Cyprus My Love

[Orjasmo]

TAKE ME TO THE CHAPTER LIST!

An AAR where all my stuff was taken in advance, so fear the blighted save corruption no more!

I played as Cyprus, but this is not at all going to be about my game as Cyprus... no, no, no. It's going to be a story about the wonderful de Lusignan family, starting in Cyprus at the beginning of the 13th century.
The year is 1212, Cyprus is a free and independent state and I shall ever endeavor tell the tale in a way that I've never done before.

Quick FAQ:

What do you mean by story?
I mean with characters, and plot, and motivations, and emotions. All the good stuff that goes in books. It also means that sometimes I do things that can't be done in game for the sake of the story.

What sort of things that can't be done in game?
In game terms? Cheating. Playing as Cyprus can and very rapidly becomes incredibly boring if one doesn't spice it up a bit. As such, certain things happen that never would in game. Somethings also happen because... they happened that way.

Did you modify your game?
Yes! I used CK2+.

Are you using all the DLC?
Yes! Including Sunset Invasion. You may think that's bad now, but trust me... it gets wonderful.

How long will this take?
I have no clue. More than a month. I have all the pictures, but writing stories takes time. So I'll balance things out to try and keep pumping these out.

Will you finish?
It sucks to hear it straight up, but maybe not. This is a bit game and I have a lot of commitments. On top of that, every now and again my PC does weird things like wipe pictures (it's done it before). On top of that, it may just get boring and no one wants to read the work of a bored author. I hope I'll come out on the other side, but we'll have to wait and see. Que sera, sera.

Will you be porting this to EUIV?
Done and done. Messed around with the game a bit in EUIV. It's fun, but I won't guarantee a megacampaign. Writing style shifts between CK2 and EUIV, so if we make it that far, we'll see if I'm comfy with it.

Why Cyprus?
I thought it'd be a nice observation game. Boy was I wrong, your neighbors are agro.

What's with the title?
Just a little thing I came up with as part of a song. Like the name so I stuck with it.

What's the style going to be?
I'm not sure. It'll be character based, following certain around at important moments and introducing new ones as we go along. I'll try to stick only to the important stuff and build up to them.

Ready to have fun?
Only when you are.

 

[Orjasmo]

Chapter List:
I: An Introduction
II: Gained and Lost

 

[Orjasmo]

Chapter I: An Introduction

Hooves trampled the thick grass of the wooded hills of Northern Cyprus. The clinking of armor, the ruffling of men shifting their position on the saddle, the sounds of bellicose laughter echoing through the trees; they accompanied the new king as him and his party traveled through the thick of the brush in search of any prey to be found for the Christmas feast. Spears waved about, their points gleaming in the sun as if hungry for a target. At the party’s head sat a strong man, durable in stature and in face with a beard to match. Like the point of the spear he carried, his bare head gleamed with sweat from the heat. It was midday and not a solitary rodent was to be found. His face shone red and a grimace shot across it.“PUTAIN”, he cried out, his voice dissipating in the sweeping breeze of the hills. About his side, on the left, trotted up his chaplain, Guillaume de Malveisin; his face was stern but soft. He gave a smile when he looked at the king and, in a thick French accent, asked,
“Your Majesty, what seems to trouble you this fine afternoon? The Lord has given us a d ay that many throughout Christendom could only pray for. Why are you wrought with such anger with a gift such as this?”

The king went pale with these words, leaving only splotches of red on his cheeks. He stammered a bit, trying to get the words to come out, but, with a smile from Guillaume, managed to calm himself enough to speak.

“Your Excellency, I apologize to you and our Lord God, Blessed is He. I know that I should not be filled with such wroth on such a wonderful day, but my humors are offset by the simple fact that there is great trouble in the world and I have no means to meet it head on. The animals run from me when I go after them and flood the fields as I turn my back. As is such with the Muslim's to the south. I wish to ride against the heathen menace and retake the Holy Lands in the name of my cousin, the King of Jerusalem. Alas, I am but a small man in a large world, and it seems that no other amongst the kings of Christendom see my plight.”

“Your Majesty, your plight is just and your bravery in the face of the Muslim horde is legendary, but a good king does not look for war, he simply deals with it when it finds him”, warbled out the steward, Bishop Maurice of Agelen. His portly figure jiggled about on horseback and the poor animal seemed to strain under the weight. For a moment, the steward's words caused the king to take a moment to pause for contemplation. This moment was brief however, as a flash of fur in the grass, a good fifteen feet away, caused the king to dart off, leaving on Maurice to sigh with his fellow brother in faith.

