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Pfiew. I've finally managed to plow through the thread.
Awesome AAR, Monnikje! :)

I think I'm going to give this game a spin as well...
 
So, have you finished your expanded mod yet? Are we gonna see this come back! :O

Good things take time, but i second the request :)

Maybe a small teaser? :D
 
The next update to the mod pack is ironing out quite some more bugs. It's been delayed a little, but once I release it, I'm - finally - going to continue Floris' adventures :).
 
Congratz on the ACA and for this really nice AAR. :cool:

Any chance of knowing what happens next ? :p
 
Chapter 49: Dreams made of snow
27 December 1260

Dear Diary,

For the past three months I have had every night the same dream. I find myself in Khudan, the capital of my kingdom. But as I walk the streets, they all appear to be deserted. The only footprints I can see are my own. A cold breeze chills my old bones. No-one answers my calls as I knock on several doors. No friends, no allies: no-one would come to my aid, no-one would explain what's going on. When I finally arrive at the central palace, I see two guards at the front door. As I approach them I'm shocked to discover that they are both me. But while one is even colder than the snow around me, the other radiates a heat I've never felt before. Both prevent me from entering my own home. I ask, order, shout and even try to knock them down, but they remain silent observers until they suddenly turn around, and each walk in an opposite direction. Stumped I watch them go. Are they showing me roads to follow, paths to take? I watch their departure, until I'm all alone again. That's the moment I wake up with sweat frozen on my forehead, while my heart burns. Every night, for the past three months. Except last night.

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In my dream I met myself twice.

What has happened to me? What has happened to the world? Before sultan Hakim had managed to bring peace to Calradia, war ravaged the countryside. The battles were numerous, as were the amount of conflicts. But even in these times of distress, there was always the hope of peace, the relieve of a quiet time in between. The world seemed a bright place at that time. But the past three months the world has grown dim. Shadows loom over the mountains, plants crumble the moment I touch them. It's not just the coming winter causing this: I can see something different is affecting the land. It looks like the spirit of Calradia is slowly fading away.

I sent Lezalit to the Sarranid desert, to ask Hakim if he'd seen these signs too. He returned without a written reply from the sultan, but his stories of the state of the palm trees standing next to the oases, told me enough. Hakim isn't blind: he must have seen these signs too. A permanent peace might lead to the destruction of the lands. Did my dreams warn me for this? I pondered it the entire night. Eventually I must have fallen asleep, since the dream returned, with only one difference: I started to follow one of my copies. I wish I could remember which one. I ran after him, through the frozen streets, with a chilly wind in my face. My dream was roughly interrupted when a fist hit me on the nose. I must have been sleepwalking, since I found myself in the middle of the town. The sun was slowly crawling over the roofs, while I lay in the snow. Some sinister figures drew their swords, their grins hidden behind dark masks. Assassins. If it wasn't for a quick reaction form the local guards, I wouldn't be writing these lines.

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In the early morning some assassins tried to kill me. They almost succeeded.

The following month several other attempts on my life were made. Some roughened me up pretty badly, while others were prevented before they could do any real harm. Why these fanatic attempts on my life? Who send them? Was it Hakim, the bringer of peace? These attempts started right after Lezalit had returned. Had he said something wrong at the court? Had he insulted the sultan? Even tough he denied these accusations, I can't be entirely sure he hadn't. But maybe these attempts weren't ordered by the peacebringer himself. It could be Ragnar, my old enemy, who decided that he needed revenge for the lost lands. If he could only get rid of me, a Nord victory would be assured. He could gather his armies in secret, preparing for a strike, just awaiting my death to roll over the country the way I did with him.

Whoever had ordered my execution, had achieved the opposite. Right after the first attempt on my life, I decided that I should train more. Preparations for another attempt. I'm glad I made that step, since a lot more followed. In the arenas of several different cities I fought with many trainees. Also I rode form feast to feast. Not to eat, like Harlaus would have done, but to compete in the tournaments. These events were the testing grounds of my abilities. And even tough I didn't win any of them, I noticed that each time I competed, I managed to reach further rounds. I could feel my muscles grow, my reflexes sharpen. I regained my strength and self-confidence.

