Veldmaarschalk: Perhaps he is.
stnylan: Pretty much.
Specialist290: What exactly is it that he is planning, though?
stnylan: Pretty much.
Specialist290: What exactly is it that he is planning, though?
Heirs of Charlemagne
- Thread starter unmerged(51164)
- Start date
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
Chapter 20: Never Taste Death But Once
“Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste death but once.”
William Shakespeare, Julius Caeser
The same.
Count Raymond-Bernard Trencavel of Carcassonne was riding at the very head of his column several miles from the battle. He turned around to one of his commanders, “Do you think that is dust in the distance?”
The younger man replied, “Yes, my lord. Perhaps that is the battle up ahead.”
Straining his eyes, Raymond-Bernard focused on the horizon. “That is very likely.”
“There is a rider aproaching.” The other man announced.
Raymond-Bernard rode forward to speak with the rider, one of Guillaume’s men. When he returned he said to his subordinate, “Halt the column.”
“What, my lord?”
“Halt the collumn.”
“They are going to have us flanked!” Shouted Pierre over the noise of the battle.
Count Raymond had been observeing the battle from a distance up until this point. Now he was preparing to mount his horse. “Let us ride out to meet them, together.”
Pierre had grown to admire the man he was working under. He was devout and brave man, and an inspiring leader. “Together.”
Raymond, Pierre, and whatever reserves he had left (his cavalry) all rode forward toward the fight. They arrived at the fight at the right time. The men on foot looked like they were beginning to waver. “Hold men. Think of the homes these people have burnt. Remember your dead countrymen!” Count Raymond shouted over the din of the battle.
As the men began to stand their ground, more Moors where heading into the battle on horseback. Pierre swung his sword and fought along side the cavalry.
He soon heard shouts of “The Count is wounded” and “Good Raymond is wounded.” Turning his horse, Pierre rode off to protect the wounded Count of Narbonne.
“Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste death but once.”
William Shakespeare, Julius Caeser
The same.
Count Raymond-Bernard Trencavel of Carcassonne was riding at the very head of his column several miles from the battle. He turned around to one of his commanders, “Do you think that is dust in the distance?”
The younger man replied, “Yes, my lord. Perhaps that is the battle up ahead.”
Straining his eyes, Raymond-Bernard focused on the horizon. “That is very likely.”
“There is a rider aproaching.” The other man announced.
Raymond-Bernard rode forward to speak with the rider, one of Guillaume’s men. When he returned he said to his subordinate, “Halt the column.”
“What, my lord?”
“Halt the collumn.”
“They are going to have us flanked!” Shouted Pierre over the noise of the battle.
Count Raymond had been observeing the battle from a distance up until this point. Now he was preparing to mount his horse. “Let us ride out to meet them, together.”
Pierre had grown to admire the man he was working under. He was devout and brave man, and an inspiring leader. “Together.”
Raymond, Pierre, and whatever reserves he had left (his cavalry) all rode forward toward the fight. They arrived at the fight at the right time. The men on foot looked like they were beginning to waver. “Hold men. Think of the homes these people have burnt. Remember your dead countrymen!” Count Raymond shouted over the din of the battle.
As the men began to stand their ground, more Moors where heading into the battle on horseback. Pierre swung his sword and fought along side the cavalry.
He soon heard shouts of “The Count is wounded” and “Good Raymond is wounded.” Turning his horse, Pierre rode off to protect the wounded Count of Narbonne.
Touch and go, hopefully the battle will leave enough men alive in case there is a second invasion.
It looks like he's holding some of his forces back just long enough for Count Raymond and Pierre to get killed, then swoop in and take all the glory for himself. Devious, but risky.
Veldmaarschalk and stnylan: Yes, it does seem that way.
Specialist290: We will learn more about his plan latter. (BUHAHAHAHA!)
Specialist290: We will learn more about his plan latter. (BUHAHAHAHA!)
Chapter 21: The Shadow of Death
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.”
23rd Psalm
Mallorca, April 20, 1073
“He is in tent, sir. Lord Bernard is with him.”
Pierre de Toulouse nodded at the answer the guard had given him. After the Count had been wounded, everything had happened so quickly. While he had fought to protect the Count, Raymond-Bernard of Carcassonne had come in time to attack the flanking Moors in the rear. The Moorish army had been all but destroyed, but the cost…
“Thank you.” Pierre said, entering the tent.
