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Prelude
The riders thundered through the dark empty streets of Marienburg, the sounds of hooves muffled by the snow covering the cobblestones with a thick soft layer. Their faces were prudently hidden under woolen hoods, yet their allegiance was clearly visible, white mantles with black crosses flowing on the cold wind, lending the strangers an eerie appearance akin to large stark-white birds of prey. Even as they passed, the windows slammed shut and the doors were barred in houses, huts and hovels. The Duke of Livonia had not been dead for more than a few days, yet the city was already aware of the change that his passing had brought.
The Knights were back.
Deep in the bowels of the Marienburg Castle a ceremony has already begun, twenty and four hooded commanders and high officials gathered to renew their vows; to elect the new Grand Master; and to restore the Order. As the words of their low chant, its words never known to more than 50 men alive, slowly died out replaced by silence, each of them took a turn to cast a ball, white or black, into a velvet bag to indicate their support or opposition to the new leader.
The Grand Master was elected.
In the dark and dank dungeons of the Marienburg Castle, the first drop of acid fell onto living flesh, followed by another and another. The terrible scream of pain echoed through the empty corridors, as the caustic liquid bit its way into tender tissue, disfiguring and twisting as it passed. There was a moment of soothing silence, but then the voice returned. It was not screaming this time, though. It was laughing. Laughing out loud.
The Demon of the Past was reborn.
The riders thundered through the dark empty streets of Marienburg, the sounds of hooves muffled by the snow covering the cobblestones with a thick soft layer. Their faces were prudently hidden under woolen hoods, yet their allegiance was clearly visible, white mantles with black crosses flowing on the cold wind, lending the strangers an eerie appearance akin to large stark-white birds of prey. Even as they passed, the windows slammed shut and the doors were barred in houses, huts and hovels. The Duke of Livonia had not been dead for more than a few days, yet the city was already aware of the change that his passing had brought.
The Knights were back.
Deep in the bowels of the Marienburg Castle a ceremony has already begun, twenty and four hooded commanders and high officials gathered to renew their vows; to elect the new Grand Master; and to restore the Order. As the words of their low chant, its words never known to more than 50 men alive, slowly died out replaced by silence, each of them took a turn to cast a ball, white or black, into a velvet bag to indicate their support or opposition to the new leader.
The Grand Master was elected.
In the dark and dank dungeons of the Marienburg Castle, the first drop of acid fell onto living flesh, followed by another and another. The terrible scream of pain echoed through the empty corridors, as the caustic liquid bit its way into tender tissue, disfiguring and twisting as it passed. There was a moment of soothing silence, but then the voice returned. It was not screaming this time, though. It was laughing. Laughing out loud.
The Demon of the Past was reborn.
“Mother!” Voice of Konrad von Erlichshausen, Prince of the Holy Roman Empire and one of the youngest Grand Masters in the history of the Teutonic Order, echoed through the hall of the Marienburg Castle, as he raised from his seat to great the unexpected visitor. The woman was dressed in ecclesiastical vestments of the abbess, her once beautiful face, now showing marks of an old age, framed with a black, velvet coif.
“*Reverend* Mother” She hissed, holding out her gloved hand, as her son approached to greet her. “You *will* show me proper respect in public. Don’t forget whom do you owe your position.” Her voice lowered to a whisper as he kneeled down obediently to kiss her hand. “The Priory is pleased with your ascension… for now. Yet it is quickly disappointed with failures. You must always remember that!”
“To what do I owe this honor, Reverend Mother?” Konrad rose, accepting the rebuke humbly.
