Corsican Dawn: The Rise of House Obertenghi

[JimboIX]

Well I've used my lunchbreak today to finally start a new AAR. After 1100 posts or so it seemed appropriate to start giving back, and I wrote these two ideas up before returning to the shackles of my desk and the intricacies of the in esse rule in the enforcement of equitable servitudes against property owners. I have a problem I'm hoping you all can help me resolve however. First, I'm not sure of what format I'd like. I have an idea for a history book, an analogue to Plutarch's Lives, and for a narrative AAR.

The game is based on a remarkable game I've had recently with the Obertenghi family of Corsica. This game is the follow-up to an amazing game I had once where I managed to become King of Germany within the span of my first ruler's lifetime, but lost the game due to CTD. I restarted in hopes of duplicating myself, and had an interesting game (not initially nearly as successful).

In lieu of a decision on my part, I've decided that you all can select the format. Below are the two hastily written first updates sans-pictures of both (still suck at graphics- don't want to deal with them until I have too) Choose your favorite and I'll go with that. A combination of the two, Lives and the occasional narrative vignette is an acceptable vote.

I've been fortunate as a result of my work on this AAR to have been awarded membership as a Fellow in the Tempus Society this is a great organization fostering the work of AAR fiction writing.

[JimboIX]

An Introduction to the 2003 edition by the Lord Harun Obertenghi

With the recent revival of interest into the early history of our family, it seemed fitting to republish Pandulf of Tangier's Lives in its full form for the first time in several decades.

The origins of the Obertenghis have always been shrouded in myth, much of written and commissioned by the family itself in an attempt to solidify its power base and inspire awe in various peoples. The humble beginnings of a Corsican count scrapping for land and desperate to expand beyond his own impoverished island are often swept up amongst the hyperbole dripping from hagiographic descriptions of St. Gaimar the Conqueror's reign, and equally absent from the noble praise heaped upon his father Demetrio I despite all his obvious cunning.

While many in the family have thought that this might still serve us as the centuries wear on, I and several others have come to conclusion that in this modern era it is best to embrace our heritage with all its warts, the better to explore our future.

Acknowledging this sentiment however, we believe it best to draw our understanding from those primary sources which do not attempt to manipulate the past to serve a contemporary agenda, be it abolition of the monarchy or some other idle fancy. It is for this reason that we have selected Pandulf of Tangier's history to publish.

Born at the beginning of the fifteenth century Pandulf, a courtier in the Duchy of Tangiers was commissioned by his master the seventh Beccaria Duke of Tangiers to compose a history of the house of Obertenghi to be given to the Duke's lord as a state gift commemorating the 350 year anniversary of the ennobling of the Duke's ancestor as the first Count of Tangiers.

Far from complying with strict instructions of his master to create a paean, Pandulf, a student of Plutarch, conducted an exhaustive amount of research into the sources available to him at the time, including many contemporary sources lost to us today.

When the Duke read the manuscript upon its completion it is said that he became apoplectic with rage, nearly killing Pandulf, who was saved only by the intervention of the Duke's daughter. The young lady happened to believe that the document provided her with delicious gossip to slander her rival at court, the daughter of the Duke of Cordoba whose ancestor was named in this document as one of the numerous bastards of St. Gaimar the Conqueror.

We hope you will enjoy this peace of history and that it will ultimately make you quite proud in our past and your own, and it is with great pleasure that I give you this edition of Pandulf's Lives.

Regards,

Lord Harun Obertenghi
Professor of History

Augustine College

The University of Hippo

[JimboIX]

Corsica, 1067

The dawn rose lazily over the bay, rays of sun slowly drawing back the veil on the rugged mountains and cliffs fencing the water in place. A derelict keep perched itself on one cliff, overlooking the bay as though to command the respect of all those who entered. It might have been so once. The proud walls visage was now cracked with age, mortared here and there by a hand which seemed less adept than that which built them, leaving gaps where stone ought to be.

