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The Fatimid Caliphate: Blades in the dark


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The traitor city of Damascus.
Broken siegetowers and the rotten remains of their crews still litters its mighty walls.
Its insides emptied out by battle, famine and persecution.
Over the great keep fly the wretched banners of st. Peter and Nubia.



In the central plaza a cacophony of trumpets, drums and pipes break out as the first members of the procession of nobles and clergy arrive for the dedication of the old mosque to Christ. Some of them from old merchant families, most newly minted from the ranks of eager young men who were sent by the romans to resist the Egyptian onslaught. Most of them are clad in simple clothes and uniforms, their riches not quite matching their titles yet.
Towards the end come the Nubian and Roman legates, flanked on the right by heavy spear and on the left by grenadiers. At their center Kamal of Dongola, Patriarch Ioannes Komnenos and the apostate turncoat Hisn ad-Dawlah Yousif, the man who had once had the audacity to style himself Fatimid Calipha....


One by one the moslem lands had fallen to the grim specter of Christianity.

But there were some who resisted.



-------------------------

In dark corners of foreign streets



Fadh Abbas looked around with discomfort at the wretched squalor in which they had found themselves, cursing himself for having brought coin and hoping to Allah that the clinking noise it was making under his disguise was all his imagination.
"We take great risks coming here Isa" He said in a voice coarsened by his dry throat."Why do we even involve the Fatimids in our business? They are crying broad and loud of how they will burn Damascus and use your family for footstools, how do you know you won't simply end up roasting on a spit?"

"Now, now Fadh, how would they make a footstool out of me if I was roasted?" Isa smiled.
"And how am I to take my rightful place if I was seen as a kinslayer? No we need the Guild for this, and we will not survive wedged between Romans and Abbasids, we need the Alexandrian banners..."

"The same banners that failed to breach Damascus? Why not offer our allegiance to Baghdad in exchange for charters of economic independence as the Emir of Jerusalem has? He seems to have done fine" Fadh grumbled

Isa turned to his friend with a steely gaze, "Because the turning of our coats have given us nothing but death and destruction, even now our streets are trampled by infidels! And charters, hah, they will not be worth the skin they are written on if the Abbasids get their hands on the roads running through our land. And..." He turned away "they are the rightful descendants of Fatima and Ali, we have only seen blood and plague since we rebelled"

Fadh sighed "You have been listening to much to their sayeedi propaganda Isa, what do you expect them to offer us?"

"Redemption, and the blades of the Guild" said a sweet voice. "and all you need to do is leave a simple seal for an unwatched moment..."

-------------------------


A shadow moved through the Damascid procession, like he belonged there yet out of place, a wolf among foxes


Ibrahim Sharif, newly minted ruler of Homs and captain of the levies moved up to the Emir. Hisn turned to him, frowning at the breach of protocol. "I know you are new at this, sheik, but please try to know your place among nobility" The traitorous ruler snarled. "What is it?"

"It is the submission to the Nubians, Emir, and the desecration of the holy mosque. But most of all it is the divine justice decreed by Allah's representative on earth" Ibrahim answered

There was still puzzlement in the apostate Emir's face as the scimitar parted him from this world, blood spurting over the Patriarch and his followers.



-------------------------


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The apostate turncoat Hisn ad-Dawlah Yousif, the Romans would later declare him a saint who died a martyrs death at the hands of an egyptian cultist.


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His son Isa Yousif on the other hand would be romanticized in moslem poems and history as a model of moral righteousness


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The lands returned to the fold by him would cement the power and influence not only of the younger Fatimid bloodline but also of the Guild
 
The Antiochene Intrigue

His father Mikael had shaped his life to become a byword for the virtue of loyalty: Although constantly at odds with his namesake, the Mad Emperor Michael, he nevertheless raised his banner and fought, season after season, to put down rebellion against Rome, and indeed died of the wounds he sustained while leading Antiochene troops in northern Anatolia. If Stilicho had been the last of the old Romans, Mikael could thus claim, posthumously, to be the first of the new. Arkadios, raised by his uncle Iohannes with that example always held before him, continued the tradition of unquestioning allegiance despite any personal difference with the Emperor. Nonetheless, it was not for loyalty but for ruthless cunning in intrigue that he became known; and if his father had shown the world what it meant to be Roman, Arkadios demonstrated why the adjective Byzantine had been added to its lexicons.

