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III - The lion's share
Rasid, 1250


THE LION OF NUBIA burst into the Palace courtyard. Two men hurried at once to tend to his horse.

“Where is my Father?” he roared as he dismounted.
“You father is in his bedroom,” a soldier said. “He is in very… poor… condition.”
“Take me there.”
There hurried through once-familiar corridors.
“I had the honor of serving under you at the battle of Suakin, Prince Muhammad. When we broke the kafir line at the River of Blood in a daring charge.”

THE LION OF NUBIA hardly need to be reminded of how he had broken the kafir line at the battle of Suakin. Begging and flattery around him would get worse now that he would be emir, he expected. What would it be once he was sultan?
Then he recognized the door they came to. It was wide open and the guard boggled at them.
“He is dead! The emir is dead.”

Muhammad pushed past him. Father was lying on a bed without sheets, eyes and mouth wide open. His brother Musa was kneeling by his side, folding back bundle of clothes around something golden.

“Brother,” he said, in a strange ton of voice. His entire demeanor was awkward, like that of a man standing up after sitting for hours.
“Father is dead.”
“Yes… Father.” He must be afraid, Muhammad realized. Afraid of what his younger brother would do as sultan. He needed not fear, though. THE LION OF NUBIA was fierce but not cruel. That small, balding man was no threat and he had his uses.
“I will confirm you in your lordship of Aydhab, he said. But for now we have a lot to arrange. Father…”
“Father designed me his heir. On his deathbed.”
What? That was really absurd. Ever since Scorpio had died, THE LION OF NUBIA had been his father’s favorite, and the nobles’, and the smallfolk’s. He had broken the kafir line at Suakin, saved the best of the army in the disaster at Dongola, taken Atbara and Abu Hamad by storm. He had survived a decade of bush wars in Nubia, where living was mistakes not made. Of course he would be the new Sultan.
“When you could not came of time, he said I should succeed him. As his body was failing.”
“Liar!”
“Several guards witnessed it. Then he sent them away, to give me his last insights.”

Muhammad stepped forward, and normally Musa would have shirked back, but he stood his ground, muscles tensed. There was something of Father in him, after all. Was it what Sultan Ali had seen in his lesser son, at the last of life?
“He might have said that, when his mind faded. You might have made him said that. Still I am the rightful heir.”
“You are the Lion of Nubia, no doubt. Do you not see? This is why father chose me.”
“What?” It made no sense. Some word trick.
“The real battle is fought in the South, and you must be the one fighting it. For the glory of our family. Down in Nubia is where we must build a kingdom before anything can come out of emirate in Egypt. And that kingdom is yours to build. Yours. The Lion of Nubia’s. That’s your share of power and glory. Mine… Taking care of mundane business in Rashid. Trying to bribe the Venetians kafirs away.”

It might be a trick, a lie. But then, Musa had only daughters, which left his younger brother a chance at succession. And it certainly was true that Muhammad could not at once command in Nubia and rule in Rasid. The distances were too enormous, the roads too bad.

He was aware of guards around them, four at least. How would they react, if he killed his brother? Somehow he knew it would be his last chance.
And he let it pass.


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So because I'm an idiot I bungled my succession and my second best son took the throne instead of the best. Heh, whatever.
 
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Act 2
Chapter 1


Emperor Bobbi II, simply deserved better. Within a very short period through right action and just decisions he not only brought the rebellious lords of England to heel, but began preparations to embark upon finalizing his Grandfather's Spanish Crusades. Outside of Middlesex he was personally overseeing training excursions for a new elite unit of English Pikes, when ships were sighted cutting a path through the river Thames. While his military attachés from Brittany and Ireland both counselled retreating to local fortifications to await reinforcements, Bobbi flatly refused. Ridding out on his favourite gelding he halted and hailed the closing ships who began disembarking a massive host of over seven thousand unkempt and agitated men. Seeking to parley, he rode across to them to demand their intentions and meaning behind landing on the Empire's shores. He never managed to ask, they simply cut off his head and mounted it on a pike. It has become a tradition for Shrewsberry men to die young.

Surprisingly only months before the foul incident caused by a host lead by John's descendants, two formerly unknown sons of Bobbi I had come to court. Presented and identified as legitimate, both had seemed to undertake zealous service in repairing the crown of their father and grandfather. One was given the Duchy of Kent, while the other the Duchy of Lancaster. Henry was one of these brothers. Much like Bobbi he seemed content to administer to his responsibilities never expecting the crown, as Bobbi was considered the fittest Englishman alive. When the rotten head of Bobbi showed up on the outskirts of London in front of the invading host it was Henry of Lancaster who rose to the occasion. Rallying a beleaguered force of four thousand he routed the cursed invaders and crucified them to a last man.
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Einion's famous last speech truly was prophetic in terms of the Shrewsberries. Life did turn in an unfathomable direction. Whereas Bobbi had been expected to be the savior of Britain, Henry proved an even more capable ruler. He set about expanding building projects and increasing the size of the army. Quick to laugh yet slow to seek counsel, the nation was unsure what he would do with his unexpected rule. Einion had pacified the countryside, and as legend had it sought his death in the frozen waste of the eastern steppes, so Britain seemed to be in a period of stability. Henry however had grander plans than even his grandfather. With the expansion of the army completed, he set sail with forces in surprising directions. First he took the full might of the English army to Norway. Long supposed to be an ally of the Shrewsberries, when Bob and Bobbi had been assassinated not even a letter of condolence had been received. Upon the British ships reaching their shore, the old King Tore of Norway made loud excuses for not answering his sworn treaty obligations. Henry listened, and with barely the hint of his head put the King in Chains. The entire Norwegian countryside was blanketed with British forces, their armies routed within days. Surrender followed quickly and upon asking for terms Henry declared that since Monarchy had been traitorous in Norway, it would now be a realm of God dedicated to the Ideals of Einion. Installing Prince Hakon, the only loyal Nord as King Bishop of Norway, Henry set sail for what everyone though would be English shores.

Instead war had already been declared against Portugal as well as other Iberian principalities. Deemed traitors to the Crusade against the Heathens, Henry had determined to bring their countries under proper stewardship. Portugal and a the primary Duchy of Aragon were conquered in short order. Not content with finishing there for the sake of Bob and Bobbi the Almohad's were put to the sword. Taking the Duchy of Marrakech as an increased bastion of British might separating Mali from their Muslim allies, Murcia was also seized by the loyal King of Aquitaine. Most in England thought this would be the enough Glory for Henry, as he had singlehandedly eclipsed all Englishmen in history save perhaps his grandfather. In fact not since Charles Martel at the Battle of Poitiers had a Christian man been so celebrated. The Teutonic Order promptly declared they would now forever be known in honour of the savior of Christendom. Briefly renaming themselves Henry's apostles, Henry deemed it too heretical and promptly had them named the Order of the Bob. Popular custom would call them Bobbies going forward. Alas the hand of greatness was not done resting upon Henry's broad shoulders; his previous accomplishments would pale in comparison to what he was about to do.

Prince Bishop Reginald of Northumberland
Successor to St Einion
Keeper of the British Scrolls
 
Ah, and now the Aiellos are proven to be Jews.

