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unc15

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Hello. I have been thinking about doing an AAR for awhile and have settled on doing a CK2 -> EU4 -> Victoria2 AAR where I try to grow as historical and organically as possible. The hope is to have an at least somewhat plausible great war scenario come Victoria 2 time. I grew somewhat bigger than I expected to on my first character, so we will be mostly skipping over the first couple decades.

Rules:

1. No restarts.
2. NO restarts.
3. I will seek to act according to the traits of my characters (holy war more if zealous, plot more if devious, etc.)
4. Marriages must make cultural or, more importantly, political sense.
5. I can only conquer so much. Uniting all of Europe or conquering the whole Baltic in 100 years is NOT realistic.
6. Alliances must make sense. Can't be allying France as a lowly count. (Though this could theoretically be possible if I was an HRE count bordering France which served both political interests)
7. Above all, role play.

King in the North​
bca889459r557k16g.jpg

The House of Ascania. Historically, rulers of Anhalt, as well as Saxony. The main force behind conversion to Christianity in Brandenburg and a major player
in the politics of the northern borders of the Holy Roman Empire. Their Brandenburgian line went extinct in 1320 – but what if it hadn't?

Table of Contents
Prologue

Johannes I (1095-1101)
Chapter I, part I
Chapter I, part II
Chapter I, part III
Chapter I, End

Regency of Otto I (1101-1117)
Interlude I

Otto I (1117- )
Chapter II, part I
Map Update - 1117



Prologue

January 13th, 1092
Ramparts of Brandenburg Keep


Johannes looked out upon the lands that surrounded him. Winter’s frost had left a white haze covering the countryside. It was flat, for the most part; flat, black, desolate, grey—altogether a dreary place. The forest to the east, thick and impenetrable, seemed to have almost a sense of foreboding to it. There were probably hordes of barbaric Wends in there somewhere, along with their filthy idolatries and hairy, whooping woman, or so he imagined. In comparison, this tiny bergfried and its half-constructed protection of wooden walls seemed tiny and insufficient to the task.

vg663og62mdewuhfg.jpg

The layout of a typical bergfried, though by the 11th century this often included surrounding fortifications, such as earthen mounds and wooden ramparts.

His father, Adalbert, second duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, first of the Askanien line, and guardian of the northern mark, was always going on about it. “This is our future, Johannes,” he would often say, “the east, the lands of the pagans ripe for conversion, away from the intricacies and dangers of the empire.” All he could see, though, was mud and shit. It made him long for the comforts of home, his familial estates back in Zeitz, where at least there were tendrils of civilization and even a full on hohenburgen in which he could at least pretend that he was someone important. Here he felt like nothing more than a northern hick, laughed and scoffed at by the richer lords to the south and west. But his father had forced him to visit while saying something about how you can’t govern properly unless you have a real feel for the land and thus he was here.

“It’s cold. And the people smell. And they don’t speak German. Surely, we can go home now?”

“Ah, but this is your inheritance, young lord Askanien. The “future” of your house, as your father so often exclaims. Surely, a more…lengthy stay is required to fully take in the great fortune that will soon be yours.”

Johannes looked up sharply at the man next to him who had spoken. The condescension and derision in his words were palpable, something that would usually force a rough response from Johannes thanks to his temper. However, this man was his tutor and future heir to county of Brehna, Walther von Torgau. He was untouchable. Anything he tried to do would just get reported back to his father, earning him a good beating and some bruises. Better to keep it in and remember it…later.

“Do you wish to provoke me, Walther?”

“Hah! The only thing I’d like to provoke you in is your studies, but that small head of yours seems incapable of retaining any knowledge,” he exclaimed. “Now, if you’re bored, try reminding me of all that we discussed yesterday on the nature of warfare. Let’s see how much you actually remember, shall we?”

Johannes rolled his eyes, but wearily answered anyways.

“We discussed the importance of overall strategy to the outcome of a war or conflict.”

“…That’s it? If that’s all you remember, I fear for your house's future,” said Walther. “Give me all the details please.”

“Very well. Then first we looked at the campaigns of both the bastard and Harold in the attempted conquest of England…”

33vi5kyxhytz84nfg.jpg
The movements of Harold’s army during the repulsion of both the Norse and Normans.​

“…in essence, we are presented with two different strategies. Both William and Harald Hardrade followed a direct course of simple siege and conquer. There were no feints, no tricks, and no attempts to throw off the forces of Saxon England through intricate maneuvers. Hardrade landed in the north-east, near Stamford Bridge, and William landed directly at King Harold of England’s home estates of Wintanceaster in south-west England. Both simply hoped to draw out Harold for a decisive battle.

“Everyone expected Harold to first repel the direct threat to his power base in the south by attacking William first, but Harold did what no one was expecting. He went north and fought a mostly decisive battle against Hardrade, whose forces were broken up and could only attempt ineffectual sieges in Northumbria afterwards. Then, instead of moving south to take on William, he bypassed the Norman forces completely and invaded western Normandy, trusting in the vigor of his countrymen, as well as the strength of his own defenses to hold in his stead.

“Whereas William became bogged down in an intricate and lengthy siege of Harold’s most impregnable fortresses, suffering attrition all the while, the mostly undefended western countryside of Normandy was ravaged as Harold moved quickly east towards Rouen, sapping William’s strength. In the end, William was forced to make peace, despite still having a sizable force in England. Harold had won without a major battle.”

Walther looked impressed. “You seem to have remembered most of the lesson, but you forgot one important footnote to all of that. What happened aft—“

“I was just about to get to that,” Johannes angrily interjected. “Harold had won a great victory for Saxon England, but that same victory led to pretensions that he could easily obtain the loyalty and subservience of his subjects afterwards. That miscalculation would have a price, as he was forced to step down in favor of the House of Wessex within months. Harold’s fury at this would eventually lead to a rebellion in 1069 and competing claims between three great houses for England: Wessex, Godwin, and the old Anglo-Norse dynasty descended from Canute, the Knytlings.

t266ihczsevt7rafg.jpg

The divisions of England during its civil war.

d7t9npbwp3z49wxfg.jpg

The principle claimants during the English civil war. Their two dynasties have provided the last seven monarchs of England.

This rebellion would see three monarchs installed as head of England within three years, with Harold and the house of Godwin eventually reclaiming the throne. However, it’s effects would last decades, as neither side could get a decisive enough victory, resulting in seven monarchs in just two decades, three of the house of Knytling and four of Godwin. Harold’s lack of thoroughness and decisiveness in securing his powerbase immediately following the repulsion of the Normans led to chaos in England for the next 25 years. Even now it suffers the effects of its weakened state, with the king of Scotland, Duncan II, having the audacity to even mount a war against it for Northumbria as we speak.”

Walther looked rather annoyed at being cutoff before he could make his retort earlier, but, nonetheless, he nodded his head in affirmation that Johannes was correct. Still, there was more from yesterday’s lesson. “But you have only been mentioning strategy. What of tactics? What of battle? I do believe we discussed one in particular.”

Johannes replied instantly, as it was something he and every other German boy, at least those educated and noble enough to be concerned, knew.

“The Battle of Cassel! The death of Ironside!”

Walther nodded. “Yes, Cassel, where Heinrich IV ‘Ironside,’ bulwark of the west, savior of the Hungarians, and hope of our empire was cut down by the king of France, Phillipe I. I guess it’s only fitting that Phillipe himself was eventually betrayed and replaced by the bastard of Normandy in an ironic twist of fate, eh?” Walther laughed. “Tell me what happened.”

Johannes wondered why they were going through that battle again. Everyone knew it. Everyone studied it. Everyone sought to learn from the blunders of Ironside. It was brought up obsessively every week in almost every lesson. Suffice to say, the empire had learned its lesson.

“France was pressing its claims on Yperen in Flanders. It had a smaller force, but was counting on our ongoing involvement in the wars of Hungary and a rebellion in Italy to allow them to occupy it uncontested. When Ironside quickly rallied his forces and marched upon Yperen, France had two options: fight a force that outnumbered it by almost a third or retreat. With such a chance to wrest Yperen from imperial control not likely to appear in his lifetime again, Phillipe prepared his forces for battle.

“Following in the footsteps of Hannibal, Phillipe made his center the weakest area of his army, with reinforcements hidden in dead areas of the land behind the center. Ironside, confident in victory, incomparable in military prowess, but weak in matters of learning, probably was ignorant of what happened at Cannae. He ordered a full-on cavalry charge at the center, expecting it to easily fold. They attacked, the French center melted away, imperial troops rushed in, only to be met with a mass of pike men.

3j9esj93n245dqgfg.jpg
A later artistic representation of imperial forces preparing for a charge at the French center. The armor depicted is most likely anachronistic.​
kt6xikdg2wm9j8k6g.jpg
Kaiser Heinrich IV, nicknamed "Ironside," was a great commander, but not a great student of history.​

“Hedged in on both sides and blunted in front, the imperial forces were cut down like dogs. It’s said that the emperor, leading from the center, was one of the first to die from the jab of a lowly Flemish pike man.”

Walther smiled. “Good, you know your stuff. Though, that was probably an easy battle to re-tell. Still, it’s important to know what made both Harold in his defense of England and Phillipe in his battle against Ironside successful: indirection. Using indirection, strategically or tactically, is very useful, both on the battlefield and in politics. Harold zig-zagged and bypassed Norman forces. Phillipe did not line his forces up in a traditional way, but made use of a central feint to corner and trap the imperial forces. Indirection is not new, but it is often overlooked by the inept leader. I hope you remember that.”

Johannes looked inquisitively into the face of Walther. “That’s all well and good, but what does any of this have to do with us now, here in this godforsaken backwater?”

Walther heartily laughed. “It might not look like anything now, young lord, but perhaps it might be worthwhile to think of your father’s push into these barren lands in the north as a strategy of indirection on a grand scale. Think about it.”

v2c6azgdwgpckl1fg.jpg

The extent of the Askanien demesne in 1092.

Johannes was silent for a while after that, brooding, lost in his own thoughts. He looked out once more from the ramparts at the lands before him. Barren, destitute, away from the empire—wait. Away from the empire? Is that what father had in mind?

To be continued…
 
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Consider this subbed. Great start
 
@Divilly: I use the HIP (Historical Immersion Project) mod pack.

@Asantahene: Thanks! I started reading yours too. Fun, fun.

