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I, Filip Vojislav, Grand King of Greater Serbia, Duke of Rashka, Dioclea etcetera, Count of Hum, Zeta, Ragusa etcetera, Ceaser of Serbia in the Roman Commonwealth, spokesperson for the Patriach of Vojislav, hereby deliver a proclamation to all Kings, Tsars and Emperor of Europe.

The Roman Commonwealth may be a good thing for those realms and leaders of those realms willing to surrender their right to decide on their own. To hand over the rightful sovreignity of ones land to a Commonwealth, to loose their independence. True, that the Commonwealth grants advantages, such as one current and one set of measurements, but those advantages are not advantages good enough warranting the loss of said independence. Further, the Codex Smilec Vojislavljevic stipulates, in its spirit, that the House Vojislav shall be free-roaming, not fethered or bound, by argeements or word, but only in honour and to those who deserves such honour. The Codex is what shall guide House Vojislav to greatness, when the Codex comes in conflict with other agreements, then the Codex shall take precendence over said agreement. Thus, House Vojislav will leave the Roman Commonwealth after our service to the Bagratuni is finished and peace once more rules over Balkan.

Furthermore, we cannot hope that the Codex can continue to guide us, if it outdated and misleading, so the Codex itself must face change to ensure that it will guide us. So, I, Filip Vojislav, will amend the Codex Smilec Vojislavljevic with following amendments.

1. All bidding shall be public, so will House Vojislav publicly declare the winner.

2. When a part has won the bidding, House Vojislav will not accept any other bids. House Vojislav will and must stay loyal to the part that hired our services, until peace reigns again, or until House Vojislav is forced out of the war.

These amendments shall be known as the First and Second Amendment of Filip Vojislavljevic.

This is my word, and I stand by those words.

[x] Filip Vojislavljevic seal
 
Giving up the title


Wolsey and King Robert were walking in the gardens of the Royal Palace.
"King Frédéric has sent a message to you, mi lord" Wolsey said.
"What kind of message?" King asked. "Is it about the war?" He continued hoping that they would finaly reclaim Britannia. "Yes and no sire" Wolsey said knowing that the news he was about to tell would upset the King. "Brittany has indeed joined the war but against Georgian Empire" Wolsey said. "What?!" Robert said. "They are fighting with Norway against Orthodaani Alliance?" He continued. "Not excatly, they are only fighting against Georgian Empire" Ike said.
4-67.jpg

"How can this be happening!" King said in rage. "I feel betrayed, this cannot be happening" He continued. "My liege, our Emperor has joined the war on the same side as our mortal enemies!" Robert shouted.
"I know that this is unexecpted but... " Wolsey said but was interupted by the King. "But?!" King said. "There is no 'but', we are not going to help them!" He continued.
"My lord, they have also asked that you give up your title as King of Scotland" Ike said. "How dare they ask that when they have betrayed us like this, even this must be doings of those satans dogs of north!" King de Lusignan raged. "Yes but in return you would have control over Scotland as Lord of Scotland and Ireland" Chancellor Wolsey explained. "Very well send letter to the Emperor that we do as he say on this matter" King said and walked away.
"Yes sire" Wolsey replied.

Chapter 16
[URLx=http://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/showpost.php?p=8232273&postcount=343]Giving up the Title[/URL] - Emperor Ike
 
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The War of Rus.


General’s Log Entry #1: The Battle of Cherson.

This is the personal journal of Commander Sviatopolk Banffy, Prince of Karvuna and Leader of 4 of the 5 Roman Legions sent to aid our Allies, the Kingdom of Rus, in a war of combined Italian, Bohemian and Norwegian Aggression. Though those particular nations would not agree on that, except maybe the Barbaric Norwegian’s, this is how the Roman Commonwealth sees this attack on Rus.

I was one of the first to answer my Emperor’s nation-wide Call-To-Arms. My ancestor’s have been a thorn in the side of the Diogenes Dynasty early on, and I hope to erase that memory from the mind of my Lieges. Of the 90,000 Roman Soldiers to be mobilized during the call to Arms, my men made up 6,000 of them. Immediately after Mobilization, I was given a commission by Alexios Diogenes, Marshall of the Empire, to Station Troops in Crimea, a former Roman Vassal, given to Rus in exchange for land we actually Lost, ah well, Such is life.

I left immediately. My wife, Premislava, begged me to send Yevstafii, my son by my first wife and current Marshall of Karvuna, alone on this Campaign. I refused to send my 18-year-old Son to war alone, and so I left with him. A month later, we arrived in Crimea.