“I want you to meet someone, my son.” She replied, heading towards a sculpted chair, the rustle of her rich vestments on the marble floor reminding the young Grand Master of the sound of slithering serpents. “Someone valuable to our cause…”
Konrad’s visage twisted in the simultaneous scowl of disgust and understanding. “Him…” He spat the word as it was a curse. “For God’s sake, Mother! Why do we choose to associate with him? That man is blinded by hatred, filled with nothing but a thirst for vengeance…”
The abbess chose to ignore the overly familiar tone of her son this time. “And this makes him an useful and easily manipulated tool…” She replied calmly. “A tool the Priory has examined well and will never allow it to outlast its usefulness…”
“The Priory! Always the Priory! They can just go…”
His mother’s wrathful gaze piercing Konrad like a pair of sharp stilettos made him realize he had gone too far. “It will be as you wish, Reverend Mother.” He said quickly, dropping into a low bow.
A sound of someone clearing his throat, coming from the other end of the hall, prevented the abbess from chastising her unruly son. If the stranger has heard anything from the preceding conversation, nothing indicated this in any way. His obese form was dressed from head to toe in purple robes of a Cardinal, a tight skull cap joining seamlessly with his cassock, as if made of a single piece of material. Yet none of this distinguished him more than a mask made of polished silver, covering almost his entire face, leaving but a chin and lips twisted in a sardonic smile. If anyone cared to remove the mask, he would have found a monstrously mutilated face, a morass of dead and burned tissue, with only a pair of inquisitive, piercing eyes betraying the man to be alive.
“Cardinal…Otto…” The abbess rose from her seat, accepting a bow from the man with a polite smile, never reaching her eyes. “It is a pleasure to see you in good form after this little… precaution we were forced to require…”
“Grande Maitresse…” Cardinal replied with a smile, quickly however replaced by a grimace of pain, the nerves of his face apparently still recovering from the horrible operation. “A man of my age doesn’t have many plans ahead of him… and none of them requires a pretty face.”
“The Priory is pleased to have Your Eminence in its service again…”
“And I will not fail, this time, Reverend Mother.” A sudden, stern look appeared on the visible part of Cardinal’s face. “I swear by my soul.”
“Oh, but you didn’t fail the last time either, Cardinal.” The abbess allowed herself a light chuckle, seeing the Cardinal’s expression change to disbelief.
“But… but the Beast returned to Babylon…”
This time it was the Reverend Mother’s laud laughter that echoed through the castle hall. “Watch and learn, my son…” She turned to the Grand Master. “For it is why we need the Priory… to perceive things we, mere pawns on the chessboard of Europe, can never comprehend… The Beast may have returned to Babylon, but greatly weakened, its worldly domain diminished, given to our accomplice, the Lion of St. Mark… Even though we ruled in Babylon for only a day, it was enough to show the Beast that it is not invincible… And that was only the first part of vengeance for the Great Betrayal…” She paused, observing the understanding coming to the faces of both men.
“With the second part our success was, if possible, even greater. The scion of the accursed Capet lineage lies humiliated and broken, chained to his worthless crown like the damned Prometheus, while the two-headed eagle, its heads named Albion and Lotharingia, tear at his helpless liver. The Empire is in turmoil, the legacy of the usurper and bastard grandson of Charles Martel crumbling to dust in the hands of a fool. The power of Rex Mundi wavers, while the might of the Order increases with each passing day, our ranks swelled with recruits, enflamed by the fires of a crusade…”
The abbess paused again, allowing her words to sink in. “But I have not summoned Your Eminence to debate history. We are here to plan the task lying ahead of us…”
“*Reverend* Mother” She hissed, holding out her gloved hand, as her son approached to greet her. “You *will* show me proper respect in public. Don’t forget whom do you owe your position.” Her voice lowered to a whisper as he kneeled down obediently to kiss her hand. “The Priory is pleased with your ascension… for now. Yet it is quickly disappointed with failures. You must always remember that!”
“To what do I owe this honor, Reverend Mother?” Konrad rose, accepting the rebuke humbly.
