy in maintaining the spirits of his knights.
If he were to die today, in this muddy field, or somewhere beyond, he'd be leaving behind a stronger Castile than he'd inherited. His lands were prospering. He had even seen to the construction of vast new estates that would cement the laws of feudalism in Spain.
The star of de Asturias was very much on the rise, and when this Alfonso died, another Alfonso, his eldest son, would rule. Prince Alfonso was headstrong — but he could be perhaps be tempered by his three brothers, provided they did not fight amongst themselves. The king had considered dividing the realm between his sons, but knew this would be folly. Civil war was ever the bane of Spanish crown families, and King Alfonso was determined that the kingdom should stay whole. Yes, Alfonso the younger would rule. The others would be rewarded for their service. But there could only be one king.
Prince Sancho rode in the vanguard. He had learned to rely on no one's eyes but his own. There was an unfortunate incident in the mountains south of Toledo, which had left a scar from a bandit's blade across his left eye. Never again would he trust others to do his scouting.
There was ample grass here for the horses, but not much else. The track rose gradually and the marsh gave way to stretches of charred soil. The fields to either side of the track were furrowed, but no one sowed or tilled them anymore.
Sancho looked around, wiping his brow. "Either the peasants around here are lazy," he said, "or something has scared them from their lands."
"Not scared, my lord," remarked Don Garcia Arvantez of Àvila, bringing his mount to a sudden halt. "Dead." He pointed to something in the field.
A pile of rocks, thought Sancho, nothing more.
Then another man shouted: "God of mine! They're everywhere."
The rocks turned out to be charred piles of bone, and human heads — hundreds of them — with blackened scraps of flesh still clinging in places, but no eyes. The ravens had seen to those.
"We're riding through a charnel pit." Sancho spat and turned his horse, spurring back along the Spanish line.
Prince Alonzo rode beside his father. This was his first taste of the warrior's life. His older brothers — Alfonso and Sancho, and even Fernando — had already been to battle. Now it was his turn. The previous night, while others had slept, he'd stayed awake polishing his weapons and armour until the metal shone in the torchlight as water at high noon. He would look like a proper knight in the coming battle, could he only comport himself like one. He had done well in his last tournament (which was also his first), unhorsing Don Alvarez, a knight in his brother Sancho's retinue, and then Lord de Sales, who'd come all the way from Anjou, and whom no one at the court liked, so there had been much cheering. Perhaps the most frightening and exhilarating moment had been when he asked and received the favour of the woman he swore he'd always love, yet whom he could never possess. Afterwards, when Alonzo had been swelled with pride (and wine) at the feast, Lord de Claris had turned to him and said: "a knight in tourney does not a knight on the field make," which Alonzo took to mean that a man can be gallant and not necessarily brave in battle. Could a man be both? He hoped so.
There was a splashing of hooves in the road ahead and Prince Sancho reigned in before their father. "My lord, " he said, "I must ask you again: of what value are these lands to us?"
The king, who had been silent these past hours as was his wont on long journeys, now eyed his second eldest son. "Of what value?" he asked. "Of what value is your honour? Of what value is your pride as a son of Castile? They obscenitied on our family name. Of what value, you ask?"
"I agree it is with good cause that we march against these men," said Sancho, "but what of the Moors? Have they not obscenitied on all Christendom?"
Alonzo thought his father might explode at this, but the king stayed calm. "Everything has a time," he said. "What riches we gain here will, in time, be used to the despair of the heathens."
"I had hoped," rejoined Sancho, "to find spoils for my men who've seen no spoils since we put down the Bull's Horns."
Prince Alonzo chose this moment to speak: "It is said that the false king gathers treasures as a dog gathers bones in its kennel. But we'll soon unkennel him. Won't we, father?"
Scouts came galloping back from the fields ahead, splashing wagons and men.
"Obscenity in the milk of your mothers!" shouted a waterlogged footman.
A rider dismounted and bowed before the king. "Your highness," he said, "the false king of Leon gathers his host. He has left the stronghold in Zamora and comes to meet us in the field."
Prince Sancho spat, and spurred his horse forward, followed by Don Garcia Arvantez.