Some, Alberto thought, might find the scene picturesque. A microcosm of life revealed itself to the patient onlooker in the village below, husbands creeping back home after a night out, industrious fishermen rising early to begin the day’s work, trails of smoke rising from homes as the peasants prepared to break their fast.

Alberto thought nothing of the sort. He saw a petty village, ruled by a petty lord on a remote bay. Fishermen? What exactly could he do with Fish? He could not buy swords with fish; he could not even afford to maintain those few which he had. Fish purchased absolutely nothing, even if he bothered to send them to Genoa or Pisa where their might actually be a market the cost of transport would deprive them of any value. Those rugged cliffs and the rugged terrain behind them were splendidly beautiful, indeed. So splendid that his serfs had virtually no arable land, they tilled ridiculously steep fields up and down the narrow valleys, the harvest of which hardly supplemented their diet.

In Genoa they called him the pauper count, neglecting his actual title of Marques as an absurdity even in jest. In Genoa he thought, a city his ancestors once ruled he had stood patiently at the palace door, his shabbily dressed herald crying out for all the bemused onlookers to hear that here was “Albert the Red, Marques of Corsica of house Obertenghi!” There, the chancellor informed him with infinite patronization that the sovereign was “Too engaged in affairs of state to see him currently, but appreciated his visit a great deal.” Alberto, choking back his indignity, replied that he appreciated the rigorous duties of a fellow sovereign and wished him the best of health. Why? Because the pauper count could scarcely afford to incur the wrath of Genoa.

Of course that had not been the purpose of his visit. No, after years of insisting that his bride be of birth equal to his own, Alberto had yielded to the insistent recommendation of his Chancellor Azzo that he choose a bride “More notable for her dowry than rank” He had yielded shortly after being informed that the cost of repairing the decayed Moorish keep he lived in would be roughly equal to a decade’s income.

Azzo had made the match almost immediately; Alberto suspected the auction for his hand had been held prospectively by the fellow some time ago. His bride’s name Azzo informed him, was to be Margherita, the young daughter of a Genoese family renowned for its wealth. The family also somewhat dubiously claimed to be Counts of some village in Lombardy, a title which Alberto confirmed in his prospective father in law with equally dubious authority as an heir of Obertus, assuring the beaming man that his cousin, Alberto of Milan would honor this act. He performed the act in a Genoese church rented by the new Count, struggling to keep a straight face as they went through the motions of vesting title and seisin.

Not permitted to meet his bride on that occasion as she was yet deemed too young to meet her bridegroom, Alberto had risen early today to watch for her on the horizon. Today, in ships hopefully weighted down with ducats, Margherita would arrive.

Perhaps his fortunes would change, for years he had been sulked behind these walls, a vain master of disappointment. News had reached him recently of the elevation of the Duke of Normandy to the Kingdom of England, if a bastard son of a viking duke could succeed in accomplishing such a feat, why could a Corsican Count not also aspire so high?

Alberto smiled despite himself as the dawn rose over the Corsican skyline. Today was a new day he thought, and whatever else may come of it, nothing will ever be the same for the Count of Corsica.

[Lord Valentine]

You have chosen a interesting country indeed. I hope you can truly rise from obscurity. I personally prefer the style in your first update. It's always fascinating how people interpret and manipulate the past in their interest.

~Lord Valentine~

[Veldmaarschalk]

JimboIX finally starts his own AAR, great !

Will we see a Napoleon or Napeleone soon as a count ?

[thrashing mad]

I`m not huge fan of narrative AARs, but with your style, rich and colorful vocabulary, great descriptions, and ability to make text not too long, nor too short - I`ll vote for second installment (seriously - I`m reading several narratives - and your skills are from first league). But first one from time to time, as a glimpse to past from modern perspective (with some pics and maps) will make excellent combo IMHO.

[anthonyp]

I'll be keeping tabs on this AAR. Always interested to see the plight of tiny nations as they get bigger.

