Rumors

[Mettermrck]

Vineyards, South of Naples

The provender of the enemy, “Sir Heinrich” thought, looking upon the sweeping fields of green with the hints of paler grapes bearing out before him. His eyes narrowed, glistening with a zealous faraway look. No doubt some Italian noble enjoying the fat fruits of sun and corrupt existence, benefiting the schismatic dog Constantine. Whether in Italy or Spain, God’s justice be done. ”Men, you may show these illiterate poor peasants that Germans do not fear to tread where timid Neapolitans seem to. Burn the fields. Be merciful enough with the workers. We want them to fear, and not simply to die.”

With a swift spur to Granicus, “Sir Heinrich” began to trot down the edge of the vineyards as they caught fire, feeling his heart pulse as he watched the flames burn higher and higher. It was majestic, beautiful, passionate, and glorious. And it was simply the beginning. With a satisfied sneer, he trotted down the hill towards the valley below, inspecting his men’s work. Action was infinitely preferable to boredom.

 

[Mettermrck]

Salerno, south of Naples

”Sir Heinrich” paced along the main hall of the estate, approaching a long table ornately carved of cedar. His men ringed round it, in varying degrees of interest, some feasting on the remains of the fine meal that was laid out when they had arrived that morning. Others were helping themselves to the modest wine cellar that the owner, one Lord Antonio Grinaldi, had collected over the years, becoming a mixture of angry and unconscious, the usual result of soldiers’ inebriation. For “Heinrich”, it was a welcome break from the typical round of crop burning and peasant killings that had marked the past few weeks in Naples. A nice diversion, he thought with a smile as he removed his sword and placed the tip in the fire. Slowly it reddened in the fierce heat. With a gasp, the bound prisoner on the table jerked and spasmed as he heard the hiss of the coals and embers in the stove.

”Well, well. Our lord shows some spirit after all. Too bad it was in the service of a schismatic master.” He took the sword out of the heat and inspected the tip. ”Hmm, yes, perfect.” Turning slowly, he walked back over to the table, taking his time. There was no sense in rushing things. After all, the Lord’s work was best done with deliberation. He approached the table and inspected the prisoner. The bound form of Lord Grinaldi was not the impressive rebel he had hoped to find when he had ridden into Italy, but “Heinrich” was willing to make due with the materials he was provided with. He smiled as Lord Grinaldi’s eyes bulged and his muffled scream came out through the gag over his mouth. Two of his strongest men were holding his arms down, and two others his legs.

”You act so surprised, milord Grinaldi. The twenty horses. Fifty assorted swords and other weapons. How could you not be a rebel? Swearing allegiance to that schismatic dog. And when you would not give me and my men food and shelter, nor tribute? I was most disappointed. Surely you understand that I have to take measures.” Grinaldi’s head was flying back and forth, shaking furiously. “Heinrich”’s eyes were alight with delight at the man’s panic. This was the fear he had been looking for! ”Now don’t let me fool you. This is going to hurt. In fact, this is going to hurt terribly. But it is only just and proper, milord. And you should be grateful that this is all I am going to do to you.” He grunted as he said this, as if he actually had other, worse things in mind

Nodding to his men, he saw them suddenly grip the prisoner’s limbs tighter. A muffled scream.

”Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!

Slowly, “Sir Heinrich” approached, bringing the orange tip of the sword closer to Lord Grinaldi, who was still bucking, still screaming with terror, desperately trying to get away. ”The truly penitent would accept their punishment. I should’ve realized you would be difficult.” And with a swift descent, the tip of the sword met the man’s skin.

”AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

“Heinrich” was delighted. What an amazing tone of voice. He pressed again.

”AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

And then he set to work, using the sword as an artistic implement, his men grinning as he concentrated. After the first few moments, Grinaldi’s screams climaxed and then cut off as he passed out. Disappointed, “Heinrich” continued, yet with a cheated air. He began to speak as he continued. ”It was on a Saturday, the 16th of July 1054, at nine o'clock in the morning. The Hagia Sophia, the main church in Constantinople, was filled with worshippers, for the preparations of the holy liturgy had just begun. Then the three delegates from the pope, who were in the capital city for negotiations, Cardinal Bishop Humbert, Peter the Archbishop of Amalfi, and Fredric the Deacon and Chancellor of the Church, went through the imperial door of the facade, into the sanctuary, and laid the bull of ban upon the altar, by which the Patriarch Michael Caeularius, Bishop Leo of Ochrida, and their followers were excommunicated out of the church, that they were anathema with all heretics, indeed with the devil and all his angels, unless they accept reason once again.”