The waiting was horrible. We were stationed in a Khazarian Province that had, incidentally, named Crimea. There was not enough food or board to house my entire Army. To conserve Troops and provisions I marched my Army south, to Cherson. There, my Troops would not suffer such poor circumstances.

It was months before we got news of an attack. I had thought that going to Crimea would save us from serving on the front lines of Combat, only to find that an Italian Army of 16,000 or so Soldiers sailed straight through the Straight of Asia Minor, across the Black Sea and landed in Crimea, where it besieged the Small Castle built there. Luckily, we got reports of a Russian Army of almost 15,000 Thousand men attacking the Italian Invader Force. What my Scouts reported to me was a miracle, Russian Heavy Armoured Soldiers, mostly Knights and Heavy Cavalry, destroyed Light Italian Troops and Archers. What was left of the Italian Army retreated to Cherson.

It seemed the Italian Commander thought my Small Army wouldn’t pose much of a threat. I considered retreating, but my son was determined to defend Cherson. If I was given the time, I would have retreated, but the Italian Army attacked quicker than I expected. It was either fight or be slaughtered.

As per Roman law, every Army in the Empire was fashioned to be like the Roman Legions. Strong Heavy Infantry and Heavy Cavalry. Our Infantry were outfitted like the rest of the Empire’s Legions, Heavy Plate and Chain Armour, Longswords and Steel Shields. Reinforced with Lightly Armoured Militia, Trained Pikemen Auxiliary, and Archer Corps. Our key to Victory, However, is the Kataphraktoi. Plate Armoured, Lance and Sword Wielding Elite Cavalry Divisions. They can soften Enemy lines as a shock force, or mop up any exposed or retreating Infantry. Lightly Armoured Italian Troops would stand no chance. The problem was not to be overwhelmed by there vastly superior numbers.

The Italians were marching hastily, and mostly disorganized. The crushing defeat given to them by the Russians had destroyed the Troops Morale, and weakened their position. My son and our advisors, as well as I unanimously agreed that Victory could only be assured if we attack them once there disorganized. I, Sviatopolk, shall command the Roman Phalanx, compromised of our Heavy Legionnaires and Militia, and serve as a wall between the Italian Army and Castle Cherson.
My son, Yevstafii, command the Kataphraktoi, and Hit advancing Italian Troops with enough force for them to reel back. Once the Italians re-organized, a combined attack with the Entire Army will send them back to Crimea, and there they shall meet the Russian Army.

And here I am, sitting amidst my Troops, writing of all the events that led up to this point. My troops are calm, though I myself am not at ease. Many of these Soldiers fought in the Roman Civil Wars, on both the Emperor’s side and against him. These are hardened men, and my confidence is assured to have them with me in this battle.

End Log.



Generals Log Entry #17: The Siege of Galich.


Damn Russian Winters. It’s cold as hell itself if the devil were a snow-demon. Most of my men aren’t used to winter, save the ones I brought from Karvuna, and even they aren’t used to cold like this. It’s been almost 3 months since I last wrote in this log, because I have been too busy to find time to write.

After Cherson, the War exploded. Enemy Troops started pouring into Russia, and that’s when our Emperor Andronikos decided to send all mobilized Troops to the Bohemian front, where Bohemians had just started to Siege Peremyshl. Due to our astounding Victory in Cherson, I was given command of 4 full Legions, leaving my Son and the Karvuna Army behind to defend Crimea. These 4 Legions I commanded were the first large Army to enter Rus, and I was given the honour of commanding it.

Since Cherson, my men have not been involved in any part of importance in the War of Rus until about 3 months ago. Bohemian Troops have pushed Russian Armies back to Chernigov, taking the City of Kiev. Originally, my Troops were to assist in re-taking Kiev, though we got their too late. As such, I marched my 17,000 Roman Legionnaires to Galich, where I have spent the last 3 months trying to retake the Castle manned by Bohemian Troops. It would have fallen by now, had Enemy armies not 3 times interrupted us. We managed to beat them off, but I fear we won’t be able to keep our position. With our allies Troops using Galich as a launching point, and Galich itself being contest territory, a bigger Army is bound to attack soon. I only have 13,000 men left, a little under 3 full Legions. I lost most of the men to attrition, though a good lot of them were killed by enemy Soldiers.

