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Thread: Rome AARisen - a Byzantine AAR

  1. #4101
    First Lieutenant Kirsch27's Avatar
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    Well I think that's probably a Turkish helmet, not a Persian helmet. (Though the Turks have by now become lords of Persia, so that is sort of a moot point... nonetheless the helmet was probably looted from a dead Ayyubid soldier, rather than a Seljuk, considering they weren't truly in conflict with Jerusalem at the time of the Leper King, so it's probably from an unfortunate Turkish noble or freeman that came along with Saladin [who was Kurdish, and therefore from or modern day Iraq, and who also served the Turkish Sultan for a time]. Either that or a slightly inaccurate prop in the movie, which is my personal actual guess.)

    AAAAANYWAYS, I'm looking forward to the update, especially with the promise of new characters, who look quite interesting. Been a long time since we've seen a Vatazces like the one who saved Basil, hopefully one of them is as amusing as that foul-mouthed pile of awesomeness.

  2. #4102
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    Quote Originally Posted by Kirsch27 View Post
    Well I think that's probably a Turkish helmet, not a Persian helmet.
    It's a pretty typical helmet used by both Persians and Ottomans...but in the 15th/16th centuries, and the width of the grooves in the twisted conical shape suggests Safavids. Plus the inlaid writing. And the Sipahi helmets tended to be more conical.

    That said, the general design is found all over the Middle East, Central Asia and Eastern Europe, though the execution and detailing varies...and even lived on in Renaissance West as the pointed Capellin. I even commented about that to Milites and he wasn't even aware it was a non-European design.

    The wrong-prop guess is pretty accurate I'd say, it's definitely too early for them to wear that kind of thing.
    Last edited by RGB; 22-04-2010 at 08:25.
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  3. #4103
    Honourable Saxon Thegn AlexanderPrimus's Avatar
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    Quote Originally Posted by General_BT View Post
    (I'm still trying to come up with how someone would refer to someone from Sortmark-- Sortmarkese? Sortmarker? Sortmarkian?)
    Well... compare it to similar examples. It's Danmark - Danish - Danes, so... Sortmark - Sortish - Sorts?

  4. #4104
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    Quote Originally Posted by AlexanderPrimus View Post
    Well... compare it to similar examples. It's Danmark - Danish - Danes, so... Sortmark - Sortish - Sorts?
    Norweigan = Norman (in Swedish), so Sortman/Sorting?

  5. #4105
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    Quote Originally Posted by RGB View Post
    The wrong-prop guess is pretty accurate I'd say, it's definitely too early for them to wear that kind of thing.
    Indeed, Safavids weren't around for quite a while yet, and the Osman hadn't even been born yet, let alone forged the beginning of an Empire. Didn't really expect this to turn into an interesting discussion but it has. Regardless, it looks a bit odd on such a very fanatical Crusader's head. Regardless if you think he was a bit of a scumbag, or not, he certainly wouldn't be wearing a clearly muslim-looking helmet unless there was some serious significance to it, like him cutting it off a man's head in single combat or something. But I'm really more interested in what he's doing in this story... and if all three characters are connected, or not.

    As for the Sortmark naming issue, that's a tough one. Perhaps the best way would actually be along the lines of "Man of the Mark" or "Man of the Sortmark". Sortmarker sounds like something you draw with, Sortmarkian is just awkward, and Sortmarkese just doesn't fit either. Sortmen? That'd make some sense, but it translates to "Black Men" which doesn't particularly fit. Although all the characters from that area seem rather dark and brooding, so perhaps it does fit. You need that sort of hardy, scarily fearless demeanor to survive in a land like that as long as they have. And they certainly must by now have quite a reputation for standing up to the Mongols more than any other power in the region, and then kicking them back once they got the chance. Another idea could be a name commemorating an important hero to them or something, like Skjalmi, or something. If Skjalm Hvide actually led the Danish Expedition to that region then that would actually make alot more sense than if he just came later, or was a lieutenant of some kind. We didn't really meet him until the young prince came, by which time he was already a grizzled war-chief. And it also fits even more considering his Martyr status. (I believe he died at Neapolis, IIRC.)
    Last edited by Kirsch27; 22-04-2010 at 09:28.

  6. #4106
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    Kirsch27 - For right now, I'm going to awkwardly waddle around the issue till I get some time to digest the ideas people have put forward.