“I want you to meet someone, my son.” She replied, heading towards a sculpted chair, the rustle of her rich vestments on the marble floor reminding the young Grand Master of the sound of slithering serpents. “Someone valuable to our cause…”
Konrad’s visage twisted in the simultaneous scowl of disgust and understanding. “Him…” He spat the word as it was a curse. “For God’s sake, Mother! Why do we choose to associate with him? That man is blinded by hatred, filled with nothing but a thirst for vengeance…”
The abbess chose to ignore the overly familiar tone of her son this time. “And this makes him an useful and easily manipulated tool…” She replied calmly. “A tool the Priory has examined well and will never allow it to outlast its usefulness…”
“The Priory! Always the Priory! They can just go…”
His mother’s wrathful gaze piercing Konrad like a pair of sharp stilettos made him realize he had gone too far. “It will be as you wish, Reverend Mother.” He said quickly, dropping into a low bow.
A sound of someone clearing his throat, coming from the other end of the hall, prevented the abbess from chastising her unruly son. If the stranger has heard anything from the preceding conversation, nothing indicated this in any way. His obese form was dressed from head to toe in purple robes of a Cardinal, a tight skull cap joining seamlessly with his cassock, as if made of a single piece of material. Yet none of this distinguished him more than a mask made of polished silver, covering almost his entire face, leaving but a chin and lips twisted in a sardonic smile. If anyone cared to remove the mask, he would have found a monstrously mutilated face, a morass of dead and burned tissue, with only a pair of inquisitive, piercing eyes betraying the man to be alive.
“Cardinal…Otto…” The abbess rose from her seat, accepting a bow from the man with a polite smile, never reaching her eyes. “It is a pleasure to see you in good form after this little… precaution we were forced to require…”
“Grande Maitresse…” Cardinal replied with a smile, quickly however replaced by a grimace of pain, the nerves of his face apparently still recovering from the horrible operation. “A man of my age doesn’t have many plans ahead of him… and none of them requires a pretty face.”
“The Priory is pleased to have Your Eminence in its service again…”
“And I will not fail, this time, Reverend Mother.” A sudden, stern look appeared on the visible part of Cardinal’s face. “I swear by my soul.”
“Oh, but you didn’t fail the last time either, Cardinal.” The abbess allowed herself a light chuckle, seeing the Cardinal’s expression change to disbelief.
“But… but the Beast returned to Babylon…”
This time it was the Reverend Mother’s laud laughter that echoed through the castle hall. “Watch and learn, my son…” She turned to the Grand Master. “For it is why we need the Priory… to perceive things we, mere pawns on the chessboard of Europe, can never comprehend… The Beast may have returned to Babylon, but greatly weakened, its worldly domain diminished, given to our accomplice, the Lion of St. Mark… Even though we ruled in Babylon for only a day, it was enough to show the Beast that it is not invincible… And that was only the first part of vengeance for the Great Betrayal…” She paused, observing the understanding coming to the faces of both men.
“With the second part our success was, if possible, even greater. The scion of the accursed Capet lineage lies humiliated and broken, chained to his worthless crown like the damned Prometheus, while the two-headed eagle, its heads named Albion and Lotharingia, tear at his helpless liver. The Empire is in turmoil, the legacy of the usurper and bastard grandson of Charles Martel crumbling to dust in the hands of a fool. The power of Rex Mundi wavers, while the might of the Order increases with each passing day, our ranks swelled with recruits, enflamed by the fires of a crusade…”
The abbess paused again, allowing her words to sink in. “But I have not summoned Your Eminence to debate history. We are here to plan the task lying ahead of us…”
His Grace, Konrad von Erlichshausen, Grandmaster of the Teutonic Order,
News of the Glorious restitution of the Order has reached the Kingdom of Denmark. As you are aware, your Grace, Pax Scandia is no more and the world is en-flamed in war. The ways of the old have passed and we embark upon a new path which some will pass boldly, others with much trepidation, and others shall inevitably be trampled upon. With concerns weighing heavily upon Princes in differing realms, I wish to invite the Order to send a representative to Kronborg for a Council of the Baltic. In this council we will discuss the economic as well as political situations unique to those states that share the Baltic.