@zomeguy: Thank you! I'm trying to work on my dialogue. Hope you enjoy future chapters too!

Without further ado...

=======================================================================

Chapter I: Johannes I Askanien (1095-1101), part I​
Current Titles: Duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, Margrave of Brandenburg​

There is probably no more terrible instant of enlightenment than the one in which you discover your father is a man—with human flesh.
- a quote often attributed to Duke Johannes I of Sachsen-Wittenberg, though there are no sources of him saying it.​

September 17th, 1095
Pretzsche, Wittenberg


Johannes sat near the bedside of his father’s fitful, sleeping form in a nondescript wooden room of the recently constructed wooden bailey here in Pretzsche, necessary as means of keeping the local Wendish pagans at bay. It was a cold, damp night, but the only source of warmth was a dying fire glowing in the central hearth of the room, casting a soft pinkish glow, like that of a setting sun. He stared into its red embers, trying to let them distract from the scene before him, but the coughing always got to him. The ceaseless discharge of phlegm, the hacking, the wheezing—it all kept reminding him of the one thing he wanted to forget.

My father is dying.

That thought kept reoccurring within his mind, but he didn’t want to believe it. His father? Gone? That couldn’t possibly be true. This was the man who had conquered the Wends of Brandenberg and Gutzkow—the man who had gone from being the graf of two minor provinces to the powerful duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg and defender of the north in a matter of 30 years. Such grand figures did not just simply die. The very thought of it left Johannes feeling afraid and wholly insufficient to the task of what might be ahead.

epu71wayyw8y1ac6g.jpg

A later depiction of Adalbert, 1st Askanien Duke of Sachesen-Wittenberg. His rule would later be seen as laying down the foundations for later Askanien
dominance in Northern Germany. The crown was most likely added to flatter the vanity of later Askanien rulers.

Not to say Johannes wasn’t proud or didn’t believe in himself. He had vanity in abundance. Any slight, by peasant or noble, invariably provoked the great wrath that he was prone to. He was an Askanien, the son of the duke of what was, nominally, the second most powerful dukedom in the northern reaches of the Holy Roman Empire. He was greater than other men, at least by birth and through the deeds of his forbearers. But none of that felt very reassuring at the moment.

His father was—no, he shouldn’t use the past tense—is a great warrior. In contrast, while Johannes was proficient in the martial arts, he was not naturally gifted in them. Moreover, despite its outward appearance of strength, Sachsen-Wiitenberg, the Askanien lands, were in a very precarious position. The rapid expansion in the north and his father Adalbert’s unparalleled success had led to vast amounts of land not properly integrated and teeming with a hostile Wend population and its pagan religion. Until they were dealt with, either harshly or through a long process of conversion religiously and culturally, the newly conquered areas would neither produce wealth to fund or men to fight, while being a source or dogged resistance.

Indeed, House Askanien only had one area it could truly call a breadbasket, Merseburg in the south with its German population and relatively developed lands, but that was a poor county in comparison to some of Ascania’s peers. Johannes knew so well just how weak their position really was, but what was terrifying most of all was that the lords around seemed to catching on. No longer rattled by the mere size of Askaninen domains, some even openly flaunted defiance by interfering in Askanien lands and affairs.

6a6cf0v1ktm9wxj6g.jpg
The lands of house Askanien in 1095. Areas that were still majority Wendish and pagan are shown in red.​

Johannes knew they had to secure their lands, secure the south, bring stab—

“Johannes, is that you?” a rasping voice said.

Jolted out of his thoughts, Johannes turned his eyes from the sputtering hearth and looked over to find his father’s eyes wide open, though giving off a milky sheen. A little color had come back to the duke’s face, but it did little to combat the general pallor. Johannes stood up and went over to gently lay the backside of his hand over his father’s forehead.

“You’re sick with fever, father.”

Adalbert looked his son over studied him. Physically, young and a bit chubby like he himself been (though you wouldn’t believe that given his current emaciated state). Mentally, brash, impetuous, but eerily tonight he looked almost reflective. As his son’s worrying face hovered over him, Adalbert suddenly felt a biting chill and huddled within the massed blankets around him even more.

“My time…grows short…” he groaned. “The coughing won’t stop and all the blankets in the world won’t do any good in combatting this blasted cold.”

My father is dying.

Suddenly, Adalbert jerked his head erratically and stood up into a sitting position on the bed. “Listen, Johannes, I will go to the lord soon. I—I have committed many sins, but I have given all I can for the glory of Him, our savior…that—that his word might reach even more…”

“Yes, we all know, fa—“

“Listen, Johannes!” Adalbert’s boom out jarringly, cutting Johannes off and surprising him. He thought his father had not the strength left to let out such an energetic outburst. “The north! Those lands thick with Wendish heathens are…are crying out for their fertile soil to be tilled!” he halting said while coughing. “They are our future! Away from the conniving’s of France and Italy, away from the intricacies of the imperial throne.

“You must realize this, Johannes. The south is an endless bed of chaos. We will never get anywhere there. You must—“

Suddenly, all the thoughts that had been previously giving worry to Johannes boiled over into an uncontrollable and inexplicable feeling of rage. His mind went blank and his eyesight red. He interjected, “North, north, north—you’re always going on about the damn north, father! What has your grand, bombastic crusades in the north gotten us? Wealth? From what I can tell, all we have gotten is many piles of dirt and barbaric peasants covered in feces. Might? No Wend would ever fight for us! We are overextended, father! And now you’re going to go and leave this mess all to me to fix for you!

“How nice of the father to take all the glory in the conquering, and the pillaging, and the crusading, leaving the hardest part for his son: what comes after! I’m sick of your ‘north,’ father.”

Adalbert blinked in confusion. His son had never talked back to him like this before. “Johannes, listen I only tell you this because—“

“No, I’m done listening! We’re done.”

He knew his words hurt his father, but in his fiery haze Johannes didn’t care. Like an errant bull, he dashed out of the room, leaving his father’s couching, hacking voice and it’s weak cries to come back slowly fading behind him. Later on, he would look back on this outburst and regret it. Still a child, always a child, how petulant he had been!

=======================================================================

3 hours later...

“My lord, come quickly!”

Johannes looked up from his chair to look at the servant who had the temerity to disturb him in his private repose. “What is it? And it better be important.”

“The duke, my lord. Your father has passed!”

My father is dying—no, is dead.

“What? How? Why was I not informed earlier?”

“He was fine when we put him to bed, my lord. You saw him earlier. We had no idea. A serving maid discovered him not breathing when she went to extinguish the embers in the hearth.”

It should have been a shock, but to Johannes it felt like a great tide that had been slowly rolling over him and now, finally, his head was under water. He had been expecting it, even if the dread it evoked forced him to try and deny nature. A silent, calm terror gripped him and With a quivering mouth, he answered “I’ll be right to his chamber.”

As he was rushing over, he could only think back to his earlier conversation with father. And to think he had been so energetic! he thought. What a damn fool I was to rush out like that! When he arrived back at the room, there was his mother Karlotte, her face ashes and eyes red from crying, and the martial of the realm, his former tutor, Walther—both huddled over the bed.

And there it was—his father’s body. It looked so peaceful, a far cry from the earlier figure of suffering. With the scene before him, only one thing was running through Johannes’ head.

God help us, he intoned. God help me.

wv32t671ea5ti4u6g.jpg

Adalbert I, 1st Askanien Duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, died peacefully in his sleep at the relatively old age of 71. It his said his pious son
was there at his bedside at the time of passing. Though, this is disputed by several reputable contemporaneous sources.


6cz1hdsoefqbyto6g.jpg

Duke Joannes I, Second Askanien Duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, was an able fighter, but did not feel up to the task of governance.

=======================================================================

a13hfbxtwggezva6g.jpg

The fortifications at Zeitz. They are most likely much more extensive in this image than how they would have been in the late 11th century.

October 20th, 1095
Zeitz Castle, Zeitz


“Cried enough yet?”

Johannes glanced furiously at Walther, his martial and most trusted advisor. Ironic, given his earlier adversarial stance towards the older boy in his youth, but life is ironic. They were walking in the courtyard of the hohenburgen at Zeitz, along with the new chancellor Lothar, a youngish man whom Johannes had not known previously until after his father’s death. Well, he was the son of a peasant, so perhaps it was to be expected.

Lothar interjected. “Walther, forgive me if I offend, but that is out of place. I’m sure our lord will, in time, come to his—“

“Oh, shut up, Lothar. No one has time for your niceties,” Walther gruffly responded. “The duke has been moping around for the last two weeks and frankly it’s getting on my nerves.”

“That's enough, Walther. I’d remind you that you address a duke of the empire.”

"Listen, Johannes, you might be a man in years, but actions show you to be still nothing more than a chil--"

"I said that's enough!" screamed Johannes.

Johannes cursed inwardly for showing such emotion at the slight, sometimes his wrath got the best of him. Moreover, he was embarrassed to admid that the marshal was right. It was time to act like the duke he was, even if he still was unsure himself. He continued in a more cool voice. “We consolidate. We strengthen ourselves. Father has left us quite a mess after all. You, Walther, will keep as you have been doing. Look to our defenses in the north. Strengthen our forts, train our troops. We must build our powerbase. Satisfied?”

Walther looked unhappy, but nodded his head.

243cv1ay796be6a6g.jpg

Walther von Torgau, Graf of Brehna and Martial of Sachsen-Wittenberg, was a gifted warrior who counseled Johannes,
often fearless in his willingness to criticize the young duke.

“Good. As for you, Lothar, please send out messengers to our dear bishop, Guntram of Magdeburg, and tell him to renew his efforts in spreading the word of God to the heathens. He often needs to be pushed to get anything done.”

Lothar smoothly and sickeningly bowed his head low to the floor. “As you will, my duke.”

“After that, pack your bags and prepare your things. We are going on a trip.”

“A trip my lord, but to where?”

“To Hohenstauffen, the seat of our current imperial majesty. I sent for permission for an audience just after father died and received word that my request had been granted last night. We leave at dawn.”

Lothar looked flabbergasted. “To see the emperor?” he yelled in a high-pitched voice. “B—But there is so much to do—so much to prepare! This requires memorizing imperial protocol, letters to local magnates—this is too short notice!”

Johannes smiled. “Which is why I am telling you now.”

“May I ask what for?” Walther inquired.