My men are at the moment keeping up on the Siege of Galich Castle. We had enough wood to make 5 Siege Towers, and the Army I command brought Mangonels and Catapults from the Empire. As I write in my War Tent, hundreds of men are dying out on the City Walls. My men have already told me of a 500 man Death Count already, though the day still has 4 hours left in it. I am hoping Russian Troops will reinforce me, but other fronts are calling them for defense, and I understand. I just hope I’m not wasting my Troops in a useless Siege.

End Log.


General’s Log Entry #21: Returning Home.


It has been quite some time since I have wrote in this journal, but things have, as usual for war, been Chaotic. Each catastrophe seems to lead to another. Because we lost Galich, as I wrote previously, were forced back to Kiev. 8,000 of my men fought to defend Kiev, but it was hell. The battle wasn’t even the hard part, the organizing was. There were so many Troops, both Russian and Roman, that we couldn’t feed everyone. Our men were hungry and demoralized by the time the combined Italian and Bohemian attack came. We lost Kiev quickly, and my men retreated to Chernigov, right where we were 5 months before. This was not 15 days ago.

My army has dwindled down to 5,000 ragged, cold and hungry soldiers. I received a letter from my Liege, the Emperor yesterday. It said I was to relinquish command of my Troops and return to my position in Karvuna. Another Roman Army, 20,000 in number, like mine previously, is marching towards the Bohemian front. I hope they do better than my Army did. I also heard a Roman Army of 8,000 Men is marching towards the Lithuanian Capitol, I wonder if they’ll make it with enough strength to siege them.

Tomorrow we will start the March home, our route will be through Crimea again, where I will pick up my Sons Army, now at a number of barely 2,000, and return home by boat. I heard my wife has had our daughter, and I am eager to see her. With all I’ve seen in the past year, I will be glad to see something good enter the world.

End Log.


General’s Log Entry #1: Setting out.


Roman efforts in the Rus War have failed. Our first Campaign was a disaster, and our second did little. Now, as Italian and Bohemian Troops push even harder on the Bohemian-Rus front, Andronikos Diogenes has finally issued the order to mobilize his personal Demesne Troops. I have been selected to lead 18,000 men as the first wave of Troops being sent. Troops from Thrake, Mesembria, Adrianopolis, Philippopolis, Smyrna and even Byzantion have been issued under me, Emperor Andronikos most Loyal and Capable Courtier, Andronikos Balik.

We set out on the marrow. Andronikos did wise in choosing me, I will not let him down.

End Log.



General’s Log Entry #4: Disgruntled Soldiers.

Instead of sailing through the Black Sea into Crimea, as the two previous failed Campaigns had, I wisely chose to march through Serbia. Having just left Birlad, we have arrived in Peresechev, an inhospitable and undeserving place. Some men have deserted due to our rough course. Men are complaining my rules are too harsh, and I had to deal with a small uprising due to a punishment I gave one man for taking an extra rations. Apparently, his friends did not think that sentencing him no rations for a week was a fair punishment, and a brawl ensued. 5 of the brawlers were put to death, and the rest of them fell in line.

I have received word that 2 more Armies are coming from the Empire; one is being commanded by Emperor Andronikos himself! I shall make sure I have won his favour before he even arrives in Rus. He is coming by boat through the Black Sea, and to Crimea. I think I took a superior route, but the Emperor may have reasons for taking a less suitable path. It is up to him.

We will arrive in the province of Torki in a week, and from there we will make for Terebovl, and retake it for the glory of Rome.

End Log.


General’s Log Entry #6: Galich.

Georgian and Russian Troops, no doubt to rob me of my glory, have retaken Terebovl. Also, through a combined effort of Novgorod, Russian and Georgian Troops, they have retaken Kiev. Therefore, I have changed my Armies’ course to Galich. One of the first Major Battle’s in this War to be fought by Roman Soldiers was in Kiev, and I will be sure not to repeat the humiliating defeat suffered by the weaklings who fought there.

We lost more men, some deserting and some dying in minor skirmishes and accidents. I will not tolerate any accidents. There will have to be harsher punishments if my soldiers can’t keep in line.

End Log.



General’s Log Entry #9: The Battle of Galich.


I have defeated an Army of Bohemian Troops at Galich, pushed them back to their own land. Georgians came and reinforced me, but their help was minor. We are continuing a Siege of Galich Castle, and I shall not fail in this attempt. I have 15,000 Troops left, 3 full glorious Roman Legions.

My scouts report of an Italian Army on its way, apparently assuming they were going to reinforce the Bohemian Army I crushed 2 days ago. Obviously they were late. Only 6,000 Italian Soldiers are in the Army, so I expect victory soon. It annoys me, however that I will have to put my Siege of Galich Castle on hold. Ah well, whatever it takes to quell these fools.

