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That's what he should be aiming for. Complete domination over the Orient.

Gabriel also wants Konstantinopolis and the Throne of Caesars. For that he will also need at least some parts of the Balkans (I'm thinking parts of modern-day Bulgaria and Greece for a bare minimum of control). Otherwise all he will get is a precarious city-enclave at best (and note that it would not make very good capital like that) and an expanded Persian Empire at worst (but no Imperial crown). And I don't see any siege of Konstantinopolis succeeding without some Balkan territory being taken.

And if Gabriel does do it (which I doubt) then Spain, North Africa and Italy at the very least will be lost for sure.

And then there is Anatolia. Last time he came knocking the conservative Dynatoi there were not so eager to support him. I doubt that has changed.
 
And then there is Anatolia. Last time he came knocking the conservative Dynatoi there were not so eager to support him. I doubt that has changed.

....

The emperor has been poisoned, the Steward of Gond.. Sorry, Rome doesn't control the situation and you seriously think the dynatoi won't have a shot at glory under the Persian banner? You think too highly of the romans.
 
That's exactly my point! Three premature deaths in such a short timeframe don't sound very feasible to me.

Then again, in OTL, didn't emporers change fairly regularly every few years?
 
Last full update probably before I move on August 1st! Enjoy!

"Την προδοσία πολλοί αγάπησαν, το προδότη κανείς."​

"Many have loved treason, none the traitor." – Roman proverb​


June 8th, 1263

Konstantinopolis


Albrecht von Franken could not even be charitably described as a religious man. Yet as he grimly set up the icon of the Panagia Despina, he knew times like these made most men religious. Nonetheless, facing Armageddon made some cavort around carelessly—the new Empress had already slept with at least one guardsman if Albrecht’s spies were accurate. As he fell to his knees, he muttered a curse about the girl’s stupidity—her husband had been poisoned, and lay unresponsive, so she sleeps with her guard out of boredom?

“She’s worse than her mother,” Albrecht grumbled as he shifted his ancient knees, and bowed his head.

Like him, most of the Roman world held its breath—if Andronikos died, there was no successor. Albrecht shuddered to think of what the results would be—for him, the prediction was simple: most of the rival claimants held some kind of grudge against the “old German” and would’ve seen his head on a pike.

For Romanion, he knew, the results would be no less horrific. For the first time in 200 years, an Emperor would have died without any semblance of an heir to the throne. A slew of relatives from across the empire, a host of generals, bureaucrats, and nobles would rise to the fore, fighting and killing while the crown was tossed into the mud.

“Lord God, I pray…” he started, before a gentle knock at the door to his chambers interrupted him.

“Yes?” Albrecht looked up towards the icon. The Virgin’s sorrowful look, framed in gold and precious stones, seemed to reflect the fears of a city, and empire, teetering on the brink.

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Like so many across Konstantinopolis, Albrecht only knew the basics of what had transpired since that fatal night. The doctors and churigeons promised to keep him informed of the emperor’s condition, but Albrecht’s hovering, and the multitude of scribes, clerks and others necessary to keep the government running that followed him, infringed on the doctor’s work too much. Six hours after the Emperor had thrown up in his marriage bed, shaking and convulsing, they’d asked him to leave—in the name of them doing their work to save his life.

They’d been faithful to their word, with a new update every two hours on the Emperor’s condition. At first the Emperor had gone in and out of consciousness. The doctors had proscribed a dose of milk of the poppy to calm him—the dose had been too much, and the boy had passed into a slumber from which none could wake him. His chest rose and fell, but no words came from his lips, nor did his eyes open.

So Albrecht kept praying, and planning. Praying for his stepson’s health, and for peace. Planning for his stepson’s death, and for war.

If Andronikos died, the culprit needed to be found, and a peace transfer of power to one claimant had to be made. Konstantinos of Italy had the most legitimate claim, and Albrecht had already sent feelers his way, as well as missives to the other lords hinting that they should acquiesce to his succession. The moves had been unpopular—Theodoros of Egypt had complained loudly his grandson had just as legitimate a claim, and Adrianos of Edessa had angrily murmured Albrecht had gone beyond planning for the state and ‘self-aggrandizing.’