Prince Alonzo felt a stewing in his guts. "They come to fight."
"No," said the king, taking his crowned helm from an attendant. "They come to die."
Chapter 4: Feast and Famine
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
In 716, a royal wedding was held at Valladolid. Prince Alfonso, heir to the Spanish throne, married princess Constance of Burgundy in a great show of pomp and splendour. The bride and groom were virtual strangers on their wedding day, having only met the previous year, when Alfonso and his father accompanied King Philippe II of Burgundy on a hunt in Lanquedoc. Luckily, the younger sister, Brigitte, had chirped and giggled enough to fill the silence between Alfonso and his bride-to-be. While the prince remembered to offer Princess Constance his cloak when a cool wind kicked up through the trees, there was yet a stiffness and formality between them that was more than just strangeness. Alfonso, who was well into his forties, had never seemed anxious to acquire a consort. Indeed, his preference for the company of men was widely known in the Castilian court. Alfonso had been very close to his sister Jimena in their youth, but with her departure to become queen of Aragon, an iciness had descended on Alfonso in his dealings with women. Even the queen of Spain was no longer on speaking terms with her son, having quarrelled too long and often about his need to take a bride. Now his father gave him no choice, and the match with Constance, once arranged, was made good.
She was a mild girl of seventeen when she came to the city of Valladolid. Thousands came into the streets, cheering loudly. As one court poet sang, the wedding "entwined two kingdoms in filaments of gold, and brought happiness to the people." Like Alfonso, Constance possessed hair of the palest gold, and the two of them looked to be a good match. Her character was believed to be beyond reproach. It was whispered that she'd once taken vows at a nunnery before her father sent men to remove her. The will of God notwithstanding, Constance was too valuable a game-piece to be wasted thus, or so the Burgundian king had convinced himself.
Such was the love the Spanish people bore their queen-to-be that certain charlatans even devised a noxious elixir made from boiling down several tree nuts and fermenting them in serpent's blood, which was supposed to turn dark hair to gold if applied in the full light of the sun. It became commonplace, on market days in various Castilian towns, to see women, men, and even children, hurrying about with hair encrusted with the substance, giving their hair the look and texture of trampled straw. All this to say that the union between the houses of Burgundy and Castile was a welcome distraction from the ever looming threat of war and famine. Both these things had been visited on Spain in the recent past. Both would come again.
A letter had arrived some days before the wedding. It came from Jaca, the royal house of Aragon, and the weary knight who bore it had been instructed to deliver it into the hands of Prince Alfonso and none other. I have been fortunate enough to obtain this letter from a little frequented corner of the library at Valladolid:
My dearest Alfonsito,
It is with a heavy heart, dear brother, that I miss your wedding, as you once missed mine. The years have been difficult for me in ways I had never expected. My husband thinks I dote too much on our sons, and he has reason. You would be proud, my brother, at how they've grown to resemble true sons of Castile. Pedro is twelve and Enrique is eight, and they show themselves to be worthy of our father's line in every way. Should you have occasion to meet them you will know my words to be true. Never since I left our fair Valladolid — never since you, my brother — have I loved anyone the way I do them. This is why I now break the long silence between us. It is for them, and not for myself, that I write. Famine descended on our land last spring. Perhaps you have heard? There was no harvest. An icy wind from the mountains felled the crops. If you could have seen the suffering of the common people, dear brother, even you would have been moved — you, who used to scorn our poor scullery maid Augusta so cruelly — would feed such as her from your own table. I have no doubt of this, brother, for I know your heart is kind. After the famine came the red flux. A disease so vile I cannot relate the details. It persists still in our land. The people are dying in their homes and in the very streets, so even the nobles are afraid. They lock themselves in their keeps and refuse my husband's summons. Now, misread me not, dear brother, as horrible as the disease and famine have been to our people, it is from the south whence comes our greatest threat. The heathen Moors have arisen from the very fires of hell to try us. Have you heard what they did in Valencia? For a while, there was a duke there who offered resistance. His forces were outnumbered, though, and he was soon overcome. My heart is too faint to repeat the tales I've heard of the barbarity enacted on the Christians of Valencia. Forgive me, for I am sure this is old news to you. Still, I cannot imagine what should happen if the Moors ever come here to Jaca. And if the spies from our court speak true, it is only a matter of time. They say the raids have begun. With hardly enough healthy fighters to man our walls, dear brother, we shall be sorely assailed. For the sake of my sons and whatever love you may still bear me I beg of you: speak to our father, tell him of our plight. I know the sons of Castile will come to the defence of their Aragonese cousins in their time of trial. And if you should choose to accompany our father's host when it comes, then our meeting will bring untold joy to my heart.
