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By the by, in case there is confusion about Rome, Gothia, Germany, and so on:

  • I'm playing the tag BULG, with territory in Anatolia and the Balkans, basically the pre-Manzikert borders of Byzantium. I refer to myself as either Rome or Byzantium; others tend to refer to me as Bulgaria, especially if they want to annoy me.
  • Fasquardon is playing the tag GERM, occupying a huge swath of territory from Spain up to Poland - he has the north half of Spain, the south half of France, northern Italy and a bit of Germany, and parts of Bohemia. He refers to himself as Rome, because he extorted the BYZA tag from the AI before I inherited BULG. He requests that those who don't recognise him as Emperor refer to him as Gothia, which I do. However, because of the tag, he is sometimes called Germany.
  • Fivoin is playing the Kingdom of Lotharingia, whose tag I don't recall at the moment. He occupies, more or less, what used to be West Germany. Because of this is he sometimes called Germany; and because of the Duchy he started as, he is sometimes called Saxony.
  • There is only one All The Russias. Nobody ever refers to it as anything whatsoever, because bringing its attention is bad luck.
  • Note, by the way, that our kingdom setup is modded, mainly to avoid the problems of having the GERM tag own half of Europe. In our setup there are more kingdoms than in vanilla, and not every province belongs to a kingdom, creating buffer zones of neutral territory between them.
  • Carillon is playing France, more or less, except he only owns the northern half. He started as Flanders so he sometimes gets called that; his king title used to be Normandie and is now (through some sort of inheritance or rebellion weirdness) Loire, so those names are sometimes used as well.
  • Frosty / FrozenWall plays the kingdom of Upper and Lower Egypt (as in vanilla, there are two Kingdom tags named Egypt, namely EGYP and FATI), also called the Caliphate.
  • Persia exists.
  • Poland is not yet dead.
  • There are vikings in the north.
  • And, of course, Croatia. Shoo! Shoo!


and finland!!!!!:D
 
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grand Dutchy of Finland, but who cares about the title:p
 
Pft, the egyptians will froze up way before they even get to near the next ship that takes them to denmark:D
 
Pft, the egyptians will froze up way before they even get to near the next ship that takes them to denmark:D

I think you will find the hassassins are already on the boat home!



sterbotten.jpg

The call is coming from inside the house! Dun-dun-duuuun!



The second your AI switches to elective, Bam!:D
 
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I'd advise you - and anyone else, for that matter - to move your dynasty members out of my realm; otherwise I can't guarantee for their security.

You might find it funny to annoy Finland... I doubt annoying Russia is worth the fun, though. :D
 
I'd advise you - and anyone else, for that matter - to move your dynasty members out of my realm; otherwise I can't guarantee for their security.

You might find it funny to annoy Finland... I doubt annoying Russia is worth the fun, though. :D

I is innocent, it's all Golles fault!:eek: I just married some finnish girl with good stats to one of my marshal for lustful+indulgent traits! The blame rests squarely on the shitty Österbottnish climate and Finns not having invented proper isolation! :p


If Golle wants to take the title of the kid so he returns to Egypt that would be fine with me. ;)
 
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June 14th, 1150
North of Adrianopolis, Thrace
Morning

Pillars of smoke stretched from horizon to horizon, rising straight for miles in the still summer air. The Croatian invaders had not been gentle; nor could they have been, even had their commanders desired it. A feudal levy did not have, could not have, the discipline of regular tagmata troops. Thomas smiled grimly. It was all set out in the books. "Above all, therefore, in warring against them one must avoid engaging in pitched battles, especially in the early stages. Instead, make use of well-planned ambushes, sneak attacks, and stratagems." Maurice had not mentioned the cost of such strategy; behind Thomas and his army were thousands of peasants, men owed protection by the Basileus Romaion, who had fled before the invaders and whose houses now lay in ashes. But it had worked well enough. The Croats were by all reports hungry and tired, frustrated with three months of trying to come to grips with the Roman cavalry. Their councils leaked like a sieve; a dozen separate deserters had told Thomas that their commanders intended to march on Constantinople and relieve the siege, or else force the Romans to give battle to prevent them from doing so. And now, at last, Thomas was willing; for he had maps of the terrain, as the Croatians did not, and his army was rested and well fed, and reinforced by thousands of local militia. And Maurice had also said, "if a favourable opportunity for a battle occurs, line up the army as set forth in the book on formations."