“Peace be on you, Megoskyriomachos.” Albrecht turned, and saw the crimson covered form of Patriarch Thomas Komnenos walking through a barely cracked door. Albrecht’s ancient ears picked up the noise of people just outside his door—nothing unusual, however.

“Holiness,” Albrecht nodded curtly. No doubt the clergyman wanted to engage in some asinine and pointless conversation about the role of the Church in the absence of a healthy Emperor. Albrecht didn’t have timefor such idle chatter—Aquinas was hard enough to tolerate with his constant requests for ‘chats.’ If the Patriarch was going down his protégé’s route…

“Oh whose authority are you here?” von Franken asked, voice cold. “I mean no offense, Holiness,” he added emptily, “but I have asked to be left alone these past few days for a reason.”

“This isn’t a courtesy call, Lord von Franken,” the Patriarch said, walking into the room. Albrecht blinked—there was more iron in the man’s voice than he’d heard in any of his pulpit sermons. “I am here in the name of His Majesty, and I am charged to conduct an investigation into the attempt on His Majesty’s life,” Patriarch Thomas said quietly. The priest bit his lip, his eyes sour as he scanned Albrecht’s room.

Thomas was in charge of the investigation? Albrecht’s blood ran cold. Who’d authorized that? Albrecht was Megoskyriomachos! He should have been in charge of any investigation! If…

“And why wasn’t I notified of this?” Albrecht asked, trying to fish for information.

“There were reasons,” the Patriarch muttered, now fully in the room. He looked around the room with obvious interest, as if a glance could show him where all the secrets of von Franken’s government lay.

“We should cooperate,” Albrecht said gruffly, hoping the Patriarch’s involvement was an active mind meddling and not a harbinger of something to come. “My agents are scouting the city as we speak! If any of the clergy had said anything relevant to Your Holiness…”

“I am aware you are hunting,” Thomas continued. Albrecht heard a shuffling noise, and for the first time, he saw gruff looking men in the robes of priests behind the two Thomases. Albrecht’s heart sank, as the Patriarch said nothing, but Aquinas smiled thinly at von Franken, then turned to His Holiness.

“By your leave, Holiness?” he asked. Thomas nodded quietly, and without a word, Aquinas snapped his fingers. The priests were flowing around them, flooding the room…

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“I…” Albrecht looked around, confused. “What are they doing in here?” he asked, voice arcing upwards in a hint of panic, before one of them calmly walked over to his cabinet, opened the doors and started rifling through his scrolls. Albrecht stared for a moment at the man’s audacity, before his anger got the best of him.

This was his study, where he did his business to keep the empire from sinking into ruin! How dare they intrude on it! And how dare they assume they could find any trace of disloyalty here!

“What is the meaning of this?! Leave that alone!” he stalked over, smacking a scroll detailing the grain provisions of the Sortmarker King to the ground.

“Resume,” the Patriarch said calmly. The priest glared at von Franken for a moment, before picking up the scroll as if nothing had happened. After a cursory glance, he tossed it aside.

“Explain yourself!” Albrecht spun and barked at the Patriarch.

“There is considerable rumor that more than poison played a role in his the attack on His Majesty,” the Patriarch said quietly.

“Are you… are you seriously contemplating magic?” Albrecht snorted. At the Patriarch’s dead stare, Albrecht’s snorts turned into a sneer. “I thought you were trained in Aristotle, that things of nature have natural explanation! And what does my room have to do with magic?” he added gruffly. One priest started towards his desk filled with private correspondence. Albrecht started to shout at the man, before the Patriarch intervened.

“Please,” the Patriarch looked at him levelly, “do not make this any harder than it is.” The Patriarch walked closer, and Albrecht felt his accusers’ hand pat his shoulder, almost as if the clergyman hoped he could console him. Albrecht glared at Thomas, but backed away from his desk. The Patriarch turned, and immediately Aquinas and his associates began rifling through the papers. Albrecht watched numb and horrified, as everything from mind-numbing bureaucratic reports to the most sensitive and vital of messages were summarily glanced at, then tossed aside to settle on floor and chair alike. Drawer after drawer was yanked from its holdings, its contents thoroughly disturbed, tossed about, and discarded.

“Aha!”

Albrecht spun around in time to see one of the priests holding something small in his hand—it looked like a twig. Von Franken started over, but suddenly the Patriarch’s calming hand clenched von Franken’s shoulder tight. Instead, it was Thomas Aquinas who was by the man’s side.