I suppose since this is all in-AAR it's irrelevant, but IIRC/AFAIK there were no Samaritans in Europe; they stayed in Muslim lands by their holy Mt. Gerizim, whereas you had Jewish communities in Europe going back to the Romans.
 
Ah, and now the Aiellos are proven to be Jews.

I suppose since this is all in-AAR it's irrelevant, but IIRC/AFAIK there were no Samaritans in Europe; they stayed in Muslim lands by their holy Mt. Gerizim, whereas you had Jewish communities in Europe going back to the Romans.

Your comment a couple of pages back was insightful; have an Internet point. I had the secret-Jews thing planned from the start, but didn't want to reveal it until I did so in the story.

Obviously, all the Samaritans in Europe hid successfully among the Christians. That's why you've never heard of them. :D
 
As with all things some are better at this than others.

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Your comment a couple of pages back was insightful; have an Internet point. I had the secret-Jews thing planned from the start, but didn't want to reveal it until I did so in the story.

Obviously, all the Samaritans in Europe hid successfully among the Christians. That's why you've never heard of them. :D

My powers of deduction work once again! And yeah, I guess the Samaritans must be really good at blending in :D
 
Mupdate for 8th of September 1265.

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  • More players are entering the big stage. Most notable is JacobGood who managed to take the Kingdom of Germany, suddenly becoming one of the strongest players in the game. Formerly tiny King Cruel/Zirotron have made a big leap from Count of Celle to King of Poland. Yami Yagari managed to take the throne of Hungary last session and is probably looking to gobble up the Balkans now.
  • With all these powerful players popping up in his neighborhood, Baronbowden (Britannia) is no longer looking overwhelmingly powerful. However, he has managed to leverage his power take large swaths of Spain, Morocco, and Scandinavia (that is not Denmark up there). Dragoon (Aquitaine) and JacobGood, still technically his vassals (not shown on the map), are expected to break free soon but Baronbowden been a benevolent ruler and maintains good relations with them.
  • Fivoin (Denmark) is now looking rather vulnerable, being sandwiched between the two biggest powers in the game. However, if he can grab Sweden he could very well be in a position to contest with Baronbowden for the rest of Scandinavia.
  • Tensions are sparking into open war between Christianity and Islam. The Catholic and Muslim players have been duking it out in the Holy Land most of the session over the future of the AI Kingdom of Jerusalem. However, news travel slowly and rarely all the way to Orthodox Russia, so my knowledge of these events are limited.
 
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Fivoin (Denmark) is now looking rather vulnerable, being sandwiched between the two biggest powers in the game. However, if he can grab Sweden he could very well be in a position to contest with Baronbowden for the rest of Scandinavia.

Fivoin will get zero sympathy from me until he changes his colour so he can be told from His Humongous Pinkosity.

Tensions are sparking into open war between Christianity and Islam. The Catholic and Muslim players have been duking it out in the Holy Land most of the session over the future of the AI Kingdom of Jerusalem.

Uh... we have? Why didn't anyone tell me? I've been crusading in Anatolia, it's right across the water from Jerusalem, and nobody invited me to their Muslim-bashing party? I am disappoint and sad.
 
The Taken Sacrifice

February 2nd, 1241
Chapel of the Aiello estate
Evening

If the truth were told, his son's face, in adulthood, had never been very handsome; the slightly-sunken cheeks, left bare by the fashionable beard, amplified the large nose, and the neatly plucked eyebrows only drew attention to the bags under the eyes. In repose it was even worse; with all the distracting charm gone, and no enlivening expression to make you forget about the mere body, all the flaws came to the fore. But Abramo did not see the face of the man of not quite forty; for he remembered the toddler who had woken in the night and been afraid of the dark, and had been comforted by his father's embrace. That toddler's face had been smooth and chubby, and beautiful with all the promise of the future; and Abramo clenched his jaw against tears.

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"Do you think it's enough, now, Abramo?" His wife's voice came smooth and bitter from behind him, and he turned gratefully away from where his son lay in state; better to think of something else, even if it was a quarrel.

"Enough? Enough of what?"

"Enough of service to your ambition. The sacrifice of a firstborn son is powerful magic; why, the Name Himself relented, and did not require it of your namesake. But your Isaac lies dead for the sake of your god."

Abramo flinched; the charge was unjust, but it struck at a raw nerve. Could he have acted differently, and if he had, could he have saved Isacco? It wasn't the custom, for two Doges in a row to come from one family; if he had not so obviously intended to break that longstanding rule, would his son be alive?

"Not by my hand!" he almost shouted. "I didn't know - I - if I'd known, I would have, would have..."

"Would you, indeed? If the Dandolo had made a threat beforehand, you would have ceased to campaign for Isacco's election? You would have backed down, and let another family take the Dogeship for a dozen years?"

Abramo had no answer; for in truth, he would have done no such thing. He would have increased his precautions, doubled the guards on Isacco - but if once he let it be known that a mere threat to kill his son would make him back off, how could he do anything whatever? But in the face of death, that cold calculation seemed worthless.

"The Dandolo are not the Name," he said instead.

"No," Teresa agreed, too readily. "But if you had known, not that the Dandolo would try to get with daggers what their gold and ancestors couldn't win, but that your ambition required the sacrifice of your firstborn - what then, Abramo? Would you have given it up?"

Abramo looked down, not from guilt, but so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes; after twenty years of marriage, she really thought so ill of him? But no - it was rage and grief that spoke.

"Yes, Teresa, I would have," he said. "You cannot trade your heart for your heart's desire."

"You have other sons, have you not? An heir and a spare, that's the saying, isn't it?"

"Am I a statue, with a stone heart, to treat my own flesh and blood thus? My son, Teresa! Not a counter in some game, expendable at need! And besides, Pietro..." He stopped, suddenly appalled at his own honesty; but there it was. The name "Pietro" came from some ancient word for "rock", he recalled; and began to wonder at his own success in naming his sons. Isaac, eldest son of Abraham, dead before his father; Pietro, the rock, slower than the average turtle. It was a terrible thing for a father to think, but if he'd been given a choice of sons to sacrifice - then Isacco would still live, and he would not even have thought very long about the decision.

Teresa's shoulders slumped, and the rage went out of her body; without it she looked grey and old. "Yes. I'm sorry, Abramo; I should not have accused you thus. I wanted - it was good to be angry. Better than -" she gestured at their son's corpse, and Abramo nodded.

"I understand." They stood in silence for a while.

"You were right to be angry," Abramo said at length. "It's said that Abraham was angry at the Name, in his heart; but he obeyed. But the Dandolo are not the Name; we needn't obey them." As he spoke, he felt a small spark of righteous anger in himself, lifting the grey depression ever so slightly.

"That's true," Teresa said, and he could see the same spark in her eyes, the slight lift in her shoulders as steel returned to her spine. Better to be angry than to grieve. "There were vendettas fought in this city, once; they stopped, the men of good family, because too much blood was spilled."

"We should remind them." Abramo walked to the door of the chapel, leaving the coffin behind, and looked out at the city. He felt better, now that there was something to do.

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And that's how I ended up assassinating seven rival patricians and executing an eighth. Nothing to do with making the election a few hundred ducats cheaper, no sir! (And even if it were, we'd be speaking of my ducats, not some kind of expendable game counters. What, is my heart made of stone?) Please note that I nobly resisted the temptation of the obvious "half-a-kilo of meat" call-out, at least in-character. I may be saving it for later, admittedly.