I received reports yesterday that Kiev is being attacked by enemy Forces. I severely hope that those Russians won’t fail this time, as if they did, my army would be left trapped in a circle of enemies.

My troops are readying formation as I write. The Georgian Troops are falling back, which is good; this victory will be purely Roman. I shall report of our victory tomorrow, and hopefully the end of the Siege.

End Log.


OOC:

I've gotten quite bored with the 3rd Person Historical Lecture-like mode I've been writing my AAR's in, so I thought telling certain parts of the war through the Commander's eyes in a journal like log would be interesting. All through the War will be told through various Roman Generals or Soldiers.

Excuse me if I got any detail of the War wrong, I'll have to start taking notes during the game.

As an AAR reward, can I please have the gold, Being that I'm in severely in debt, a little extra cash could help a lot.

PS: please excuse the Andronikos Balik entries if you find them a little demeaning, as I don't really feel that way towards any of the players, it's just the character talking.
 
Brittany, 1194.

King Frédéric de Cornouaille looked out over Valencia, from the balcony of his bedroom, and cursed “those damned 'Romans'” under his breath. Or perhaps it was “those damned Russians,” or possibly “those damned Vikings” he was cursing. It was difficult to tell. But one of them, or perhaps two or three of them, had been responsible for landing Brittany in a land war in Asia (or the Middle East, in any event). Unsurprisingly, the land war in Asia was not going well.

“What could be worse,” King Frédéric bellowed, than to be paying those damned (King Frédéric was obviously in a rut, generally linguistically and specificially epithetically speaking) fishermen and merchants tons and tons of gold to ship our fine armies over to the Levant, only to see Georgia cut them down?”

“Well, my love,” his wife replied, “I can think of three things that would be worse.”

“What? What could possibly be worse?”

“Imprimis, you could be fighting the de Hautevilles. Then you’d not only be fighting a land war in Asia, but you’d also be up against a Sicilian with death on the line.”

“You raise an excellent point.”

“Secundus, you could have paid the fishermen and merchants tons and tons of gold and had the ships sink en route.”

“True.”

“Tertius, you could be on fire.”

“Yes, yes, I could always be on fire. Still, this war is pointless. Brittany has no desire to take Georgian territory – has no real animus towards Georgia at all, to be perfectly candid – has a non-aggression treaty with Russia that we are either skirting dangerously close to the edge of or have breached, depending on whether you consult Breton or Russian advocates, and if we were going to go to war, could have done much better for ourselves closer to home.”

“All that you say is true, my love. But have you forgotten that the Russians (and Georgians, for that matter) are schismatic scum?”

“Well, no. But. Imprimis, your family were followers of Muhammed not too terribly long ago. As were, in truth, most Breton counts and dukes. Yet they adapted quickly to our Christian ways, and even those that do not now profess allegiance to Our Lord and Savior still do not give us any more trouble than our dukes and counts in Old Brittany. If infidels can be assimilated to our ways, how much sooner schismatics?”

“Secundus, this rift between the “Popes of Rome”, now living near Provence, after extended residences east of the Caspian Sea (where may have been infected with heresy), and the “Patriarchs of the East” (Constantinople, Jerusalem [exiled to Georgia], Alexandria [less influential than they once were], and Antioch), is just so much rhetoric. It was once between the Pope and the Emperor. But now, who is the Pope? Setting aside his role as Italian-controlled-arbiter-of-God’s-will, just a man in a funny hat. How many regiments can the Pope raise? One small one, you say?”

“Tertius, this split has only been fueled by Russia’s perpetual need to hide behind the skirts of Georgian Kings. Breton traders trade with Serbian ones, with Byzantines, and with Georgians…what do we care if they have banned icons in the past? Our ex-Muslims themselves are uncomfortable with iconic practices. And only a priest could care about the filioque. If the Son proceeds from the Father, then what matter if the Holy Spirit proceeds from the Father with or without the help of the Son?”

“Bah. Well, this stupid war will hopefully end soon.”

AAR Reward Request: pregnancy to King Frédéric's wife.
 
Just a rough outline, to be filled in with province numbers etc. once I have slept.