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To marry the eldest daughter of a sonless King is not, of itself, unusual. Such marriages became a traditional reward in fairy tales because they were, after all, not impossible, but something that could be dreamt of and, very occasionally, accomplished; and if a literal King is a rarer catch than, say, a wealthy landowner, Arkadios was himself a feudal magnate of no small water. In any case, the marriage was arranged before Arkadios had reached his majority, and might be held to be the work of his uncle, or perhaps of the Chancellor, Iakobos. A diplomatic stroke, to be sure, bringing Georgia - sometimes-ally, sometimes-enemy of the Roman state in its perennial struggle with Persia - firmly into the Roman orbit; but not one to build a legend as enduring as that of Odysseus.

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To plan on leaving a kingdom to a son is nothing so very unusual in a feudal lord; nor is it an unusual misfortune for the father-in-law to suddenly recover his virility and sire a son, cutting his grandson out of the line of inheritance. Many a magnate has ground his teeth over such a contretemps. But Arkadios was unusual in his reserves of low cunning, even at the age of eighteen. (Iohannes was by this time well into the sickness that would eventually kill him, and bedridden; the theory sometimes advanced, that he and not Arkadios was responsible, does not bear close examination.) He orchestrated a campaign of gossip and sniping - in a court four hundred miles from his own - against the chastity of Giorgi's young Queen, Zoe of Samos; in an early example of a coordinated propaganda campaign, the slanders eventually became so widely believed, in every land bordering the Black Sea, that Giorgi (by this time an old and sick man) felt he had no choice but to disown his son David, lest the realm erupt in civil war on his death.

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Even so, the Bagratuni king and his strong-willed young Queen were not the sorts to give up easily. Sick as he was, Giorgi still hoped to produce an heir who would be incontestably of his body. With Zoe's full cooperation, he installed her in a tower with only women for companions, the famous Amazon Guard; built an impenetrable maze of traps around the tower; and grimly - or perhaps not so grimly, for Zoe was a famous beauty as well as a woman of brilliance in her own right - went about the business of convincing the world that his second son, named Giorgi to hammer the point home, was legitimate.

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The scheme worked, so far as it went; Arkadios did not even try for a second round of slanders. Having exhausted cunning, he now used ruthlessness and plausible deniability instead: Even now, there is no proof that he ordered the death of his cousin. Infant mortality being what it was, Giorgi's and Zoe's grief was shared by many a peasant who had no land to be disputed among heirs. But qui bono? Giorgi, his illness much worsened by depression, was certainly not alone in his belief that Arkadios had had a hand in the apparent crib death.

Roman and Byzantine. Mikael and Arkadios. Loyalty and ruthlessness. Such are the two faces of the Komnenoi.
 
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#4 - Speculation, or, A study of Politics, one level up.

It was no secret the Duchy of Gwynedd had designs on the Celtic Crown. It was clear for everone to see where the claims lay. Only a nettle of a problem had arisen in these past few years. Duc Gwydion was more and more regarded as a character of dubious reputation, thanks to propaganda of the son of the Norman Conqueror of Angles and Saxons, King Robert the first. King Robert of England was a cruel man, and arbitrary in his dealings. The Welsh could never be sure if they could live in safety. Shortly after Robert of Normandy had been crowned King of the Angles and Saxons, the French king jumped in on what happened in the islands and allowed Duc Gwydion to kiss his palm in a gesture. Not only that, he had also gotten the Dukes of Connaught and Munster to submit. This meant he ruled a large enough part of Eire to claim to be its ruler, and that gave further problems for Duc Gwydion. If he wanted to cement his own claim, he would have to be quick enough, and fight the Irish dukes. And moving his troops away from Wales could give Robert of Normandy an opening to strike. What a horrible decision to take...
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Laídech was glad he did not have to take it, as he had been relieved from chancellory duties in favour of the wife of the spymaster. Ah well, at least he could go hunting this way with the son of Gwydion, Cynan. Cynan had now a court of his own in Powys, to practice before he would take over the Duchy. What a brilliant young man! And funny, too. A pity he and his wife were not seeing eye to eye. A marriage that did not quite work yet. Perhaps the little monk could convince her to reconsider her opinion of Cynan. There had to be children at some point in the future, after all. It would be best to watch this promising young man closely. The little monk could always continue his job, advising behind the throne, in the next generation.