Signed,
Your Jimena.
It is not known what answer Alfonso made to this letter. I include it here merely for the fullness of my chronicle.
For three days, the wedding feast for Alfonso and Constance filled the royal palace at Valladolid. By the second night, it was whispered, the bride and groom had taken separate apartments.
A tournament was held some weeks after the wedding, attracting men from nearly all the realms of christendom. Prince Alfonso, enough in the public eye, did not participate, but preferred to watch the proceedings by his father's side. Princess Constance, newly on show for the Spanish court, occupied a seat at the prince's right, though it was observed that the newlyweds rarely spoke or even looked at one another. Three of King Alfonso's sons were in the lists. Prince Sancho, a battle scarred and redoubtable fighter of forty-one years, jousted first.
He fared well both in the joust and close combat, and asked favour from a damsel of nineteen, named Aldona. She was a princess from the pagan lands of the far East, who had come to Castile with her brother, Olgernas, the crown prince of Lithuania. It was said later that Aldona's eyes possessed a bewitching quality, as if she possessed the magic of the old gods, and Sancho came under her spell as soon as her garland of pale yellow flowers touched his helm.
Prince Fernando came next in the lists. A solemn and pious youth. He had already shown himself to be a promising fighter and would soon go to the Basque territory — as the Castilians had taken to calling Navarre — to defend his father's interests there. He conducted himself well in the joust, and was only unhorsed when a shard from a shattered lance put out his horse's eye.
Next came Prince Alonzo, the king's youngest son, who was, by all accounts, the champion of the tourney. At only fifteen years old, his hair was already the same silver as King Alfonso's. Indeed, it was often joked that Alonzo, though last born, should have been the king's true heir, if only because he was the only son who truly resembled the father. Alonzo's performance that day was much praised in the days and months ahead by the court at Valladolid. So the young prince's legend began to grow.
It was after winning his third consecutive battle that day, and to the shock of all assembled, that Alonzo asked for the favour of none other than Princess Constance, consort to his brother. All eyes turned to the prince and his bride. She looked at her husband, perhaps for the first time that day, and he, in turn, looked amused.
"Brother," said Alfonso. "Would you pluck a flower so lately delivered to me? Very well. As a man who earned his spurs today, so you have earned, I think, a small token from your future queen."
Alonzo stood blushing for some time before the lady — who was also blushing — proffered her garland of fresh red roses.
"Look," Alfonso quipped. "My wife and brother are the same colour as the roses." There was much laughter.
At this moment, Prince Alonzo bowed low, took Constance's hand in his, and kissed it. It was a strange gesture, and the first time anyone at court had seen such a thing performed. But it's been claimed that from that day, hand-kissing became common in many parts of Christendom, being practiced with especial fervour by the French.
Chapter 5: The Journey of Princess Berenguela
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
King Alfonso's eldest daughter, after Jimena of Aragon, was a lady both comely and dignified, named Berenguela.
She had been raised in the court and was very close to her mother, the queen, who'd made sure she received training in the usual feminine arts, learning to play lute, flute, and harp, to sew and to stitch. But her unofficial tutor, who'd been close to her since she was a young child, was a man of great learning, and it was he who ensured she learn the great pagan writers of Greece and Rome, and to study the arts of philosophy and rhetoric. She also became proficient in several foreign tongues. So much did she excel in these disciplines that her father once lamented that Berenguela had been born a woman instead of a man, for she far outstripped most of his emissaries whose sole specialty seemed to be getting murdered in foreign lands.