“And there’s more!” Albrecht heard the man say, as Aquinas uttered a quiet prayer and crossed himself. More twigs came into a the open, then a small straw man, its head blackened. Albrecht blinked—how did that get in there? And if someone put it there, had they seen any of the other…

“Holiness,” Aquinas turned around, offering two handfuls of items to the Patriarch. Albrecht tried to say something, but nothing would come out of his mouth. Patriarch Thomas gave the items little more than a quick glance, before looking back at von Franken with a deadly glare.

“Guards!” the Patriarch’s lips turned to a snarl, “I arrest this man in the name of Emperor Andronikos on charges of witchcraft and high treason!”

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==========*==========​

June 18th, 1263

Outside Mosul



Gabriel Komnenos felt excited, alive, even giddy. Even during his younger years, the Desert Lion had not skipped through the camps of his army. Today, however, was not a day for such decorum.

So when Gabriel literally skipped into the command tent of his rapidly growing army, both of his son’s stared at their 48 year old father in amazement. Gabriel didn’t care, just like he didn’t care about the stare of confused kentarchoi and soldiers alike as he ran off from an equally dumbfounded herald.

“He was poisoned!” Gabriel laughed, throwing the letter from his informant down on the table.

“Who was poisoned?” Alexandros asked, confused as he stopped refilling his goblet of wine in mid-pour.

“The whelp! Andronikos!” Gabriel clarified, before falling gloriously into an empty chair at the command table with a glomp. “Read it!” he shoved the letter forward across the table.

“Poisoned?” Alexandros said quietly. His cup clinked slightly as his hand trembled. The youngest of the Emperors set the goblet down, and stared at it a moment. “What kind of poison?”

“Doesn’t say,” Gabriel shrugged, laughing. Did it matter? “He was in a coma as of when this was written—a week ago or so! Oh, and it gets even better…”

“He could’ve died in the meantime,” Alexandros murmured, hands once again clasping the goblet. Gabriel’s smile thinned a little—it was his youngest son’s fifth cup of wine today that Gabriel had seen—and the rightful Megas Komnenos had only been present for an hour before a herald arrived bearing ‘urgent news from Konstantinopolis.’

“Maybe,” the elder of the two sons murmured. Nikephoros closed his eyes and stretched his legs. “We should proceed as if he’s fully healthy. It’s still good news, I suppose.”

“The rats are already fighting each other over the throne!” Gabriel’s vicious smile returned. “The Patriarch’s publicly accused Albrecht of witchcraft!”

“Really?” Nikephoros’ dour eyes suddenly came to life. “Witchcraft?” He looked at the letter himself for a few seconds, before giving a slight whistle. “Amazing,” he said, setting the letter down reverently. “The old man’s caught in a web I doubt even he can escape!”

“And the spider that made it is still in the shadows,” Gabriel added with a grunt. He wished he could find whoever pulled off the stunt and give them a hug—they’d all but handed him the keys to Konstantinopolis! “Someone in court is making a move for the throne. The question is who? Which rat,” his finger tapped impatiently on the table between them, “is so eager to get off the ship it’s tried to kill the boyish captain and tossed his elderly first mate overboard?”

“Or which rat wants to captain himself,” Nikephoros added thoughtfully. “No one says they want us to captain.”

“Romanos of Cordoba?” Alexandros asked, downing the rest of his cup before pouring another.

Gabriel grunted, before nodding his head. It made sense in a way—Romanos was currently in Spain at the head of a combined army of over 130,000 spread across the peninsula. His opponent was melting away under the pressure of desertion and Romanos’ incessant attacks, and from what Gabriel could gather, the man was loved by the rank and file and respected by the nobility. If ever a non-Komnenos could make a move on the throne in this day and age…

“We should move up our plans, and get this army moving!” Gabriel nodded emphatically. With the fall of Barcelona and the continued news of Segeo’s slow demise, it would only be a matter of time before the formidable Megos Domestikos returned East with his huge army, whatever his intentions. For now, Konstantinopolis was in chaos, Albrecht arrested, and more than likely its defenders unsure of who to take orders from or if they should march at all. That was for sure.

“The timing is perfect,” Nikephoros grinned. “A city in chaos? Who better than the Lion of the Romans to restore order?”