[LordAumerle]

Blatantly subscribing to this, looks brill =)

[Jestor]

I've been known to use both and mix and match both, obviously But for what it's worth, I strongly prefer narrative vignettes in this case. Alberto seems like a character we could grow and learn with

Fantastic start. Can't wait to see more.

[thrashing mad]

I've been known to use both and mix and match both, obviously But for what it's worth, I strongly prefer narrative vignettes in this case. Alberto seems like a character we could grow and learn with

Fantastic start. Can't wait to see more.

Exactly. I already started to like him.

[JimboIX]

Lord Valentine: The Obertenghis are in for a quite a ride.

Veldmaarschalf: Count Napoleone might not happen, though that would be exciting. I'm using your kingdom and duchy mod, by the way, and missing the Sardinian Kingdom.

TM: I'll give it a shot. I warn you prospectively though that if I were actually good at writing, I probably wouldn't be studying law. Thanks for the compliment though- I'm afraid my graphics skills will be a disappointment, I struggle with cropping in paint. Glad you liked Alberto.

Anthonyp: Fortunately for the Obertenghis, there's richer lands than Iceland around to concur. It's one of my favorite kinds of sagas too.

Lord Aumerle: Thanks for the compliment, glad you enjoyed it.

Jestor: THe mix and match approach does have its strong suits. Alberto's a fun, at first I wrote him completely differently than how he ended up (More chipper, less introspective), but settled with that. Hopefully I'll get to know him better soon.

Thank you all so much for your interest, didn't know how much Corsica would draw. I only found one other Corsican AAR in the LibrAARy.

With regards to the format, I think I'm going to combine narrative and history via the Lives. The Lives will be sort of an overview, with the vignettes highlighting important moments in their life or the story. At least that's the tentative plan.

Probably no updates until Friday afternoon after I knock out 1 final and before I start preparing for the next week's batch. I probably should have waited until after to start this, but I work best with a lot of things going on. It'll probably be narrative, because that's the easiest thing for me to write. I'm not kidding about how bad I am at graphics, and I definitely want to do some pictures (historical and screenshots) in the Lives segments.

Thanks again for stopping in.

[Woody Man]

Good to see you starting you own AAR! I look forward to reading and I hope Alberto has enough divine favour to make things work!

[JimboIX]

Good to see you starting you own AAR! I look forward to reading and I hope Alberto has enough divine favour to make things work!

Thanks, we'll see how much favor Alberto can muster.

[JimboIX]

Pandulf’s Prologue



Corsica

In the year of our Lord nine hundred and fifty one Berengar II, the last Lombard usurper of the most sovereign Kingdom of Italy, desired in his brief reign to make amends with the various fellow nobles over whom he had stepped in his climb to the throne, having accomplished this feat through devious means and callous exploitation of the failings of our Holy Father. He proposed to complete in this task the work of his honorable predecessor Hugh of Provence, and thus associate his name with a man of greater station.

A cunning manipulator of men, he endeavored to flatter them with titles belonging in good faith to our Holy Father and his designee the Holy Roman Emperor. Thus he divided his territories south of the Po, that mighty river which descends from the Alps south of Monviso called Padus by the Romans, into three marks. Decreeing all men of rank in these regions make way to the court to witness the installation of his Marcher lords who were to be count palatines of the realm, the King assembled a glittering banquet of the lords of Italy.


The Assembly of Lords

Among them was Obert who having long reigned gloriously amongst his people heeded the request of the usurper to come to his court. An august and righteous lord long among his people descended from the Lombards, Obert arrived with a gleaming company, bedecked in the richest finery of any retinue present at the gathering. Berengar admiring of his bearing and wealth immediately attempted to bestow upon him the title of Count Palatine and Marcher Lord, seeking to devise upon him the greatest of the three marks which he proposed to call The Mark of Obert, marca obertenghi crying out to the assembly. “Is not this man noble in his mein, worthy of great title and honor? He will be the greatest of my Lords, Count Palatine Marques Obertenghi!”