Count Raymond de Narbonne was lying on his back on a makeshift bed. The wound that Raymond was dying from was a stab wound to the gut. He looked even weaker than when Pierre had last seen him.
Bernard de Narbonne was kneeling down beside his wounded father. Bernard no longer showed his trademark enthusiasm. His expression was full of sorrow and pain.
Pierre stood respectfully at the doorway as Bernard was having what may be the last conversation with his father. Bernard seemed to be doing most of the talking, with Raymond as weak as he was.
Soon, they began to say something in unison which Pierre did not recognize at first. After listening hard, he realized, It’s the 23rd Psalm.
After the two finished reciting the psalm, Count Raymond made as if to sit up and reach for his son, but fell back slowly. He is dead, Pierre thought.
Bernard stood up, and finally noticed that Pierre was there. However he said nothing to Pierre, only looking down at the ground.
Pierre walked up to him and put a hand on Bernard’s shoulder. “I feel so lonely.” Bernard was able to say.
“Don’t feel that way.” Pierre replied, “I know what you are going through now. I have lost people who were close to me. You are not alone.”
When Bernard looked up, Pierre saw that he had moved the man to tears.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;
Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;
Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.”
23rd Psalm
Mallorca, April 20, 1073
“He is in tent, sir. Lord Bernard is with him.”
Pierre de Toulouse nodded at the answer the guard had given him. After the Count had been wounded, everything had happened so quickly. While he had fought to protect the Count, Raymond-Bernard of Carcassonne had come in time to attack the flanking Moors in the rear. The Moorish army had been all but destroyed, but the cost…
“Thank you.” Pierre said, entering the tent.
Count Raymond de Narbonne was lying on his back on a makeshift bed. The wound that Raymond was dying from was a stab wound to the gut. He looked even weaker than when Pierre had last seen him.
Bernard de Narbonne was kneeling down beside his wounded father. Bernard no longer showed his trademark enthusiasm. His expression was full of sorrow and pain.
Pierre stood respectfully at the doorway as Bernard was having what may be the last conversation with his father. Bernard seemed to be doing most of the talking, with Raymond as weak as he was.
Soon, they began to say something in unison which Pierre did not recognize at first. After listening hard, he realized, It’s the 23rd Psalm.
After the two finished reciting the psalm, Count Raymond made as if to sit up and reach for his son, but fell back slowly. He is dead, Pierre thought.
Bernard stood up, and finally noticed that Pierre was there. However he said nothing to Pierre, only looking down at the ground.
Pierre walked up to him and put a hand on Bernard’s shoulder. “I feel so lonely.” Bernard was able to say.
“Don’t feel that way.” Pierre replied, “I know what you are going through now. I have lost people who were close to me. You are not alone.”
When Bernard looked up, Pierre saw that he had moved the man to tears.
Chapter 22: Half So Barbarous
“Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?”
William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus
Mallorca, May 11, 1073
“So, this is the Emir’s Palace?” Duke Guillaume asked, looking up.
“I can’t imagine what else it would be.” Pierre quiped.
Guillaume glared at Pierre, Damn him; he was supposed to die, not Raymond, but Pierre was right. Palace was the only way to describe it. A King would not mind ruling from this place. It dwarfed any castle or manor that the Duke had visit in the south of France.
“Well,” Count Bernard de Narbonne said, “lets go in. We may find the Emir.”
The three of them, along with Count Raymond-Bernard and several other men, dismounted. The large doors to the vast palace were pushed open.
Looking through the doorway, Pierre said, “We may find him.”
Guillaume entered the front hall. He was taken aback, amazed at the complexity of the corridors that branched off of the entrance hall. “Well, lets get going, then.”
Picking a corridor at random, Guilluame walked down it, with his men following. “Perhaps,” Pierre spoke up, “we should have brought a ball of string to mark our path.”
Bernard chuckled at the allusion to Theseus, one of the old Greek heroes. “I doubt we will need it. We have no Minotaur to slay.”
Guillaume did not pay much attention to their conversation past that. His attention was fixed on finding the Emir. He led the party down this hall untill he saw another corridor branching off the one they were one. There is no harm in it, he thought as he led the party down the down this corridor.
He had been lucky. Guillaume beheld one of the most grand sites he had ever seen. The large room had a high ceiling. Some of the architecture he saw put much of what he was used to in France to shame. A set of black steps led up to a thrown, perched above the rest of the room.