In the meantime he could think a bit on the various options to secure the celtic crown for Duc Gwydion. The Duchys of Munster and Connaught were not so rich, Gwydion could take them out as long as the French King would not intervene. Duke Leinster had not yet pledged to any king, but had become quite friendly to the King of Scotland. One option could be to rebel from the French King, pledge to the English, and get the English and Scots to fight. Another to ally with the Danish king, or the Flemish or Saxon Dukes, since they were quite wealthy for dukes.
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There would probably be no other way than to declare war, on Leinster, and live up to that nasty reputation. Or would it be better to take the rich province of Dubb’linn first?
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for reward: one level of education up to Grey Eminence.
 
Even now, there is no proof that he ordered the death of his cousin. Infant mortality being what it was, Giorgi's and Zoe's grief was shared by many a peasant who had no land to be disputed among heirs. But qui bono? Giorgi, his illness much worsened by depression, was certainly not alone in his belief that Arkadios had had a hand in the apparent crib death.

Roman and Byzantine. Mikael and Arkadios. Loyalty and ruthlessness. Such are the two faces of the Komnenoi.

Of course, if anybody has 3 knives spare Georgia might remain free for some time yet :eek: ;)
 
CONSTANCE​

It felt bit akin to a blizzard’s entrance into warmth of the summer when Gwydion stepped into the chambers and how Constance nearly jumped few inches in her stool from surprise. Her expression went from sudden fear trough odd mixture of shame, quilt and submission into a cautious state of alarm. If Gwydion would have been a ravaging werewolf that sort of greeting would have been most appropriate. But he was her husband! Love of her life – supposed to be...at least. But the distance between them...
Constance managed to gather a little smile upon her small lips but her eyes glared wide ajar like split second away from hysterical scream.
Gwydion tried not to look like grim forest elf with his jaded face and lousy smile that always tend to be more of a grin than some sort of expression of joy. He liked to think that he had seen enough misery for his years, and that weary appearance of him was all appropriate in the face of what he had experienced, but Once telling about these feelings to his mother, Dôn had just looked him like he would be ten years old and blaming the weight of the world after some toy had been broken.
Guess it was acceptable from the fair folk...But She had also tried to understand her son but the discussion had dried out pretty soon as Dôn had passed into her ever tormenting sorrow over mortality of her children.
Gwydion had sometimes thought of dying and at least it didn’t seem frightening. He could look over his court and see how too many of his companion would be driven onwards by the pure fear of death. Constance... There was a woman of whose stance for the death Gwydion had not dared to ponder. It seemed like she would be afraid of everything...frightened of her own birth. Gwydion could almost see her skin going into Goosebumps while he walked slowly around the champers and tried to spot little marks of its former horrors.

Gwydion had felt bit surprised that a person like Constance would enjoy herself so much in a room that carried such a heavy memory upon it. The old nursery still brought unspeakable pain into Gwydion’s thoughts. Perhaps it was the language barrage, perhaps something else, but Constance had been so delighted of everything focusing on little children and motherhood... Some women were like that and Constance had found enough equally minded old maidens and abigails for her new friends that the fuzz over her pregnancy had almost drove Gwydion himself insane...
After everything that had happened it had felt both mockery to his family’s sufferings and as cruel parody over things that poor Constance had no concepts at all...
But Gwydion had not shared those feelings with her...
In fact, there were actually little of feelings he had shared with her new wife at all...
little wife as some of the men tend to call her...something slightly bit impropriate and lewd gossip, harmless and worth of a good jab...
But compared to her predecessor... Simply thinking of Ellylw-the-evil in this very room brought sudden wave of desperate helplessness that almost took Gwydion out of his feet. Only a delighted babble from Foulgues saved him from this time. The baby had grown quite a lot and tried out his legs and skills in standing in close watch under Constance. That woman seldom left the child out of her close proximity. It was like if he would even crawl away from her reach, Constance’s eyes would prey him out from every hide he could find and feel physical pain from the absence of her little baby.
She spoke something French to Foulgues and the boy answered with giggle that had some structures of spelling, but no sense yet. Gwydion looked them both warmly. Somehow when he smiled, he could break bad weather. He gave a look to Constance and she replied with appropriate pride over their son, a rare glimpse of confidence and strong person inside the cloak of the sacred mouse she was most of her waking hours.
Foulgues let go from the railing of the bed he was hanging onto, stood a little while with his two own feet like a drunkard or a rotten wood just about to fall...and then thumped down to the bed, causing a frightful cry from Constance who immediately reached out to rise him as the boy himself seemed to bonder whether burst into crying or not.
Gwydion sighted.
But when he turned his bit embarrassing gaze away, his eyes meet the empty spot on the wall...where that painting had flung. It still kept the shadow of it despite the hideous thing had been burned in a pyre, consecrated by the Bishop himself.
He turned his eyes to back to his new family. Perhaps in this room, it was never enough of looking upon your children bit more often than usuall.
 