“To demand that which is by all rights mine, Altmark and Blankenburg. And to request imperial recognition of my holdings in the Northmark. I hear Heinrich still styles himself duke of Anhalt, a laughable if annoying claim. I’d deal with it myself, if it wasn’t for his alliance with Meissen, but I have faith that imperial law will be on my side. The emperor’s granting of an audience surely affirms it.”

ulzccit2q7bstdl6g.jpg

The Anhalt-Meissen alliance had blunted earlier Akanien efforts to subdue and consolidate its southern lands and remained a
thorn in the side of House Askanien though the turn of the century.

With that, Johannes moved away towards the keep, while discussing plans with Lothar, who quickly followed along gesturing and continuing to excitedly speak to the young duke.

Walther stayed behind, smiling wistfully. “I think you’ll find that things aren’t so easy or so clear-cut in reality, my duke.”

To be continued…
 
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Nice update Unc...question though? That picture 'Later depiction of Adalbert' at the beginning of Ch1 looks suspiciously like one I used for my King Malmure update...coincidence? :unsure:
 
@Asantahene: Haha! Most definitely a coincidence when you look at the time stamp of our respective posts. Still, I don't think it's a very rare portrait. Pretty well known.


===========================================================

Chapter I: Johannes I Askanien (1095-1101), part II​
Current Titles: Duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, Margrave of Brandenburg​

n484cs5efzuonwe6g.jpg

December 1st, 1095
On the outskirts of Hohenstaufen castle…


“T—T—There isn’t much to it, is there?”

Johannes looked over at the Lothar, riding uneasily beside him on a chestnut mare. The man was visibly shivering and hunched over, trying to remain warm in his newly-bought cloak. Serves him right, Johannes thought. I warned him that such flimsy material wouldn’t be sufficient, but he insisted anyways, saying something about an audience at the imperial court requiring such finery. Johannes didn’t think so; and he was thankful that he had his thick, fur cloak with him, a gift from a local Wendish supplicant noble. Winter, harsh and deadly in the north, had not entirely come yet, nor was it nearly as bad down here in the southern lands. Still, the climate was still beyond that of human comfort.

“The Hohenstaufen’s were minor nobility, like us, before the last Salian emperor granted them the duchy of Teck and the lands of Swabia for their loyalty. It only makes sense that they’d retain some of the trappings of their past being the newcomers they are.” He laughed. “Give it a few hundred years; I’m sure that grand palace you had been imagining will be built eventually.”

But Lothar was right. It wasn’t much to look at. They weren’t about to enter the traditional site of the imperial court, Aachen, the place where the first emperor, Otto I, had been crowned in 962. Lothar had been quite disappointed when he learned their audience wasn’t to be a formal one. No, they were in the emperor’s familial lands in Swabia, an area mostly containing vast swathes of now snow-covered forested countryside. If Constantinople was the ‘golden city’ of the world, then Aachen was some provincial upstart, making their current location the farthest back of backwaters. Hah, Johannes inwardly laughed, but then where would that leave his own home in the grand scheme of things?

Johannes and Lothar, along with four housemen sent as guards, continued their journey up towards the stone fortress located on the oh-so-originally named Hohenstaufen Mountain. Lothar, thinking of better and smoother flatteries to say, the guardsmen silent and fixated on the warm bed they would have tonight, and Johannes with his thoughts of inadequacy and burning desire to see the lands that were his legally granted to him.

jafueue6226oae56g.jpg

A fresco of Hohenstaufen Castle, a strategic location on the borders of Wurttemberg and the home of the Hohenstaufen
emperors, it would be continuously expanded over the years.

===========================================================

In a private chamber behind the castle’s grand hall that same evening…

“No, no, no! It can’t be done!” squeaked Thomas von Hohenstaufen, brother to the emperor and imperial chamberlain. “Your request is impossible!”

Johannes reddened and began to speak with a cool, low voice. “That is not for you to decide, sir. If I may inquire, when will the emperor be joining us? I believe my request for an audience was with him, not you.”

The men stood around a wooden table with old, hand drawn maps on it of the empire and surrounding lands. To the left was a hearth with a fire roaring above which hung the arms of the Hohenstaufen family, three black lions on a pale yellow shield. Guards were stationed outside the room, but the walls and doors leading into it were especially thick to prevent straying ears to hear the subject of the proceedings.

Lothar moved to assuage the concerns of the imperial chancellor and ease tension. “Now, my lord chancellor, I believe that my liege was merely stating his legal and undisputable claims to certain areas of our empire. All we ask is for affirmation of those rights. Surely, you and the emperor will—”

“My emperor and I speak as one voice. Trust me, your request will not be granted.” Thomas gestured his hands towards the maps before them on the table. “Heinrich of Anhalt is allied to the duke of Meissen, who himself has various familial relations to many of the other princes of the empire. Their support is all necessary for the strength and vigor the empire. We cannot let any weakness grip us while the Bastard lies in wait across the western border, ready to pounce on us at any provocation.

fjoxr461bm82o9z6g.jpg

Ever the opportunist, William ‘The Bastard’ de Normandie had made his defeat in England an opportunity to rise to greater heights.
Now, he put his military genius to use hounding the armies of the empire as king of France.

“Moreover, thousands of nobles, princes, and more all have claims just like your own. If we granted every single one of them, not only would we be stepping on the rights of others, we’d be hurting our own support. And Heinrich has competing claims towards lands that your father took around fifteen years ago. Why should you take precedence over—"

Suddenly Johannes exploded. “Our families were both on the borders of northern mark! We had just a much a claim to those lands as the Udonen’s did!”

“Which is precisely my point!” said Thomas, raising his voice in response. “This is politics, my lord, politics and law! There are always competing viewpoints, counter-claims, and special interests—as neutral imperial arbiter we cannot give precedence to one among many!”

Unless it’s in your interests, Johannes thought.

Suddenly, the doors swung open and in walked a youthful figure behind two guards, seemingly of a tallish stature, but hunched over and tapping a cane before him. He continued moving slowly, hesitantly towards a chair in the corner, before stopping when his cane touched it. Then, he flailed around with his left hand, using it for assurance as he slowly settled into the chair.

“Your highness,” they all said in unison while bowing their heads. Lothar did a particularly loathsome flourish, his hair nearly touching the floor in his obeisance.

“Y—Yes, now, ah, um, what was it you guys w—were arguing about?” a tiny, wispy voice said.

Johannes looked up and was appalled. He heard stories, had known the situation. The emperor was blind. Or, more accurately, he had been blinded through some freak accident in battle. They say it had broken him. Where once there had been a man full of vigor and martial prowess, now hushed whisperings said only a nervous wreck remained. From the demeanor of the man before him, Johannes could believe it. His hands moved erratically, while his foot seemed to never stop tapping the ground. Every once in a while he’d strongly grip the arms of the chair with his hand, as if to prevent himself from trying to escape.

And those eyes—those sunken, black pits that seemed to stretch into an endless abyss. Johannes knew that the Greeks and other decadent eastern people’s did it, but he had personally never seen the effects of such torture. It was horrifying—almost like seeing the face of the devil himself. Johannes steeled himself.

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Rudolph I von Hohenstaufen, first of that line to take the imperial throne, was named by some the second hope of the empire, the second coming of ‘Ironside,' but his blinding in battle is often thought to be the catalyst for his eventual insanity.

He began, “Your highness, I am sorry for taking your time with such a small matter, but it is one of great importance to me. The counties of Anhalt and Blankenburg are mine by right of the title and its entailing lands that you conferred upon me, the Herzogtum of Sachsen-Wittenberg, but they are defiantly and openly held by Heinrich Udonen, who in turn plays the supplicant to Mathias of Meissen.

“You have the power to do just that and imperial and generally accepted feudal law on your side.

Lothar interjected, “Forgive me for speaking up your graciousness, but surely you can both see the benefits of granting our quest? Hous Askanien has pacified your northern borders and holds sway over important new territories. In granting our request, you’d not only be strengthening imperial law, but gain an important ally in years ahead.”

“Ah—um, yes, I see…”

Thomas went over and whispered into his monarch’s ears. The emperor’s face blanched and looked over at Johannes or so he though, it was hard to tell. He hated how the emperor seems to both at once be looking at him and looking passed him. Those eyes.

“But…B—But what of my other subjects, Lord Askanien? What of their rights? I…don’t wish to create any anger…any potential for rebellion…”

“But what of my anger, my rights!” exclaimed Johannes furiously.

“You will have to deal with these problems yourself,” Thomas said coldly and gave Johannes a sneering smile. “The imperial crown will not get involved in such better matters, nor should we; else, we’d be asked to intervene everywhere. However, you can be assured of our…neutrality should any conflict arise.

“Now, onto other matters…”

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December 15th, 1095
Pretzsche Castle…


While over by the northern ramparts discussing additions to the fortifications of the castle with the local mason, Walther heard the sentries’ voice ring out along the walls—there were approaching riders. He quickly finished up the conversation, and went out to the main courtyard to greet whoever it might be.

It was the duke—and he looked rather unhappy. It didn’t go well then, Walther thought.

Even so, he had to confirm it. As the group approached and came within shouting distance, he yelled, “And? Are the counties of Anhalt and Blankernburg yours to rule now?”

A reply came back instantly. “It was a load of shit—I piss on the empire and its blind and craven imperial highness!”

Hah! Well, at least he still has some spirit, thought Walther while laughing.

===========================================================

A few hours later…

In the banquet hall, they all were feasting voraciously over a roasted swan that had been prepared for the duke’s return, along with various assortments of vegetables, bread, and, as always, large quantities of wine. While biting into a chewing a mouthful of bread, Walther stated, “So you learned a bit about how the empire works—good. It’s a lesson well to have.” Bits of bread kept spilling from his mouth. “So what will you do now?”

Johannes took a large swig of the win. It warmed him up, allowing him to heartily respond, “We go on without the emperor’s support! You’ll need to redouble your efforts in training the local levies. Also, make sure the defenses in the north are impervious. We wouldn’t want any dangerous Wendish interference as we deal with our southern borders, now would we?”

“Very well, Johannes,” Walther responded, “but there is one problem: with our current ducal laws, the local nobility is required to make little contribution to any war effort of yours. We should perhaps look to make changes that would at least require modest contribution from them.”

“Then do it,” said Johannes.

“It isn’t that easy. Based on our dear chancellor’s current estimations, we lack the support to get it passed, but there is a way I believe to sway them, or at least game the system.”