    Frozenwall - That's a definitely possibility. I don't think I want to take it full bore into Sortling, as then it makes these Steppe Vikings sound like cute little animals of some kind (or baby Zerg...)

    AlexanderPrimus -Possibility, but Sorts sounds eh to me. I dunno...

    RGB - Safavid introduction in this thread FTW!

    KlavoHunter - The Nubiatakoi are still around, so yes...


    UPDATE DONE!



    “Perhaps the Romans have a point, that knowledge should be written for future generations, that treatises make one immortal. I write with my sword, and add punctuation with my lance. Is that enough knowledge for you? Enough immortality?” – Olaf Knytling, King of Sortmark.


    “Fourteen columns, with fourteen flying buttress, that lead to nothing…”

    “Except that monstrosity,” Segeo Komnenos artfully inserted into the conversation ahead of him, trying to become involved. The Exarchos of Tarraconensis smiled hopefully, the expression opening a set of surprisingly white teeth for a man whose red beard was shot with bolts of grey. He looked expectantly at the three men ahead of him, hoping for their approval.

    Except that apart from a momentary glance from his son-in-law, Emperor Nikephoros, no one paid any attention.

    The Exarchos settled back on his horse, miffed, the movement ruffling the bright white and red tunic he sported on his chest. The poor beast whinnied at the movement—any movement of the Exarchos’ ponderous, once muscular mass seemed to bother this hunter. For not the first time that day, the Exarchos wished he had ridden his charger or even a dray horse on the imperial hunt, but hunters were the standard, and like all people staying in Konstantinopolis, the Exarchos had to keep up appearances at court functions.



    Which, despite all the rustic tents, and sleeping under the stars, a Great Hunt was—one only had to glance at the lines of servants, retainers, dogs, and spare horses to see that.

    “He says they will serve as the gateway to the new imperial home,” Albrecht von Franken, riding next to the Emperor, hissed. The Megoskyriomachos’ tone regarding his titular lord Emperor Thomas III had grown increasingly acidic of late. Segeo could only shake his head—he’d only heard of the columns representing the seven virtues and seven deadly sins yesterday, the latest architectural abortion to come from the mind of that madman.

    “Imperial home my ass,” muttered Alexandros Komnenos, brother of the Emperor and new Exarchos of Lusitania, “you won’t find me living there! Or anywhere in that damn city! And Nikky, I doubt you’ll…” Alexandros Komnenos was a rail thin young man, with two scars adorning a dark, thin face—gifts from a Norman when Nikephoros’ troops took Carthage in 1241. Segeo had always thought this man, once his bannerman when Alexandros was merely Prince of Valencia, looked more akin to a hawk than a human. Like his brother, he had a hawk’s tendency on the battlefield as well—swooping in on his prey, ripping their hearts out before they could respond. The two brothers were strikingly alike in temperament and ability, the only difference being that Nikephoros was a natural at power and its uses. Alexandros was…

    …less than adept. And honest enough to admit it was the chief reason he hated coming to Konstantinopolis. The city, he would complain, was too stifling, with too much intrigue and too many people trying to stab you in the back. He preferred his homeland—Segeo remembered it’d taken enormous effort from his son-in-law to get Alexandros to even come and visit the capital. There was no question he would never rule there.

    “…have some quarters there,” the Emperor was saying. “It’ll keep the quack from talking my head off. Just because I have quarters there doesn’t mean I’ll use them,” Nikephoros quickly added.

    So, Segeo huffed slightly. Once again, he was ignored… this despite being the Emperor’s father-in-law, and despite the decades of service his family had performed as loyal vassals of Komnenid Emperors who had spat on their lineage. Yes, their ancestor Malhaz had been a bastard! Yes, his dubious paternity claim led to the dark Emperor Nikolaios! But they were Komnenoi! One only had to look at Segeo’s signature to see that!

    Segeo had assumed fifteen years before that he had secured his family’s rise when the young Nikephoros IV had taken his eldest daughter Theophano for a wife. An Emperor as a son-in-law should have led to appointments, wealth, and power beyond his wildest imaginations. More importantly, it should have led to legitimacy—Segeo was well aware his daughter was selected mostly because her mother bore some blood from the Ummayids or some other local imperial dynasty, but what mattered to him was his own dynasty. With a direct link to the ruling imperial line, the Komnenids of Tarraconensis should have moved from the shadows of politics into the center-stage!