The Knautschlings - part 2

King of Denmark




This chapter begins with a plan of Harald.
This plan will turn out to fail so spectacularly that Harald will try to erase all memories of it´s execution from history.
He will prevail in denying you from seeing more than one picture of his embarrassing failings,
but he will not prevail in denying me from telling this chapter of the Knautschling history.
So this is the story of Harald´s darkest hours:
After defeating the King of Scandinavia in a war Harald wants to further expand his influence.
The demesne of the pagan count Krutoj of Mecklemburg is what he is gazing at.
Krutoj himself has little armies to command but is vassal to the Prince of the Pruthenians
whose armies outnumber Harald´s by a fair margin.
Harald plans to rush Krutojs land before his liege can effectively intervene.
His plans do not take later retaliation measures of the Pruthenians into account,
but this is not how his plan will fail.
Horribly.
In fact a later retaliation of the Pruthenians could not be called a failing of Harald´s plan at all,
since his plan ends before that.
So Harald orders his Marshall Olaf to get Slesvigs armies into attack position.
Of this a picture will later be salvaged:

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Olaf does not command a regiment as you can see.
He only is responsible for the grand-scale tactics of this assault.
Some might sense disaster at this point already, knowing the level of Olaf´s tactical expertise.
But he is not entirely to blame.
From your perspective at least.
In Harald´s eyes Olaf is responsible for everything.
That is because Harald does not know what we do.
He does not know that he and Olaf are both just videogame-characters who are controlled by me.
When Olaf´s armies of over 9000 men get their ass whipped by Krutojs 240 men Rostock regiment several times
he does not know that this is because I raised this armies at the end of last session and they got their morale
set to zero due to a bug.
(And obviously I did not know that at that point as well)
Harald believes that Olaf is responsible, and thus he will sack him after the war and appoint a new Marshal: Pimen of Ragusa.
But let us keep the chronological order and talk about what happens after the failed first assault on Krutoj.
Olaf´s armies get routed several times. In fact they get routed so long until the Prince of the Pruthenians arrives with the bulk of his army.
When the Prince of the Pruthenians arrives Olaf´s armies get no longer routed. Now they get destroyed completely.
At this point Harald begins to panic.
He issues a grand mobilization and throws everything he has left at the Pruthenian Hordes and in fact finally manages
to achieve a humiliating white peace with the Pruthenians.
But not before most of Slesvig´s soldiers are dead.

For the next four years Harald does pretty much nothing noteworthy except cowardly abandoning his vassal
the Count of Halland when he gets attacked by the King of Scandinavia.

After four years Harald finally has enough.
The humiliation he had to endure from the Pruthenians he can no longer endure, Krutoj of Mecklemburg has to fall.
He orders Marshal Pimen to dig out Olaf´s plans from four years ago and execute them again.
What a little genius our Harald is.
This time the assault on Krutojs land is successful.
Krutoj abdicates in favour of Harald before any Pruthenians arrive.
However later Pruthenians arrive in Mecklemburg and Pimen can not resist them.

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The Pruthenians advance all the way to Slesvig before Haralds vassal the count of Jylland drives them out of there

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and chases them through Holstein

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and Lübeck

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back to Mecklemburg.

At the same time Marshal Pimen devastates the Pruthenian homelands with a regiment from the island of Gotland,
thus forcing the Pruthenians to yield.
After winning this war Harald completely succumbs to delusions of grandeur.
He issues harsh extra taxes on all his lands to be able to afford a ceremony where he proclaims himself
King of Denmark.