Maurice had written in an earlier age, when the task of Roman armies was to prevent the barbarians from reaching the rich agricultural provinces; and so Thomas had not taken his advice fully. He had chosen a position athwart the road to Constantinople, where the Croatians would have to climb a gentle rise to get to his troops; but he had not set strong blocks of regular infantry in the centre, with their flanks protected by cataphracts. That was, indeed, the plan urged by his advisors; and Thomas had no doubt that by doing so he could have stopped the Croatian army, turned them back from their advance to the Hellespont, perhaps have harried them to the border. But Thomas did not want to stop the Croats, did not want merely to halt their advance. He wanted to crush them, to destroy their army as a fighting unit for months and years to come, to shred it to pieces and lay a trail of blood and intestines all along the road to the border. His purpose was not to protect the siege of Constantinople, but to break the heart of the Croatian army and make them run; he wanted to make an entire generation of fighting men shiver in fear at the thought of again confronting Roman troops.

And so he had not chosen a position along any of the many steep ridges the road crossed, where his army could have easily thrown back any assault; instead he had fixed on this spot, where only a gentle slope would protect his line. For although the low hill was not conventionally defensible, it had another feature to recommend it: Arcing out from the road, it turned to run parallel to the road on the Roman right flank, and a small wood grew on it; a wood which hid troops lying in wait behind the ridge, concealed from soldiers marching up the road. Concealed, at least, from soldiers with the notoriously poor scouting of the Croats.

That was where Thomas had sent his best troops; and so his line was held by militia and new-recruited peasants, men sent fleeing ahead of the army that had burned their homes. He had given them each a spear, and told them where to stand, and stiffened them with such regular infantry as he had; but he did not believe they would stand, if the Croat army pressed its attack. It was a risk, but all warfare was risk. At the back of his head he could see Arkadios, his eyes blazing with the will to combat even as he lay dying; and knew that he was in the right. If he lost, today - if his ambush was discovered and attacked separately, or if it failed to break the Croat attack - then his dynasty might be lost with it; but nonetheless he was right to run such a risk.

He broke off his thoughts to look again at the army coming down the road. They marched in no sort of order, clumps and mobs of household troops, a village levy here, a noble's household there; but they made an imposing sight nonetheless. It was one thing to hear reports of so-and-so many thousand men, and move counters on a map; but it was another again to actually see twenty thousand angry strangers holding edged metal and coming to kill you. Nor could he take comfort in the fine order of his outnumbered troops; the militia had no better order than the Croats, and fewer banners and less armour to make a brave show. Only the five hundred men of the oikeioi surrounding him, his own personal guards, were armed and armoured to match the oncoming enemy.

The Croats were forming a line of battle, perhaps half a mile from where Thomas stood; mounted men were coalescing on their right flank where the ground was flatter, while their infantry formed a growing clot across the road, clumping and throwing out shoots in all directions as those who wanted to demonstrate their bravery jostled for position in the front ranks. Thomas nodded to himself; they would be another half an hour getting into order. He turned to the men behind him, officers gathered to hear final orders and an encouraging speech; the men expected a few words from the commander before battle. He couldn't address the whole army and make them hear, but the officers would carry his words to their units.

"Soldiers! We have seen, this year, what sort of barbarians we deal with; we have seen them burn Roman fields and turn Roman citizens out of their homes. Today, by God's grace, we will put an end to their infamy. There are foreign boots tramping the streets of Constantinople; there are houses burned and olive groves laid in ashes all up and down Thrace. That changes today.

"Some of you were with me five years ago, when we broke these same Croats on the field before Belgrade; then they got their friends, the infidels and the heretics, to help them, and we had to give them a gentle peace. Now they've broken that peace; but even the infidels have had enough of them, and won't come to their aid.

"It's just us and them, this time, and we know who is the better fighter of Roman and Slav. Just hold your ground and listen for orders. And when they break, as they will break, kill without mercy. Croatia has invaded Roman territory; Croatia has broken solemn treaties; Croatia holds the walls of Constantinople, the second Rome, against the anointed of the Senate and the People. Death to Croatia.