If a war was coming, I couldn't win it alone. So I didn't forget my men. As I travelled from one city to the other, I took a few dozens of my soldiers with me, teaching them along the road. My trusted companions each did their part in the training of the army. Once a group had had sufficient skills with the art of war and all its aspects, I would return to Khudan and exchange them for fresh recruits, or old veterans who needed to refresh their training, as I had. Slowly the army is turning into a fighting machine these lands haven't seen before, not even when I rolled over the Nords. But I'm not there yet. Training hundreds of men takes a lot of time.

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To regain my strength, I trained in the arenas of different cities, and participated in several tournaments.

After travelling the lands for months, I'm now back home. Through the window in this high tower I can see snow pouring down, whitening the landscape even further. The streets look empty from up here, just like my dream. The only difference is the noise of someone climbing the stairs I hear now. He's rushing upstairs, so he's probably a messenger. What news will he bring, just a few days before the new year will come, that he needs to exhaust himself so much for it? Maybe he'll bring the final answer I've been searching? An explanation for my dreams, or the man behind these attacks? Or will he return with news of vision I experienced this night? This nights dream was so different... But I must stop writing now: I can hear him knocking my door. Affairs of the state await.

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*****
Gameplay notes
It's been a while since I posted a chapter, and I'm sorry for the long absence. I used the time in between to work on my mod pack. While the last chapter was done in the Floris Expanded Mod Pack version 1.0, this one is made with version 2.3. Or, the best approach towards it. There were a lot of changes in the mod pack, and since my Floris savegame dates back to Native 1.113, not everything went as smooth as planned. There were some bugs that prevented me from continuing the game, but now I finally got it working. The arenas from the upcoming version 2.4 are also already used in this chapter.

Here is a picture of Floris' current stats:
049d.png


Nothing has changed on the worldmap since the last time I posted one, so I decided to show you some pictures from the new arenas.

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loki100: Thanks! It was surely a long wait. Four months... they fly by pretty fast.

Enewald: Of course I do. One by one I train them in the deadly martial arts of AAR-writing :p. (it's at moments like this I wish the monkey shakespeare simulator was still online)
 
Nice update, and very nice pics :)
 
Chapter 50: Hakim's move
13 March 1261

Dear Diary,

Last time I write an entry, I described the dreams that plagued me the last three months of the year of Our Lord 1260: how I met myself twice each time, each copy running away in a different direction. But the morning I wrote that down, I had quite a different one. As always I walked through the empty streets of Khudan, with no-one around to help me, or explain anything. As all the dreams the previous week, I dragged myself forward, expecting to enter another situation where I had to choose one way or the other. Not this time. When I raised my head a little, I saw a bright light shining over the rooftops. There was something new, at the other end of the town. I was drawn to it, like a moth to a candle. Through the empty streets, along countless corners, past closed houses: I felt a flash of hope while I ran through the cold snow. What had changed? Had I finally found the right path? The light appeared to be coming from my palace, from the front gates. I expected my two copies to await me there, but instead of seeing my own face twice, I met just one person, standing in the most radiant armor I've ever seen. Black as the night, but with metal shining as the full moon: this man embodied everything I could and wanted to be. When I approached him, he stepped aside to let me enter through the heavy gates. His heavily armored hands rested on my shoulders while the two gatedoors opened each to another side, letting a warm glow out, melting the snow around me. It felt like coming home. As I stepped through, the morning sun shining through my window woke me up.

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A bright light and a beacon of hope... My dream shows a vision of days soon to come.

Before I could write this down last December, I was interrupted by a messenger running up the stairs. 'War!' he shouted. Fear engulfed my heart for a moment: my army wasn't ready yet for another confrontation. I opened the door, to let the messenger in my room, only to have him fall into my arms with a knife in his back. A shadow ran downstairs, to quick to catch. With his last breath the man in my arms assured me, to my relieve, that no-one has declared war on me. Holland was save for another day. Life slipped away from him, leaving me puzzled. It wasn't until the end of that day I discovered by other sources that sultan Hakim had declared war on the Rhodoks, the only country that seemed to stay out of the major wars for the past time. Who remembered king Graveth and his diminished and quiet kingdom anyway? They were unimportant in the international politics, yet still they held three cities. Every ruler had retracted himself in a safe cocoon, enjoying Hakim's peace. But now his real motives became clear. Had Hakim planned this from the beginning, or did he see the signs as I did, and decided to act accordingly?