    But it was not to be.

    Theophano was supposed to bear the heirs that would make Segeo’s house a legitimate one, a contender with the rest of the disparate Komnenids for the Imperial crown. Instead, she’d laid barren for fifteen years, with no sign of giving birth. So the crown that Segeo had assumed would soon have his blood flowing under the temple of its future claimant had now tumbled to a distant relative of Nikephoros, to a little boy who, just at that moment, began playing a haunting tune on his pan flute.

    Almost immediately, Segeo saw the heads of the three men leading the column turn around. While Alexandros and Nikephoros had looks of pride, perhaps even a slight bit of awe on their face, Albrecht von Franken’s was much darker, clouded with annoyance.

    “Do you really have to let him bring his musical instruments along! A hunt is a test of mettle! Aren’t you afraid of the boy looking…”

    “Yes,” Nikephoros said before the Megoskyriomachos could finish whatever complaint he was about to launch. Segeo barely managed to hide his smirk. No one spoke to Albrecht von Franken that way. Ever. To see the proud German snapped at by his son-in-law…

    The Exarchos turned his eyes back to the source of the disagreement, and also hid the frown that threatened to creep across his face.

    Andronikos.

    Flutist or not, the Exarchos couldn’t help but glare at the boy that stood in the way. Theophano had proven herself useful to her husband—Segeo was sure his daughter loved Nikephoros more than she loved even her own father—but she hadn’t sired any heirs. And with no heirs, the descendants of Malhaz would still be the bastard branch, the lowly branch…

    …nothing, in the eyes of the other Komnenid houses.

    While that boy—heir to the House of Christophoros, as well as the senior branch of the House of Basilieos—threatened to unite the two most powerful branches still within the confines of the Empire outside of disgraced Gabriel and his sons! Adrianos, that bastard of a Syrian, would have his house elevated to the imperial rank!



    The Exarchos muttered a curse to himself, eyes looking around the forest. Other than the noise of horses and the children galloping about, the forest was silent. The long column that trundled through the Imperial Hunting Preserves had undoubtedly scared away any game for miles. The Emperor’s plans had originally been to take only a small retinue, but as soon as word came that the Emperor was going on a hunt, the elite of Konstantinopolis had fallen over themselves vying for the honor of accompanying the imperial person. To be honest, Segeo was rather impressed his son-in-law got away with only 78 persons, counting the nobility, their children, and retainers. One glance back down the long line at the Emperor’s sister Anastasia told him she wasn’t pleased at the huge number of hangers on. Segeo knew he didn’t have to look at his daughter to know Theophano felt the same.

    However, politics being as it were, the Emperor had no choice but to invite them. To not do so would have been to imply they and whatever business they had were not worth the Emperor’s time. That would have led to outright jealousies, as well as instability amongst the always jostling dynatoi.

    As Segeo’s eyes went along the rows and rows of hangers on, lords, and retainers, they finally fell on a motley group in the middle of the column, all with blonde hair and immense beards. No matter where they were, the Danes of Sortmark always managed to stand out. And as he was visiting Konstantinopolis for negotiations, to not invite King Olaf of the Danes on the hunting trip might have spelled disaster to talks that were meant to lead to peace in the Transpontus for years to come.

    Affairs on the northern border had grown—cold, to say the least. Segeo wasn’t completely certain of the details, as his focus and affairs were in Spain, but Sortmark’s remarkable success against the Mongol Blue Horde had many Russian princes scrambling to the Danish banner. The Patriarch had publicly moaned about ‘true Orthodox’ Rus princes kneeling to schismatics, but Segeo could only guess the consternation the rapid growth of Sortmark was causing the Megoskyriomachos—it wasn’t that the Romans didn’t want the lands of the Rus to reunify after the Mongols, it was that they wanted them to reunify under someone of Orthodox faith, and more importantly, someone who could be a partner and a pawn.