“How so?”

“Grant some of the counties now under your control to local magnates who will then represent parts of the local nobility. I’m sure their gratefulness to you will be most persuading in getting their supports in raising noble contributions to levies. Also, the church is asking for more ‘donations’ to improve the ‘spiritual strength’ of their missionaries, or so the bishop said.”

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The nobles in question. They would prove to be loyal support to Johannes in his dealings with the diets of Sachsen-Wittenberg.

“That’s fine. I’ll be too busy with trying to bring the Wendish lands already under our control into line anyways, but give them our least potentially valuable lands. They should still be mesmerized by the sound of the title if not the value of the goods. As for the church, do what you must. That bishop is a greedy bastard—‘pious’ my arse.”

Suddenly Johannes smiled wistfully. “You know, Walther,” he began, “on the journey back from my audience with the emperor, I kept thinking back upon my father’s words: ‘away from the empire.’ ‘to the north,’ and such. After my meeting, I can’t help but think there was something to what he was saying. And then, when I start thinking that, I feel some regret at my last exchange with him.” His eyes hardened. “Still, to push north without securing a solid foundation in our south would be foolhardy. I still believe that, but we can’t rely on the empire. We, alone – that’s got to be our motto from here onwards. We must be self-sufficient. We cannot depend on others. I think that’s what my father really getting at, whether he knew it or not.”

Walther raised his wine glass, “I’ll drink to that, my lord, but it will take time—lots of time—to get ourselves to that point.”

“That,” replied Johannes as he raised his glass in kind, “we have in abundance.”

===========================================================

August 14th, 1096
Crossing of the Elbe River near the southern border of Brandenburg…


As Johannes sat in the shade of a nearby pine tree, he couldn’t help but admire the persistence of the peasants as they went about constructing this new fortification to guard a strategically important river crossing. It was the heat of summer, and yet they went on about their work, sweat, perspiration and all, without any extraordinary difficulties. Johannes, who had been trained in martial arts since the age of six, a man who practices his swordplay daily, did not think he could match their work ethic. Nor did he try; and so he sat here comfortably, relaxing as two of his guards sat nearby.

For once, the world felt right—or, at least, it felt simple and easy to comprehend. He knew where he was in the world and what he must do. No worries over the wishes of his father or the politics of empire. Rather, simple production and development, simple progress. The road ahead might not be such, but here and now everything seemed so easy. He could not help but breathe a sigh of contentment.

Suddenly, something began to appear off in the distance before him. A plume of dust, a single rider was bearing down on the dirt road towards him with all haste. When the rider finally pulled up before him he asked, “What news?”

“It’s Walther, sir.”

Walther? He was far in the north conducting routine patrols to quell any spirit the local populations, on top of conducting a survey of the land for later development. What important news could he have that would require the immediate dispatch of a messenger?

“Walther?

“Yes, sir. He’s been wounded...badly. There's been a large raid into Brandenburg by the Obotrites to the north. ”

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The scene is supposedly one of the attack on Walther, count of Brehna, but historians cannot be sure due to
the large number of Wend raids that took place during the period.

And with that, Johannes’ sense of serenity had been broken in an instant, like a splash of cold water in the face.

The Wends had attacked.

To be continued…
 
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Nice start, Kudos! I'd love to see more of it (and how you manage to carve out something in the northeastern corner of the HRRdN.

My own try at the region currently is made difficult by not having a decent casus belli / not being allowed to attack my neighbors outside my "chain of command" (IIRC I hold two of the three counties of the Duchy of Saxony, but can't attack the third and thus gain the Ducal title). But I am a newb at this game still, so what do I know? ;-)
 
Nice update Unc15 and yes what a coincidence huh? Haha. Great minds and all that-look forward to your next post :)
 
@AstaSyneria: Thanks! As for how to expand, usually your best bet is through marriage, with making use of your chancellor to fabricate claims being the slowest option. If you want to expand fast in the north, the Holy War CB usually is helpful. Also, you should either be able to usurp the duke's title or fight him for his last piece of land. The kind won't intervene unless he is allied to the duke in question. Also, you can't attack internally if the King's Peace or crown laws are high enough.

@Asantahene: Thanks!

@Dovahkiing: THanks! Always wonderful to hear voices of support.

==========================================================

Chapter I: Johannes I Askanien (1095-1101), part III​
Current Titles: Duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, Margrave of Brandenburg​

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A week earlier at the great Wend temple Rethra in Obotrite lands…

Krutoj Wizlawid, chief of the Obotrites, Krutoj the proud, some called him, sat bored and stiff on his raised seat here in the temple to Radegast-Swarozyc as the men before him argued back and forth. Technically, they were here to honor the gods through sacrifice, but more often than not such gatherings served as occasions to seek guidance and discuss more…temporal matters, such as the situation in the south. But at sixty-one winters, he was beginning to get too old for these things; and, furthermore, his cynical nature made him often wonder their usefulness.

The gods – bah! Where had they been twenty years before when he watched the combined hordes of Pomorsko and the Obotrites melt before the onslaught of the Saxons? Where were they now as his tribe sat surrounded by them? The gods had abandoned them, or, rather, he had started to wonder if there had been any gods to begin with. With these thoughts, Krutoj sat silent and brooding, droning out the endless voices that raged before him.

“We must attack!” said one voice bombastically. “Veles demands the souls of these followers of this dead ‘Christ’ to tend to his cattle in the underworld!”

Krutoj recognized the voice, temporarily drawing him out of his disinterested stupor. It was his son, Dobieslaw, a youth who showed much promise both as a warrior and general. Moreover, his gregarious nature made him popular with the other men. He would make a good leader…eventually. Now, though, the passion of youth and his fickle some, arbitrary nature made him more of a liability than anything else; and Krutoj found himself often having to temper his son’s brashness with the wisdom of age.

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Krutoj, Chief of the Obotrites, old, but still a fearsome and respected leader.
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Dobieslaw, heir to the chiefdom of the Obotrites, a brash, young man, but also a strong warrior.

“And how would you do that, my son?” he interjected. “The Saxons are no longer some independent nation you can stomp over. They have accepted the heathen faith and now sit as one limb in a great body. Three hundred years ago, our fathers beat them using their divisions and the help of that Frankish king to push them back at Bornhöved, but that would not be possible now.”

Dobieslaw looked wearily over at his father, irritated but used to the caution the old man often showed. “But they can be beaten,” he said dismissively. “Did not your father and a coalition of the tribes push back the Saxons a little over a hundred years ago? Were they not part of the empire then? Do not let your natural caution throw away the chance the succession in Saxony brings!”

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room. They are beginning to follow him, Krutoj thought, and in their murmurs he began to feel a sense of his own mortality. He was old and slow, not the charismatic leader he once was. His time was passing. Still, he was chief…for now.

“We must be patient, Dobieslaw. The empire today is much more united than one-hundred years ago, when it was still dealing with the vacuum left by the loss of the Karlings. And the tribes of Pomorsko will not help us, at least as long as that deaf mute of a woman is still leading them.”

Dobieslaw fumed. “But then when will we attack them if not now? Are we to remain here like cattle for the slaughter?”

Krutoj steadily answered, “We will bide our time. Be patient, Dobieslaw. An attack now could see us overwhelmed and we no longer have the strength we once had.”

Dobieslaw did not seem satisfied. “Then at least let me lead a large raiding party to satisfy both the men and the gods!”

His son was becoming more assertive. Nevertheless, Krutoj nodded, seeking to pacify his son. “Very well, take any of the young men here willing to follow you and go raid the Saxon lands if you must, but no extreme provocations, Dobieslaw”

Dobieslaw slyly smiled. “Of course, father.”

==========================================================

October 21st,
Pretzsche Castle


Johannes walked up to the door outside of the room in which Walther was housed. Looking to the guards posted on either side, he asked, “How is he?”

One of the guards piped up, “You’ll have to ask the medicus inside, my lord, but he didn’t look right good, did he.”

Preparing himself for what he might find, Johannes entered the room to see the medicus hunched over Walther’s writhing form, applying cold rags to his forehead. Walther was in pain—that he could tell, but he inquired anyways,

“It isn’t good, my lord. He has a high fever, a very high one. And I’m afraid whoever initially dressed the wound didn’t go a very nice job. The arrow went deep and hit near the abdomen. Moreover, the wound’s gone green and it’s already reached other areas of his body. I don’t think he’ll last the night. There’s not much I can do.”

Johannes nodded his head and ushered for the medicus to leave him. Sitting by his marshal’s side, he wiped away the sweat from his friend’s forehead as he moaned and moved about uneasily. Groggily, Walther opened his eyes.

“I’m dying, aren’t I?”

Johannes couldn’t brave himself enough to admit it. “No, of course not! You’ll be better come the morrow!”

Walther groaned as he shuffled in his bed. “Don’t lie to me…I…I know it. It happened fast, Johannes, we were travelling on a small path in a pass towards Gutzkow when we arrows started hitting us all around…” He reached out for some water sitting on a stand nearby, which Johannes promptly brought over to him. “It was a Wend raid…”

“I know,” Johannes answered, “and for that they will pay.”

Walther’s response, though weak, was serious. “Don’t be too rash, Johannes. You were right. We need to shore up our strength first. Resolve our matters in the south. Deal with the Obotrites now would be a useless endeavor full of death… and destruction and little gained…” With that, Walther’s eyes closed and he slipped back into sleep.

Ever the teacher and advisor, Johannes thought and smiled, but inwardly he was furious. They had to pay, but the sobering words of Walther were also right. What could they do? Attack and invite a coalition of united Wend tribes to rise up in defense and beat them down in their weakest state? They must still focus on the south. However, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t seek some sort of response. Establishing harsher measures in Brandenburg and Gutzkow towards the local populations, removing certain local Wend magnates—and more could be done, but for now they could only let the Wend raiders get away with impunity, and simply be more on guard for the next one.

Right now, Johannes could only grip Walther’s hand as he slipped in out and of delirium and seethe out his utter powerlessness in the face of current circumstances…

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Walther died at a very young age due to wounds sustained in a Wend ambush, leaving House Ascania without it's greatest military leader.

==========================================================

June 7th, 1097
Pretzsche Castle


A year had passed since Walther’s death, a year in which strict measures had been instituted in Brandenburg. Patrols were now doubled, anti-pagan measures enforced to better convert the population, and potential areas for Oborite incursion were watched more carefully. Most importantly, he had achieved in getting the lords of his lands to accept greater obligations.