This week's session was somewhat unsuccessful for me. I won the Crusade for Tunis, then died; my heir Pietro, unfortunately, is pretty accurately described above. I was almost immediately faced with a faction rebellion that included my brother, whom I'd just made Duke of Tunis; thank you, brother mine. After putting that down I took Korto, in Zeta, mainly so the troops could stretch their legs a bit and get some fresh fruit on the way home; then I helped Blayne grab another Greek province. Finally we attacked Rum for Cibyrrhaeot; that turned out to be a mistake. Through a combination of bad scouting, an unexpected 9000-strong Muslim stack, and miscommunication between allies, I lost the army I sent to Anatolia; Baron's and Blayne's got away, but weren't strong enough to land again in the face of such opposition. I'm currently noodling about taking Veglia, while arranging allied troops for a renewed assault on Rum; losing the war would cost 1700 ducats, so it's worth hiring quite a few mercenaries to avoid that. It's just rather unfortunate that I also need my ducats for the next election.

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Venice and environs, 1265. Tunis and Kotor outlined in red. Note the allied army besieging Cilicia - AI Sicily is currently making the strongest contribution to the cause of the Cross. AI Sicily is going to be very surprised when our current alliance runs out.​
 
Little slow with this one, Another look at Spain for those Interested :p

Chronicle 4: Return to Sender​

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With his realm quiet, The Great Dragon defeated Richard finally retired to the affairs to ruling Aquitaine, A slow life and much a return to the one he had led before his Coronation by the Emperor in Westminster. Perhaps in this Richard found peace, or perhaps Satan had struck out in unholy revenge as not long after the King had settled into the affairs of running his state he passed in his sleep on an eerily cold night, some accounts say that the world itself almost seemed to come to a stop if only for a short moment, scholars have rejected such theory as heretical.

The Next Day Richard's eldest Son Peter left Aquitaine in the hands of his Brother and traveled north to London to be crowned by the Emperor himself.

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In England the Emperor Personally instructed Peter to prove his Loyalty to England and not his Wife, the Queen of Aquitaine and Portugal. While apprehensive at first the Young King accepted the Emperor's purposeful and demanded that his wife accept British Sovereignty, When she denied there was not choice but war, however short it was. As a reward for his Loyalty Peter was given the Command of a New Crusade, with the intention of breaking the Back of the Almohad Caliphate at any cost. Aquitaine was once again, going to war.

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To his disappointment however, Only Aquitaine answered the call. Peter would wait, and Gather the support he could, and wait, and wait. A Small garrison was send to secure an exposed port in North Africa but no opportunities presented themselves. Then Months later an offer came to him in Toulouse.

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The Cardinal of Clurrey, a British Loyalist wished to increase his standing within the faith and was asking for a substantial loan for his 'abbey'. In exchange for this Loan, The Cardinal would support renewed war in Iberia. The Bribe was paid, and the Cardinal returned the favor and gathered several loyal companies in the faith to fight alongside the Aquitaine Levy, they only asked for Gold to pay for their supplies.

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Peter then began to make preparations for war. Representatives from several Villages, arrived in the capital pledging food and grain but also concern that Such a war would leave them understaffed for the Harvest. As any good christian Ruler would, Peter blessed their crops with the Bow of House D'Mertagne to ease their fears. God Was on their side after all.

The War would rage on for Several Years. While there was initial success in Spain, the Almohads quickly were gathering an Army of Slaves to reinforce thier strength. The Sultan of Mali was also reported to be sending a second Army with the Intent to Join the Almohad. When Peter attempted to separate the armies, He found the Almohads entrenched and was forced to retreat, a loss that cost him the strength needed to secure spain for several years.

The Emperor himself would intervene with a Legion of Volunteers from England, They too were quickly overwhelmed in the south, Isolated and alone. The Emperor not willing to tolerate such an insult deployed several armies into the region and sent the Moors back, seizing the Coast of Morocco as tribute.

The Almohads however were not yet beaten and continued to gather strength where they could, The Bektashi order as well as several Emirs from across Africa sent support. When Peter found the Vulnerable Volunteers and Almohad leadership camped outside Cordoba he ordered an attack.


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This Time Peter had defered command to his more competant Generals. The Almohad's allies were competent and Veteran commanders. They Reacted Quickly to Outriders from Sevilla and set up defensive positions behind a river on several hills. The Outriders however merely were to force the Almohad to turn and give fight and prevent further retreat. When the Main host arrived the battle had truly begun.

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The Almohads had previously been outnumbered by Crusading armies and resoundingly defeated them, In Marraketch, Tangiers and Fez Decades or Years beforehand and this battle was treated no differently. The Moors fortified the river and let the Crusaders come to them. The Crusaders at first attacked head on, taking heavy losses. The Almohad closed on the middle Flank and turned it into a Killing field. Only then was the trap sprung. The Center folded and when the Almohad gave chase back across the river to shatter the crusaders the Flanks who had better luck folded in and British longbows rained down on the River turning it a Crimson Red for Miles. The Almohad were trapped in the Rivers with British Pikemen Lining the Shorelines and Archers raining hell from above. The Battle was not without Casualties however.

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Peter had been rendered comatose from his wounds in Cordoba and was brought back to Granada for the Duration of the War. Many feared the worst. His Generals continued his world in the field and quickly seized the Province of Murcia. With Peter unavailable the Sultan took the first chance he had to offer Peace and a Bounty of gold to the Crusaders. The Crusaders, leaderless and tired from years of warfare accepted the Meager peace deal and secured Murcia for the Empire. Some of the More zealous Crusaders set sail for Anatolia to assist the Republic of Venice in their own crusade against the Turk.

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Now the World Waited. Would Peter Survive? While Peter had two strong Sons they were yet untested and inexperienced. Further Still the Danton Dynasty had seized the Holy Roman Empire and delivered the the German Pretender's head to London. France, Infuriated at the disregard for the Balance of Power and Faith cut ties with the British Empire and Declared war, prompting the British to do the same, Starting a Conflict many expected to last over a Hundred years. Britain needed a true knight to defend her, and the Lord of Aquitaine could only drool, and groan, hundreds of miles away.


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Bonus Commentary!

So a Three Province Minor in 1204. Cant say its my most frequent start though I actually Enjoy the Balance of the Start Date. Though its by no means as balanced as people say, even with our edits.

For Starters, Me Baron and Jacob were easily able to seize England through sorcerery. Knowing this strategy beforehand I took 3 provinces directly from France incase France did something incredibly annoying and Declared war for enough Aquitaine land to make the Kingdom unformable. We were then able to Form an Empire after seizing england in record time. Beating out both me and Khan and our respective strategies for Byzantium and Arabia respectively, We did have three players though so it does makes things dramatically easier (I'd argue forcing us to create custom empires balances out that difficulty though).

Then there's the Latin and Byzantine Empires who have tons, and I mean tons of event troops that they are supposed to use on eachother, Spoiler alert, They dont. The Latins love to waste them all seiging away greece or In some pointless holy war Jerusalem calls them into. The Byzantines are no better most of the time. Effectively if you want to play independent as one of the Greek dukes? Swear fealty to the Latins or live in constant risk of Event troop gameover as Blayne learned the hard way in session one.