    The Danes were not the breed of men to be pawns. 1215 had shown that. Since the reestablishment of Roman hegemony over the Black Sea, the Roman state’s official policy had been to support their fellow Christians against the menace of the Blue Horde. But the Romans also feared a Danish superpower to their north, one that wasn’t cowed or awed by Konstantinopolis’ displays of wealth and power. To that end, they’d always propped up the Blue Horde as well, through opportune “troubles” that could distract the Danish eye. Olaf’s repeated calls for more access to the Black Sea, to the point he was now demanding Azov, encouraged many to think that the Danes might not be the best neighbors…



    Segeo’s eyes fell on the man riding next to the grim looking Olaf. Isaakios Bataczes might have been a dog of Segeo’s son-in-law, but the Exarchos could think of no fiercer wolf to guard Romanion’s northern borders. Bataczes’ record in Persia was the height of excellent, and his promotion to Prince of Azov and Vestarches Domestikos ton Transpontikoi was undoubtedly a message meant for the ears of King Olaf—work against us as enemies, and…

    Segeo’s eyes flowed up the line of riders, catching a glimpse of many of the other upper echelons of the new army command in their red and purple trimmed cloaks. Young Bartholemaios Komnenos of Mauretania, only 27, descendent of and heir to Basil III’s second son Manuel, rode as Exarchos of Mauretania and Vestarches Domestikos of Africa. There was also the bearded form of Konstantinos Komnenos, Prince of Toscana and nephew of the late Thomas II, clad as usual in his dour black robes and white cross he’d taken as the sign of his House. Unlike his attire, the newly minted commander of the Italian armies was busily cracking jokes at Adrianos Komnenos, one of the ‘Old Men’ of Imperial politics with direct ties to Albrecht von Franken as well as Nikephoros. Just ahead of them rode Simon Tatikios, the new Protodomestikos. By his sour look, Segeo guessed Konstantinos’ jokes must not have been nearly as funny as the ever-politic Adrianos’ laughter made them seem.

    “I’m checking my snares!” a voice loudly announced, and Segeo turned to see Konstantinos and Ioannis Angelos, twin sons of the Anatolian Despotes, gallop past them at top speed, hooves drowning out the noise of Andronikos’ playing. Their father beamed at them from ahead of Segeo, riding up to resume the place of honor next to the Emperor and Albrecht in the cavalcade. The newly minted Pandomestikos ton Anatolikon was technically the second most senior officer in the army, only behind the man that trotted up to just behind them and just ahead of Segeo.

    All had been surprised, if not shocked, when Nikephoros Komnenos had finally announced his selection for Megos Domestikos. All had assumed the position would go to the ancient but feared Thomas Dadiani or Demetrios Lainez, both old warhorses of Thomas II during his victorious campaigns. Instead, the Emperor had named Lainez to the relatively unimportant position of commander of the Transistroi, a field army who only existed on paper at the moment with no tagmata, and told Dadiani he should retire to his Persian estates and seek the position of Megos Domestikos to the Persian Emperors. Nikephoros’ favor had fallen on a relative unknown amongst the lords of Konstantinopolis…

    Farouk Shaheen, known to the Greeks as Romanos of Cordoba.



    Even amongst the Spanish contingents that formed what would be the core of Nikephoros’ army, Romanos was a relative unknown. Segeo, despite being a Spaniard himself, knew only the basic sketches of the man’s background—his family was originally from the lands even further south than the Sahara, and had migrated north along with the caravans of gold that crisscrossed the great desert. They finally settled in Spain—Romanos’ cousins were great merchants in Toledo and Valencia. Romanos himself had enrolled in the Khalifa tagma only 10 years before as a mere cavalryman. There were rumors that in some instance in the past, Romanos had personally saved the life of Emperor Nikephoros. Whatever the reason, he quickly caught the young Emperor’s attention, and swiftly found himself kentarchos then commander of the entire tagma. While Segeo could understand the thought process behind making the chief of your personal bodyguards commander of the army, he too wondered about the man’s actual ability. Some wondered if the appointment was convenient for some reason—perhaps Romanos needed a bribe for some reason?

    Whatever the cause, it meant almost every position in the new hierarchy was now filled—all except the one that Segeo now desperately coveted.

    Pandomestikos ton Dytikos. Commanding Officer, Imperial Armies of the West. Lord of the Armies of Spain, Italy, and Africa, and after the Emperor and Megoskyriomachos, possibly the most powerful position in the united Empire.