Whatever his motives were, he showed in the first two weeks of January that he had learned form my last war. His spies had crawled the lands for months, learning every aspect of my tactics. How could I have missed that? Was I so blinded by my own success? Hakim led his soldiers out of the desert, into the southern mountains. The horses galloped over the mountain passes while the Rhodok outposts were overrun. Veluca was their first destination. This city, where I have my oil industry stationed, was conquered in merely two days. After this success Hakim didn't stop: he turned south, and one week later Jelkala was the second Rhodok city to fall. After these initial conquests, it became much harder for these desert warriors to continue their march west. The Rhodoks knew the mountains, and knew where to strike back.

The first week of the Sarranid invasion I didn't knew that he would use the same tactics I had used half a year earlier. All I knew was my dream, a vision of light and hope, came to me the moment war had been declared. The time to be soft was over: if war was the life juice of these lands, than war it could get. The dream had shown me road I should take. I wandered towards the nearest blacksmith, and ordered the armor from my dreams. It took the man a while to craft it, but as I can say now, it was well worth every denar I spent on it. Not only does it protect me better that my previous battle suit, it scares most enemies away. I put it on, and rode through Calradia as a bearer of ill news.

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After I got new armor, I rode the land as a bearer of ill news.

While city after city fell to the Sarranid might, I still had to face the assassins. The death of the messenger clearly showed me that they hadn't ceased their attempts.But how could I stop them? Who were they? There was no point in waiting for them to come here and try another time to slit my throat. I needed to find them, and return the favour. I assembled a group of highly skilled soldiers. Together we disguised ourselves as wandering merchants, traveling from city to city inspecting our warehouses and conducting our weekly trades. Even tough that was exactly what we were doing, it wasn't our main focus: in each town we visited, we carefully inspected each tavern, looking for clues. From Praven to Bariyye we found puzzle pieces, all pointing towards the dangerous war zone. I needed to travel to the mountains myself, and walk through the fallen cities to find the ones responsible for all those attempts.

Together with my men I rode south, over the major roads connecting the ever-changing factions together. Even tough we were on the lookout for attacks by bandits or maybe assassins, the roads became awfully quiet the more south we came. No fellow travellers to meet. Burning fires in the forests. Smoke over the mountain tops. These lands have never seen a devastation as is displayed here, right now. Even my men, hardened by my own conquest in the north, fell silent by seeing the result of the Sarranids ploughing west. Without exchanging as much as a glance to each other, we passed burning houses, saw dead people and heard the screams of many soldiers dying in the passes each day. Is this the peace Hakim had in mind for all of us?

Finally, after what seemed like ages, we arrived in Veluca. I hadn't visited any Rhodok city in quite a while, so I wondered how my oil business was doing these days. It had seemed like a save investment at the time, buying a workshop in the ever-quiet Rhodok lands, but I wasn't that sure anymore. All around me houses were lying in ruins, smoldering after some big fires that had devastated half the city during the siege. It must have been the hand of God that my place was in the only save and untouched part of the city. When I entered the large workshop, the master craftsman came towards me and thanked me for coming. During the war he had been unable to get any of his products out for sale, and now his stock was almost beyond his capacity. All these flasks of oil were just waiting to be sold. Velucan oil was a scarce good these days, so a good profit could be mad with those. The thought of the riches that awaited me almost made me forget my real purpose here: to find those assassins.

All hints had pointed to this city. Who could I trust? Who would betray me? I didn't tell the master craftsman my real purpose, but just stuck with the story I had been telling at every tavern: that I was here to conduct business. As always I went that night up to my room, located this time in the heart of my Velucan business empire. This time tough I didn't went to sleep. Some men stood guard, while others kept a close eye on the men and women working in here. When the full moon rose over the city and the stars twinkled, I crawled through the window and sneaked out. The roofs were steep, and I almost fell down when I saw another person crawl out of another window. the moonlight shone of his face, revealing the master craftsman himself. He slipped away, and walked through the many narrow streets. Many times he looked back to see if he wasn't been followed, but the streets were empty. He was all alone. Or so he thought. Never did he look up, or else he would have seen a bright light shining over the rooftops, as the moonlight reflected on my new armor while I ran over the houses, or what was left of them.

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I had sneaked out of my own place, to seek the assassins.