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And only one month later he invites all his neighbors again to an expensive feast.
This time the reason is not hos crowning but a great hunt.

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The pagans of Mecklemburg do not like Haralds extra taxes and his ridiculing of their religion.
What exactly drives them to their revolt is unclear, but it is very clear that Marshal Pimen puts them in their place again.

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In August 1093 Harald decides it is now time to regain Halland from the King of Scandinavia and
positions his armies for an assault.

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Harald is of course not aware that this is the end of the session in the videogame he is a character in.
He is also not aware that the same bug that thwarted his plans in 1086 will now cause similar problems.
But now I am.​
 
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It's not as nasty if you know about it. I'm a bit disappointed that the veterans didn't conspire to keep it secret from the MP noobs until at least one war had been won. :D
 
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Took every ounce of self control to not add headcrap zombies as a one off joke.
 
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The Toulousian Codex:

1086-1093:

Analysis of the Toulousian situation:

Despite the outward appearance of success, this was a session of failure and frustration. While I made gains in vassalizations (mainly due to my badboy dropping faster than expected), France stole my claims in Germany during my war there, and most critically, I fluffed my attempt to secure the inheritance of Aquitaine. The last was particularly bad when you compare it to the great successes of KoM and Fivoin in this field. My mistake? I got to eager wielding the assassins blade against people who were really no threat to me, sapping my piety, and resulting in the death of my wife in a counter assassination. No wife, no son who would be heir to Aquitaine.

So that's the failure, on to the frustration - the poor stats of my family are really starting to bite. You see, health and fertility tend to get passed down the generations of families in a way that martial, diplomacy, intrigue and stewardship aren't. It's not a 100% correspondence, but more healthy and fertile fathers are more likely to have healthy and fertile sons. Where all the other players started with 9 health and 9 fertility in both super-twins, my family started of an average of about 2/3rds of that, most of that average being bucked up by the family members who don't live in my court. On top of that, generation no.2 of the de Toulouse dynasty really got shafted by the RNG as far as health goes - right now that means generation 3 of the family is suffering an atrocious infant mortality rate. Frankly, this just won't do. Except there isn't much to do... Keep on marrying off de Toulouses, and hope that the RNG favours me sufficiently that I plateau at about the same point everyone else does.

Speed Bump Empires:

One of the interesting things that has risen out of the combination of Varyar's new kingdom setup and Ulmont's religion mod is that states that are usually heathen speed-bumps have turned into considerable powers. Most remarkable of these are the Pruthenians (one province duchy turned lords of the baltic) and the Nubians (the greatest Christianising influence in the game after the Rus). Part of me is rooting for these quixotic empires. Unfortunately, they are AI, and thus doomed, and also competing with people who are, in terms of geography, my natural allies. Both a strong Poland and Fatimid Caliphate open up beneficial doors to me, so going on any hair brained schemes to save AI empires I like (a favourite passtime in SP) would really be shooting myself in the foot here.

So everyone enjoy the Pruthenian/Nubian goodness while you still can. Both states have already suffered their first significant losses to players - the Pruthenians to Denmark, and Nubia to the Fatimids. I doubt they'll be able to hang on for much longer.

Northern Giants:

So I said last week that it would be worth watching who ended up with Mecklenburg - and it turns out it was Denmark (former Shlesvig). This puts Denmark among the medium powers, and with weak Sweden and Norway to their North, I expect Kolibri's expansion to maintain a good pace for some time. This is good for me, strategically, because it means Toulouse will have potential allies of some weight, should Germany become a problem.

Fivoin is continuing to do impressive things in Saxony, and while he's expanded by less base tax than I have this session, he has managed to put his family in the line of succession for the German emperor. This is a little scary, as Germany is huge, but not necessarily a bad thing, as Germany could provide a counter to the Rus should von R get over ambitious, and also Fivoin has offered to help some of us neighbours out, should he inherit. What will be interesting is how soon the German Emperor dies - if the von Franken lives for another 30 years, then inheriting Germany won't be as big an event in balance of power terms as if he dies in the next month.

fasquardon
 
great successes of KoM and Fivoin

Well. Being in line for a Kingdom is nice, and all; but really, TWBW history aside, the crown of Georgia is not comparable to that of the Holy-moly Frickin' Empire.
 