“’Specially since the armies charged with keeping us out won’t know who to take orders from,” Alexandros added, voice slurring slightly. Gabriel’s now outright frowned. “Whaa?” his youngest son looked up at him, confused. Alexandros started to lift his new cup to his lips, but before it could reach its destination Gabriel deftly knocked the cup out of his son’s hand and onto the ground.

“The strategoi should begin planning march routes,” Gabriel said as if nothing had happened, “I want our forces moving north by the end of the month.” Alexandros looked forlornly at the empty cup and wine-soaked ground. Nikephoros looked at his brother, then up at his father. Gabriel sighed. “There’ll be watered down wine in his baggage train,” Gabriel said tersely, “we’ll march light and fast, straight up towards Kaiseria and across Anatolia—the Angelids will either bow or be crushed. Then,” he tapped his knuckles on the table, “Konstantinopolis in three months.”

“God willing,” Nikephoros nodded, then stood up. “How many tagmata will you need? Arghun at latest report was moving men north and east out of Samarkand, probably for the Blue Horde. I’ll need only three or four tagmata to watch that border, another in Basra to keep the Arabs honest, and one in reserve. So that’ll give you…”

“Thirteen will be plenty,” Gabriel smiled grimly as Alexandros finally looked up from his spilt wine. His eyes were glassy, but he looked to be trying to pay attention once more. “I’ll give the hollow leg four with auxiliaries to move into Armenia as a diversion. I’ll take nine myself for…”

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“What about…” Nikephoros started to ask, patting Alexandros on the shoulder.

“Thomas?” Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “I plan on giving that boy and his ragtag army independent command, and full license to invade Cilicia.”

“But father,” Nikephoros’ brow furrowed, “they won’t be anything more than a large horde of well equipped bandits! Why… oh,” Nikephoros suddenly stopped in midsentence. A smile slowly crawled across his face. “You want them to loot and pillage and run amok. It’ll force Konstantinopolis to come into the field quickly, before they can plan, or…”

“Turn to me as a protector?” Gabriel smiled. The old man bowed his head. “I’d be more than glad to rid them of Thomas’ troublesome followers if they wish. If they come out themselves, it will be rushed. Angelos and dear Adrianos might be skilled commanders, but event he best of men make mistakes when they’re forced to hurry, and especially when they think they’re running into nothing more than a mob…”

“Hmmm,” Nikephoros nodded. “Maybe something else too. Perhaps we should send a letter to the Megos Domestikos,” Nikephoros said slowly. “A very… public… appeal.”

“What for?” Alexandros raised an eyebrow in confusion. Gabriel laughed, and patted his youngest son on the shoulder. Alexandros looked up at his father, blinking slowly in confusion.

“It will force him to declare his intentions,” Gabriel chuckled, “and it’ll put his loyalty in doubt. The nobility will cluck, the courtiers will fuss, and the voices around that brat will cry out that his commander-in-chief is disloyal, that he means to take the throne!”

“And Romanos is no fool,” Nikephoros added, his grin wider than the Euphrates. “He’ll know his masters in Konstantinopolis won’t trust him. It might make him consider siding with us, if he thinks his master will punish him regardless…”

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==========*==========​

June 19th, 1263

Konstantinopolis


Eleutherios Skleros’ leg itched, and the spy and assassin was sure it wasn’t from the long woolen cloak with cowl he wore. He’d lately taken to making penance after he killed in the name of the state—and it wasn’t his fault he was summoned to the Kosmodion in penitent’s wear. It was the man, nay, boy, that stood in front of him that made that itch—one that slowly crawled to his spine and changed to a chill.

For his own part, Eleutherios’ host merely smiled at the much older spy. Skleros had heard stories of Ioannis Angelos, but the stories told nothing of the man—or boy, rather. Despite his fearsome reputation and the eyepatch which marred an otherwise handsome face, Angelos looked nothing like the black-hearted warrior that was whispered about in the corridors of power. He looked like a boy, trying his best to play brigand, not a general, and certainly not a potential kingmaker should the Emperor stop his labored breathing. For the Angelids ruled most of Anatolia, and Anatolia was the gateway to Konstantinopolis from the East…

“I hope your trip to the Kosmodion wasn’t too eventful?” Angelos bowed, silken tunics ruffling slightly amidst the hustle and bustle of servants, courtiers and others rushing about. Eleutherios was used to more sedate times at the palace—since the Emperor’s poisoning…

“No,” Eleutherios said simply.. It hadn’t been, but in comparison to the tidal waves that had hit the center of the Roman court in the last few weeks, Skleros couldn’t think of anything that would be ‘too eventful.’