The Treaty of Galaz:

6000 gold to Rus
500 gold to Novgorod
1500 gold to Byzantium

All of Novgorod's demesne provinces to Rus, all of Novgorod's vassals to become vassals of Rus

Novgorod to become a vassal of Georgia

Novgorod to recieve the provinces of Turkmen and Dihistan as their Demesne

Novgorod to recieve all Georgian vassals in the Kingdom of Persia as vassals

Georgia to recieve all vassal lands of Khazaria east of the Dniester as collateral

EDIT1: Atheniai (482) to become a Byzantine Vassal, and the province of Tana (596) to be given to Georgia

EDIT2: Syrt clause: Serbia to transfer Syrt to Georgia

FoCoG to be paid by Georgia

fasquardon
 
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I Tsar of All the Russias accept this treaty on belhalf the Russian people.
 
July 18th, 1193
Outside the walls of Great Novgorod
Afternoon

Pillars of smoke dotted the plains, rising straight for kilometres in the summer-still air. The old god within Sigurd chuckled with glee at the sight; it had come forth more clearly, of late, since the long ships landed. Sigurd smiled too; every pillar was a hundred or more Russians dead, taken as slaves, or made homeless and forced to run for the south. But there was a greater burning still to come, and his smile faded as he looked again at the walls of Novgorod. Great Novgorod, the citizens called it, and the huge walls that sneered at the Norwegian army deserved the name. Nobody had even suggested storming the place; the walls were seven metres high, and the citizen militia manning them knew full well that they were all that stood between their wives and children, and Sigurd's revenge.

The problem gnawed at him all the day, while he dealt with the endless trivia of an army settling in to siege; ensuring that latrines were dug deep, settling disputes over position within the camp, checking on the walls surrounding it, and establishing patrols to make sure that no relieving army could surprise him. Siege was a chancy business, as likely to rip apart the besiegers' army from disease and hunger as to succeed. Novgorod was reputed to be well supplied, a full year's worth of grain in the silos, it was said, and enormous cisterns of water. And winter came early here, colder even than in Norway.

He was bone tired by the time he found his own tent and collapsed onto the rushes; so he was surprised to find himself standing on a large plain underneath an enormous tree, miles tall, and realise that he was dreaming. He felt a presence behind him, and turned to meet it. Dream-like, he was unsurprised at the tall, grey-clad figure, leaning on a staff, one-eyed under a large hat. He had never seen the old god within him before, but he had known.

"Hail, Sigurd, Oathbearer."

"Hail, Father of Victory."

"Indeed so. And you've had victories this year. But Novgorod's walls are strong."

"Yes. Have you come to give me advice, then?"

"Advice you can have, yes. But I give nothing freely."

"What is your price?"

"Here is Yggdrasil the World Tree. In this place you may buy wisdom. But the going rate is somewhat steep."

Sigurd shuddered, and woke, drenched in sweat. He rose, knowing he would be unable to sleep again for an hour at least, and walked about the camp. Talk with the watchmen calmed him, and in the twilight of this high-summer night his dream began to seem insubstantial. When he returned to his tent, his sleep was dreamless.

---------------------------------------​

July 24th, 1193
Outside the walls of Great Novgorod
Morning

Five nights, and five dreams, and still Novgorod stood defiant, daring the invaders to do their worst. The knowledge that there was a solution was almost as bad as contemplating the price the old god was demanding; but try as he might Sigurd could find no weakness in the city's defenses. Today would be different, though. 'Wisdom', the old one had said; well, let him keep it. There was a time for tricks, and a time for force. He looked out at the assembled hirdsmenn, and concluded his short speech:

"I will lead the attack myself; and I will carry the Raven Banner. Now, who will follow me to the wall, and glory?"

There was a long moment of silence; the walls of Novgorod were daunting to the bravest. But then his cousin Vegard stepped forward; and his brother, Ketil. And then they followed: Ragnvald, Lodin, Knut, Yngve, all the young men who thought they were immortal. They were a hundred all told when Sigurd called a halt; any more would just get in each others' way. An escalade worked swiftly or not at all. The rest of the army would stand to arms, to follow them in if they won the walls and drive victory home.