Well. Being in line for a Kingdom is nice, and all; but really, TWBW history aside, the crown of Georgia is not comparable to that of the Holy-moly Frickin' Empire.

True, but I was comparing the cleverness and competence of you and Fivoin's intrigues to my idiotic botch-up in Aquitaine. Regardless of the size of the prize, getting into the succession and then making yourself number 1 in line takes skill in CK.

fasquardon
 
Eh. Praise no inheritance scheme until the father-in-law is dead and you're playing the grandson. :)
 
Session summary 1086-1093.

A very brief session summary for 1086-1093. For my part, the main excitement was that my ruler came of age, and I married him to the eldest daughter of the King of Georgia. Unfortunately, on the death of that worthy's old wife, he got himself a new one, who proved fertile. Happily for me, her first son was declared a bastard, saving me from the trouble of taking action; and I got the second one with a nice clean assassination, Int 18 versus 11. It's nice when inconvenient people have Depression and Pneumonia and other traits which make them easy targets.

I was, nonetheless, a bit in doubt about whether to take the opportunity, on the grounds that the Komnenoi are utterly loyal to the Empire. Arkadios has even acquired the Loyalist trait. But I came to the conclusion that, although the game won't allow it, there's no particular historical reason why a Roman citizen couldn't take a King title and continue to consider himself a subject of the Emperor, or Senate as the case might be. (And indeed there are several cases, although mostly from the Republic, of local rulers making the Roman Senate the heir of their crown. Usually there would be a Legion nearby on completely unrelated business.) Thus, for AAR purposes I'll consider myself Proconsul, not King, of Georgia. Also, anyone attacking Byz, I will attack.

I also married my uncle to a sonless Italian Count's eldest daughter, but that scheme fell through when he produced three daughters in a row and then keeled over from pneumonia. C'est la vie.

There has been a wholesale slaughter of Immortals due to people never reporting in, so there are slots open if anyone wants to play one. For those Immortals who are following but not writing AARs, could you make the occasional "I'm still here" post so I don't delete you by mistake? The Immortals I did not eliminate are as follows: Telarias (wrote an AAR, hasn't been heard from since), Laidech (clearly and strongly present), Radulf (active on Ederon), Leviathan (not active this week), Carbonater (sent me orders last week, otherwise silent), and Rasputin (posted two AARs this week, couldn't be quiet to save his life). If there's anyone who has been deleted and still wants to play, make a noise.
 
We also had a fairly hilarious case of bad judgement where Varyar upon one of his sons being severely wounded assumed it was from assasination (DidNotDoTheResearch) and upon asking how it happened A Certain Someone Whom Shall Not Be Named the pathlogical Liar and professional troll that he is piped up and said "Blayne Did It" and thus Varyar assumed steadfastly that I did it and asked that I be banned from subbing as well.

I actually assumed for the most part that he was joking and took it in good grace as me and several others refused to believe this as this is THAT GUY we're talking about someone who is KNOWN as someone with a grudge against me and someone whom is a known troll!

In the end Varyar believed me, my innocent looking face can't be doubted.
 
Inheritance etc.
Well, as was said, don't praise an intrigue until it is completed. My grand inheritance of the German Kaiser was thwarted by an assassin’s blade and KoMs kingdom plans were stopped by Russia simply swallowing everyone.
Ah well, back to the scheming table I guess.
 
The session was marred by the AI having switched the Fatimids to elective, meaning I lost control and had to get some help assassinating my way back into inheriting position for when my 30yr old liege croaks. Meanwhile the AI is wasting away our troops in Sicily while Edessa loots Damascus, sigh.

At least my immortal Levithan proved himself useful again, beating of 2000 raving norsemen with 200 Baalebekis


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Of note:

-The United Rus will eat us all.
-Toulouse, seeing where the winds are blowing, is a vassal of the Rus
-The jockeying for Italy appears to be slowly won by Toulouse.
-Poland is 100% player controlled, with no vassals
-Denmark is of crusading in the baltics, gains to come.
-Antioch goes for the Fatimid sphere of influence instead of saving Byzantium from the Rus
-The Levantine situation needs to be solved somehow, the Sultanate of Baghdad is the better positioned, but human BB poses a risk.
-The United Rus will eat us all.