And England. Well, Honestly France should have Dejure claims on all of Angevin France in the vanilla start. Britain can form a custom Empire, literally by just stacking prestige and gold and not expanding at all. Which im pretty sure isn't how the custom empires are supposed to work in Vanilla.. considering they are supposed to be rare for the AI I thought.

The Progress Map so Far.

Before:
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After:
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All in all, doing okay. Not nearly expanding as Fast As i expected but I'm going to make excuses and Blame the Almohads and siege times because Its not my fault dammit!

Though in seriousness I dont know how AI Castille is supposed to win the Recontista without using the Holy orders/BGB/BBB against them, They raise 20k, Ally Mali who brings another 10k and usually bring the Holy orders, Africa and sometimes more. I suppose A crusade for Andalusia is thier best bet.
 
Didn't wanna double post, Oh well. I Blame Kom dropping the ball last session :p

Chronicle 5: SSDD

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King Peter would remain in such a State for years. Miraculously as if through the grace of God he regained his health, and Quickly returned to setting things in order. For a while it seemed that there would be Peace in Spain. The Spanish, now almost completly under British Dominion had been pacified and the quarreling Iberian kings had been put down once and for all.

However it was not to Last. Peter's recovery while miraculous was shorted lived.

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Once again A D'Mertagne had passed before reaching Old Age. Some blamed the the stresses of Ruling, others claimed it was simply bad blood in the Dynasty. Such talk quickly faded when Jordan, the King's Eldest son ascended to the Throne of Aquitaine. However this King would be diffrent from those before him. Jordan was a warrior bred for battle, and Nothing much else.

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A fearsome warrior and commander Jordan was both a Kind and Honest King Though he rarely cared for matters of State and left his brother Prince Richard, to run the realm.

Almost Immediately after his Coronation Jordan set sail for Anatolia, at the head of an Imperial Fleet to Humble the Sultan of Rum and restore more land to christian Hands. The War was short, and decisive, and after declaring Victory Jordan returned home, To Aquitaine, though he did not rest for Long and Quickly gathered the army and Decided to cut the Straight of Gibraltar off to Islamic Traders once and for all.

Once more his Tactical expertise won the day and his Men went about besieging the Starved Muslim armies in Seville. Eventually Assistance did come, but it would be too few and too late.

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The Battles were pitched. The Intervention of the Mansa of Mali quickly looked to turn the Tide of the war but the Almohad Caliphate simply could not break Jordan's hold on Gibraltar. One day a rider reached Jordan outside of Seville speaking of a great Mercenary warhost descending on the Army from Algrave. Yet as they reached the fields of battle the Mercenaries, unhappy about being drafted into service mutinied and fled the field, leaving just several thousand Muslim volunteers to face the Brunt of a Crusading army. And with that Battle, The war was won.

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Jordan secured Seville and Cordoba. The Land of Algrave was left untouched by the war aside from some looting. However the loss of Sevilla made the Almohad sultan look weak and vulnerable. It did not take long for his lords to revolt and begin a war to overthrow the previously undisputed master of Western Islam.

Content with his Gains however Jordan sought the help of a Distance cousin, Philip whom had served as the Kingdom's court chaplain for years. Due to his experience he was given large amounts of land in Subjugated Andalusia to oversee the conversion of the native population and protection of christian settlers.

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The King in Aquitaine however has far from finished. Wanting only war, and knowing only war He had also subjugated the King of Italy in this time, opening the way for the Dantons to usurp the Throne, Led an army in Sicily to demand tribute, land in Navarra from the King of Castille and later would lay claim to the northern coast of all of Spain. The Dukes of Valencia, long time challengers to the British domination of Spain had been left out, alone after the fall of France, and The King did not wait to seek revenge on them as well.

The Reconquest of Iberia had almost been completed. Christians in France and Spain could once more breath easy. Where the French and Spanish Failed, the British had brought safety, security and wealth to the to the region. Though not without a heavy cost in lives and blood. In remembrance for the Fallen a monument at Gibraltar was constructed, honoring soldiers of Aquitaine that gave their lives for the faith and the protection of fellow Christians in Iberia. Whether their sacrifice was in vain, only time can tell.
 
The Gift of a Knife

October 4th, 1267
A tent outside Tunis, Venetian Africa
Morning

"I should point out," Fausto said coldly, "that I don't in fact have any authority to negotiate for this army. Burso leads the cause of independent Libya."

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Fausto, somewhat after the events of this narrative.

"That's all right," his cousin said cheerfully. "I'm not here representing Venice in its dispute with the Libyan rebels. I'm visiting you on a family matter. The envoy-from-Venice thing was just to get past those surly thugs you employ; this is an armed camp, you know."

"Quite so. Perhaps I should have hired some surly Arabs instead; thugs who don't speak the language can't be smooth-talked by passing in-laws." Beneath his banter Fausto tensed, and his hand crept to the long dagger in his belt. "A family matter", was it? It was by no means impossible that the family - in particular, Pietro, who had disliked him since they were boys in Venice together - had decided to get rid of its black sheep with a discreet assassination.

"Nu, I see you're not in the mood for guests," Eliezer said, "so I'll make it brief. Pietro sends you this gift." Moving slowly, he pulled a knife out of his robes. Fausto drew a sharp breath and rose, sending his camp chair toppling; his dagger came out of its sheath and into position, left hand warding against a sudden grab, right hand ready to stab for the vulnerable stomach - but Eliezer was still moving slowly, unthreateningly. To start your attack slowly and then blur into startling speed, fooling the target's reactions, was a midlevel technique in fencing, taught to all the males of the family - but Eliezer had waited much too long; he didn't intend to attack at all. Now he smiled mockingly at Fausto's readiness to fight, and laid the knife down on his desk.

"So distrustful of a kinsman? Come, Fausto, no Aiello has died by an Aiello's hand yet, and I won't be the one to break that record."

"You play dangerous games," Fausto snarled, adrenaline still pumping through his veins.

Eliezer held up his hands pacifically. "Eh, there was the desk between me and you; and anyway I'm much faster. I wasn't in any real danger."

And he'd enjoyed tweaking his cousin's nose, Fausto filled in between the lines. His lips pressed together. "The gift of a knife severs a friendship," he pointed out, abandoning the line of conversation that wasn't going to win him anything. "Or is Pietro expecting me to pay a penny for it?"

"Between you and Pietro, there's no friendship to sever," Eliezer said. "But I spoke inexactly when I said it is a gift. It's a bequest. To inherit a knife has no symbolic importance, that I know of."

"Pietro is dead then," Fausto said, mostly for something to say. He wasn't saddened by the news, precisely - he had hated Pietro, for his slowness, for his stubborness, above all for his being born to the senior line and therefore the family's candidate for Doge - but he felt an emptiness, all the same. He had joined the rebellion, if he were honest with himself, to show that idiot, once and for all; and now, win or lose, Pietro could be shown nothing.