Guillaume spotted an aging Moor walking towards him. “Welcome.” He said in Occitan, which was obviously not his first language.
“Are you the Emir?” Guillaume asked, slightly disapointed.
The man shook his head. “The Emir was…,” he shook his head again, “is gone. I am willing to surrender the Mallorcan Islands to you.”
Guillaume frowned, “What of Manorca?” The Moor shook his head. Guillaume drew his sword. “I am going to have to reject your offer, then.” The man began to cower back back, but Guillaume was younger and quicker. The Moor fell back dead.
Guillaume’s men and nobles stood there stunned at the sudden outburst. He turned to them. “Raymond-Bernard, your men are to come with me to Manorca. Bernard, Pierre, your men will occupy this place untill you receive word of otherwise. Well come on – we still have a war to fight!”
“Was ever Scythia half so barbarous?”
William Shakespeare, Titus Andronicus
Mallorca, May 11, 1073
“So, this is the Emir’s Palace?” Duke Guillaume asked, looking up.
“I can’t imagine what else it would be.” Pierre quiped.
Guillaume glared at Pierre, Damn him; he was supposed to die, not Raymond, but Pierre was right. Palace was the only way to describe it. A King would not mind ruling from this place. It dwarfed any castle or manor that the Duke had visit in the south of France.
“Well,” Count Bernard de Narbonne said, “lets go in. We may find the Emir.”
The three of them, along with Count Raymond-Bernard and several other men, dismounted. The large doors to the vast palace were pushed open.
Looking through the doorway, Pierre said, “We may find him.”
Guillaume entered the front hall. He was taken aback, amazed at the complexity of the corridors that branched off of the entrance hall. “Well, lets get going, then.”
Picking a corridor at random, Guilluame walked down it, with his men following. “Perhaps,” Pierre spoke up, “we should have brought a ball of string to mark our path.”
Bernard chuckled at the allusion to Theseus, one of the old Greek heroes. “I doubt we will need it. We have no Minotaur to slay.”
Guillaume did not pay much attention to their conversation past that. His attention was fixed on finding the Emir. He led the party down this hall untill he saw another corridor branching off the one they were one. There is no harm in it, he thought as he led the party down the down this corridor.
He had been lucky. Guillaume beheld one of the most grand sites he had ever seen. The large room had a high ceiling. Some of the architecture he saw put much of what he was used to in France to shame. A set of black steps led up to a thrown, perched above the rest of the room.
Guillaume spotted an aging Moor walking towards him. “Welcome.” He said in Occitan, which was obviously not his first language.
“Are you the Emir?” Guillaume asked, slightly disapointed.
The man shook his head. “The Emir was…,” he shook his head again, “is gone. I am willing to surrender the Mallorcan Islands to you.”
Guillaume frowned, “What of Manorca?” The Moor shook his head. Guillaume drew his sword. “I am going to have to reject your offer, then.” The man began to cower back back, but Guillaume was younger and quicker. The Moor fell back dead.
Guillaume’s men and nobles stood there stunned at the sudden outburst. He turned to them. “Raymond-Bernard, your men are to come with me to Manorca. Bernard, Pierre, your men will occupy this place untill you receive word of otherwise. Well come on – we still have a war to fight!”
Glad to be back to the story. I am impressed at the way you tell the story. Would be better if you have the screenshots to show the death of Raymond and your occupation of the island.
Veldmaarschalk: 
Specialist290: Actually...I am not realy planning on going that in depth of the invasion of Manorca. I have been thinking to skip to the return to Narbonne.
stnylan: Of course you can't.
prussiablue: Well, I have said before that I had not orrigianally intended to make an AAR untill partway through the game, 1086 to be exact. So, I have no screenshots from 1066-1086, but if you realy want a pic of occupied Mallorca:
That is all you get. I will try to find more illistrations for my updates; I have been getting lazy.
Specialist290: Actually...I am not realy planning on going that in depth of the invasion of Manorca. I have been thinking to skip to the return to Narbonne.
stnylan: Of course you can't.
prussiablue: Well, I have said before that I had not orrigianally intended to make an AAR untill partway through the game, 1086 to be exact. So, I have no screenshots from 1066-1086, but if you realy want a pic of occupied Mallorca:
That is all you get.