The ladders were ready; he had ordered them made yesterday. Nothing remained but to pick them up and make ready to charge. Sigurd was not carrying one; he had the Raven Banner instead on its short pole, wings hanging lifeless in the still air. Nonetheless he was at the front when they began to run; cousin Vegard was right behind him with a ladder. Horns blew on the wall ahead of them, and militiamen rushed towards the threatened spot. Arrows fell, and the attackers spread out as they dodged; the bows the townsmen were using weren't very powerful. Only three men had broken off, clutching at arrows in unarmoured legs, by the time they got to the walls. That was where the real danger began; baskets of rocks and bricks were tipped over on top of them, or thrown down to shatter helmets and heads. Most banged off shields hastily raised, though, and the ladders slammed into place; Sigurd pushed Vegard aside to be first up, holding the banner in one hand like a lance, balancing with the other. It was an awkward way to fight, but you could only fit so many militia onto a short piece of wall, and they had exhausted most of their rocks. A well-aimed piece of masonry caught Sigurd in the arm nonetheless, and he cried out at the bruising pain; but his byrnie saved the arm from breaking, and he climbed on. A spear thrust at his face; he grabbed at it and hauled. The young man - a boy, almost - holding it let go, as his only alternative to falling off the wall; that gave Sigurd a moment of relatively free action, which he used to climb another two rungs and slam the Raven Banner into a militiaman's face. The crunching of broken teeth was inaudible over the screams of both sides, but he felt it as a shiver down the flagpole; the man fell backwards, making a momentary opening in the militia ranks.

Another rung, and a sword blazed towards his helmet; he got his arm into its path, and again his byrnie saved him anything worse than a bruise. In return he thrust the banner upwards again, not hitting anyone but forcing his immediate opponent to duck, winning yet another rung; and now he was on a level with the militiamen, and could grasp the banner with both hands and wield it as a quarterstaff, clearing space. Then he was over the wall and onto the parapet. The townsmen were unarmoured except for light leather jackets, no match for a hirdsmann on level ground; in quick succession Sigurd slammed his quarterstaff sideways into one's head, then thrust behind him at groin level, hitting something yielding, then forward to complete his clearing of the space around him. Now Vegard was up, and they fought back-to-back; but the other laddermen had not had his luck of facing an inexperienced boy at first. He and Vegard were the only Norse on the wall, and men were running towards the trouble spot from every direction. Now Ketil was up and helping his brother, and townsmen were falling quickly; without the advantage of their wall, the militia were no match for armoured men trained in the Yngling way of battle. They fell back, making room for more Norse; but the single ladder could not feed men in rapidly. Five, six, and with the pause in close combat arrows began falling on the wall, fired from rooftops inside the city; one hit Lodin in his unarmoured knee, crippling him. Speed was the key. He pulled Vegard and Ketil aside, forming them up for a charge to clear the way for the next ladder in line; two townsmen had formed a line of sorts there, holding their spears ready to defend their comrades, who were still throwing rocks at the Norse at the base of the wall, and thrusting spears at the luckless ladderman.

Two men abreast were all the parapet had room for; since Vegard and Ketil had shields, Sigurd let them take the lead. They leapt forward, shields first; Ketil caught his opponent's spearhead and swung it aside in the finest training style, coming up close and thrusting his sword into the man's throat - but in the close press of the wall, he hadn't considered where he was sending that spearhead; it hit Vegard in the flank, and by malign luck the other end stuck between two bricks of the parapet, driving the spearhead through chainmail and flesh. The other militiaman was able to avoid Vegard's dying sword thrust, recover his spear, and slam it sideways at Ketil, quarterstaff style; he hit the round shield Ketil was wielding, but that was enough to overbalance him and send him seven meters into the unyielding cobblestones. Sigurd arrived a moment later, wielding his banner pole like a lance; it hit the townsman in the stomach and lifted him off his feet, rupturing the stomach sac.

But now Sigurd faced two men on his own, and these were no militia. The reserves had arrived: Armoured men of some boyar's personal warband. They advanced shields first, swords flicking out to threaten Sigurd's face and unarmoured legs; professionals, indeed. Two on one, there was nothing for Sigurd to do but retreat until one of his friends could come up and help him. He risked a quick glance behind, and a chill went through him. There were more of the boyar guardsmen on that side, and archers were firing between them; the bows were not very strong, but at such short range and against men busy fighting warrior equals, they were deadly. Norse were falling there faster than they could be replenished from the ladder; and the other ladders were faring no better, the defenders had got the hang of it now and bodies were piling up at the bottom of the wall.

The hope that had flared in Sigurd when he gained the wall shriveled to ashes; there was no point in throwing away more brave men, the defenders had been too fast, and the escalade had failed. There was nothing for it but to shout "Retreat" and consider the problem of getting back down. It didn't seem very likely that his opponents would consider standing back and letting him get back onto the ladder. On the other hand he wasn't going to have a lot of time to consider the matter. An arrow whizzing past decided him; the parapet was getting extremely unhealthy. Without stopping for thought, he leapt back over the wall.