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The laws strengthened Johannes' levies.

Now, though, Johannes had other matters to attend to. Namely, matters of his own lineage. He had no offspring, nor did he have any relations who could continue the Askanien line should some mishap happen to him. His dear sister was married and her sons would bear another family’s name.

He needed to get married, which is why he felt so nervous today. His betrothed, a girl by the name of Karlotte von Solms was of age and bound to arrive at the castle any hour. She, the daughter of some minor baron, had been betrothed to him when his father was nothing more than a minor graf. It made sense at the time and had remained only due to the reluctance to pass up the rather large dowry that was coming with the girl as part of the deal. It didn’t hurt that the portraits sent to Johannes had been most pleasing. He only hoped the artists hadn’t been too liberal in their interpretations of his wife-to-be’s looks.

And then he heard the shouts and looked out the window towards the gate.

And groaned inwardly.

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Karlotte von Solms was not known for her great beauty, but she was a strong-willed woman that some say gave Johannes some backbone.

Though her face couldn’t be easily seen, she was certainly larger of girth than he had been led to believe. He cursed under his breath, but went out to greet her anyways after he cleaned himself up a bit.

Or would have, if she didn’t come bursting into his room a minute later, ignoring the protests of the guards outside.

She looked him up and down. “So, you are to be my husband?” She sighed and folded her arms, arms that looked like they could very nearly tear him apart. She must be quite strong. “Well, you aren’t much to look at, are you?”

He almost guffawed. Well she was quite honest, he’d give her that. And maybe she had a quite interesting personality. If anything this marriage wouldn’t be boring. He was quite ugly to look at. He laughed, and laughed, and would recall this first meeting and impression of his wife for months to come.

==========================================================

One night in Johannes’ room…

She approached him silently, slowly. A somewhat familiar face; and yet, his vision was blurred, obscuring her finer features. Around him, laughter and singing, dancing and playing, scenes in sounds all massed together forming a cacophony of joyful chaos, but it all seemed so wrong. The sounds, if they were that, seemed to always be just out of full hearing; and the sites always on the edge of his vision.

The only thing that remained constant was her, coming purposefully towards him.

In her hands, she bore a chalice. When she stood before him, she lifted it up towards him, beckoning him to drink. The fluid was black, deep, red. He took a sip first, weary of the contents, but the taste was delicious and soothing, and soon found himself uncontrollably drinking more and more. But the drought never stopped, and as the woman tipped the chalice farther over, the liquid began to flow uncontrollably outwards, towards the woman, towards him, towards all his surroundings till is all formed together in a large mass of ooze.

And out of the ooze, came a serpent, but one he had never seen before. Black with red eyes, it came slithering ominously towards him. He tried to run. He tried to escape, but suddenly chains appeared on his arms and legs. He couldn’t move. All he could do was scream and scream—

Johannes woke screaming, covered in sweat and heart pounding.

“What’s wrong?” asked his wife.

“I—it’s nothing.”

Letting his wife go back to sleep, he could only think back to the dream, hazy as it already was starting to become and wonder what it portended…

==========================================================

June 8th, 1099
On a visit Askanien estates in Zeitz…


“Well, are you going to do nothing like a coward regarding the titles and lands which are yours?”

Johannes looked at his wife riding beside him, annoyed. “We will wait. I do not yet feel ready for a confrontation with Meissen.”

His wife looked exasperated. “Ever since we’ve been married, you’ve been going off and on about taking back your lands, securing your honor! But recently it’s like something’s changed in you. Now it’s ‘we’re not ready’ or ‘Meissen has the support of the emperor’ or some other excuse!’ What happened to you, my lord?”

The words stung. Johannes had been hesitant. Ever since that dream, he’d been second-guessing himself. It had scared him. Should he go hunting with friend? No, too dangerous. Should he drink this cup of wine or that keg of beer? Have the taster check it first. He was not himself.

“I—“

“I can’t stand it! The shame I feel as the Udonen’s as they flaunt what is yours—ours—around us! Do it for me, Johannes!”

He looked into her eyes. She called him by his Christian name, perhaps to soften her criticism. But what he saw there was her proudness, her greed—she was hungry for the titles and land. He wondered if she really cared about his own honor. But she was right. It felt so…petty—starting a war on one’s wife’s whim, but it was the push he needed.

“Very well, we’ve been readying ourselves for nearly four years anyways. I’ll have word sent out to my vassals, as well as my sister’s father-in-law, the duke of Schwaben. We go to war.” He didn’t feel confident. What would the others think if they knew? Going to war for a woman…

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To be continued...
 
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Yikes: under the thumb! :mad: great update :happy:
 
Chapter I: Johannes I Askanien (1095-1101), End​
Current Titles: Duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, Margrave of Brandenburg​

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March 11th, 1100
Bernburg Castle, Anhalt


Johannes heaved a sigh of frustration as he made another round throughout the siege camp to inspect his forces. Ostensibly, he was inspecting their defenses in case of a sudden sally from the castle or attack from a relief force. In reality, he was just trying to distract himself from his own boredom. How tedious this whole venture of war was! First, it had been march and then countermarch, and then march some more—all to fight a few minor skirmishers with what were, admittedly, the pitiful forces of Anhalt. Now, it was endless drudgery as they sat here before Bernburg Castle, twiddling their thumbs and waiting for the besieged forces to starve and Heinrich to admit defeat. They had been as such for months now; and Johannes was starting to miss the comforts of home.

He had split his forces, sending the second, smaller contingent down with his new marshal, Berengar, to tie-up Meissen’s forces, but so far the only news he had heard was that of inconsequential movement, with no major decisive battle taking place. He missed Walther; he would have been able to contain Meissen. Nonetheless, he had to make do with what he had available before him. He would first take Anhalt and then return home to prepare for the final push into Meissen.

It was cold here in Anhalt, but not unbearably so. The snows of winter were beginning to recede as spring brought forth new, green vegetation. Johannes would have to make sure that none of the ensuing bounty found its way smuggled into the castle. Or, perhaps, flaunt it right in front of the defenders. They must be starving by now; he could only imagine Heinrich gnawing on the emaciated corpses of rats and dogs, something which made him smile. Suddenly, a voices range out along the lines—the castle gates were opening and a group of ragged, worn-down men coming out. Johannes preferred to wait, letting them come up to greet him away from the castle’s fortifications. Heinrich was known to be a craven and cruel man.

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The siege of Bernburg Castle was a long, drawn out affair, but Askanien forces ultimately prevailed.

“So the pup can bark, eh?” said one of the, while simultaneously spitting towards the ground.

Johannes looked at the man, haughty even as his clothes barely clung to his skin and his face was gaunt with hunger. It was Heinrich, so-called ruler of the Northern Mark and ruler of Anhalt. He couldn’t ignore the man’s insulting greeting. “This pup surrounds your forces, having beaten you easily on the field of battle,” Johannes sneered. “What exactly does that make you?”

The man’s stony silence was enough of a reply.

“I assume you are here to discuss terms, then?”

“I…” He looked reluctant. “I will accede to your demands. Anhalt is yours. But you have no rights to the Northern Mark! Those were mine before you usurped them.”

“And now they are mine,” Johannes responded hotly. “You can claim all you wish, Heinrich, but without the land to back it up, your claims mean nothing!” More calmly, “I will guarantee you, your men, and your family safe passage to your brother’s lands in the south, but your titles will be forfeit.”

“I…”

“Your approval isn’t required. You can let your men starve, if you want. The result will be the same.”

Heinrich couldn’t respond that and quietly acquiesced.

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The defeat of Heinrich's forces gave control of southern Sachesen-Wittenberg to Askanien forces, while strengthening Johannes' hand
against Meissen for a potential later campaign.

========================================================================

December 11th
Pretzsche Castle


Johannes was happy to be back home here in Pretzsche. For the last few months, he had been mopping up pockets of local resistance in Ahalt, but now he was finally home in time for the Christmas festivities and the coming new year. Life felt good. And while Meissen remained active in the south, refusing to accept the terms of Heinrich’s defeat, winter’s onslaught kept a potential military campaign from forming. While it was alarming that Magnus Bilung, his sister’s father-in-law, still had not sent troops to Sachsen-Wittenberg to take on Meissen, there was no reason to be on guard, for now.

One night, as Johannes was poring over maps of Meissen, leisurely planning how the campaign might go come spring time, his wife Karlotte came into the room. Such action was unusual, because usually Johannes barred anyone from disturbing him during this time of night, which he set aside of introspection and planning.

“Johannes.”

“Not now, Karlotte. If this is regarding the new drapes you want for the windows or that new serving girl you find completely unsatisfactory, it will have to wait till the morning.”

“Johannes, feel,” she said, forcefully grabbing his arm and placing it upon her belly.

“What is it?” he asked in confusion. Her plumpness was not exactly the most inviting of foreplay techniques.

“Feel.”

He did just that, noticing nothing. Just when he was getting tired of the pointless endeavor, he felt…a kick! There was movement! He looked shocked and turned towards his wife’s face, smiling with that proud joy that only a woman could know.

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After an agonizing wait without success, Karlotte's pregnancy was a happy occasion.

“My son?”

“Or daughter,” she said laughingly.

Johannes was amazed and caught up in an inexplicable feeling of rapture, joy, and wonderment. His son—no, child! They would not know whether it’d be a boy or girl for quite some time. Nonetheless, it was amazing! For the rest of the night, he could do nothing but have his wife sit down while he laid by her side, listening to the sounds of his soon-to-be-born legacy.

========================================================================

July 12th, 1101
Pretzsche Castle


Johannes paced back and forth. He was nervous, if he could even call it that. More like a bundle of emotions that constantly fought a war with one another for preeminence. Should he go in? No! What if he distracted the midwife from her work? But, then again, wouldn’t his wife need him? Shouldn’t he be there for his child’s first few precious moments of life? With such thoughts, he worriedly paced about, till a voice came from a creak in the doorway, beckoning him in.

Karlotte was stretched out on the bed, spent and exhausted, but with a warm and satisfied face for all her efforts. She held something in her arms.

“A fine young ‘un, your lordship. He’s healthy and strong; he’ll do you proud, right.”