Coasting farther behind, two other men were distracted from their conversation by the king’s whinnying steed as it reared up and galloped off through the trees to more open pastures. The two men smiled and chuckled under their breath. “He certainly has spirit.” Mentioned the fair haired, gaunt Mayor Guiges of Nikosia; his red robes of office draped over the sides of the horse and dragged on the ground, but he did not seem to notice. His compatriot let out an audible blast of bellicose laughter, his chain mail jingling with each breath.

“His bravery is understated. After this hunt, he’ll finally be recognized as the king that stood down the terrible scourge that are the pheasants of the Cypriote Isle!”

“Baron Antoine! I dare say that you do mock our king. I’ll have you know that that is treason.”

“Aye, tis, as Marshal, I shall send out my men to announce my arrest.” The mayor giggled at the thought. “I must ask though, why in the name of the Lord…” A shout of, “Marshal!”, came from Guillaume up front. “Mea culpa, father. Why in the name of the king are you wearing your Chancellory robes out to a hunt? Look, the drag on the ground! They will be fit only for a peasant by the end of this outing.”

A chuckle came from the Mayor as he looked down at the fraying fabric. “T’was the king’s decision, not mine. He said, in all honesty I might add for he is a very honest man, that it would look more proper should we come across any of the local population. Apparently the Byzantine’s, at their height, gladly let their robes drag for they could simply get replacements. It showed their wealth and our king wishes to show that we are no different than them.”

“My word! I do say that that is almost nearly wisdom, but I shall hold my tongue for I do not wish to be too presumptuous of his Majesty.”

A blast of laughter came from both the chancellor and from behind them. Another shout of “MARSHAL!” came from the chaplain only to get another “Mea culpa, father.” Mayor Guiges looked behind him to see an enormous man giggling to himself. A grin of pleasant surprise spread across his face and he shouted out, “Mayor Yves, come join us!” The man stopped giggling and waved his hand at the prospect, to which Antoine, who had turned to see Yves for his own eyes, replied,
“Yves! Come! I have a box of candies up here that aren’t going to eat themselves.”

Both Guiges and Antoine burst into laughter, which only intensified when Yves caught up with them. After a few moments, all three men were quiet again as their horses moved across the sparse hills.

“So tell us Yves,” started the Antoine, “what has you so upset that you mope and skulk in the shadows? Are you not happy for our new king?” Yves hissed at the words, as if to chase them away before they could have anything to do with him.

Under his breath he stated, “King Hugh is an incompetent fool. He is a self-righteous, belligerent, naïve idiot that is too brave to know the fear of God Himself.” This received a loud shout from Maurice, “SNAKE!” Antoine, not missing a beat, shouted in return, “Father! I daren’t say that you are too zealous.”

The steward’s head spun around to give the marshal a long and disapproving look before responding in turn,
“Antoine, there is a snake in the grass. Your opinions of Mayor Yves are your own; do not superimpose them onto me.”

Guiges and Antoine burst into laughter to the point of barely holding onto their horses. Yves, however, had clearly not taken the chaplain’s comments well. “What did he mean, keep your opinions to yourself?”, he asked with genuine query. Antoine and Guiges stared at each other in disbelief. Before Antoine could even open his mouth and raise his hand, Guiges began.

“How are you astute enough to understand what he was saying without actually understanding what he said? He was referring to the fact that you’re the new master of shadows in court,” he continued with no pause for an answer, “ such a title tends not to be one of those lauded by the church.”

A quizzical look crossed Yves’ face and, in a tone of great sadness and melancholy, asked, “How do you know I’m the new spymaster?”

Antoine started laughing but stopped it short to a cough when he noticed his friend’s gaze upon him, unwavering. “Yves, everyone knows. You walk around in black robes in the hottest land in Christendom since the deserts of Jerusalem, you stay in the shadows as if attempting to hide, you almost constantly look like you’re plotting and planning. You’re probably the worst spymaster since Adam ate of the apple and declared a nearby boulder his spymaster.”

In shock, Yves choked back tears, spun his horse around and galloped back to the castle with wails of anguish following him there. Antoine looked at his compatriot and sighed. “I’d laugh but it’s not even funny.” Up front, the king appeared over the hill and Maurice called out to him, “Has your Majesty found good game?” He nodded vigorously and signaled for the party to come to him. With wary sighs of resignation, they all galloped off to follow the king.