"No quarter."

He returned to waiting as the officers dispersed to take the speech back to their men; there was sporadic cheering up and down the line as this unit, then that one, heard it, but in the main his men waited silently, as he did. At last the Croatian host began to move, slowly, in dribs and drabs at first as the bravest or least patient felt it was time to get things started, but then in a mass as shouts of command went up. For a barbarian levy, it wasn't a bad show; at least their men would all be coming into action at once, not in several waves; and the cavalry was staying together with the infantry, not charging off to glory.

At five hundred paces the first missiles arced out from the Roman lines, scorpions and ballistae; not enough to do any real damage, not even enough to cause much disorder in the Croatian ranks - twenty thousand men made a big host - but it would cheer the men and make them feel they had got in the first blows. And, more to the point, the arcing smoke of the single catapult throwing a barrel of flaming pitch was the signal for the cataphracts to mount; it would take them some time to get to the top of the ridge, and the timing was critical. To avoid misunderstandings Thomas dispatched two couriers as well, but he didn't think them necessary; the Megas Domestikos would be watching for the signal himself, lying concealed in the woods, and he was not a man given to sleeping on battlefields. Unless he is treacherous, a voice whispered at the back of Thomas's head. A man who had command of the regular regiments in the moment of a disaster could achieve much; it had happened to Roman armies before. He thrust the thought aside. He had given his trust, and it was now too late to revoke it even had he wanted to. The dice clattered on the table, and God would protect him or not, just the same as for any soldier, in either army.

The first arrows arced out at a hundred and fifty paces, extreme range for peasant bows but men who hunted rabbits for the pot could hardly miss a target like the enormous Croatian host. The enemy responded by picking up the pace, but only slightly; there were not many bowmen among the militia, and they did not fire in volleys. There were no army-killing flights of arrows that darkened the sun; only a few men struck, here and there, and dying in agony before the battle proper had started, significant to nobody but themselves. Thomas looked impatiently at the ridge; his line wouldn't hold long, he could already feel the shiver in it as the shouting Croats came closer. Where were the cataphracts?

There. Glints of metal coming out of the woods; a long line of spear points, banners, and helmets. Thomas grinned savagely; it was going to work. "Look there!" he shouted, pointing, and his men took it up. "Look behind you, you idiots!" Then the whole army was shouting it, and the Croats slowed down, almost visibly wondering what craziness these Romans were up to now. But a few did glance over their shoulders, to where the cavalry tagmata were forming up with solemn, hieratic slowness; and now their advance slowed in earnest.

Distantly, he could hear the words of command, and the cataphracts unlimbered their bows. A line of mounted archers all along the ridge - five thousand men - an image to strike fear in the heart of any European who remembered the Huns, the Scythians, or the Magyars - all of whom had at one time or another marched through Croatia. The arrows flew, once, twice, again; and now the Sun was indeed darkened.

Now the shiver of panic ran along the Croatian ranks; but as the cataphracts got out their lances and prepared to charge, some genius among the enemy infantry shouted, "Forward! We're dead if we stay here! Charge!" and others took it up. Their only way out was forward; and having it set out quickly in those decisive terms, before panic could take proper hold among them, they might yet be saved. They came forward again, not slowing down or limiting themselves to a walking pace this time, but rushing the Roman lines as fast as their legs could carry them, and shouting their throats hoarse.

Answering shouts met them; and Thomas drew his sword. "Advance!" he ordered, and kicked his horse into motion; the oikeioi followed. There was no time to work up into a trot; they entered the Croat host at a walk. Thomas struck at bobbing faces that thrust spears at him, felt the sword bite, raised it again dripping with blood and other matter. He rapidly lost all feeling for how the battle was going; there was only the next Croatian. His horse went down, a spear in its withers; he found another running riderless through the melee, its eyes rolling wildly. The roar of human voices all around deadened all thought; it was impossible to make out battle cries or words, there was only the terrible gale-force noise of thousands of men fighting and dying.