Obert affected a reply demonstrating his disdain for the usurper proclaiming “I be not that race of man who accepts a gift which is not given by those whose province it is to give. If I am a Marques or a Count Palatine so be I by birth and design of God alone.” The gathering went silent upon Obert’s rebuke, the assembled lords stunned by his effrontery of the King of Italy by might.

Berengar II abhorring conflict and desirous of an accommodating peace between himself and the right honorable quickly struck upon a reply more amenable to the Lord’s considerable pride. “If you be Marques by grace of god, I do not challenge your right of it. Indeed our father has clearly blessed you beyond my capacity to confirm, allow me then not to decree you Lord but to recognize the rank the God has bestowed upon you in your birth, Marques Obert!”


Marques Obert

A man little accustomed to dissembly and deception Obert dipped his head in acquiescence, Obert in so affirming his declaration accepted to be so called by Berengar II, and to hold in light of this rank a third of the Lands South of the Po, bordered by Genoa in the South and the Po in North. In this manner Obert became a Marques and a Count Palatine.

The devious Berengar II subsequently met his defeat at the hands of the rightful Emperor Otto. Otto upon defeating the usurper confirmed in Obert the title of Marques and the lands Berengar confirmed in him, as the Lord Obert never aided Berengar in his struggle against the rightful Lord of the land, nor to hear the bards sing it accepted a title from any mortal lord such as Berengar II, but only God.

In the year of our Lord nine hundred and seventy two Marques Obert, hearing great tales of the sufferings of the Lord Jesus Christ’s people in Corsica under the Infidel pirates and also tiring of the many depredations of the ignoble pirate Moor upon his good people and their fleets, set out to defeat the infidels from his capital in Genoa, succeeding in wresting the Island from the infidels in that year.


Corsican Pirates After the Conquest of Obert

Desiring to leave none of his sons without sustenance, Obert upon his death devised the parts of his realm evenly among his sons in the way of his ancestors, each of whom he created Marques in their own right to hold their lands in fief from their brothers.

Corsica he devised upon his youngest son, Alberto, a fat and sniveling man who never visited the Island he derived his title from, content to remain in Genoa and reap the profits from his mastery, immediately dissipating them upon arrival. Despised by his brothers, they ousted him from the city, insisting he not shame their fathers name and rule. Alberto, despairing of the loss of his entertainment died en route to Corsica, leaving his infant son Alberto all his possessions. Alberto, who had been accompanying his father upon the trip arrived in Corsica a Marques by right of his father and grandfather accompanied only by his mother Giuditta, a younger daughter of the Count of Parma who made her residence in the keep Obert liberated from the Moors with her son.


Castle Obertenghi

And so the first Count from whom the reckoning of Obertenghi lords is made, Alberto I, came into his dominion, a grandson of the august Lord Obert, Marques of Corsica and the Obertenghi Mark. The people of the Island rejoiced, noting that in this Lord they had achieved a new day as there had not been a resident master of Corsica for nearly a millennia, and they had embraced his Grandfather Obert, who liberated them from the oppression of the Moor.

[JimboIX]

Well that's an update. Some real history on the Obertenghis- Obert is actualy the ancestor of the Houses of Welf and Este through his great-grandson Adalberto of Milan, and was thus the male line ancestor of the Hanover Kings of Britain and the Dukes of Ferrara and Modena, as well as the d'Este family you're familiar with as the Dukes of Lombardy in the game. I skipped a generation between him and Alberto, as nothing is too certain that early, and clearly embellished his origins. Hope you enjoy it.

[Jestor]

I did enjoy it d'Este... good family to be a partial ancestor of.

[JimboIX]

Citadel Obertenghi

Alberto could not decide what to wear. The decision, mired with implications, beset him early this morning. His reverie at the dawn left him refreshed, energized, but, and this thought arrived most unwelcome in his mind, with a wardrobe no more impressive than it had been yesterday. For an hour now he had gazed interminably at the clothes assembled before him, addressing their minutia with the nagging suspicion that his bride, whose father’s wealth dwarfed his own, could scarcely be impressed.