"As you say," Eliezer agreed, and waited patiently. Fausto felt his disappointment recede as his brain got into gear. Why had Eliezer come all this way just to tell him his rival was dead? Bringing an inheritance to the black sheep, no less? He looked again at the knife; it looked ordinary enough, good Illyrian steel in the blade, wooden handle inlaid with mother-of-pearl - but the shape was unusual. It wasn't an easily-concealable stiletto, such as the Aiello carried in their sleeves from the time their voices dropped; nor the long dagger they wore publicly in token of their patricianship. Instead the blade's tip was rounded, though not blunt; a gutting knife, made for getting entrails out of fish - but such knives were not commonly made of Illyrian steel. He looked at Eliezer again, wild surmise in his expression; his cousin nodded.

"It's the knife of our grandfather." An old joke; of course the handle and the blade had been replaced - many times, in fact, as the Aiello fortunes increased and they could afford better. But if the accidents had changed, the true substance of Salomone's knife remained the same; and it was still a symbol of leadership within the family.

"Pietro willed it to me?" Fausto asked, sheathing his dagger and picking up the knife. He was beginning to feel, at the back of his mind, the humiliating knowledge that he had been stupid; that in the end, it was Pietro who had shown that idiot - and the idiot was him.

"The knife, and the Dogal signet." With a flourish, Eliezer produced the latter item and laid it on Fausto's desk. "Spending money like water, I might add."

"He would have to," Fausto said faintly. To elect a rebel as Doge? Pietro must have emptied the family treasury, borrowed against their future revenue - sold off the old furniture, for all he knew! "I'm surprised money could do it." Feeling a need to sit down, he righted his chair and collapsed into it.

"It also hasn't been a good year for elderly gentlemen of the Ziani and Morosini families," Eliezer noted dryly. Fausto winced; it was very well to be elected Doge of Venice, but the patrician families had long memories. That sort of tactic would come back to haunt them - no, it would come back to haunt him. He rubbed his forehead, thinking.

"So... Pietro spent the family fortune, he provoked the other patrician families by assassinating their heads, and then he died and left the mess for me to deal with. And, the Name help me, I can't even complain, because I'm Doge of Venice and head of the Aiello family. Oh, and I'm in the middle of an army rebelling against my rule."

Eliezer smiled. "Everything you ever wanted, served to you on a platter by the death of your hated enemy. Mazel tov."

The feeling that he'd been stupid returned in force. Did the rebels stand a chance? They did not; oh, they'd taken some cities, but Libya was a border march, expendable. In a few months the Venetian navy would arrive with an army of mercenaries, and it would be the rebels who were besieged. And yet he had joined this doomed cause for no better reason than to spite his cousin - who had gotten the last laugh. Or had he? Was it possible that Pietro had actually thought he, Fausto, was the best qualified to lead the Aiello? He'd been slow, Fausto noted, but not dishonest. Or could it even be the case that Pietro had just given him his rights, as the next oldest male and therefore next in the line of succession? Had he, at the end, simply been doing what he thought right, in the face of a personal enmity? Fausto closed his eyes and groaned in humiliation; if that was so, then he had, indeed, been shown. And perhaps Pietro had derived some pleasure from that thought, in his last months - but the showing was there nonetheless. Fausto had thought Pietro would pass him over; Fausto had thought he would be denied his rights and his inheritance; Fausto had been a fool.

He took a deep breath; very well, he'd been a fool. The only thing that could be done about it now was to do better in the future. He looked again at the knife, and thought of the rebellion surrounding him. "A rebel army held together by its leader," he said slowly.

"If you like," Eliezer said, "perhaps the events of the past few months can be recast. Of course you never joined the rebellion in your heart; you were our man on the spot, working your way into Burso's counsels so you could end it at, quite literally, a stroke. And return to Venice a war hero."

Fausto thought about it. Burso was a near-hypnotically charismatic speaker, as well as a friend; without him the rebels would scatter, fleeing Venice's vengeance. And he trusted Fausto, would welcome him if he said he had war business to discuss. As Doge of Venice, it would be well to end this rebellion, the sooner the better. Mercenaries cost money, after all, and the coffers were depleted. He picked up the knife and thrust it, decisively, into his belt.

"The gift of a knife severs a friendship."

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It was not a good session for me. I had to pay through the nose for foreign troops to overcome the Rum, winning the Duchy of Cibyrrhaeot for Blayne - still cheaper than surrendering, but it emptied my coffers at an important moment. I did manage to take Veglia, but then I was faced with a massive independence faction that included my heir. Who, indeed, inherited in the middle of the war. The rebellion ended when I killed its leader in battle; but I prefer the explanation above.

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Vitale, my current character. Not, alas, the shiniest gold coin in the purse.

Unfortunately, Fausto didn't last very long as Doge. In the middle of another interminable war for one of Blayne's claims, he was hit in rapid succession with Infirm, Incapable, and Dead; and due to the aforementioned draining of my reserves, I hadn't been able to arrange the election. Thus I'm currently playing a three-province minor again, albeit one with lots of income and a pretty good chance of inheriting Venice again in a few years. I'm also at private war with another patrician family, who think they have a claim to one of my baronies. Nonetheless, I am not totally displeased with these events; as a mere patrician family I have some opportunities that the Doge doesn't get. More of this next week, if it works out.

Meanwhile, Jacob (as Germany, shortly to be independent from Britain) has taken northern Italy, which is clearly my sphere of interest; and the blobs are forming everywhere. The days of easy conquest against AI Muslims are coming to an end. I will have to step up my game and unite at least Italy-south-of-Rome if I'm to even survive, much less be a significant player.

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Venice, 1277; Veglia, my one lonely conquest of this session (excepting Blayne's expansion) marked in red. Note that British pink encroaching on northern Italy.

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Final note: This game has Komnenoi in it! I didn't keep track of what happened to him, but I hope he won his war.​
 
The Noble Science of Heraldry

We had technical problems this week, and thus a short session; we only advanced from 1277 to 1286. Unfortunately, the Aiello spent that entire time wandering in the wilderness - that is to say, out of political power; thinking about it, the origin of that metaphor is probably Biblical and refers to Jews wandering in actual wilderness, but I was using the phrase in the modern sense of being unable to get elected. In any case, I did not get any good narrative inspiration; so instead I turn to heraldry. Judging by previous responses to heraldry-related AARs, I'm probably about to bore my readers, but that's too bad; I love heraldry. It is such a fractal subject, a humongous collection of completely useless knowledge, fine distinctions, and obscure facts.

So let's start with the Aiello arms:

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Azure, three bezants. The blazon - oh wait, let me digress for a moment to explain this term of art. The blazon is the text that describes the picture, in such a way that you can reconstruct the arms without having to expensively illustrate the scroll you're writing down "the arms of family X are such-and-such" in. To ensure unambiguity, blazons follow a very strict form; they are a very early compression algorithm - perhaps the first one? In any case, the first word is always the background colour of the shield, in this case blue, but because heraldry was invented by Frenchmen with nothing better to do, it's called 'azure'. Then come the charges, the animals or keys or whatever-it-is that the arms depict. Again there is a strict order: First the number, then the type of charge, then the colour.