Abruptly, or so it seemed, the noise slackened. For a moment the fighters on both sides looked around, trying to see what had happened; then a shout of triumph rose on the Roman side. The cataphracts had struck, and where they had entered the Croat lines there was no longer an army; just a vast mob of fleeing men, throwing aside their weapons and being hunted down and speared by the lancers. The rear ranks of the Croat army had contained those least eager to fight, the men content to let others have the glory of crossing swords with the Romans; they would have contributed to victory nonetheless, by pressing in and keeping up the push on the Roman line, and maintaining the feeling in the front rank of having friends at their back. Now that was gone, and it was the Romans who could push forwards, cheering. The disparity in weight of metal and training ceased to matter when one side knew itself victorious; the rawest militia recruit would stand, and advance, when he saw his enemy's reinforcements crumbling.

It lacked only one thing to make it a perfect victory, a crushing triumph to frighten Croat children for a generation to come, and Thomas quickly supplied it. Rising in his stirrups, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "Death to Croatia!" His guards took it up, and then it became a rhythmic chant, shouted in unison by thousands of exultant bass voices; Death to Croatia! Death to Croatia!

The killing did not end until sunset.


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

Some screenies, starting with the initial invasion:

Tyrnovo_Battle_I.jpg

Successive stages of the battle. Note how Thomas, in spite of being outnumbered, completely destroys Croatian morale:

Tyrnovo_Battle_II.jpg
Tyrnovo_Battle_III.jpg

A much later stage of the war. No quarter!

Croatia.jpg
 
I is innocent, it's all Golles fault!:eek: I just married some finnish girl with good stats to one of my marshal for lustful+indulgent traits! The blame rests squarely on the shitty Österbottnish climate and Finns not having invented proper isolation! :p


If Golle wants to take the title of the kid so he returns to Egypt that would be fine with me. ;)

Hahah....you forgot that I got that big brother out there to kick you ass if you throw too much sand to my eyes in the sandbox:p

Anyway, If I can up with my other schemings, Ill release him from the burden of having that title with him.;)
 
Hahah....you forgot that I got that big brother out there to kick you ass if you throw too much sand to my eyes in the sandbox:p

*Checks manpower levels*

If I can get Poland on my side you're going down! :D :p
 
Do you want to find out?

I have absolutely nothing to gain from a confrontation apart from the fun of bullying Golle, so I'm going to confine myself to gloating when Denmark annexes him for the second time. :D

Russia, by the by, is taking our sillyness quite serious. Shouldn't you be concerning yourself with nations who actually want a piece of Rus? ;)

Mommy! Egypt is bulliyng me with Polland!!!!:D

I am assembling a Grand Coalition of minor powers to take on the Finnish menace as we speak! :D
 
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I have absolutely nothing to gain from a confrontation apart from the fun of bullying Golle, so I'm going to confine myself to gloating when Denmark annexes him for the second time. :D

Russia, by the by, is taking our sillyness quite serious. Shouldn't you be concerning yourself with nations who actually want a piece of Rus? ;)

Stating that anyone, merely aligned with Poland, is able to stand up to the Rus is too much of an insult!

You started this, it's up to you to end it. :p
 
Manpowerwise Poland is enough, in reality it would be a bloody stalemate as attrition would prohibit victory. Poland and Finland would of course risk being ground to dust in our tectonic battle for bragging rights, but hey. :p
 
The Fatimid Caliphate: Old Glory


islamy.jpg


The Aslim Taslam swayed gently in the breeze, her sails at half mast at the Calipha's request. He had overexerted himself. He knew it. He contemplated the frailty of his own body as he spat up some more blood. It was not the end he had envisioned for himself, He, Ala'i al-Akbar ibn Fatima. Seif al din. Great Imam of the Caliphate. He had always assumed it would end on a battlefield, in a sense it had. It took time, but in the end it was the fragments of a Hammadid blade, lodged in his left arm, that would take his life. But he was strong. He would wait to die until he had seen his beloved Alexandria one last time.

alaidead.jpg

Ala'i ruled for 30 years, 30 years unmatched by any but the mightiest generals and rulers in history.