    If Theophano’s marriage couldn’t secure the position of Segeo and his family, then his son-in-law anointing him Pandomestikos would. A Pandomestikos Segeo would be clearly the most powerful man outside of Konstantinopolis, and would be in a position to make sure his sons and grandsons were securely ensconced in places of power and security, places beyond just the Exarchate of Tarraconensis. Perhaps, with enough persuasion, the Emperor might be inclined to make Segeo’s son or grandson the next Pandomestikos? Perhaps, like the Exarchates, Pandomestikos could also become hereditary? If so, it would matter not what the other Komnenid branches said of the Tarraco Komnenoi—they would be, in fact and power, unequaled save for the House of the Purple in Konstantinopolis itself!

    Save Nikephoros, damn him, had not yet announced his decision!

    Segeo sighed, and looked up at his nephew, surrounded now by a gaggle of powerful men. Why did Nikephoros take so long in deciding? Wasn’t it obvious? None of the other Exarchs had Segeo’s military background! Segeo knew his merits—he’d served with distinction both Nikephoros’ grandfather and father. He’d ridden to battle with Nikephoros against the Frank Arnaud, and commanded the left of the Imperial army when the young Emperor broke the French King’s back. He was respected amongst the other Exarchs! The only thing that’d held him back was his family background…

    But to ask, to prod about the position…

    …but to not know…

    Ahead, the Angelos boys could be heard whooping in the forest. They’d found something.

    Segeo closed his eyes, and kicked his horse till it caught up with the imperial hunter. Gamely, the Exarchos squeezed his horse next to the emperor’s pushing Albrecht’s out of the way. Segeo cleared his throat as politely as possible.

    “Has your Majesty made a decision?” Segeo tried his best to keep his voice calm, but it rose haltingly at the end of the sentence. The Exarchos forced a pleasant smile on his face to crush the wince he wanted to show.

    “On?” Nikephoros asked, cantering up ahead to get a better look at the boys. The older of the Angelid twins was already galloping back, his snares streaming behind him with one pitiful hare caught in the wind.

    “The commander of the Spanish field army?” Segeo said cautiously.

    “My, look at young Konstantinos!” Nikephoros muttered, “set all those snares and only caught one rabbit!” The Emperor snorted slightly. “Prince Angelos, I’m afraid your son is going to be a terrible hunter!”

    Prince Georgios laughed. “Sadly, Your Majesty!”

    Segeo cleared his throat again, more urgently this time. “The field army, Majesty?”

    “Ah!” Nikephoros turned back to his father-in-law for just a moment, before looking away—off towards where Andronikos had now galloped ahead and into the midst of the boisterous Angelid children. A shouting match was already breaking out—apparently Andronikos felt Konstantinos had grabbed one of his snares—conveniently, the snare with the poor hare. “We have decided…” the Emperor started to say, before the shouting amongst the boys turned to Konstantinos shoving Andronikos harshly. “…Hey there!” Nikephoros called.

    Segeo frowned. We? His own son-in-law was using the imperial plural to him? Why? The Exarchos frowned, and completely missed Ioannis Angelos soundly drubbing his older brother for hitting his friend. “Majesty?”

    “Ah,” Nikephoros muttered, smiling momentarily at Prince Angelos in thanks for his son’s action, then turning back to Segeo, face losing all that momentary mirth. “We have decided that the field command and command of All the Armies in the West should go to Our brother, Exarchos Alexandros[/i].”



    “Ah… um…Exarchos Alexandros?” Segeo heard himself asking, even has his mind shook itself in disbelief.

    “Yes,” the Exarchos heard his son-in-law say distantly. “You have had many years of loyal service, My Lord.” The Emperor looked down slightly. “I would have felt wrong to place the burden on you.”

    “Burden?” Segeo said emptily, his voice drowned out by the noise of his world crashing down in his mind. He had no idea his mouth was open until his eyes alit on Albrecht von Franken—the German glared back.

    “My brother is younger, and has many good years ahead of him,” the Emperor added, before the roughhousing amongst the boys caught his attention again. This time, instead of yelling, the Emperor put his spurs into his horse, and in a minute, the small gaggle was after him, leaving Segeo all alone as the column trotted past.

    “Alexandros?” Segeo muttered. Alexandros? Yes, he was the Emperor’s brother, but how… why? Segeo was a veteran! He had seen his first wars in 1229, when Alexios I had moved to wipe out parts of Latin Africa! He’d served faithfully, loyally, and was father-in-law to the Emperor! What was Alexandros?