So where, you ask, is the colour of my bezants? Being golden, they should be 'or'; but in fact a 'bezant' in heraldry is always gold. A circle of a colour other than gold is a 'roundel'. So if I had silver coins instead of gold the arms would be "Azure three roundels argent", but as I have golden ones I can just say "bezants" - that's compression; saves a ha'penny'orth of ink per scroll. As I say: This thing is fractal. You could study it for a lifetime and still be learning new things, and people have.

Anyway, the Aiello arms represent the sea (blue) and the wealth that comes from it (gold coins). Obviously, somewhere in the backstory Salomone designed the arms himself and these are not just any old coins, they are three very specific bezants; but this is not common knowledge in Venice. Incidentally, you'll note that "three bezants" does not specify any particular arrangement of the coins; so far as the blazon is concerned it seems they could be arranged horizontally, vertically, with one on top and two at the bottom, or any other way. But as nothing is specified, for three objects it is conventional to put them two on top, one at the bottom. Compression again; this was the most common arrangement, so leaving off the specification saved space in most cases.

The arms of Venice itself, meanwhile, bear the Lion of St Mark:

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Gules a lion or, winged and haloed or, bearing a codex argent inscribed "Pax tibi Marce, Evangelista meus" - that is, "Peace unto you, Mark, my Evangelist". Note the placement of the adjectives "winged and haloed" following the noun - unusual in English, conventional in heraldry. In the naval ensign of Italy, the lion appears along with the arms of three other maritime republics of medieval Italy, but in that case it bears a sword instead of a book - the naval ensign is a war flag. It's not clear to me what the little golden doodads under the lion in the Paradox version are supposed to be. In some representations the Venetian lion is shown with its hind paws in water and forepaws on land, in obvious symbolism for a naval power, but that doesn't seem to be the case here.

Now, some other families. BaronBowden, in England, has chosen boars for his dynasty's charge:

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Per pale argent and or, three boars gules. "Per pale" indicates that the background is divided by a vertical line down the middle; the left-hand colour (which is technically the 'dexter' colour, because the directions of the shield are named from the perspective of the bearer, not the viewer) is mentioned first. Heraldic boars symbolise courage in battle, and are most commonly seen in Ireland. The arms of England are gules, three lions passant guardant in pale or, armed and langued azure. "Three lions" has obvious royal symbolism. "Passant" means they are standing or walking on all fours, as opposed to upright which is "rampant", and "guardant" indicates they are looking out of the shield. (If they were looking backwards it would be "reguardant".) "Armed" refers to the claws, and "langued" to the tongues. Finally, "in pale" means they are arranged vertically down the middle of the shield; note the difference with my bezants and Baron's boars - if you're not going to use the triangle arrangement, you have to specify.

Baron's vassal Dragoon has chosen to quarter his family's arms:

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Quartered, first and fourth azure, a fleur-de-lis or, second and third, argent a cross or. Again the division of the shield comes first. Then follow the descriptions of the quarters, which are just shields in themselves, providing an early example of recursion. (Compression, recursion - I wonder what other computer-science concepts are going to show up? Perhaps this is why heraldry appeals to me.) The fleur-de-lis symbolises French royalty, after an angel allegedly presented a golden lily to Clovis upon his conversion. It seems that, like the bezant, it should be unnecessary to specify "or", since nobody ever uses anything but golden ones, but it looks like convention has not caught up with usage in this case. The golden cross on a silver field is dubious, as both colours are considered "metals" and putting one metal on another is not allowed - and indeed these arms show why that's so, with the low contrast between the cross and the background. However, heraldry is sufficiently fractal that most of its "rules" are more guidelines, and there's always someone, somewhere, who has broken any given one. In particular, the arms of the Kingdom of Jerusalem were "argent a cross potent between four crosslets all or"; this was justified by the immense holiness of the kingdom, and is a bit hubristic for a plain old feudal family. The flag of the kings of France also had this colour combination, with gold fleurs-de-lis on a white field; flags, of course, are technically not subject to heraldic rules. The gold and silver in Baron's shield doesn't count; as they are divisions of the background, neither is on top of the other. Anyway the most important rule of arms is, "him that has the arms, makes the rules".

The historical arms of Aquitaine are "Gules, a lion passant regardant or armed and langued azure", ie the same as England's except with only one lion; I don't know where the eagle-cross-fleur-de-lis thing comes from. Excuse me, I meant the "Gules a cross voided argent, superimposed an eagle displayed sable, armed and langued gules, haloed or, superimposed a fleur-de-lis or". Which is why another rule of heraldry is "Keep It Simple, Noble Lord!" The "voided" cross, ie hollowed-out, is probably deeply symbolic of something, perhaps of the power of Jesus over death, but I cannot make Google disgorge what it is. The eagle "displayed" means its wings are spread. The red beak and claws show up very badly against the slightly different shade of red in the background; "armed, langued, and haloed or" would have been better. Over on Ederon Dragoon has proposed an even more complicated coat of arms whose blazon involves the phrase "a saltire raguly-counter-raguly gules", but at that point even a heraldry geek like myself tends to pass on in silence.

I only got through three players but I've got more than a thousand words; enough's enough. I'll return to heraldry if I need filler for another week; although Dragoon's blazon is pretty complex and the gold crosses on silver are dubious, you ain't seen nuffink yet when it comes to uneducated moderns making bad heraldry decisions.

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I mentioned last week that I was not completely displeased at losing the election; this is because the Doge cannot go to war for trade posts. As a private family, I could; and this allowed me to take the extremely strategic TP in Rhodes from the Morosini:

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The port in Rhodes is the only one that gives onto the Cyclades; and the Cyclades sea zone divided my Levantine trade zone from my Black Sea one. With its conquest, and the completion of the TP in Smyrna, I'll have a single seven-province sea zone instead of a four and a two. Income should rise considerably.

Apart from this there is little to report; I fought and won a minor war to take Miletos, a city in Ephesos - where the 3000-strong army whose flag is "azure a goat passant argent, horned gules" is standing in the screenshot. Not my greatest triumph, but I had the CB and it was a war that could be won by a single mercenary company. The AI Doge has actually done something useful and started a holy war for Sinai, and even seems to be winning it; it remains to be seen whether any Muslim players take exception.

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On a more RL note, while I'm playing the Doge of Venice, the Crown Princess of Men plays the Doggie of Pisa!

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The Dalmatian costume is a little small for her, but she likes it a lot.
 
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I explained what the Red Coat of Arms was Kom!

Its the Cross of Saint George overlaid onto the Red Field of England. The Lions and Navarran Symbols are exempted from the Ck2 version because it makes the COA look too clustered.

And the Eagle is Based on the Ck2 COA for Hispania except instead of the individual flags of Iberia on the shield I overlaid the Fleur de lis of House D'mertange. The Ck2 COA of hispania is based on the Prussian Eagle. As for why I'm using an Eagle, It looks cool.

And Besides that's only the Temporary Flag. Because of Arbitrary game mechanics I couldn't flip into my White Flag with the Spanish cross of Saint Andrew and Cross of Saint George before the end of the session which you refereed to, And I'd love to fix the Red on Red, but Gimp isn't very happy with me about it and tends to give the Claws and Beak a peculiar black ring around it whenever i try to flip them to Gold and it ends up looking weird when sized down to work ingame.