 

[Orjasmo]

Chapter II: Gained and Lost

A strange level of quiet overtook the castle. Deep within it, through the seemingly endless corridors wandered King Hugh de Lusignan. The day was bright and filled with a joyous air. After a week of thunderstorms and showers, the clouds had broken and once again the sun's rays shone. Hugh's mood had been low throughout the week and his days overloaded with work. It was, in his mind, a Godly blessing for his first day off to be one of such fine weather. Yet still, as he walked through an open corridor with fields of golden grass swaying about in the breeze on one side and the castle's flower garden on the other, he felt a certain emptiness. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he felt like he deserved more. Hugh was not a greedy man. He knew that he was rare for a man to be given the power and responsibility that he had at such a young age. As King of Cyprus at only eighteen, he had full control over his lands down to the baronies themselves. His wealth was plentiful and growing by the day thanks to the power of Constantinople being in the hands of the Catholic Church and the merchant's of Venice trading freely in his lands. He had a wife who made the queens of Europe throw fits of jealous rage when they couldn't imitate her styles. Even with all of this, there was something missing in his life.

He exited out into the garden to smell the fresh bloom. As he walked amongst the flowers, the insects buzzed around his head with noble deference and birds moved out of his way lest they inconvenience him. The scratch of a knife drawn from a scabbard, the swish as the knife parted the air and the gasp of a child; big blue eyes up at the king as his knife's point rested against the soft skin of the neck. Stunned by the realization that it was a child, Hugh drew back a bit only for the child to pounce forwards with an eager face. “Is that a real dagger?”, he asked so innocently, as if what had just happened was par the course for a meeting with the king. Normally anger would have coursed through Hugh's veins and he would have reprehended the boy with haste, but instead he kneeled down and brought the blade where the boy could examine it. Letting the sun's rays shine down onto the cold steel, he started, “Yes, it is. This dagger was made for me when I was about your age. The blade is made from the finest French iron, the hilt from Genoan gold and the pommel of gems found in the heart of Africa where the lions roam.” The boy gasped in disbelief. After a few moments he looked at Hugh with big eyes and asked, “Can I hold it?” The king chuckled a bit, he saw no reason not too and found himself enamored by the boy. With a scratch of his beard, he gave it over with a grin. The boy darted about, swinging the dagger through the air as if he were a master swordsman. Hugh chuckled to himself and continued smelling the flowers, lifting his head up only occasionally to make sure the boy hadn't run off.

He had just finished smelling the new roses, a rare breed that were colored pink, when he saw the young boy being accosted by one of the maids. She held the dagger in her hand and demanded to know where he had gotten it. The boy just stood there, staring at the ground and tight lipped. Hugh slunk around the bushes until he was standing behind the maid without her having seen him. With a quick dash, he snatched the dagger from her hand only to be promptly slapped across the face. When he opened his eyes, the maid was aghast and the boy had collapsed to the ground with laughter. “My lord....”, she staggered out with horrific disbelief. “My lady, it is of no consequence.” He then bent down and gave the boy back the dagger and said, “Now treat this well and be on your way.” The two bowed gracefully and trotted out of the garden, leaving the king to his thoughts. He continued to walk about, but now with the knowledge gained about what was missing in his life. He wanted a son.

Antoine walked amongst his fresh recruits. His disgust was flagrant over being placed in the position of teaching peasants. He knew the reason King Hugh had sent him here, but he also knew that it was far below his posting. The men fumbled to put on their armor, struggling with the mail to the point of collapsing to the ground. They struck their swords incorrectly so softly that it did nothing but blunt them or struck them so hard that they broke the blades. Worse still were the crews operating the siege machines. They joked about, resting in the pouches of the trebuchets and lazing about on the beams, tying knots in the roping. Already there was a knot the size and form of the Gordian knot. Sadness turned into fury upon this sight as Antoine charged up the the machine. Still the peasants did not notice him. So, with a swift slice comparable to Alexander himself, he cut through the knot, releasing the counter weight. The beam rocketed skywards and the pouched released its screaming inhabitants.

With a jolt, all the lazy peasants stood at attention, desperately trying to ignore the screams of terror as their compatriots fell back to the earth. Without a word, Antoine looked the men down and signaled them to reload the trebuchet. Hesitantly, they brought down the beam and tied it down again. Antoine inspected the roping and knotting; it was average at best but good work for peasants. He smiled a bit, thinking that his day might become a bit easier than he had anticipated, and waved his sword to order the loading. One of the bigger peasants headed over to the pile of boulders and lifted a nice and heavy one with ease. He swaggered his way over to the edge of the machine and placed it on a beam to rest before pushing it into the pouch. He let go of it for a second and suddenly it slipped off the beam and landed directly on Antoine's foot. The first few seconds of shock held him back long enough to simply stare at the man. Then, in an instant the pain set in. He was lifted up and pulled away screaming profanities and declaring the order of execution for the poor man before passing out.