His men barely understood any of what he was saying, mainly enjoyed the spectacle of his work on the Lord Grinaldi. Finally he finished, with a satisfied air. ”Ahh, excellent. Take him outside and make sure you clean up this work here. We don’t want him dying, now do we? Once he’s outside, burn the house. And kill everyone else.” Complying with his orders, his contingent burned the Grinaldi estate, and only the unconscious body of the lord was left alive outside near the front gate, a horrid carved ‘S’ on his right cheek.

Schismatic.

 

[unmerged(23493)]

Grenaldi's Villa Outside of Salerno

The muffled screams from inside were almost inhuman. Rachelle, a dark haired, fiery eyed beauty and mistress of the man being terribly executed inside listened with chilling interest. As did it seems, their captors who had the few people from around the villa gathered up outside in the garden.

Bernardo, the robust young, illegitimate son of Antonio noticed this as well and was up in a moment, one of the Neapolitans that had been assigned to guard them had been staring in the window. Bernado before he could respond grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed the man's face violently against the window stud, leaving a trail of blood as his body crumpled to the ground.

Rachelle dropped to her side and grabbed the knife at the fallen man's belt while Bernado took his sword, ready to meet the two other men now alerted from their ghastly entertainment. One of the stable boys rose up from behind and leapt onto one of the guard's necks, pulling his arms tightly strangling the man. Bernado used the moment of surprise to move forward and bring his sword in a downward arc hacking at the flesh of the man's thigh.

He let out a scream and began to collapse, the stableboy on his back. Rachelle rushed forward and took one of the horses, pulling herself up into the saddle, her curly, earthy black hair swinging about her shoulder with the movement. In a moment's time, the horse was galloping off, away from the villa from which smoke was beginning to rise on the far side.

Bernado growled at the italian guard remaining standing, "Time to die traitorous scum." However, then over the guard's shoulder he saw some men carrying the limp from of his father. His dark eyes flashed back to the guard a moment and rationality took the day. He backed up, sword held toward the man till he reached a horse, then with a yell he drove his heels into the animal and went galloping off after Rachelle. The remaining people overpowering the one still competent guard making their way from the now burning villa with all haste on their own feet and on mounts.

Now it was time to speak of the outrages done to the Neapolitan countryside from this alien invaders, welcomed by their own "gracious King". The flames of rebellion would be fanned, just as soldiers of the confederation were crossing the border from the south...

 

[N Katsyev]

Arkhangl'sk Colony, late January 1449
The Stranger​

​

Beloye Morye - Myzenkov​

Every couple hours Nikolai Pytorivitch Gretzkov would awaken, be it from the howling screaming tempest outside or simply to turn over to allow the other half of his body the heat radiating up from the stove seperated only by a plank and some reindeer pelts beneath him. This time however, there was another reason entirely.

It was not the elements beating ferociously on Nikolai's door at this hour, it was something deliberate, something human. Resigning to the fact that he wasn't going to get any more sleep, and remembering the story yesterday that two people had died the previous night from exposure he decided to investigate. Pulling the heavy pelts from off his body he shifted around on his bunk over the stove, his legs dangling over the side and the bottoms of his feet being pleasantly roasted by the hot iron.

It was a fleetingly temporary pleasantness however and he dropped from his plank onto the cold wooden floor. Pulling a heavy bear pelt cloak over his shoulders, still half asleep, Nilolai ambled over to the door. Again on the other side there was a loud banging that even caused the thick door timbers to shudder slightly under the assault. Reaching forward Nikolai unclasped the hinge lock and pulled the door open, instantly greeted by a fierce wind carrying with it ice and snow. Squinting against the whirling darkness, he could only make out a shadow before him and where Arkhangl'sk should be, he could only see blinding snow and darkness. Nikolai called to the shadow over the wind, "Come in comrade, pazhalsta, quickly."

Nikolai stepped back further and the shadow followed him. Inside, Nikolai shut the door firmly with a slight struggle and clasped the lock once more, the stranger spoke in a deep voice, "Thank you comrade, I felt I was about to die at your doorstep."

Turning from the door, Nikolai looked over the stranger. His face was heavily wrapped and a thick black beard hung from under the wrapping, his eyes seemed sunken and dark but of a grey-green colour, he was about a half hand shorter than Nikolai but more broadly built. Already he seemed to smell terribly and Nikolai was quick to move around him from the door toward the part of his home seperated by a blanket used as his kitchen, "What are you doing out in this kind of weather comrade?", asked Nikolai as he passed under the blanket, only to appear a moment later with a cast iron kettle in hand.

The stranger took a seat nearer the stove and began unwrapping the bindings about his face, his fingers Nikolai could see were purple, probably frost-bitten. As the wrappings began to come off they displayed a rough round face, cheeks tinged with a deep red with a generally ruddy complexion that could have been natural or simply grime. The smell seemed to suggest the latter. The stranger responded,"Looking for Christ."