Most recently, Berenguela had travelled to Cordoba to treat with the Moors. Caliph Yusuf II was a learned man and able to discourse with Berenguela in Latin. While he had spoken to her in honeyed terms of peace between the Christians and Moors, there was hesitance in his voice.
The caliph's son sat in a chair to his father's right, looking generally bored, but sometimes his eyes would flicker with venom. When Berenguela bowed to him and attempted a greeting in arabic, the son only scoffed and looked away. He then called for a servant and spent the rest of the audience having his fingernails cleaned.
Berenguela, like her father, knew that any peace with the Moors would be tenuous and only likely to last for as long as Yusuf still lived. There would be no bargaining with Ibrahim — the sullen prince had made that much clear. All the same, Berenguela had been able to negotiate, without diminishing her father's honour, a mutual assurance that no aggression would come from either side for the span of three years.
So it was that King Alfonso called Berenguela to his chambers one night in order to enlist her in the next part of his plan. He tasked her with going to a distant province of Asia, there to seek out the Emperor of the Byzantines (Greeks who called themselves Romans) Alexius Comnenus.
"Is that how you will finally rid yourself of me, father?" demanded Berenguela, whose tongue could be as acid as her looks were delicate. "Because I won't marry some rich Italian?"
"I know you are not a fool, so do not act it," replied Alfonso "I ask this of you because I know you are capable. You need not marry anyone. Only conclude the alliance and return home."
Berenguela could have fought him further, but her eyes softened. She would go, and they both knew it.
The journey was long and arduous. First she sailed to Italy by trireme, where she met and secured an alliance with the doge of Venice.
"What a delightfully clever lady!"
Then she went by Galley — crossing the Aegean and passing through the great horn of Constantinople — to the remote land of Chaldia, where she first met Emperor Alexius. He was reputed to be among the mightiest rulers in all the world, and seeing the extravagance and wastefulness of his court, she could believe it. He was then conducting a campaign against some unruly subjects in the mountains of Colchis and had assembled a mighty host. It was into a sea of tents that the princess proceeded to meet him for the first time. His was the largest tent — almost a portable palace, bright purple with crimson pennons flying all around.
"I like my tents to be large and colourful," the Emperor told the princess. "So that my enemies might find me and die all the sooner."
"It is a good thing your friends can find you, as well. Or those who wish to befriend you."
"Your Greek is good," said the Emperor. "And do you wish to befriend me?" His eyes were twinkling.
"I am here to do my father's bidding in all things. My first order of business, though, is those pesky Moors."
Over the course of the next hour, a deal was forged, which secured the military assistance of the Byzantines in return for Spanish support in the wars Alexius was planning against the Moors of Corsica and Sardinia. With the deal completed, Berenguela wrote home to her father:
Dear father,
The Greek alliance will hold firm. Alexius is a very rich emperor whose wife has recently died. He is only a bit older than you. Perhaps I will marry him."
Signed,
Your Berenguela
Berenguela remained at the Byzantine court for another two years. It was said she was a great favourite among the satraps and princes of the East.
At length, the lady decided it was time to return to Spain. But it was not to be. Berenguela sickened with the flux while crossing the plains of Anatolia. Despite love the Greeks bore her, not even their most reputed physics could save her. She died in 720, and only her bones ever returned to Spain.
Her father, it is said, had those bones entombed in a gold casket, and would sometimes go to the catacombs, open the casket, and weep over her still golden tresses.
Chapter 6: The Scouring of Leon
Spoiler Alert, click show to read:
In 720, another letter arrived, this one from the castle of Zamora in Leon. It has since become part of the vast collection of letters at Valladolid. I include it here, though I suspect it is mostly lies.
"To Alfonso, who calls himself king of Castile.
My name is Martin Algerra, and I am the rightful King of Leon.