The master entered a building quite a few blocks away. Climbing these roofs had taken almost all of my energy. Running back for backup wasn't an option. At least, for the next dozens of long and deep breaths. I sat down on the straw roof. Trough it - or was it through the nearby chimney? - I could hear voices. There were at least a dozen men in there, discussing something. The master craftsman was doing most of the talking. I couldn't make out what he was saying, altough I suspected him selling me out. Why else would he sneak out in the middle of the night, the moment I had arrived? The chimney was close, so I crawled higher up the roof. It made a dangerous creaking sound. For a moment I sat still, not daring to make any movement. Each heartbeat took forever to take, and believe me, it was beating like the devil had appeared on my doorsteps. Then the roof collapsed.

Time passed so slowly that I could feel each of the fast heartbeats, and ponder over it. Beat. I fell through the straw roof. Beat. All I saw was straw dwindling down, like feathers from a scratched pillow. Beat. I didn't even feel it when I hit the first floor. The world was spinning around me, especially when the wood tore by the weight of my armor. Beat. Motes flew all around me, mixing with the straw. Beat. With my head down I felt how the horns on my helmet hit something soft. Beat. Silent screams in the eyes of several men around me. Beat. The floor coloured red. Beat. No-one dared to say something for a moment, all stunned. Even my heart forgot to beat.

Reality quickly returned to all of us. Weapons were drawn all around me. I was surrounded in a cramped space. But when I stepped up - still dizzy after the fall - and drew my bastard sword, they all made a step back. There was blood dripping down my cheeks. No time to think about that. Bones cracked under my metal boots as I took stance. I didn't take my eyes of the crowd to look down to whom I had crushed in my fall. A few of them did. That's the moment I used to attack. The first few fell even before they had time to raise their eyes to me again. While blood kept on dripping over my face, a red haze covered my eyes. One slash after another I sliced through flesh. Some managed to fire their little crossbows, throw their daggers or hit me with a hidden sword, but none were able to penetrate my new armor before I hit them. When I finally wiped my face, I was the last man standing. The room was filled with blood and lifeless bodies, with the master craftsman lying in the middle. His skull was pierced and ribcage crushed. Outside the streets finally started to fill with people. Guards, by the sound of them. They must have come down to the noise of a collapsing building. As I sneaked out the back door, they burst through the front. I could almost hear them grasp for breath, looking at the slain bodies of a dozen men. The entire route back I pondered over what had happened. What have I done? I didn't even knew for sure that they were the assassins. My world was falling apart with each step I took, and all I could think about was: 'I am become death, the shatterer of worlds.' When I entered my workshop, I was certain of it: Calradia has chosen me to fill its veins with the life force it requires: war, death and destruction. Hakim shall not take that role away from me.

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As I'm once again victorious, I know that my enemies will tremble before me.

There was nothing more for us to seek in Veluca, so we left the very next day. The world had become a very different one now. Time after time I looked at my own mortal hands, and could only see the power they held. The power to abolish all forms of human poverty, and all forms of human life. The gauntlets I wear can crush through a man's skull, the sword I swing can decapitate anyone who dares to stand in my way. I need to complete the training of my men, and conquer the rest of the Nords. Hakim has shown here in the south that a race is on. A race for power, a race with the same tactics. Hakim is my real opponent. Calradia has sown the wind, but now it shall reap the whirlwind.

And the Sarranid invasion of the Rhodoks? Just like my own initial success, Hakim's quick conquest soon wore out. The war dragged on for over two and a half months of guerrilla fighting in the high mountains. King Graveth couldn't do anything to regain his lost territories, while Hakim couldn't march forward. So today they signed a peace treaty. A little over half the country has been conquered. Now Hakim even controls more cities than I do. Something needs to be done, and quick. I expect him to finish the job sooner than later, and then his eyes can only reach north, towards the Nord and me. The veins of Calradia will flow again with war, and I can't let him dominate the stream. War is upon us. War is the bright hope for Calradia. War is all I need.

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*****
Gameplay notes
Here is a picture of Floris' current stats:
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As you can see, Sultan Hakim has conquered half of the Rhodok territory, including two of their cities.
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So I was on holiday for three weeks (Slovakia, Italy Rome and Venice) and I was restricted to a laptop which does not allow me to play warband, but I must have spent most of my holiday in wi-fi zones reading your ARR! Fantastic job have read through the whole thing, and I am thoroughly looking forward to the next up-date! Hope I won't be waiting too long!!!