    What was that young whelp now watching as his brother castigated the boys for getting too far ahead of the main party? He’d seen service at Carthage, that was it. The whelp was only 25! More than that, he’d been only a Prince five years before! A Prince under Segeo! Now, he was the third most powerful man in the Empire? What did he have that Segeo didn’t? It wasn’t family connections, it wasn’t loyalty!

    Segeo fumed, eyes shooting daggers at the man now escorting the Emperor and young Andronikos back to the head of the party. First Theophano’s barrenness had been thrown in his way, now it was this 25 year old child! Alexandros had been under him! A Prince until only five years before! Now he was Segeo’s superior, and could order his thematakoi as he pleased?

    No! It was wrong! It was unjust! It was…

    Exarchos?

    Segeo turned at the unfamiliar voice as a horse cantered up next to him. Its rider beamed, holding out a hand in friendly greeting. Segeo blinked, the anger ebbing in his mind, before he grabbed the outstretched hand of King Olaf of Sortmark. By the glint in the other man’s eyes, Segeo’s calming anger was clearly taken for confusion.



    “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced,” the King smiled, wrinkles dark and deep on that sunbeaten face, “I don’t know if I’m being rude by doing so. Your Roman ranks confuse a simple monarch like myself!”

    Segeo smiled, and probably genuinely so for the first time that day. “Not rude at all, Majesty,” he bowed his head slightly. “An Exarchos would rank slightly below you, Majesty. You would be a Rigas at the least,” the Spaniard said, before winking. “Perhaps even a Basilieus?

    It never hurt to flatter a little. For his part, the King of the Danes laughed.

    Basilieus? Not likely,” the Dane glanced up ahead. Segeo followed his eyes. They led directly to the Emperor and his brother. “I’m sure your Emperor would throw a tantrum if a backwards country oaf like myself declared himself to such an… august…” the King turned back to Segeo, face crinkled in smile, “…position.”

    It was Segeo’s turn to snort. “Ha! More than likely! My son-in-law is a stubborn one…” the Exarchos said, his voice drifting off as he thought about the position he wanted, floating away in the driftwood of offices and titles. “Unjust…” he said quietly.

    “You dare say?” the King said, face aghast in a look of pure sarcasm. “Nikephoros IV? Stubborn? After six days of negotiations, pleadings and promises, what do I have from talking to His Imperial Majesty? The most feared of your Roman commanders stationed on my border!” Olaf sighed. “That is how your son-in-law negotiates!” The King pointed ahead, and soon he and Segeo were at a trot, slightly ahead of the rest of the party but quite a distance behind the Emperor, his hangers on, and their guards.

    “What has he done that has so troubled you?” the King of the Danes asked.

    “I should be Pandomestikos,” Segeo murmured quietly.

    “Pan-what?” the King looked confused.

    “Commander of the Western Armies. Powerful position,” Segeo added mournfully. “He gave it to his brother, because the man is younger.” He looked up, not realizing anger was blatant in his eyes. “I should have gotten the position!”

    The King of the Danes tsked. Segeo thought he saw the man smile slightly, but whatever the look was, it quickly disappeared under a mask of concern. “A shame. In Sortmark, we have even heard of you.”

    “Really?” Segeo asked, eyes wide.

    “Of course! Segeo Komnenos…” the Danish King started, before his voice slid to a halt.

    “…Defender of the Blue colors? Lord of Barcelona?” Segeo eagerly supplied.

    The King of the Danes smiled broadly at the Exarchos’ words. “Yes, of course! A great man, and a great warrior!” a royal hand was on Segeo’s shoulder, patting his back. “It’s a pity, a shame, and an injustice! I fear your Emperor has been given truly false counsel in this matter!” The King’s eyes flicked towards Alexandros.

    Segeo nodded. It had to be! Alexandros had probably spread slander, whined, or did something else to get his brother to name him! Of course!

    “Perhaps, my lord, we can better each of our cases,” Olaf said with a smile. The King suddenly reined his horse to the left. “Come!” he called over his shoulder. “I have snares of my own set, ones I hope those young hooligans did not disturb! Let us talk on the way to check them!”

    Segeo looked up at the head of the column. Nikephoros plainly didn’t care—he was once again engrossed in an argument with von Franken. The Exarchos motioned for his two guards to follow him, as he and the King of the Danes cantered off into the forest. Perhaps, Segeo thought, they might set some snares together.