God has chosen me, in his great wisdom, to rule this land. I offer this testament as proof. My father was the duke of Soria. When he died, my two brothers received his lands and wealth and I was left with nothing. I decided to set out from Soria and, with God's help, make my own way in this world. I came to Leon, where I met and befriended a man by the name of Ramon de Berenguer. Ramon was a prince of Leon by birth, had been usurped by his uncle, Garcia de Berenguer. Ramon's sister, Sancha Berenguer was a maiden of fourteen when I first laid eyes on her. Ramon had planned to marry her to the King of Portugal, but it did not come to pass. Ramon met his death while hunting, when an arrow pierced his neck. Many believed this to be no accident, that his treacherous uncle had planned it. I had won much wealth by then, and so, lawfully and in the eyes of God, I took Sancha de Berenguer for my bride. It pains me to relate that Sancha is no longer alive, having been called to God in her nineteenth year. But the claim to the throne did not die with Sancha, for it lives on in me, her husband. It was I who killed renegade Garcia de Berenguer for his crimes, and I thus pressed my rightful claim to the throne of Leon. Let no one deny it. You, Alfonso de Asturias, have no better claim to your own throne. If you do not believe my words, if you should choose to contravene the laws of God and men, then I invite you to test my kingship by force of arms.
King Martin Algerra.
Alfonso's response to the letter was the have its bearer tied to a donkey and sent back to his master. If this sounds unusually cruel, it must be noted that Algerra had often treated the emissaries of Alfonso in similar ways, even resorting to outright murder on occasion.
In the spring of 720, the maiden known as Aldona the pale made her return to the Spanish court. Since her last visit, her brother had risen to the throne of Lithuania, becoming its Grand Duke. At the tournament in 716, Olgernas had noted the special bond that seemed to grow between his sister and Prince Sancho. So it was as a prospective bride that the maiden came to Valladolid. What could have possessed King Alfonso to marry his second son to a pagan princess? To this day, it is a mystery. Sancho was not a young man, so perhaps Alfonso had despaired of finding him a worthier, Christian bride. In her private audience with the king, it was whispered, Aldona had enacted a pagan spell that turned the will of the king. I, for one, hardly find such claims credible. Alfonso was a strong king, and not easily swayed. Perhaps he was as taken with her as was his son, for she was said to be of exceeding beauty, pale in complexion with eyes so blue they were almost purple. Perhaps the king, having recently learned of his daughter Berenguela's death, sought to distract himself by welcoming a new daughter to his family. Whatever the reasons, Sancho and Aldona were wed in the Fall of 720. Far from the pomp and ceremony of Prince Alfonso's wedding, that of Sancho was conducted with much simplicity. The real ceremony, it was whispered, took place at night, amidst torches, in the deep castle vaults, and had included the pagan rite of bloodletting. But all such claims can only be seen as fanciful.
In time, this union would give rise to much controversy in the court, earning Sancho the "Secret Pagan." But more of that later.
By 721, there was one obstacle to Spanish supremacy in the north. The king assembled his four sons and their sworn men in the great hall at Valladolid.
"It is time we avenge ourselves on those who have insulted us," he told them. "It is time we ride against the false king of Leon."
The king set out his plans. Sancho and Alonzo would accompany him on the campaign, while Fernando would go to Navarre. Prince Alfonso would stay in Castile and keep the peace (by which it was understood that he and his new bride were to busy themselves in extending the de Asturias line). Though Prince Alfonso entreated his father to let him ride with the host, the king held firm.
On the following day, as the sun rose over the hills outside Valladolid, the Spanish host rode out. After a long march through grasslands and swamps, along gullies and canyons, the Spanish scouts sighted the gathered Leonese host. The battle for Leon had begun.
It was over in a single afternoon.
The battle opened as a formation of Leonese riders with lances poised charged a band of Spanish horsemen. Lance broke against shield, pierced flesh and tore sinew. The Spaniards responded with their razoring shortswords, thrusting them into the grooves of helmets and the gap between shoulder plates. Blood frothed and spouted in the midday sun.
Meanwhile, the Spanish swordsmen who could travel afoot more quickly than the Leonese feudal infantry, along with the Spanish lancers and royal knights joined the fight, routing the Leonese horse.
King Alfonso and his retinue engaged the Leonese centre, while a unit of Leonese feudal infantry, seeing little hope of victory, attempted to escape the slaughter.