‘He?’ A son? Johannes couldn’t contain his anticipation and rushed over to his wife’s side and marveled at what he saw. A boy, it really was a boy! Crying fitfully on his mother’s shoulder, the boy paid no attention to this strange and fearsome creature suddenly hovering over. Looking into the boy’s eyes, Johannes had a moment of mystical moment of insight. He was the child, and his child the father staring down at him. Immortality, an unbroken chain of father to son, father to son, passing down his lineage from time immemorial, to now, to long forward into the future, it was a feeling of both joy and eeriness at his own mortality.

“Have you thought of a name?”

Johannes had. He had spent countless nights imagining what he would call his child, consulting many people and books to settle on the perfect name for his girl or boy.

“Otto. We’ll call him Otto, a fitting name for the future ruler of these lands and a portentous one for the future. In old German in means prosperity and wealth; let it be so in his reign.”

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Otto, the first named such of the Askanien line, was born on the 12th of July in the heat of summer.

Johannes laughed. “This calls for a feast! And then a campaign once more to wash away the last vestiges of Meissen influence in our domains! My son’s beginnings must not have such a cloud hanging over them!”

He would go about with a fury to begin preparations for the feast in his newborn son’s honor, taking over for his wife in her weakened state.

========================================================================

That same night in Saxony…

Szezepan, agent of Sachsen-Wittenberg , sat furiously writing a dispatch that had to be delivered with all haste to his master, Johannes, back in Pretzsche. He had uncovered most grievous things, things that betrayed the reasons as to why Magnus Billung had been less the forthcoming with his forces for the war in the south. He was supposedly here as part of the diplomatic envoy that had come over a year ago, but had been able to work his way into the court through subtle means, allowing him to stay much longer.

His note warned of a plot against Johannes. His sister, Alberade, along with the duke of Saxony and his son, were colluding to plot his death. Doing so would allow Adelade’s son to eventuall inherit both Sachesen-Wittenberg and the lands of northern Saxony, recreating the original duchy of Saxony that had once covered most of northern Germany. Why Adelade would seek to kill off her own dynasty—Szezepan could only wonder, but the note had to get off to his lord as soon as possible. He believed the plot was already into a well-advanced state; and the war against Meissen only brought it further in its operation.

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The conspirators in the plot to kill Johannes. Magnus Billung was the powerful duke of Saxony and head of the politically connected Billung dynasty.
He sought to strengthen his control over northern Germany for as a means of eventually securing the imperial throne.

As soon as the note was done, he dashed off to give it to his most trusted dispatcher, hoping it would make it to his lord in time.

========================================================================

July 17th, 1101
Pretzsche Castle


What a great night it was! The stars were brighter than they had ever been, the moon shone with a particularly wonderful luminescence, and the laughter all around made everything in the world feel right and proper! Soon afterwards, they would baptize his son’s birth by assuring his birthright with the defeat of Meissen, but for now they could simply revel in the extension of the Askanien dynasty and the prospects of an eventual harmonious succession.

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During the general celebrations of the birth of Otto I Askanien, Johannes was already preparing for the final push in the south to secure his domains.

The beer and wine flowed, the women smiled, and then men all boisterously cheered as song and dance brought liveliness to the proceedings. It was a great occasion that lasted deep into the night until all that remained through the fortress was a general, satisfied and drunken stupor, as the men snored while their women tried to quietly drag them to their rooms to bed.

Johannes was walking through the courtyard outside afterwards felt a deep satisfaction, only interrupted by the rider who momentarily came bursting in with a message from Szezepan in Saxony. Such correspondence could wait till the morning when he had to once again train his thoughts to military and political matters concerning Meissen. He looked up at the sky and saw a star fall. A fluke? Or, perhaps, a sign of things to come? To Johannes, on that special night only a week after his son’s birth, it could only mean good things. The fall of the old and the rise of the new, the eclipsing of the Udonen’s by House Ascania, and more. The falling star was a sign of that perhaps his father had been right. The south was old, bound to fall from the onslaught of northern development.

Johannes thought of all these things, content and happy. And as he reached for the glass of wine that a passing servant girl was carrying, he paid no attention as she surreptitiously poured a tiny amount of powder into the glass, nor did he care for the pale, worried look on her face.

Johannes stared up to the stars, imagining his future and the future of his son, as he drained the chalice in one gulp. His mind was filled with the hopes of tomorrow.

And then the pangs hit. Something was wrong. His body began to convulse as his limbs seemed no longer to pay any heed to the commands of his mind. He doubled over, falling, choking.

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Some modern scholars suggest hemlock was used to poison Johannes, duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, but this remains disputed due to recent analysis suggesting a very gruesome death.

Poison!

As he choked, and vomited, and convulsed, Johannes’ mind reeled at what was happening to him. His future, his son’s future, his lands, his wife, his titles, his father, his aspirations—all congealed into one large mass of terror and anguish. But these worries began to fade and die as his vision blurred and his life ebbed away…

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The death of Johannes is seen as a footnote in the history of the Askanien family. He had succeeded in solidifying Askanien control over the
southern peripheries of their domains against his political foes in the Empire, the Udonen's, but his short life meant that he accomplished little
else, other, perhaps, then the construction of some notable castles and fortifications within Wend lands in Brandenburg.


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The death of Johannes would create uncertainty within Askanien lands as it heralded the start of a long regency for a duke who
was only a few days old, a regency which began in the midst of conflict with Meissen. Furthermore, it would come at a time when the empire itself
wouldn't enter a dark period, wracked by revolt, war, and destruction.

To be continued…
 
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Oh dear...I can see trouble ahead...great update!
 
Interlude I: Regency of Otto I

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A few days after Johannes’ death…

She held him tightly against her breast, as if worried something would come and take him away at any moment. He had no name for her, no title to give her, but he knew instinctively, in the way only the youngest of us can know, that she was connected to him and the one whom he could most trust. The warmth she provided usually filled him with a sense of serenity and peace, but now such feelings were interrupted by her shaking and tearful wails that filled the otherwise silent room. But they weren’t alone in the gloom, three other alien faces and forms stood around them, enclosing them, enveloping them.

One spoke up with a smooth and oily voice. “We must make peace with Meissen. We cannot possible expect the men and lords of the realm to go to war for a dead man’s claim.” The man looked apologetically at the woman crushing him. “Forgive me, my lady.”

“Oh, stop it with all the doom and gloom, Lothar,” said a harsh, gruff voice in response. “The claims do not die with the father. The lad still retains the rights to those lands, even in regency.”

This ‘Lothar’ wheeled around in exasperation and indignation. “Berengar, you may be the marshal of the land, but remember what you are: a commoner,” he said dismissively. “You might see the world is simple terms: black and white, good and evil, and such as is the case of you common folk, but I must deal with the realities of politics!” Like a peacock, he tried to strut himself at that last sentence, as if to tower over ‘Berengar.’ It might have made an impression too, if not for the difference in their heights that made it so comical.

Berengar shrugged and looked over to the woman and him apologetically. “Say what you want, Lothar, but there is no reason to end the war. We will continue it. The lords will follow in memory to the man who gave them all the titles they hold so dear now, titles they would have had no chance of acquiring if not for House Ascania.”

“Yes, but—“

“Silence,” said the quivering woman who was holding onto him. “Enough of this useless chatter! My husband lies dead and all you men do is bicker, bicker, bicker!” She looked around at all of them fiercely. “I want what’s best for my son and that means no loose ends—understand? We will claim my son’s birthright in Anhalt and then work to stabilize the realm.”

Lothar spoke up. “As you wish, my lady. But what of your son’s protection? Is it really safe to be fighting a war when the that kinslayer of a sister could be coming after him?”

The third figure, who had been silent up till now listening, suddenly spoke up with a quiet, almost imperceptible voice. “Your son, my lady, will come to know harm.” He bowed his head. “It was my slowness in action that led your husband’s death, but all resources at my disposal will now solely be for your son’s protection.”

She looked coldly at him. “And what of the murderous bitch, Szezepan?”

“I have uncovered her complicity in the plot, along with the duke of Saxony, but the evidence would not be enough to win the support of the emperor for her arrest. For now, we can only look for chances to seek revenge ourselves.”

“Let’s hope that enough,” said Berengar. At that, they all looked down on the boy in his mother’s arms, all independently wondering what the future would hold.

=====================================================

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September 21st, 1107
At the feast of the emperor…



Otto Askanien looked at all the faces around him and was bewildered. Why were there so many? Back home, it had just been his mother, old Berengar, some other councilmen and some guards. Here there were so many more people—and with titles galore. This one was the duke of Flanders, who spoke some funny dialect he could hardly understand. That one was the powerful duke of Bayern. He was introduced to them all, one by one, at his first grand showing. It was supposed to be a happy occasion; and his mother’s joyful figure normally would have made him so, as any time her usual gloom was dispelled was an occasion for thanksgiving.

But he didn’t like. He couldn’t tell why, but he instinctively felt ill at ease among these men and women. Their smiling face was masks behind which they hid their true monstrous faces, or so it seemed to Otto. They laughed a little too much and they talked a little too low. In a way that only a child could perceive, Otto knew they were all lying, that none of them were sincere. He felt like an animal trapped in a cage, waiting to be picked up, butchered, and eaten at any moment’s notice.

A viper’s nest, he thought. Nonetheless, he learned to go through the motions. He talked when he needed to and did not shy away. Still, as the feast continued on into the night, he could not help feeling revulsion and disgust…

=====================================================

May 2nd, 1110
Wittenberg


Otto was sitting in the study, looking at the words of the treatise before him, but not really comprehending its meaning. He was bored. He should be outside playing with the other children, running, swimming, basking in the sun! But, no, here he was inside listening to the endless intellectual meanderings of his new tutor, Adolf von Habsburg, some Norman with a German-enough name but a very French accent. He had appeared at the castle one winter, seeking winter from the harsh Saxon cold and had stayed ever since. Otto didn’t need to wonder why though as the adulation on his mother’s face every time Adolf came into sight made it plain as day why Adolf had quickly received the position of ducal tutor.

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Adolf von Habsburg, love and later on husband to the ducal widow, Karlotte von Solms. He was a well-traveled warrior of his day and would be
instrumental in Otto's military development. One of his grandsons would even go on to be the King of Kiev.

“Otto! Are you listening? I said tell me what we were studying and give me two world examples within the last decade as to why it is important!”

