KoM said:
The CK estimate of manpower doesn't take into account that a Roman soldier is worth three barbarian warriors.
Well the reason I left OY in the 1v1 war with you when I peaced with the coalition was that I read you strength as 120.000 and OY's at 110.000 (my numbers have so far seemed to include mobilized troops, since I've never seen any change when players mobilize) , and judged he had an even chance at wining with your troops spread out and him holding the City. Or at least getting a white peace/getting the big boys to save him. But yes, apparently I forgot to account for the martial ineptness of tribal warriors, next time he takes Constantinople I'm bloody garrisoning it myself!
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The Fatimid Caliphate:
In the shadows of those who came before them.
The decades after Calipha Afzal ordered the execution of his heir apparent Emir Sayyid from the other side of the grave had been marked by strife and calamity amongst the factions of the Caliphate. In the Ummah there had been endless squabbling and politiking over who to elect as his replacement, all the Fatimid branches having equal claim to the pure bloodline of the Prophet. Commanders had drawn their banners to themselves, the great tradehouses had failed to coordinate and train their fleets, lacking oversight the Mullahs started issuing fatwas at their own whim, important posts became vanity titles bereft of responsibility, fortifications were neglected as their lords traveled to Alexandria to secure their interests. A long string of Caliphas had been elected, none able to unite the farflung interests of the Caliphate or maintain the authority of the Throne of Pharos.
It was not strange then when the Emperors of East and West, Shas of Persia and the accursed Waldemarite barbarians descended upon the Caliphate they found not the massed spear of disciplined city levies, and sail of the combined grand battlefleets of yore to greet them. As had been the case with all previous failed Crusades. But disparate fiefdoms vying for power and feudal rights, unable to unite under central command.
The massive blow to the Caliphates power that followed was a sobering loss to the entitled lords Fatimid. Many retreated into solitude and retrenchment, shocked by the defeat of their mighty realm, others brazenly campaigned for vengeance and war.
Any other Empire would have collapsed under such a defeat, but the Caliphate was not such an Empire. Notably none of the events that transpired had effected the insidious powers residing in Beirut, and the Dane-King of Jerusalem and Egypt soon found that their power stretched no farther than their sword.
In the meantime Ayesha, Lord Fatimid of Algiers, was elected Calipha by the remaining peers in Damascus. He is not much better remembered by the history books than the other 3 short lived Caliphas who ruled after Afzal, but it was he who managed to keep the Fatimids united. It was he who he held the realm from pointless infighting and blame games. But most importantly, it was he who through great expense maintained the well-trained and still unbroken Sayeedi Guard and funded the Engineers Guild's move to Beirut after their ouster from their spiritual home of Baalbek.
It is however his successor, the Lord Fatimid of Arabia, Abdul-Gawfur, who is remembered. For he was a calculating man, a scholar. And unlike most the other Fatimids not given to rash and proud action. Where many others demanded a swift end to the crusader state in their midst he patiently waited for the Danes to sail home, and let the Hassassins nibble away at their patrols and poison their stores. A full decade was spent pushing them ever backwards, until all of Egypt and Jerusalem was in effect held by the Caliphate. Time also spent allowing resentment, revanch- and revivalism grow. After all the banners had still been largely intact and in the field at the time of the Caliphates surrender to the Dane-king, and the Calipha was not slow in pointing out targets for the populist anger and zeal that swept the realm. Pointedly any man of stature or position (especially meddlesome non-arab 'nobles' such as the Ayyubs) who had voiced objection of the Fatimid lines propensity for unilaterally revoking land titles or commands and in their stead appointing men of their own bloodline (in the name of Allah and his Prophet of course) soon found their heads on the traditional spiking grounds outside one of the Caliphas palaces.
It was then that in the dawning of the year 626 after the Prophet entered Medina (or 1229 since the birth of the Prophet Isa) that Calipha Abdul had gathered the realm behind him, massed the Guard in Cairo and Damascus and marched on the Crusader Kingdom.
A later fanciful depiction of the Crusaders surrender, in reality no pardon was given to any European found in the two cities...
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The mighty halls of the Fortified Lighthouse-Palace of Pharos. Rugged men bearing the mighty hammer and cog of the Engineers Guild chisel away at the foundations of new pillars to support the ancient Tower. Light shines in where the massive siege machines smashed through the defenses, here and there are stains of blood and battle damage yet to be cleaned up. Radhi, Lord Fatimid of Diametta and first amongst equals, casts a glance at the basketlike elevating-construct the cogs had machinated before opting for the more reassuring stairs.
It was a long climb to the 25th floor, more akin to reaching the top of a mountain than something man-made, winding through adorned halls and past the bureaucracy and court necessary for empire. There was need for catching his breath after reaching the outer hall of the Throne room. The veterans standing guard hardly seemed to notice him, but he could feel the eyes of the massive statues of Calipha Ala'i and Afzal upon him. As if he was not a worthy descendant, that a true Fatimid would not be seen panting like a fat merchant, that a true Fatimid would wear the golden armour of the Guard and not fine embroidered silk. They would not have let their realm grow complacent or have the court intrigue run rife. He waved the thoughts away and straightened himself, now was not the time for lamentations. The Master of Ceremony slammed his staff in the ground twice as he entered, he looked over at the Banner Guards along the wall as his many titles were read aloud. At intervals lay banners on the ground, their lands lost and their remaining number absorbed amongst the ranks of others.
It stung in Radhi's heart, Mosul, Antioch, Tigris and Euphrates, Tripoli, Baalbek, yes. But the deepest cut were all the banners of Sicily. The Jewel of the Sea. A full section along the wall was simply gone, including the second Academy of War instituted by
Afzal himself, the western seat of the Engineers Guild likewise, and all the ports and ships amongst them. Under the old Caliphas it's Trade Guilds had been so
powerful they could unilaterally seize the island of Sardinia without repercussion. At their center laid the Banner of Palermo, adorned with a crown of some long-gone vanquished Croat king and the personal heraldry of the al-Akbarzibs*, an old noble family who had once ruled Sevilla. It was abu Bakr, last of that line, who when all sense of order in the Caliphate ranks was faltering had marshalled the last of the fleet and smashed his way through the Imperial blockade and landed in Linguria. It was at least heartening that he had not had to suffer the surrender of his beloved island, or the treaty of naval cooperatin struck with the Empire, having fallen in heroic battle in the failed attempt to storm the Imperial capital of Milan.
The sound of iron meeting stone once more brought him back to the present. The council assembled before him looked up in anticipation.