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Eleutherios, like everyone else at court, was on edge—he was a veteran assassin and spy, but every man had an appointed time, be it accident, carelessness, or someone simply more cunning. The young, healthy Emperor being laid low by assassins unknown had only reinforced those grim thoughts in Skleros’ mind—and made his life even more precarious than it had been.

He’d worked closely with the Megoskyriomachos for years—beyond a lifetime of camaraderie, the man had been more than a superior. He’d been a mentor, and a friend. Since the very public arrest of Albrecht von Franken on charges of witchcraft, Eleutherios had heard his more wise principal supporters in the city and the government were clamoring to distance themselves from him. Several of the less wise ones had received threats, or outright disappeared. As the grains of the hourglass fell, Eleutherios knew his time was coming—he was too close to von Franken to escape notice. In fact, he was surprised not only that he’d been left alone so far, but that no one less than Ioannis Angelos had requested the meeting today.

It was symbolic, in a way. Despite the emperor’s poisoning, despite the stories of him laying close to death, and even despite the arrest of von Franken, the most basic things of government continued to function somehow. Monies were sent, provisions sent to the armies, all with the imperial seal. The colossal bureaucracy of the empire trundled on, as if it was unsure of what else it could do in the absence of its master—or, Eleutherios assumed, in the service of a new one.

A shadow puppeteer—someone high and powerful, running the affairs of state even as the Council of Clergymen rampaged about as impromptu adjudicators, the Council of Strategoi dithered confused, and the Council of Dynatoi, as always screamed, shouted, and blathered but did nothing.

“Do you know why I’ve invited you here?” Angelos asked, suddenly briskly walking towards a set of side doors. Eleutherios looked around briefly, then followed him.

“To be honest, Lord Angelos, no, I do not,” Skleros confessed as they walked into a long, marbled corridor. He felt out of place. Von Franken’s haunt was the aging Blacharnae—Skleros felt at home in those aging marbled halls. Here, in the bright, whitewashed Kosmodion filled with a kaleidoscope of colors, things were… alien.
“This is the servant’s wing,” Angelos said dismissively as he took a quick right, through another set of doors. Suddenly, they were in a quiet hallway, almost devoid of people. “Nothing much to look at here, not compared to the imperial apartments,” Ioannis laughed grimly.

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“Ah,” was all Skleros would say. “I…um… trust that a tour of the palace was not the reason you called me here.”

Angelos laughed—the noise was cherubic, innocent, and frightening given the man’s reputation.

“No, no, it wasn’t!” he said as he hooked left. “You have a certain set of useful skills, Master Skleros,” Ioannis said wryly as they walked on, “and I need use of those skills. No, not a murder,” Angelos said quickly, before Eleutherios could open his mouth. “An investigation.”

“Isn’t the Patriarch investigating…” Eleutherios started uneasily.

“Patriarch Thomas couldn’t investigate his arsehole if given an army of sodomites with red hot pokers to do so!” Angelos blasphemed. Thankfully it looked like no one was around to hear his harsh words. “No, that man is a dithering idiot,” Angelos went on, unperturbed. “We must find who did this,” Angelos said quietly.

Part of Eleutherios was surprised at the amount of cold iron in the voice of a boy with barely a beard. The rest of Skleros’ mind reminded him of what that barely bearded man had done. Angelos breathed hard, sharp. “And when we do,” he hissed, a dagger-like finger pointing at Eleutherios, “by the power of God in Heaven I’ll pull out their eyes with my bare hands!”

“I’ll hold the wretch for you,” Eleutherios added. His Emperor had been attacked. There was no question—the guilty had to be punished. But a small, nagging voice in Skleros’ head bothered him until he spoke.

“Do you think Lord von Franken did this?” Eleutherios asked cautiously.

“No,” Angelos answered with surprising speed. Eleutherios raised his eyebrows, but Angelos ignored the gesture, instead starting to walk briskly down the corridor. Eleutherios fell in step behind him, wondering to himself how Ioannis knew the answer so quickly.