By his own hand at Kronborg,
Christoffer III
News of the Glorious restitution of the Order has reached the Kingdom of Denmark. As you are aware, your Grace, Pax Scandia is no more and the world is en-flamed in war. The ways of the old have passed and we embark upon a new path which some will pass boldly, others with much trepidation, and others shall inevitably be trampled upon. With concerns weighing heavily upon Princes in differing realms, I wish to invite the Order to send a representative to Kronborg for a Council of the Baltic. In this council we will discuss the economic as well as political situations unique to those states that share the Baltic.
By his own hand at Kronborg,
Christoffer III
Matthias und Otton von Guildercrantz enter the Ducal chamber.
Matthias bows before the Duke and starts to speak.
"Your Grace, First of all we wish to congratulate you and order to come back to power in Livonia and not only there..."
Otton takes the floor with open smile.
"...as I heard that brave knights with black crosses appeared again in Marienburg. Glory to the Order, glory to the brave knights..."
Matthias speaks.
"...whose only concern was always preservation of peace and upholding of Catcholic faith..."
"...with fire and sword if necessary." Otton laughts.
"But first and foremost with negotiations and diplamacy. Know that noble Grandmaster that House of the Greif was always friendly toward The Order and..."
"...Kazimierz V, father of Joachim of the Greif, fought side by side with you on the fields of Tannenberg."
"Our overlord wish to continiue with this tradition and sends you words of greetings."
"However, your not-so-loyal vassals Duchy of Prussia question our friendship..."
"Your Grace, Pommerania and Teutonic Order were always friends that is why we ask you to rebuke your vassal and convince to give Danzig to its rightful owners..."
"...otherwise Joachim of the Greif will have to act against them with all our might and determination."
"Oh stop that Otton, you always speak about violance and war and while we can do everthing by means of peace. Please Grand Master, prove your friendship to Pommerania as we always supported you and influance your stubborn vassal."
"Now, with your permission, we wish to ask you for private audience in order to dicuss some other important matters."
Matthias bows before the Duke and starts to speak.
"Your Grace, First of all we wish to congratulate you and order to come back to power in Livonia and not only there..."
Otton takes the floor with open smile.
"...as I heard that brave knights with black crosses appeared again in Marienburg. Glory to the Order, glory to the brave knights..."
Matthias speaks.
"...whose only concern was always preservation of peace and upholding of Catcholic faith..."
"...with fire and sword if necessary." Otton laughts.
"But first and foremost with negotiations and diplamacy. Know that noble Grandmaster that House of the Greif was always friendly toward The Order and..."
"...Kazimierz V, father of Joachim of the Greif, fought side by side with you on the fields of Tannenberg."
"Our overlord wish to continiue with this tradition and sends you words of greetings."
"However, your not-so-loyal vassals Duchy of Prussia question our friendship..."
"Your Grace, Pommerania and Teutonic Order were always friends that is why we ask you to rebuke your vassal and convince to give Danzig to its rightful owners..."
"...otherwise Joachim of the Greif will have to act against them with all our might and determination."
"Oh stop that Otton, you always speak about violance and war and while we can do everthing by means of peace. Please Grand Master, prove your friendship to Pommerania as we always supported you and influance your stubborn vassal."
"Now, with your permission, we wish to ask you for private audience in order to dicuss some other important matters."
A letter arrives from Holstein to Court of the Teutonic Order:
"Your Grace,
I want to invite you to my coronation that will take place in Kiel this month (on Sunday by RT). It will be very kindly from your side if you or your noble representative visited it.
With respect,
Adolf VIII von Holstein-Rensburg"
"Your Grace,
I want to invite you to my coronation that will take place in Kiel this month (on Sunday by RT). It will be very kindly from your side if you or your noble representative visited it.
With respect,
Adolf VIII von Holstein-Rensburg"
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