The Family arms are more or less Dead on. And the Yellow Cross on White is to represent Family ties to Jerusalem, Specifically Richard D'mertange's father being given land in France after journeying to the Holy Land with Richard the Lionheart. Also helps explain my connections to a Mr Hood and his Merry Men :p

And I do know Heraldry, not well but the basics, The Description on Ederon made perfect sense to me as well, But of course, I have a big Army and I think it makes me look tough, So it stays :p The Family Shield i think looks nicer but doesn't scream "Future EU4 flag to me" I have made a few Victoria flags as well, where the Eagle returns, And an Iron cross, mostly because I had planned to use it for a Prussian state and well, fate makes fools of us all.
 
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IV - Six uneasy pieces

1.The Merchant and the Sultan
Alexandria, 26 November 1281, afternoon

They met in a small and discreet palace. Alexandria and Venice had one thing in common, among others: they were two of the few places around the Mediterranean where a palace could be called small and discreet. Giuseppe and his son met the Sultan in one such place, a small and discreet palace in the shadow of the ramparts, behind a row of odorant cypress and fig trees. The room they were led in was small and made smaller still by an elaborately carved colonnade along three of its walls. The enormous, roughly-hewn granite throne seemed to belong in a different place altogether. Beneath it, two wall fountains kept the place cool and filled with a gentle murmur.

The two merchants walked toward the throne across splendid, soft carpets, stopped and bowed at a respectful distance. The small, pot-bellied man on the throne beckons them closer.
“Do you two speak for all the dhimmi merchants?” He asked.
“I speak for our entire community in Alexandria,” Giuseppe said. “My boy Danielo is here to watch and learn, with your permission.”
“Fine, fine. You know I have always favored you merchants. I leave you freedom of the whole city, unlike in many other ports of the faithful. I let you celebrate mass or whatever. Many times my advisors advised that I augment your taxes beyond the old rates, and I always said no.”
“That was generous of you, Your Highness. And judicious.” He stressed the last word, hoping the hint was just clear enough. Unlike his father, and like his carpets, Sultan Suhail Ayyubid was unpractically thick. It was hard to remind him they were no subjects of his without being outright rude.
“I have treated you as honored guests, always. You should consider whether that emir Ali would treat them that well.” He looked at them as if wondering if they had got it, then decided to be more precise. “He might not! You should weigh the risk of that.”

Giuseppe snarled a little. Taking chances, weighing risks, that was essence of his work. Counting coins, weighing wares, loading boats, it was all incidental. And that soft little noble had the nerve to school him in that. But swallowing your pride was another incidental. “It whets your appetite,” uncle Salomone would say.

“Certainly we wish for Your Highness to triumph in his fight with the villain Ali Anubid. But we are no warriors, just humble merchants. We have helped the war effort as much as we could.” The middle sentence was kind of true.
“We can afford no more tax with the city under siege,” Danielo said a bit too bluntly.
“My boy is blunt but he’s right. The wealthiest people is a pauper at times, and now is such a time, with no trade going through the city anymore.”
“I don’t want gold.” He was going to ask for their last reserves of food, such as they were. How much did he know about what they actually had in stock? Surely not everything. Careful, very careful. Danielo glanced at Giuseppe. He’d got it too. “I am asking for something else.” The Sultan bent forward. “Passage out of the city.”

Oh. That.
“It will be very difficult. Very, very difficult. We can do it… Try it, of course. But you must think of us. When you abandon the city, it is sure to fall, and…”
“Abandon? Why do you think I want to abandon the city?” Sultan ___ was more confused that actually outraged. “No. I want you to take me to the Indian Camp, on the other side of Lake Mariout. In and out under the cover of night. Can you do that?”
The two merchants looked at each other.
“It would be expensive, Your Highness,” Danielo said. A bit too bluntly.

2.The Sultan and the Warrior
Alexandria, 26 November 1281, before midnight

They met in an old kafir temple, and they made him walk through the old catacombs, dug deep through solid rock, and it seemed to him they took more turns than necessary, lest he remembered the way. Eventually they came to a well where a rope dangled. One burly longshoreman climbed just behind him, pushing him by the rump when he faltered.

The merchant Giuseppe was waiting for them on top, holding his hand out for him. He helped him out of the hole and up to his feet.
“I sent a men ahead to scout and warn the Indians,” said. “So you will not be challenged. Their leader speak Arabic. Bad Arabic, but sill. A few speak it somewhat better. They will understand you.”

Suhail looked around. On his left he could indeed see a small cluster of campfires, which he suppsed were the Indians’; on his right, much farther and more numerous, those of the besieging host, and beyond them the walls of the city against the starry sky.
“Could food not be smuggled in this way?” He asked.
“No, no. We would certainly be spotted. That route is one we deliberately never use. We saved it. For you.” Was that a lie? “Do not worry, Your Highness. But you should hurry. We should climb back down before moonrise. My boy Danielo will take you now.”

The leering boy jumped to his feet and looked at him expectantly. Suhail just nodded and they started walking through the reed patches by the shore of Lake Mariout. The boy watched around, and Suhail pondered what he would tell that strange kafir warrior from Indians.
“You have come and sailed a long way,” he rehearsed silently. “From distant India to the land of Egypt. But I am not you enemy, am I? The Persian Caliph is, and his wretched Anubid servant. Help me against him, and I will help you against the Sultan. You lack the numbers to beat him in battle, I know. So do I. But if we attack at the same time, from both sides…”


3.The Sultan and the Emir
Alexandria, 27 November 1281, noon

They met in the flat, muddy expanse between the army on the plain and the one on the ramparts, dotted with only a few skirmishers’ corpses, for now.
The two riders stared each other down. Obviously it was easier for Ali, but Suhail did his best.
“I will not surrender,” he announced.
“Do you know what I would do if you did?” Ali Anubid asked. “If you told me, here and now, that you surrender and would serve me loyally, in any capacity I desire.”
“What?”
“I would ride back to my lines and tell them you spat in my face. That’s what I will do anyway. I rode here to ride back with that news, nothing else. It will motivate my men.”
Suhail spat in his face for real. “You’re welcome.”
One long, piercing shriek in the sky. A few smart vultures were already circling above them.
“I figure we’re done.”

4.The Warrior and the Emir
Alexandria, 27 November 1281, morning

They met in the sun-drenched flatlands by Lake Mariout.

The man rode in with an escort, but it stopped at some distance, and he rode the last hundred yards alone on a monstrous black stallion. Gupta Gupti Gupta’s warriors gathered warily, and he stood proudly a few feet ahead of them, his great gilded sword drawn but lowered.
From afar the size of his horse had made his own unnoticeable, but as grew nearer it became clear he was a sumptuously bearded giant, clad in light armor that left his muscular arms naked. At his side hung a long dagger that Gupta might have called a short sword at a lesser man’s side.
Was he a diplomat or a champion of some sort? This was a strange land; Gupta could not assume anything safely.

The man stopped at talking distance and announced himself in a clear, booming voice and perfect classical Sanskrit:
“My name is Ali Anubid ibn Ali. I am the lawful king of Egypt by right of conquest, and the loyal servant of Caliph Gav'riel Davion."
Gupta gaped for a moment then put on the sternest face he could manage.
“My name is Gupta Gupti Gupta, the Golden Sword of Prasanammatra. You speak my ancestor’s tongue well.”
“Better than Sultan Suhail, I wager.”