Just then, Prince Alonzo and his knights charged from the flanks, completing the rout. It was said later that Alonzo's sword flashed in the sunlight, spraying the blood of his enemies like a mighty fount. Prince Alonzo caught up with Algerra and his retinue of feudal archers, slaying the false king where he stood.
So ended the rule of the Leonese pretender, and so the realms of Castile and Leon were united under one ruler.
The kingship of Leon was given to a knight of low birth but of much repute, Don Garcia Arvantez, who had slain dozens of enemies during the battle of Leon. It was widely known that rebels from Leon had attacked Arvantez's homeland of Avila when he was a child, slaughtering many of its inhabitants. So Arvantez had sworn revenge and occupied a prominent role in the invasion. Although his family had no true claim to the kingship of Castile, a royal decree was duly produced, and the title "King of Leon" was given to Arvantez and his descendants in perpetuity — provided they remained loyal to the crown of Castile. Of course, Alfonso was the true king of Leon.
To further bind Arvantez to the crown of Castile, Alfonso offered in marriage his youngest daughter, Sancha de Asturias.
Being young and utterly dependent on her ladies in waiting, Sancha showed little aptitude for anything beyond the princessly arts. She was adequate in all things: adequately charming, adequately beautiful, and adequately intelligent. And she made her new husband adequately happy, which adequately served Alfonso's purpose.
The wedding took place at the castle of Zamora, where the defeated Algerra had amassed vast amounts of plunder, which was now divided equally between the leading members of the Spanish host. Leon, well known for the quality of its fish, proved to be a land of plenty. Though it had been much depopulated in the previous years by famine and red flux, the villages began to fill up again with happy peasants. Under the wise rule of Alfonso and his descendants, the land of Leon would once again know prosperity. Or so it was hoped at the time of its conquest by the Spanish.
Two years the Spanish king spent scouring Leon and setting things aright after the bad rule of Algerra. It was discovered that many peasants had been killed and burned in the fields in a futile attempt to control the red flux which had ravaged the land. For three years, Alfonso occupied himself with the restoration of Leon. And yet, he had neglected matters in the East of Spain.
In 726, news reached Castile and Leon that the learned and moderate Caliph of the Moors had died.
His son, who took the name "Caliph Umar," would not be as tractable as his father. Spies reported that the new Caliph was gathering a formidable host from all corners of his vast domain.
In 728, king Alfonso returned to Castile, expecting to live out the last of his years in peace. He had worked hard throughout his life in forging a kingdom worthy of Spain. He had faced enemies on all sides, vanquishing some in battle, and keeping others enemies at bay through his shrewd diplomacy. It was time for him to rest and enjoy the fruits of his labour.
One night in the same year, a bag was thrown over the ramparts of the royal palace of Valladolid. The sentries who found the bag brought it directly to the king and his son, who were taking their supper in the great hall. Inside the bag were two human heads. One head had tangled auburn hair. Alfonso the younger threw up his supper when he beheld it, for it was the head of his sister, Jimena. The other head belonged to her husband the king of Aragon. With the heads came a note: "submit to the laws of the one true God, or die."
Aragon had fallen to the Moors.
Upon receiving this news, king Alfonso took to his bed. Within two days, he was dead.
And Spain had a new king.
Coming soon: The Moorish War.
Last edited by Cyprian2; 01-31-2014 at 02:50.
Reason: formatting
You being such a skilled author, boiling up all the tiny bits and pieces making a great story, should write books ;-))
The way you describe the mood of situations, how you condense a story from dry game feedbacks is, I have to say again, simply great. I was laughing at some bits you strew in, like about the unloving marrieds, or the blushing little brother...
Battle descriptions, and the characterisation of family and enemies, altogether give an atmosphere to this AAR that lets me feel to be in the middle of the whole story happening.
One of ambitions in life is to write and publish novels. But I don't pretend that AAR writing could ever pass for literature. Still, it's a lot of fun to tell of my campaign this way. So many plot-points are suggested with every single turn. And so, there's a lot more to come!
Re: Chronicle of Spain: A Redux 1004 AAR
Originally Posted by Cyprian2
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