When he ascended the throne the situation had been bleak. The Caliphate held only a thin sliver around the mouth of the Nile, a thin corridor of lesser cities and fortifications from Jordan to northern Syria and the fealty of some desert tribes. The trade hub of Palmyra sacked, Alexandria ravaged by decades of crusades against her. Palermo and Damascus, bastions of East and West, lost to infidels and apostates. He had had the city levies of Cairo, the competence of the newly formed Academy and the embryo of what was to become the Guard. Persians, Greeks, Normands and Nubians closing in on all sides. But he had not faltered, no. New regiments had been raised, tribes had been brought into line, mercenary experts brought in and slaves purchased. With a determination of steel and capable lieutenants he had faced down the mullahs and emirs of the Holy Land, taken Sicily, chased the Greeks to the edge of the sea, negotiated the purchase of Tunis and convinced Toledo to see the Light before he had had a woman. He had vanquished the Nubians, and then without pause eviscerated the Hammadids and al-Murabits and driven the Persians out of Syria. He had led the surprise attack on the feuding Komnenids, striking deep into anatolia and even Greece before withdrawing to fortify the border at Antioch. Now at last he had taken Malta and purchased Morocco, and he was done. He did not have the stamina to envisage more, no man could question his authority any more. He was truly the Calipha.

His mind wandered. Antioch. Mighty Indomitable Adamas Antioch. It had been the nemesis of the Caliphate since before the Fatimid Fitna. How many times had the theme marched out under the banner of st. Barnabas? How many time had paramerion met scimitar? It seemed unfitting the way she had simply stood there, open, when the advance cavalry formations reached it. The Komnenids were loosing their hold, the rebelling prince of Trebizond was about to be inherited by a Palailogid. Abghazia had been reintegrated into the Rus. It almost had Ala'i missing old Prince Arkaidos, he would had offered him a real triumph to end his career. He coughed up some more blood. Not this last raid, cities falling like overripe apple, there was little glory in the ineptitude of ones enemy. His face was on banners now, old Arkaidos, Hagia Arkaidos Apotropaios. A saint. People prayed to his Icon! Ha!
His sons and grandsons were not of his mettle, not the ones in the East at least. Ala'i had hoped the Croats would hold on to Constantinople for some time, with Imperial or Russian help if nothing else. But no, they had plunged head first into the combined army of Thessalia and the reformed Antiochene refugees. A cavalry heavy veteran force who alone among the powers of the world could boast they had fought a full Caliphate Army to a draw.

Some of his Emirs had openly called him a coward when he strook a deal with the Greeks and started fortifying the border. They were fools, the Caliphate had needed peace for the expulsion of the Greek Patriarchs and all the other schismatics. There would be much revolting before they would come to accept either Coptic overlordship or the True Faith. There would be turmoil when that he declared he himself would choose which son inherited him, and that all the lesser Sayeedi branches were unfit to become new emirs. The Lord Leviathan of Baalbek would need time to fortify Syria and Sicily. The Master of the Recruits in Aleppo would need time to form and train new Banners to the quality of their veteran brethren. There would have to be peace for the Fatimids to take over the Emirates. There would have to be peace for the Emir of Toledo to shoulder his new role as Sultan of al-Andalus, and sort out his borders with the Empire.

sanishdivision.jpg

The Emirate Toledo would be strengthened with the overlordship of the rest of the Fatimid Andalusi holdings and much gold in an effort to create a Sultanate capable of securing Fatimid interests in the West. Effectively independent in all but religious questions it had already secured a de jure border understanding along a somewhat flimsy Pyrenees-Catalonia line. The Empire was not entirely adverse to surrendering its Spanish lands, having exhausted itself fighting guerrillas holding on to the Galician heresy concerning the separateness of the holy spirit from the godhead. (Let it be known that should any other holder of Spanish titles find themselves less charitable than the Fatimids in handing them over they may find themselves subject to Caliphate.... censure.)


More blood... Things were becoming a bit fuzzy. There was still so much he still wanted to teach his son before he went. The child was a true pragmatist, a speaker and a builder, consumed presently with his fathers project to expand the Alexandrian fortifications to equal Constantinople herself. He hoped Afzal would build on the institutions instead of lean on them like he had. That he would be able to maintain the secure flank of al-Andalus and the Empire. That he would be able to purge the realm from rebellion and aristocrats while maintaining peace with the Greeks to whom the refugees would flee. That he could manage the relations with far away and inscrutable Novgorod and keep the belligerent Persians out of the field. That... Brightness?

There it was! The Great Light of Pharos! He was home. Home...

afzal18.jpg

Peace in our time?
 
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