The first option of course, was martial. An adequate if uninspiring warrior, Alberto could don his hauberk, strap on his sword and the miniscule circlet with its gleaming if humble precious stone, one of the few relics of his father remaining to him. He grimaced at the thought. Indeed, a warrior Lord presiding over a host of motley men at arms and glorified peasants, his mail dusted and unoiled from lack of use. And the circlet? Had it not been just last week that he mockingly deemed it the ringlet, refusing to wear it as requested by Azzo during the “investment” of his father in law? Quite the image to portray, indeed, she would be impressed.

The second option presented a more formal avenue. A doublet embroidered lovingly with his arms and in rich red, gold, and blue thread dancing across the fabric crafted by Pisan artists, a gift from his mother’s family in one of the odd moments when they remembered him, exquisite to behold, gleaming with richness and dripping of prestige. How rich though? He thought. Aside from this suit of clothes gifted to him, he owned nothing so fine, nor could his studious seamstresses ever dream of creating a work of art equal to this, they had gasped in awe at it when it arrived, their eyes adoring at its fine colors, aware no dye or craft was known to them to create its likeness. No, he thought, he would not disappoint her immediately upon her arrival by setting her expectations so high that she would be immediately disappointed.

The third option he considered veered in the opposite direction. Early in the morning, he had sent for the garb of a fisherman. Perhaps, he had thought, he should greet his bride as a Corsican, if nothing else this avenue would lead to elated cheers among his people, who adored the thought of their Lord mixing among them, infinitely proud of their status as a sovereign realm. But what of his bride he thought? This might be the course which would gain him the most acclaim, indeed. But how shocking and rough would the proposition to his bride be that she had traveled from home and hearth to wed a Corsican fisherman? No he thought, he would not inflict that upon her, whatever else his many faults were. He continued his pondering for a moment, eyes lingering upon each for a moment.

“My Lord..” Azzos smooth voice lingered in the air, aware his Lord would need a moment to be drawn from his daydreaming. What was the subject today? He wondered to himself, no matter, there were things which they needed to do today, tasks to be done, and so he served. ..”Your bride’s ship arrives, shall we meet it at the dock?”

“Indeed, indeed” Alberto spoke, shaking himself awake from his thoughts. But what to wear..

“Do you require a moment to dress..I shall send for your manservant..” Azzo began, his instinct for expediency piqued as he noticed the wardrobe laid out before his master.

Alberto opened his mouth, resigned to the doublet for all its splendid excess, then paused. No, he thought..this girl arrives to marry the Count of Corsica, Marques Alberto Obertenghi. Let her meet him as he is, in his normal clothing, the rough tunic sewn by his servants, his arms awkwardly stitched upon the breast, his rough boots, ready to ride but hardly suited for a Genoese dinner. If she is to be the Countess or Corsica, he thought, she should meet her count as he truly is. Azzo appeared significantly perplexed by his master’s open mouth, a brow slowly furrowing across his forward in confusion. Alberto smiled inwardly at the man’s perplexity as he finally gave his reply “No, thank you though Azzo. I shall go as I am, is everything in order?”

“Indeed, my Lord. Your company awaits you.” Ever prepared, Azzo had had them assembled hours earlier, to anticipate Margherita’s arrival at any moment of the day. Years of insistence, suggestion, and plain work had gone into this moment on Azzo’s part, and he refused to allow anything to vex its arrival.

“Very good. Let us go.” Azzo strode out the door to the stairs with a brisk stride to the awaiting company of men at arms, servants, and local dignities that had assembled to welcome their new mistress with their master, gifts long crafted at their sides, the best catch in the hands fishermen elected to the task by their brethren. Eager to follow him to the docks below. Azzo flashed each and every one a warm, paternalistic smile, the best his mother had taught him, and led the way. He could not recall when he last felt so well.