“Who do you suspect?” Skleros asked after a moment.

“We don’t know,” Angelos grunted as he roughly shoved a pair of doors open. Servants scurried away as the two approached. “That’s what…” he started to growl, before catching himself. “That’s what frightens me so. My short list of suspects is not nearly short enough!”

“Konstantinos, Gabriel…” Eleutherios offered.

Ioannis nodded. “Of course those two—they are the most obvious. Segeo’s nobles might be fleeing him like frightened rabbits, but he could have still tried a desperate scheme to save himself. Any one of the despotes. Hell,” Ioannis hissed, shoving another set of doors open, “my own father could have done it for all we know!”

“Your father?” Eleutherios stuttered. Yes, Prince Simon of Ikonion was powerful, and yes, Komnenid blood ran in his veins through his grandmother, but for him to…

“Believe me, Master Skleros,” Angelos’ thin smile reminded Eleutherios of a snake’s joy at sensing a rabbit, “if my father had a hand in it, I would flay him alive.” As if on cue, Angelos’ hands reached for the knobs of the final door ahead of them, and snapped one of the ebony handles out of its mounting.

“I have no doubt,” Eleutherios looked away and swallowed hard. “Where are we going?” he asked a moment later, as Angelos cursed and opened the other door with barely less violence.

“You shall see,” Ioannis replied, eyeing the broken handle before striding through the set of doors. Eleutherios blinked, then followed.

“There’s some evidence the army was involved possibly.” Eleutherios blinked as Angelos’ words brought him back to the problem at hand—the emperor’s friend was looking down at something shiny, Eleutherios couldn’t see what it was.

“Half the despotes are field commanders, and even the ones that aren’t can’t be trusted,” Angelos went on, twirling whatever it was that he held. Eleutherios leaned over, trying to see. He caught a glimpse of the glint of a blade with a hilt made of stag horn.

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“So right now, I can’t trust anyone,” Angelos said, his voice suddenly quieter. He stopped, and Eleutherios stopped behind him. The spy looked left, then right—the corridors were empty.

Suddenly Angelos spun around, shoving him roughly into the chilly marble wall. Ioannis’ forearm crushed against his chest, the light from above dangerous in his eyes. Something cold, ice cold pricked against his neck. Eleutherios swallowed, trying to calm himself, trying to breathe. He couldn’t.

“I don’t know who I can trust!” Angelos hissed. The pinprick slid up Skleros’ neck. He could feel it grow sharp every heartbeat. “You are a master spy, Eleutherios Skleros,” Angelos added, his head cocking to the side as he spoke. “Can His Majesty trust you? Can I trust you?”

Eleutherios nodded his head as best he could.

“Good,” Angelos smiled—it reminded Eleutherios of a hyena, just after a kill. “If I couldn’t trust you,” Angelos added, voice quiet as an adder’s hiss, “Well…” he suddenly let go of Skleros’ chest. The pinprick went away, and the smile suddenly became warm and friendly. Eleutherios felt a chill run down his spine. “Let’s not speak of that. Come,” Angelos gestured up the hallway as if nothing had happened.

Eleutherios blinked, numbly nodding.

“You asked where we were headed,” Angelos said a moment later, even as Skleros cautiously rubbed his neck. There was a slight scratch from the knife, no more—for his youth, that beardless boy knew how to handle an assassin’s blade. Suddenly, Angelos stopped at a seemingly nondescript door. Keys jangled, and soon it swung open.

“Come in and you shall see,” Ioannis said. Eleutherios paused a moment—was it a trap? He shook his head—why would Angelos lead him into a trap after that display just a moment before? And if it was, he was a doomed man anyway. He walked inside.

The room was dim. For a moment, Eleutherios could only make out the barest points of light—candles dancing silently along the walls. As his eyes adjusted, he made out a bed, tables, chairs, and papers thrown about. Then, a body in the bed. Then a face.

Then he recognized the face, and fell on one knee as Angelos closed the door behind him. He bowed his head momentarily, then looked up towards the figure slowly pushing himself upright in bed. A hand weakly rose in greeting.

“Hello, Master Skleros…” Andronikos Komnenos whispered.