(to be continued)
 
As shall the principality of Novgorod. Tough my hear lies in the north... :( :(
 
Old friends

"Ah Florenzo!" Ike said and greeted his old friend.
"My dear Wolsey" Florenso said.
Ike helped Florenzo to walk to his chair and he himself satt down also.
"Now His Majesty is very keen that the Legitime court is to be set up straight away to determine the case" Wolsey said.
"Indeed, indeed i have the Popes writen commision to side upon this matter and from my decision there can be no apeal" Florenzo smiled while he spoke. "And if your grace have some water?" Florenzo asked. "Water!" Ike said to the servants.
"Mixed perhaps with a little wine?" Florenzo said. Ike didn't say a word he just looked Florenzo. "You and i are old friends" Florenzo started "And we are both men of the word" he continued. "I even have a son who travels with me" He said. "And so?" Wolsey asked. "His holiness wishes to satisfyi the King how diffucult that might be but for all our sakes wouldn't it be better if you and i would try to persuade his majesty to give up his cause?" Florenzo said. "Surely his passion for united Britannia will fade with time like all such passion inevitable do" He continued. "I fear your eminence may have preceeded ignorance here" Ike said and stood up. "Let me explain to you" He continued. "If you do not support his cause papal authority in Scotland will be annihilated!" Ike said.
2-82.jpg


Chapter 16
[URLx=http://forum.paradoxplaza.com/forum/showpost.php?p=8270098&postcount=352]Old friends[/URL] - Emperor Ike
 
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fasquardon said:
Just a rough outline, to be filled in with province numbers etc. once I have slept.

The Treaty of Galaz:

6000 gold to Rus
500 gold to Novgorod
1500 gold to Byzantium

All of Novgorod's demesne provinces to Rus, all of Novgorod's vassals to become vassals of Rus

Novgorod to become a vassal of Georgia

Novgorod to recieve the provinces of Turkmen and Dihistan as their Demesne

Novgorod to recieve all Georgian vassals in the Kingdom of Persia as vassals

[Insert possible Syrt clause here]

Georgia to recieve all vassal lands of Khazaria east of the Dniester as collateral

FoCoG to be paid by Georgia

fasquardon


I, Andronikos Diogenes, Emperor of the Romans and King of Bulgaria, hereby place my seal on the Treaty of Galaz.

(Seal of Andronikos Diogenes.)


OOC:

Not sure if I have to place my seal on it, but just in case, since Byzantium is mentioned, I will.
 
Eird said:
Not sure if I have to place my seal on it, but just in case, since Byzantium is mentioned, I will.

Hey, the more the merrier.

fasquardon
 
The Bagratuniad:

Anja's Song:

Part 3 - Mutiny in Kutatisi

From the log books of the Kutatisi Royal Watch, we know that they had been planning for some time to arrest Anja and her thuggish band. As it turned out, this would be a hidden blessing for the hard-bitten warrior woman. When the Watch fell upon her camp on the evening of January 23rd 1103 AD, they found it in the throes of mutiny, and Anja an inch from loosing her intestines. (from The Last Viking by Markku Oikari)


January 30, 1103
Kutatisi Gaol

The time has come where I must face facts: since leaving Norway, things have only gotten worse. I have been the sole architect of my destiny before and after the point of my exile, and that architecture is flawed.

My training assumed a world shaped by 400 years of tireless work by my fellow agents, or at least 400 years of natural progress shaped by the occasional nudge whenever the quantum device actually worked. Here I am out of my depth.

Though I honestly wonder how in our depth any of us up-timers will be. The down-timers are simply free in ways no up-timer can even imagine. They lack even so much as a vestigial group consciousness beyond "this is my village", the technology to effectively watch and categorize large populations won't exist for another 800 years, and even the ideas of what control is or why it's needed are lacking.

It is amusing to look back and realise my two greatest failings: I though the men of yesterday were stupid, and I thought they were like "us". (I wonder what the up-time Chinese would think to hear a Yngling include her and them in the same "us"?) Regardless, it is still contradictory. This is not a history book. These people live and breathe this time, and however infantile their concerns seem to me, to them, they are things to fight and die for. Equally, my own concerns are pure insanity from the perspective of the age.

Now I must focus on doing better. The immediate problem is that of survival. Like the law anywhere, people who rock the boat are looked on poorly in Kutatisi. I must make certain that I am not the one they blame for disturbing their peace.