The Bay

Margherita was ill. Her hands shook, and she no longer knew whether the sea was to blame or her destination, Corsica. The voyage had passed with inordinate speed for her, inducing little but vomit and a growing apprehension of dread in her.

She remembered with desperate clarity her fathers visiting her chambers informing her, with that infinite air of certainty he expressed in all his dealings, from merchants to the family’s servants, of her marriage. “No” the words left her lips before he finished his proposal, as he had saved the best part for last, that this “Marques” would install in him the title he had purchased at no small expense from a disgraced Lombard lord several years ago. It did not surprise her that her father did not pause when she spoke, nor that he continued for some time after her eyes closed, tears forming at their edges, about the various benefits that this union would bring to their family, of the infinite delight of her mother. Of her impending station. Of her dowry. Of her inevitable happiness. The man never possessed much heart, for all his skill at commerce. She could think of none of these things. Instead, a single thought consumed her.

How would she tell Francesco? Francesco. What did she know of Corsica? What strange and alien lord resided there? She knew nothing of Corsica, and everything of Francesco. A young man in her father’s employ, they met at her eldest sisters wedding a year ago- to a petty noble evidently less revered than this Corsican lord her father lauded, for he possessed no sovereignty- she could recall the first time his lips touched hers, a hesitant peck in her father’s gardens after the ceremony. The blissful passion of the first time they made love several weeks after in his home, which she discretely visited after providing her mother with the pretense of church. He spoke of marrying her, hoping that her father would consent to a lesser match for his youngest, in light of his contributions to the family business. They spoke of a life together, a family. She knew the brilliant fire in his eyes when he spoken of the future, the tender, warm tone in his voice when he spoke of her, and above all the soaring emotion his presence filled her with. What could she tell Francesco?

He had learned immediately of the plans, rushing to her home on the pretext of business, stealing a moment away to speak with her. No you heard mistakenly she had said manufacturing a story about her middle sister, recently widowed, to be remarried. She would not rob him of their last moments together she thought; he would have time for his pain later.

She had told her father she did not want to meet the Corsican when he arrived, insisting she thought herself too young still, her father, more concerned with making a new banner mentioning prominently and commissioning new arms acquired as a result of his elevation, acquiesced, indifferent to the details.

And so she departed Genoa before dawn one morning, her father muttering something inane about her writing often, and her mother beaming with the idiotic grin she was born with. On to Corsica, she thought, to be a Countess. So be it she thought. Only then did she weep. The voyage had passed by as a blur.

“M’lady?” Her lady-in-waiting, the servant elected to travel with her to help her assume her new station, spoke.

“Yes?” Her hands still shook, her palms sweaty…but, she noticed, the motion of the ship had stopped, she no longer felt ill.

“We have arrived. Your Lord awaits you on the docks.” The woman scurried away, no doubt to assemble the various packages she had been burdened with on her voyage, rich gifts, and of course, above all, her still greater dowry.

Margherita closed her eyes and commanded her body to stop shaking. Whatever else they may say of me, she thought, I will not be called a coward. Rising from the bed she ran her hands over her dress briefly, smoothing its creases. She would meet the Corsican without tears, she told herself, she could mourn what might have been later, but for the moment, she must go forth and meet the future. Margherita began to walk up the steps, headed for the dock and next chapter of her life.

[JimboIX]

I did enjoy it d'Este... good family to be a partial ancestor of.

Glad you liked it. All feedback is welcome of course, I myself had several bad things to say about it.

Here's another narrative update, because I needed something to take the edge off. This did the trick.

[thrashing mad]

WOW! I`m shocked (positively) by quality of each written word. Again - great variety of vocabulary, descriptions, medieval reality, and "alive", juicy characters served in excellent way. It`s like beginning of some epic novel, can`t wait to see what`s next

[Woody Man]

Wonderful stuff, I've often thought of doing an AAR like this, maybe just centered on one Earl like the Count Alberto, how will you do the rest of the game, out of interest?