It was like clawing fingers trying to claw his sternest face from his face. While he tried to compose himself the Anubid man dismounted with impossible speed and grace in a man so big. There was something in his bearing, an absolute economy of movement Gupta had seen few times before, in very old monks and weathered soldiers. Every move of his was spare and accurate, in a way that did not seem to belong in this young, strong body. Gupta did not care to fight him at all.

“So you know.”
“I know as much about you as I care to know. I know you are mere thousand who sailed from Kutch to Egypt in order to strike at my master’s back by attacking me while I already had my hands full with the Ayyubid. A plan that almost make sense, except for the fact there are not enough of you to take even a minor holdfast.”
They would have been, but for the storms in the Ocean. But there was use bemoaning the fact now.
“So you spent the last few months roaming the countryside, stealing goats and frightening peasants. You have no plan anymore, no way to walk or sail back home, so you wander aimlessly across Egypt. Unable to get so much as my attention, until now. Unable to hurt me.”
“Until now.”

The Egyptian stared him down, but Gupta had to talk back, if only for his men (His men! Were they why he was speaking Sanskrit and not Arabic, to try and sap his authority before them? And why did he speak Sanskrit in the first place? He had completely eluded that subject. Gupta wished, again, that Thakur Dinesh had not drowned in the wreck and was still in command. He would have known what to do and what to say.)
“You are caught between the city and us. You could attack either of us with superior numbers, and possibly beat him – unless the other attacks you in the rear at the same time. Then we would stand a chance. We could hurt you.”
“Not the right word. You could annoy me. And you have been around these parts long enough to hear the stories. You know it’s unwise to annoy me.”

Trash talk. At least a seasoned warrior like Gupta understood that language.

“Is this when you tell me you will kill us to the last one?”
“No. Not to the last one. I will pick one of you that can still walk. I you are taken alive it will be you, otherwise I will just take another. And this one I will spare. I will rip his eyelids out and make him watch the others dies. I will rip his nose out, his ears, his nails, his crotch. I will ask him if he can write. If he does, I will cut his tongue out, if not, his hands. And I will send him away to India, as a messenger.”

Well. That was some good trash talk.


lol what


5.The Merchant and the Emir
Alexandria, 27 November 1281, evening

They met in the same small and discreet palace, in the shadow of the ramparts, behind the row of odorant cypress and fig trees, only one of which had been felled. The room they were led in was small and made smaller still by an elaborately carved colonnade along three of its walls, which the fountains still kept cool and filled with a gentle murmur. The enormous, roughly-hewn granite throne seemed to belong in a different place altogether, but the massive bulk of Emir Ali seemed to belong on it, much more than his predecessor. Behind him, his lumbering son was picking his nose.

The two merchants walked toward the throne across splendid, soft carpets, stopped and bowed at a respectful distance.
“Have you come to a decision, your Grace?” the old man asked.
“I have decided to maintain the rights and privileges of the merchants. Nothing will change to your status while I rule in Alexandria.”
“That is generous of you,” Giuseppe said, nothing more. This one did not need a hint.

“Then why did we tell him?” Danielo asked, later, after they left the palace. “Do we not want a daft ruler rather than a smart one?”
“We do. Have you seen his son? He picked the wrong one. The big, oafish one, because he was stronger. Fathers do that kind of mistakes sometimes. Merchants do not. In the long term, we win. We always do.”

6.The Warrior and the Merchant

Alexandria, 28 November 1281, afternoon
They met in the merchant’s office, a cramped, smelly room by the harbor. Giuseppe offered him a seat, a bit too genially.
“I could call what you did to me betrayal,” Gupta Gupti Gupta said.
“Well, we do not trade in semantics. And you will need us, right?”
“Sure. Your new master has given me safe-conduct out of Egypt, I quote, ‘to go die somewhere else or whatever’. But we still need guides and maps.”
“Not a problem. We have many maps here. Many maps. Some dating back from the time of the Library, if you can believe it.”

Gupta had no idea what library they talked about but it sounded important.
"So long? They never got lost?"
“They don’t get lost because we never the originals out of our care. We only sell out copies. And so we never lose a map. Never. No matter how old.”
It sounded ominous, in a way, but to Gupta it meant nothing. What a pointless journey, ultimately. He wondered what the people at home would say of it. Well, first they had to march and fight their way through Persia.
“So, Giuseppe asked, how do you plan on paying?”


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So just as I was conquering the duchy of Alexandria over the collapsing Ayyubid a thousand Indians who for some reason decided to sail and traipse around Egypt because their Raja was fighting my liege Fimconte. I also became a Shia like my good liege. Great fun all around. I n ow own most of Egypt proper. Oh, and Venitian trade posts all over MY coastline.


Situation on 1286

HEY DID ANYONE NOTICE MY GUY ALI IS THE ONLY ONE NOT TO GET A POINT OF VIEW I WONDER W
 
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You want 'discreet', meaning unobtrusive, not ostentatious. 'Discrete' means countable.

Six uneasy pieces

I see what you did there. :D
 
Chronicle 6: Rex Totius Hispaniae

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With a harsh peace with the Almohad signed Jordan turned northwards to his own Catholic Brethren. The Young King hungered for conquest and stopped at nothing to secure more and more land for House Shrewsbury.

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First was the Lord of Valencia whos ancestors had worked towards the Downfall of House D'mertagne since the death of King John nearly a century ago. The house of Valencia would accept D'mertagne rule or be exterminated, Jordan would not allow an alternative. It didn't stop the Valencians from drawing as much Occitan manpower and funds as humanely possible however and sieges of the Catalan forts along the coast lasted for nearly a decade.

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Next was the King of Castille, who was merely a boy during the Imperial Conferences that established British Hegemony over Hispania. Now a man grown he broke said conference in an attempt to restore Iberian home rule back to spain. Jordan had other plans, the army was organized and sent to Toledo and Burgos, the land secured and the rebellion Crushed. With the death of Castille Jordan laid claim to the heartland of the old Kingdom, then he proceed to pardon any castillans who were willing to accept british rule and respect British law.

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Such actions in Castille continued throughout the Empire. Jordan wished to make Spain loyal to britian and did so through example, bringing a rule of law to a lawless and chaotic Hodgepodge of Muslim, Iberian, French and British lords within Spain. With rule of law established Jordan continued his conquests and marched north to Italy to secure Italian land before the Dantons in Germany. Unfortunately things in Italy did not go as planned.

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The Defeat at Genoa send shockwaves through the previously confident Jordan. It would take years to return to Italy and even then such a defeat would never earn him the respect of the Italian lords he wished to rule over. Undetterred however Jordan continued his wars in spain once a fresh batch of soliders were trained at the new Capital of Navarra

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And with that there are only four Muslim counties left in Almohad Hands. House D'Mertagne reigns supreme over spain at last, but the Dantons have now Secured Italy, Muslim warlords in North Africa have sworn fealty to the British and strange winds are blowing elsewhere in the world.

Speaking of Muslim warlords.
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The British Empire may just need to introduce a compulsory Education system, as Svend the Second has been dead for over two hundred years.

and Because this Update was Short Another Bonus!



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The Final Flag Ready for EU.

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