    He didn’t know another pair of eyes was watching them…

    ==========*==========


    What are Segeo and Olaf up to? And who was watching them? The smooth sailing enjoyed by Nikephoros IV is about to get bumpy, and Thomas III will soon display the full depths of his madness! The tupsy turvy world of Rome AARisen continues!
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  7. #4107
    Anywhere you put multiple nobles together, they will scheme!

    Segeo is a fool, Olaf barely even has to flatter him to get him to loosen his tongue.

    If Romanion is intentionally stirring up trouble between Sortmark and the Blue Horde, you can bet that Olaf is looking to return the favor here - Perhaps nobody will be killed at this hunt, but rest assured that plots are being conceived here that will end in blood!
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  8. #4108
    The Avatar of Time 4th Dimension's Avatar
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    Who is it that is watching? Andronikos?
    Int seems Romans are about to experience some Spanish/Sothmarkian troubles.
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    Riders of Sortmark shall sweep over the decadent armies of the Roman Empire!

    Nikephoros doesn't really understand the situation. He can't do things like that or he will face rebellion. And rebels running amoc in the middle of an army reform is not good.
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    What, Thomas III going even more insane then he is already? How is that possible?

    Obviously problems are coming from all sides all of a sudden for Nikephoros. Sortmark, Spain, maybe also Persia, Arabia or Egypt, with that new religion there.


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  11. #4111
    Olaf seems like a great cunning Viking lord. Seems that Sortmark will be OTL Russia; powerful, many steppe warriors (Cossacks) but they always want a Black Sea Port. As for what to call them, I say Sortmarker sounds more Viking than Sorts or Sortmarkese.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Hannibal X View Post
    Sortmarker
    This.
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    young Bartholemaios Komnenos of Mauretania, only 27, descendent of and heir to Basil III’s second son Manuel, rode as Exarchos of Mauretania and Vestarches Domestikos of Africa.
    Wasn't Manuel the third son?
    After David and Thomas I?

    How is the Sortmark in-game?
    Kingdom of Rus?
    Danish culture?
    Orthodox religion wide-spread?

    Btw, what were the personal traits of Thomas III?

  14. #4114
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    Heh.

    Segeo is the world's worst schemer. And once the deed is done it is too late to scheme.
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  15. #4115
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    Excellent reading as always BT

    On a side note: I remember from earlier chapters featuring the danish steppe warriors, the title "Krigleder". As man of Danish birth I'd like to point out that the grammaticaly correct title should be "Krigsleder". Alternatively you could use the real-life title "Kongens Marsk" or simply "Marsk", the commander of the king's army. Also the king had a council of nobles and clergymen, "Rigsrådet" to advise and guide the king(established in the late 11th century, abolished in 1660). The political balance between Rigsrådet and the King varied from time to time, causing much politcal intrigue and even strife at some points. It also had the function of electing the king.

    For further advise on titles, terms and political institutions that could be used for Sortmark, feel free to ask . I'm at your service.

  16. #4116
    Field Marshal Tommy4ever's Avatar
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    I love the updates like this that feel so very Medieval and Byzantine. It is also nice to get the viewpoint of a minor figure. I kind of feel sorry for Sergeo but it does make sense to give the younger man (and unambitious brother) the position though. As the house of malhaz dies out I think we can be assured that it shall have a sting in its tail .

    Intruigue beckons.

  17. #4117
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    Aw Segeo made a fwiend.
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  18. #4118
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    Thumbs up

    Quote Originally Posted by Tommy4ever View Post
    I love the updates like this that feel so very Medieval and Byzantine.
    I second this sentiment wholeheartedly. Reading these updates is always a real treat.

  19. #4119
    First Lieutenant Kirsch27's Avatar
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    Perhaps the man staring at them is a thoroughly bat-shit Thomas running about nude in the forest... doing some hunting of his own...

  20. #4120
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    Quote Originally Posted by Kirsch27 View Post
    Perhaps the man staring at them is a thoroughly bat-shit Thomas running about nude in the forest... doing some hunting of his own...

    this


    great update as always i must say...

    however while catching up an idea popped in my head how about an update on roman society and how it has changed since the days of Megas to now durring the time of "Niki"

    as always looking forward to the next update

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