I will try to find more illistrations for my updates; I have been getting lazy.
east_emnet said:Veldmaarschalk:
In your AAR you are talking about Manorca and the island is called Menorca
Ah, ok. Um...oops.
I make mistakes constantly, it is always good that you guys catch them.
I make mistakes constantly, it is always good that you guys catch them.
Chapter 23: A Friend and a Master
“Fortune favors the brave.”
Virgil, Aeneid
Narbonne, September 27, 1073
Pierre rode into the city from the port on horseback with the other knights and nobles of the army at the head of the column. He had never expected that the welcome when the army had returned to Narbonne would be so warm. He had expected that people would be happy for their return, but the welcome the army was receiving exceeded Pierre’s expectations. The mourning will start soon, he thought.
“It’s over then.” He said aloud.
“Whats that?” Looking to his left, Pierre saw that it was Count Bernard of Narbonne riding up along side him.
“It’s over Bernard! We have been fighting for months, we can all go to our homes and families now.” Pierre replied.
A gloomy expression appeared on Bernard’s face, “Family…” he said mourfully, “It will not be the same. Will I ever get used to it?”
“I haven’t,” Pierre said. “me and Euphrosine grew up together. I sill think of her.”
“Well,” Bernard replied, “I am glad to have you as a friend.” Pierre smiled at the thought. The two of them had gotten to know each other well since the death of Raymond.
Soon afterwards, Bernard rode ahead to the head of the column, leaving Pierre alone with his thoughts once again. Surpressing a yawn, he looked into the crowd that had come to welcome them to Narbonne. He then began to hear someone in the crowd calling, “Sir Pierre, Sir Pierre of Toulouse?”
Turning around, he saw the person calling was a boy who looked about 13 years old. Pierre rode back toward the boy.
“Sir Pierre, of the court of Toulouse?” the boy asked again.
“Yes,” Pierre said, “I am him.”
“My master needs to see you, tonight.” He pointed to a small stone building down the rode, “He owns that inn there.”
Pierre frowned, “Has he told you why he needs to see me?”
“No, sir.” Pierre’s frown did not disapear.
“Fortune favors the brave.”
Virgil, Aeneid
Narbonne, September 27, 1073
Pierre rode into the city from the port on horseback with the other knights and nobles of the army at the head of the column. He had never expected that the welcome when the army had returned to Narbonne would be so warm. He had expected that people would be happy for their return, but the welcome the army was receiving exceeded Pierre’s expectations. The mourning will start soon, he thought.
“It’s over then.” He said aloud.
“Whats that?” Looking to his left, Pierre saw that it was Count Bernard of Narbonne riding up along side him.
“It’s over Bernard! We have been fighting for months, we can all go to our homes and families now.” Pierre replied.
A gloomy expression appeared on Bernard’s face, “Family…” he said mourfully, “It will not be the same. Will I ever get used to it?”
“I haven’t,” Pierre said. “me and Euphrosine grew up together. I sill think of her.”
“Well,” Bernard replied, “I am glad to have you as a friend.” Pierre smiled at the thought. The two of them had gotten to know each other well since the death of Raymond.
Soon afterwards, Bernard rode ahead to the head of the column, leaving Pierre alone with his thoughts once again. Surpressing a yawn, he looked into the crowd that had come to welcome them to Narbonne. He then began to hear someone in the crowd calling, “Sir Pierre, Sir Pierre of Toulouse?”
Turning around, he saw the person calling was a boy who looked about 13 years old. Pierre rode back toward the boy.
“Sir Pierre, of the court of Toulouse?” the boy asked again.
“Yes,” Pierre said, “I am him.”
“My master needs to see you, tonight.” He pointed to a small stone building down the rode, “He owns that inn there.”
Pierre frowned, “Has he told you why he needs to see me?”
“No, sir.” Pierre’s frown did not disapear.
He can't even enjoy the celebration! I am tempted to say this does not bode well on general principles, but I suppose it could actually be a nice surprise. They do happen, once in a while. A long while.
Veldmaarschalk: Or what?
That is the question.
Wether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
(You are getting nothing out of me, in other words)
stnylan: It could be good, it could be bad, or it could be bad and good.
That is the question.
Wether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?
(You are getting nothing out of me, in other words)
stnylan: It could be good, it could be bad, or it could be bad and good.