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==========*==========​

So Andronikos lives! But who is the fifth column that pulled off this feat? Was it a dynatos? The army? Gabriel plans on moving… quickly. Will he strike before Andronikos and company can sort out Konstantinopolis? Will Albrecht be found guilty of witchcraft? Will the state shamble on, or will it crumble without a clear master? The summer of chaos moves on, as Rome AARisen continues!
 
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Black magic , eh ? Now there's an interesting little twist haha . Always happens in a uproar when the head is struck , I suppose .
 
Eleutherios is back to solve a very mysterious looking mystery...and Albrecht didn't know, and Angelos didn't know, and Gabriel didn't know...

Although maybe Alexandros knew? That's why he was drinking so much? Hmmm....

Kosmodion palace looks better from the inside than the outside, for sure.

Setting the Church as your enforcing arm is probably not a good idea...did your Rhomaion have this kind of precedent?

Seeing Albrecht PRAY and scheme at the same time was just...something. Probably the standout part of the update for me. So unusual, so believable. And his rare prayer is interrupted by a priest, of all people, who is part of...a scheme. That is just beautifully constructed.
 
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The Danes.

Kill the alpha, and the pack shall kill itself. :p

Albrecht did not have any personal guards that would have taken care of those priests inside the palace?
The next Megoskyriomachos will be a bit wiser. :D
 
Ha! I told you guys Andie would live! But was this investigation the Patriarch is conducting really authorized by the Emperor? Seeing as Angelos doesn't think Albie had anything to do with the Emperor's poisoning, I also doubt his (ludicrous) arrest has anything to do with the Emperor. If that's true, than who is behind the Patriarch on this "investigation" of his? And who is this new master of Byzantine bureaucracy? Is he the one backing the Patriarch in this mess?

Arghhh, so many questions!
 
I'm still rooting for Gabriel. If he would be able to unearth certain information about Barcelona, he would basically win the war in an instant. But did Andronikos cover the whole thing up good enough?

Andronikos took more than he can handle. Making the church arrest Albrecht, sacking Barcelona, poisoning himself just to make his life harder (Kill Albrecht)? Tsk, tsk, tsk. And I don't like the young Angelos. He's just plain evil. Unlike Manuel who was simply pragmatic.
 
Clearly the master of the beauracracy is Andronikos, it seems he accomplished his goal and is now the true captain of the ship of state.
 
Ioannis is shaping up to be a fascinating character: utterly loyal and terrifyingly cruel in equal measure. When he says that he'd flay his father alive if he learned that he was involved in a plot to assassinate the Emperor, I have no trouble believing him. He's not as sympathetic as Manuel--you get the feeling that where Manuel enjoyed playing "the game," Ioannis simply loves his Emperor (albiet not in the Mehtar sense) and enjoys the opportunities to inflict cruelty that his service gives him--but already he seems every bit as formidable as the old spider was.
 
I was reminded of the scene where a young Manuel leads Romanos Thrakesios down to some subterranean waterworks, and forces him to send a large fleet to Africa.

At least this time it doesn't seem likely that Ioannis is making a powerplay of his own, the scene I mentioned set events into motion which killed Nikolaios and put Manuel on the throne, but the Angelid seems quite loyal.
 
Great update!

I believe that Andronikos did authorize the Patriarch to arrest Albrecht - their history is, afterall, not a warm one. Maybe that was Andronikos' plans all along, he did devour the poison at his own wim, he just didn't know that the concoction would be so potent nor involve that exact set of 'ingredients'.

I lay my vote on Konstantinos regarding 'Who paid Vishly to poison Andronikos a bit too much?', as he unveiled Vishly's true identity a few updates ago and offered him a job of sorts. I find it very likely that Konstantinos would aim for such a thing, as he earlier said that he wouldn't stay content with Italy like his father had done.
 
Zzzzz… – Welcome tot the thread! You’re actually pretty far along—that was back whent here were multiple posts a page sometimes. :) Who has been your favorite character so far? And I love your location… I think spiritually that’s my location as well! XD
I finally catch up. I'm rooting for Andronikos! I don't think the army is involved, they somewhat likes him.
Fave character? Sophie! :D Aside from her beauty and her character, she founded the Emperor's hand. I could say Manuel or maybe Eirene but she's still hasn't born yet. :p

Are there still gonna be plots, intrigues and usurpers when it gets to EU3?