Otto flushed his cheeks hotly and looked angrily up at Adolf, but quickly quenched his anger. He had a habit of flying into rage—something his mother said was one of the only things he must have inherited from his father. He replied, “You were reminding me of the importance of decisiveness, of making use of an enemy at his weakest to strike boldly.”

Adolf smiled. “Good, now give me some real world examples of why it is so important to not hesitate when an enemy is at their weakest.”

“Spain. At the turn of the century, Islamic Spain was torn and fractured and the Abbadid Sultanate was at its weakest. Had the kingdoms of Aragon and Castille launched decisive attacks, they could have routed the Moors or at least greatly weakened their hold over the peninsula. Instead, they fought amongst themselves. Aragon satisfied herself with small, insignificant gains, while the kingdom of Castille became embroiled in petty civil war, with Christian fighting against Christian.

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In 1101, Islamic Spain was falling apart and the Christian kingdoms were ascendant, but the Spanish were too busy fighting themselves.

“This gave the Abbad Sultanate the time it needed to regroup and reunify. So that, now today, it was reunified and, furthermore, making use of recent fractures in Christian Spain to make some gains.”

Adolf nodded.

“The second example would be Asia Minor, where the Byzantines suffered disastrous defeats before the might of the Turk invader. However, rather than taking land gains on the periphery, the Turkish Sultan took the heart of Anatolia, dividing the Romans into two, a position which makes it almost impossible for them to muster the necessary strength for any future Islamic invasion.”

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The Seljuk Turks exploited their victory over the Roman Empire in 1072 expertly, dividing its lands into two while taking the heart, Anatolia, for itself.

“Good,” Adolf said, “and remember: the world wait’s for no one. Take your chances when you see them. Be bold, be brave, be decisive!”

And the lessons dragged on…

=====================================================

July 12th, 1117
Wittenberg


Otto looked at the map before him and smiled. A year from now the lands of Sachsen-Wittenberg would all be his to command. The responsibilities would be great, but he shrugged them off. He felt ready and capable He had plans. Big plans. He would lead the empire’s armies and with his righteous fury use them to bring down imperial justice upon all the traitorous vipers within the empire, or so he imagined.

First, would be his aunt for the crime of murder. Not that he really cared much for his father. The man was an alien to him and so any feelings of revenge or anger he had were purely abstract and conceptual. There was no physical feeling behind them. Then he would clear out the rest. He couldn’t help but feel that what had killed his father, what had made his mother grieve all those years, was the very chaotic nature of the empire. It was a problem that needed to be rectified. He would need to bring order to it. Let the empress make use of his temper to smite her enemies; he would gladly do so. His since of justice, his sense of disgust and anger towards the rotting structures of the current political system, spurred him onwards.

Otto thought upon the future and what it would bring on that day, a year before his coming-of-age. He could never have imagined how different it would turn out--how so far from his idyllic plans and aspirations! History plays tricks upon us all, but it would perhaps play some of its greatest upon Otto I of House Ascania, or Otto ‘The Great’ as he would later be known.

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To be continued…
 
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Wow 'Otto The Great' eh?

Great update. I particularly like references to game traits. Can I just make a couple of constructive points: 'mom' is not really a term you'd expect a German princeling to be thinking or uttering.

You mention the word 'diving' twice when I'm pretty certain you meant 'dividing'

Apart from that impressive stuff KUTGW :)
 
unc15, really impressive AAR so far! I'm subscribing.

Not only that, you've been nominated for Character Writer of the Week! Congratulations on the truly fine work - come on over and take a bow!
 
Congrats, unc15! Now I can see it was a well-deserved award. :)
 
Congratulations on the award. It is obviously well deserved, and I'm glad to be reading your AAR!
 
@Asantahene: Thanks for the typos and stuff. Fixed them. Keep them coming! :cool: What does KUTGW mean?

@Revan86, GreatUberGeek, and Idhrendur: Thank you and thank for the award!

=======================================================================

Chapter II: Otto I Askanien (1117- ), part I
Current Titles: Duke of Sachsen-Wittenberg, Margrave of Brandenburg

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The state of the empire in 1117. By this time, there were seven major magnates within it, as shown in the map. Furthermore,
the empire had largely become a German one, with the majority of it's Italian holdings gone and those that remained rapidly slipping
away. The green in the south represents the areas of northern Italy which were practically independent. As can be seen, House Askanien
was merely one player among many.

Otto strode purposefully into the little, nondescript room located within the interior of the castle here in Pretzsche. His official ascension to the throne of Ascania, what they were beginning to refer to the domains of House Askanien as, had happened just the day before with his coming-of-age and he was still groggy from the celebrations of the prior evening. Nonetheless, he wanted to get to work as soon as possible as he had something in particular that needed to be done, something that demanded immediate vengeance, if only it were possible.

“So,” he started, “when will the bitch die?” He looked at every one of his ministers gathered around the room, using the hapless state of his overused stomach and blaring headache from his hangover to give an angry edge to his demeanor.

Szczepan, his master of spies, bowed his head out of respect, but answered firmly and quietly in his Wendish accent, “Your aunt remains in good health, my lord, as she has been for that past sixteen years of your regency and will mostly likely continue to do so for the foreseeable future.”

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Alberade Askanien, the murderer of Johannes I Askanien of Sachsen-Wittenberg, remained largely free and well thanks to her acumen
in the underhanded arts, as well as the political clout of her son, the duke of Saxony. Though that duchy had fallen far from its original strength
under Otto I Billung, it remained a prestigious title.

Otto glared at Szczepan. “And why,” he asked in a cool a stilted voice, “is that?”

Szczepan shrugged his shoulders and gave the Markgraf a hapless smile. “I have spent much of the past decade looking into ways to make her pay for what she did outside of the considerable resources I already devote to protect your person, but she is as much a master in the illicit crafts as I am. She guards herself well…and—“

“And,” Otto’s chancellor, Kanzler, interjected, “the evidence we have, Szczepan’s word, would not stand up under scrutiny before the imperial court, nor would it benefit us to reveal our networks in an attempt to do so.” He pointed down at the map on the table, highlighting the lands of Saxony to the west. “Furthermore, she is now the wife of one of the more powerful magnates in the empire who is still nominally your ally; it’d be political suicide to go after them.”

“Dammit!” yelled Otto, pounding his fist down on the table, causing the chancellor to jump, “What use is a liege who fails to protect their vassal? Did you not send word to the emperor years back with the evidence we had?” Otto looked around. “Why not simply ask him to deal with it outside of official legal channels?”

Kanzler replied, “He would have rejected that too for the same reason as what I just said: going after Saxony and potentially upsetting the lords of the realm, all whom jealously guard their privileges, would be too great a cost.” He sighed wearily. “And now the emperor is dead and we have a three-year-old pipsqueak of a girl on the throne and in thrall to her court, making it doubly likely that they would reject such a request.”

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Heike I de Chatenoy, duchess of Lorraine and first female to rule the empire, ascended to the throne at a very young age.
However, though unnoticeable in 1117, her quick mind and genius talent would aid her greatly, eventually establishing her as
one of the most successful rulers of the empire in decades if not a century. Her rule would be seen largely as a time of stability,
if not peace.

Otto sat down at the table putting his face into his hands in exasperation. Rubbing his forehead with his fingers to fight off the ache, he wearily asked, “So what should I do? I’m not good at politics or intrigue like either of you. I like quick, fast, and simple justice. The politics of this empire can often overwhelm me.”

Adolf, his former tutor and military advisor, coughed and spoke up. “You must strengthen your position relative to Saxony, indeed your position relative to the empire as a whole—make it worth more to the imperial court to keep you on their good side. Might is the only assurance we can have in this world. Our domestic situation is precarious, we need time to convert and establish German plantations throughout our Wendish territories.”

Kanzler piped up, “Yes, yes. I agree. The finances could very well do with a work over. We need to focus—”

“But don’t forget there are other ways to increase our influence,” Arthur continued, “You have a good enough knowledge of tactics and are proficient with the sword. Given time and examples of your martial prowess, you could very well attain the rank of marshal of the realm. I would suggest your pursue it. It could give us greater influence.”

Otto, annoyed, looked over at Arthur. “And how do you expect me, a sixteen year old, to do that? Oh yes! I’ll just go apply to the imperial council for approval right now. That will do it!”

Adolf seriously responded, “Fight and then fight some more. Win their favor and fight for the court. God knows there will be plenty of battles to be fought in this time of regency.”

Otto became thoughtful at that, ruminating on what it mean while droning out the chancellor’s endless political prattle that followed.

“And we have your marriage coming up to the Maria Wettin my lord from the neighboring mark of Lausitz. The family itself is minor in comparison to yours among the houses of the empire, but their holdings are regionally relevant, situated as they are on our eastern border…”

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Maria Wettin would give House Askanien not only a marriage to a reputable family, but potential claims to the
nearby duchy if Lausitz.

Yes, yes, Otto thought wearily, politics, politics—this world of ours is always about politics and power! My chancellor plays diplomatic games while the whore remains safe and well in Saxony—politics are an utter abomination! The laws of man had wrought havoc upon natural justice and left it but an impotent ideal. Still…there was some merit in the words of Adolf. Might does make right. Justice and the law were only as powerful as the arms which supported them. The last several decades of the empire had proven that, with the imperial crown often decided through warfare rather than the elections stipulated by law. Otto needed power. Not from some greedy lust for it, but as a tool to get the revenge he so dearly craved and the reform a broken empire so dearly needed.

Serving in the military campaigns of the empress might achieve that…

=======================================================================

November 18, 1118
On the fields of Ivrea…


Otto looked out upon the fields before him and sighed as it was evident from their disposition that the Ligurians had been amply warned ahead of time. Before them stood treacherous ditches and mass formations of the famed Italian infantry in tight phalanx formations, with their cavalry force lined out in front. Moreover, thick woods on the right and a deep river on the left made it impossible to maneuver around them. They had to be confronted. He wouldn’t have been worried if this was the main imperial force he was with, but it wasn’t. This was part of the reinforcements sent to gather in Pavia before a general push towards the city of Genoa. Unfortunately, the Ligurians seemed to have caught wind of them and, making use of the favored Italian strategy of striking when the enemy is divided, decided to block their advance. Now they were caught in a wooded area in Ivrea against a force that looked to have the numerical advantage. Otto wondered how their primarily cavalry-based force would fare in comparison to the famed Italian spears.