I have managed to charm one of my gaolers into providing some legal advice (as well as allowing me to continue these journals). It seems I will likely be tried before the week is out. As Kutatisi is a Royal city, technically it is the Prince himself that dispenses all justice, however, in most cases this is done on his behalf by one of his deputies. The judge is also jury, and both sides must argue their case before him (there are no lawyers, and everyone may speak for themselves), once this is done, the judge passes sentence, and the Watch then carry it out. Trials are held either in the vernacular or in Greek. At this point, there is nothing to do but practice my Greek and hope the judge is close enough that my up-time technology will waft his way in sufficient concentration.

After two weeks of enjoying the hospitality of the Royal Watch, Anja was brought to trial. Like many of the pivotal moments of her life, the trial is endlessly re-created in the dramas based on her. Unfortunately, few of them hew very close to the truth. While Prince Kvirike did indeed personally judge the trial, Anja never gave the impassioned speech future writers credit her with. The sole contemporary account (by María Jimenez, Kvirike's then wife), reveals a portrait of a coarse foreigner arguing for her freedom in rather atrocious Greek. However, it seems María's eyes did not see the sex-appeal of the strange foreign woman, for after a perfunctory trial in which Anja was cleared of any wrong doing, the Prince swept her away to Uchimerion, where they engaged in what contemporary sources and romance novels alike portray as a torrid and tempestuous affair. (from The Last Viking by Markku Oikari)

fasquardon
 
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fasquardon said:
Just a rough outline, to be filled in with province numbers etc. once I have slept.

The Treaty of Galaz:

6000 gold to Rus
500 gold to Novgorod
1500 gold to Byzantium

All of Novgorod's demesne provinces to Rus, all of Novgorod's vassals to become vassals of Rus

Novgorod to become a vassal of Georgia

Novgorod to recieve the provinces of Turkmen and Dihistan as their Demesne

Novgorod to recieve all Georgian vassals in the Kingdom of Persia as vassals

Georgia to recieve all vassal lands of Khazaria east of the Dniester as collateral

EDIT1: Atheniai (482) to become a Byzantine Vassal, and the province of Tana (596) to be given to Georgia

EDIT2: Syrt clause: Serbia to transfer Syrt to Georgia

FoCoG to be paid by Georgia

fasquardon


I, king of serbia hereby place my seal on the treaty of Galaz, and approve the transfer of Syrt to Georgia
 
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Have you tried it? :) Also I note that this is pretty much what happened with the King titles of Ireland and Scotland.
 
King of Men said:
Have you tried it? :)
Yes. All I get is whining about how much it costs to administer a province, and how Brittany should certainly reimburse the previous owner for the effort expended in running some worthless provinces 4 provinces inside Brittany proper, etc., etc.
King of Men said:
Also I note that this is pretty much what happened with the King titles of Ireland and Scotland.
Scotland, maybe, albeit there was an Act of God involved. Ireland, I took by force of arms from the AI.
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s0CQB_tGn08


Den' Pobedy, kak on byl ot nas dalyok,
Kak v kostre potukhshem tayal ugolyok.
Byli versty, obgorelye, v pyli —
Etot den' my priblizhali kak mogli.

Chorus:

Etot Den' Pobedy
Porokhom propakh,
Eto prazdnik,
S sedinoyu na viskakh.
Eto radost'
So slezami na glazakh.

Den' Pobedy!

Den' Pobedy!

Den' Pobedy!

Dni i nochi u martenovskikh pechey,
Ne smykala nasha Rodina ochey.
Dni i nochi bitvu trudnuyu veli, —
Etot den' my priblizhali kak mogli.

Chorus

Zdravstvuy, mama, vozvratilis' my ne vse,
Bosikom by probezhat'sya po rose!
Pol-Evropy proshagali, pol-Zemli —
Etot den' my priblizhali kak mogli.

Chorus x 2


Victory Day, how far was it from us
Like an ember dwindled in the faded fire.
Leagues[2] were there, burnt and dusted, —
We did all we could for hastening this day.

Chorus:

This Victory Day
Saturated with the smell of gunpowder,
This is a holiday
With gray hairs on temples,
This is joy
With tears in our eyes,

Victory Day!

Victory Day!

Victory Day!

Days and nights at open-hearth furnaces
Our Motherland didn't nod off.
Days and nights we fought a hard battle,
We did all we could for hastening this day.

Chorus

Hail, Mom, not all of us came back,
Wish to run about barefoot in dew!
Half of Europe, we have stridden half of Earth,
We did all we could for hastening this day.

Chorus x 2

Hail Victory! Russiya Rus' Triumphant!