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The battle at Ivrea would be considered a minor one among the varied wars of the empire, but it would be important.
The largely cavalry-based Imperial force found itself face to face with Italian infantry particularly geared towards blunting
a couched lance charge. The numbers were about three-thousand imperial troops to three-thousand and five-hundred for
the Ligurians.

Presented with the sight before him, Otto asked himself for the hundredth why he had come. It was supposed to be an easy expedition against one city, but now here they were cut off and facing a force that could easily make this carefree excursion into something of a more deadly nature. Worse, the excessively hot Italian fall was making him sweat like crazy and causing his armor to chafe his skin. All the accolade and honors, and perhaps even promotions, that his participation might bring him paled in comparison.

“Bunch of peasants,” spat a man sitting on horseback beside him. “They give their citizenry some weapons and suddenly they call themselves an army? Hah! They’ll run at the first fright from an armored charge, even behind those measly defenses!”

Otto looked over at the man beside him, the duke of Milan and ostensibly the commander, Adalberto, and scowled. He was one of the few Italian dukes remaining subservient to the imperial crown, but Otto didn’t think much of his martial abilities; he had a tendency to mask his lack of tactical understanding or logistical incompetence with bombastic claims regarding the merits of his breeding. It only made sense that he’d dismiss the force before them as nothing but rabble. Otto knew better. The Italian infantry formations were among the best trained in all of Europe. More importantly, a training regimen that focused on staying in tight formations in the face of mock cavalry charges made them particularly resilient to the massed lance charges favored by the Franks and Germans.

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Adalberto II of Milan was one of the few remaining Lombard lords that remained loyal to the emperor, but some say
this was more due to his own weakness and vices than anything else. Without the empire, he most likely would have been swallowed
up by nearby enterprising Italian entities.

“You do not give them enough credit, my lord,” he replied. “Did not these same ‘peasants’ beat the emperor’s armies but only thirty years ago?”

“Bah!” barked Adalberto, “Everyone knows of the incompetence of the von Nordheim emperors! You could hardly give credit to these Italians for that.” He looked over at Otto and said dismissively, “Besides, what do these Ligurians know of war? They’re merchants—more suitable in a counting house than out in the field!”

Otto looked out upon the enemy. Genoa was nominally still part of the empire and beholden to the crown, but the victories of the northern Italian states decades past had made that increasingly irrelevant. Now Doge Ugo Fieschi openly flaunted defiance, colluding with various other Italian lords and magnates and refusing its dues towards imperial coffers. This war was, on the surface, a minor confrontation over embargoes and taxes, but it was more about the empire reasserting itself in the area.

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Ugo of Genoa was a shrewd merchant who had used his diplomatic abilities to establish a power base on the Ligurian coast, while
maintaining friendships with surrounding Italian lords. However, his refusal to pay the imperial tithe would have repercussions for his reign.

“Right then,” began Adalberto, “We’ll charge and disperse their cavalry and then bring the brunt of our forces upon their massed infantry—simple.” With that, he pulled his stirrup, turned his horse, and ran down the lines signaling a forming of the ranks. Otto grimaced, though, at the thought that this might be the whole breadth of Albert’s tactical knowledge. It would be fine for attacking the Italian’s forward cavalry force, but such simple tactics would not work when going against the constructed defenses of the Ligurian infantry with their long spears and phalanx formation. Heaving a long sigh, Otto went over to the left flank to take charge of his own personal forces. Contrary to Adalberto’s belief that the tactics required were simple, Otto knew that the Italian cavalry, while not certainly a light force, favored maneuverability and speed more so than their counterparts to the north and west. Diving his men into two ranks, he ordered the first line to remove some of their heavy armaments to lighten the load and speed up in case of an attempt at a quick withdrawal by the Italian cavalry. This was not needed for the second line and thus they could retain their armaments and simply reinforce the first line once it had made contact with the enemy.

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The typical German knight and infantryman from around the 11th to mid-12th centuries. The modern full shining armor we think of
today when discussing the medieval ages is a far cry from the actuality.

At a general signal given by Adalberto, the lines moved forward, starting out with a slow gate that quickly turned into a fast gallop. The German cavalry, with the infantry advancing slowly farther back behind it, sped on towards the Ligurians. Otto felt exhilaration, not only from the soothing cold wind flying into his face, but also from the thought that finally he’d be able to let out some of the annoyance he had felt all throughout the campaign. The figures in front of them grew larger and larger until suddenly Otto was face to face with a Ligurian knight and then crashing and sounds of frightened horses formed a cacophony all around. Some of the Ligurians had dismounted, hoping to gain better leverage against a more awkward opponent on horseback. Otto hacked and thrust towards the enemy with his sword while keeping his shield close to his face. The perpetual rhythm of it all created a constant pounding sensation, physically and mentally. The cried of exertion and screams of pain created a chaotic, surreal environment that was hard to make sense of. However, slowly the Ligurians were pushed back, slowly did the imperial troops push forward. Before long, the weaker Italian cavalry was melting away, fleeing before the onslaught and making off past their own infantry down in the direction of Monferatto. Otto would have liked to have pursued, but the Ligurian infantry presented a sturdy obstacle to any attempt to do so.

Otto was amazed. It had felt too easy. Especially since the Italians had most likely been expecting it; yet, they had melted away in a supposed broken retreat almost as soon as the fighting had begun. Admittedly, the imperial cavaly had meted out a good amount of damage as a large number of dead and wounded too incapacitated to fight remained on site. “Milites to me!” yelled Otto. Regrouping his cavalry, Otto ordered the infantry to press on and pressure the Italian infantry formations. Something felt wrong about the Italian cavalry’s rout and Otto felt the need to hold it back in reserve in case they were to regroup and attack one more. He didn’t want to expose his rear while the imperial Infantry pressed onwards. Surely, Adalberto would sense the contrived nature of the Italian cavalry’s and do the same.

He looked over towards the right side of the battlefield and cursed. “What the hell is he thinking?” Otto yelled. Adalberto’s cavalry was charging the Liguran infantry formation! Not only was it excessively stupid as a tactic in and of itself due to the effective of tight, spear formations in breaking a charge, but he was also leaving his flanks and rear completely exposed if the Ligurian cavalry were to reappear. Nervous minutes went by with the Adalberto’s cavalry making no indent into the massed Ligurian formations, eventually the infantry was moving forward and as they began to crash into the Lugurian ranks, Adalberto’s cavalry dismounted, leaving their horses under guard and in the hands of squires, and themselves charged into the fray. With that seemingly obvious change in tactics, the imperial troops slowly began to push into the massed Ligurian ranks.

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Adalberto's charge into the massed ranks of Ligurians behind defenses is stated by some authorities in military history to be the
most futile and pointless charges in history. Otto certainly agreed. In the bottom-left of the picture is what a Ligurian phalanx looked
like, while on the right is a typical German cavalry formation.

Waiting a little while long with his cavalry in reserve, Otto began to grow impatient and was almost tempted to join the fray there in then, but prudence held him back. He positioned his cavalry near the center so he could quickly respond to any situation, as Adalberto had left himself open. Suddenly, cavalry burst forth from the woods on the right, precipitously close to Adalbert’s forces. They had been hoping to lure the imperial forces into a false sense of comfort by giving way and undoubtedly would have been able to hit their rear unimpeded had it not been for Otto’s sensible thinking. He quickly ordered his reserve forces to once again charge at and fight off the Lugurian cavalry before it good progress into Adalbert’s ranks. While his cavalry force was now outnumbered, they could still more than make up for that with their heavier armor and more lethal weapons. The Ligurians had been banking on the element of surprise and could not expect to hold in the face of a massed charge, bloodied as they already were. Again, Otto felt the thrill of battle; again he led from the front, urging his men to push onwards. This time the result was more thorough with the lighter Ligurian cavalry decimated and sent fleeing in a much more disorganized fashion. Otto was satisfied that they would not be returning anytime soon.

Bring his forces back toward the left flank, he had his mean dismount, as a charge on a phalanx was not a fruitful enterprise, so that they could join up with the infantry forces already engaged. Working his way to the front, Otto batted away the enemy spears and waded deep into the heart of the enemy, creating a gap in the defenses through sheer will alone. Men were slipping and sliding all around as the blood flowed and Otto gave himself entirely over to the thrill of battle. It felt good to kill, to thrust, to break, to glory over the corpse or a successful conquest. His veins burned and his breath grew ragged, but Otto pushed onwards with his men close behind. He did not know how Adalberto fared, but his only thoughts were onwards, inwards, through the lines of the Ligurians. And then he saw it—the carrocio the battle standard that so many Italian cities carried with them into battle. Much like the Roman eagle had been to the legions that carried them, the carrocio acted as a focal point around which the Italians would rally, as it carried the honor of their city and their citizens. If he could take that, it would surely break their spirits!

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Otto's wroth nature lent great strength to his battle lust, though his martial capabilities allowed him to think clearly when
needed a midst the heat of battle.

“To their standard! The first man to grab the standard shall drink well from my purse tonight!” he yelled; and his men around him roared their affirmation and lustful craving to be the one to capture it as they poured forward. The Ligurians were loath to give an inch, but step by step they were pushed backward until the fighting was around the carrocio itself. They had placed their best men around it and they refused to disappoint, continually pushing back any imperial solider that tried to step forward until Otto himself lunged forward, using his armor and weight to barrel into the mass, throwing off their balance and allowing more to rush in from behind. He hacked, and hacked, and hacked more until he was covered in gore; and before any other man could do so, he rushed up onto the cart bearing the symbol of Genoa, and took old of the banner, crying out with a victorious scream.

At that, the Ligurian spirit quickly faded, causing their men to either thrown down their weapons in surrender or run away in retreat only to be mopped up later. The men hailed Otto with loud cries of adulation! This had been his victory! He had pushed forward, had thrown off the second flanking attempt by the Ligurian cavalry, and captured their standard. This was his night! The battle would probably go down in history books among scholars as a minor skirmish, but it was his! It was the first step that Otto needed if he were to get anywhere regarding his aspirations in the empire. Recognition from the imperial court was bound to come after the men retold his role in today’s victory. He might very well have saved the war effort from foundering before it had even begun. Otto, ever proud, could not help but to smile with glee at the potential accolades to come.

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The victory and Otto's role in it gave him potentially the respect and fame he needed to gain the influence necessary
for his own goals.

To be continued...
 
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