This wasn't the first pious wanderer Nikolai had taken in for a night, nor would it undoubtedly be the last. Smiling slightly Nikolai set a pot full of water upon the stove and turned to face his guest, "I would advise you to be a bit more watchful of the weather, or you may find Him a lot sooner than you may so desire." Two cups filled halfway with cabbage, herring and salt that Nikolai had taken from the kitchen he now filled with the hot water and offered one to his guest.

The stranger happily accepted the offering with a smile, exposing a mouth of yellowed teeth, one or two long since missing. His hair was long and shaggy, this man probably had been living in the wilderness for months by now only the weather had become too much for him, forced him to leave his masochistic vigil, thought Nikoali. The stranger greedily went into his soup. Nikolai watched with indifference and after eating a bit himself spoke again, "You are welcome to stay here the rest of the night."

Shaking his head the stranger slurped up more of his soup and chewed it vigorously, his dark eyes looking up a moment at Nikolai through his shaggy hanging hair. Having swallowed most of it, the stranger replied, "Oh no comrade, I must be moving on, Christ is waiting for me, I needed only to warm my bones." Hardly had he finished the sentence before he was back into the remainder of soup.

In a few more moments of silence the two men simply ate before finally the stranger set his cup upon the wooden floor and stood. He offered a thick leathery paw of a hand to Nikolai, his fingers scarred and his nails rough and uneven. Nikolai unhesitatingly however took the stranger's hand and squeezed it once. The stranger reached into his cloak with his other hand and pulled something out. With a certain rough strength he suddenly opened Nikolai's hand that he had held, the latter looking up in a moment of fear at the stranger. However the stranger then put a silver rooble into Nikolai's palm, "For your hospitality comrade, I must be moving on."

The roobl was far more valuable than the fire or even the soup could have been, had Nikolai wished payment, which he didn't - a few kopecks could have easily sufficed. Not only was this a lot of money, it was far too much money for a man of this appeearance. Nikolai looked up into the stranger's face and his mouth opened to protest, but the stranger assuming Nikolai's intentions shook his head with a certain look in his eyes that for whatever reason convinced Nikolai it was best not to refuse. The man reached down and grabbed his bindings, beginning again to wrap them about his head. Nikolai in a state of suspicious wariness of the situation only managed to pocket the silver coin.

Fully bound once more, the stranger looked back around at Nikolai, his dark - almost dreadful stare fixed on the young man's face again he nodded and spoke muffled through the bindings, "Until next we meet comrade."

"Fsyevo debrava...", responded Nikolai as the stranger unclasped the lock and opened the door. Once more the screaming winds tore into the small sanctuary that was Nikolai's home that rest atop a hill that housed his newly purchased salt mine. Nikolai however did not shiver, only watched as the stranger was engulfed was more by the darkness. The stranger became shadow and the door shut... If Nikolai had thought he had any chance of sleeping now, he would have assumed that chance was utterly torn away.

For reasons unknown even to him however, after dropping the lock once more he climbed back into his bunk above the stove. Pulling the heavy blankets about his body he lie there only a moment. The screaming winds outside, the somewhat distant sound of wood on a hinge slamming aginst something, despite the what was at best a strange encounter, Nikolai was soon in a deep, restful sleep.

 

[cccino]

Onto His Majesty Ladislav, King of Bohemia, Hungary, et cetera,


Noble Majesty, all reports speak highly of your grace and generocity in releasing deserved title to bestow upon our comparitively inglorious house of Cilli. Rest assured, in conceding that our dependance was nominal only, and preparing to formalise such with his August Majesty Emperor Joachim, you have won yourself a strong ally, and our eternal loyalty as brothers to take the place of our loyalty as vassals.

You will be aware of the tiny but as yet unbridged gap between the demands of the Emperor and the admittedly justified limits to which you have been so charitable to reach. In preparing the ground for this we have had our advisers draw up this proposal, and await with great anticipation for your thoughts; we are certain your Majesty will accede to such a reasonable compromise, once your Majesty recalls the vacillating nature of loyalty under pressure from a more generous opponent.

Given the Emperor's unwavering demand to see the Duchy of Styria granted to Cilli, we have the following proposal. Forgive us for presuming to mediate between King and Emperor, but the sooner such matters are settled, the better for all.

In order to conclude peace with the Empire, reports indicate Imperial demands are firm. Should your Majesty concede to pass on the titles Duke of Styria, Duke of Carinthia, Margrave of Carniola to Graf Ulrich von Cilli (and it is clear this must be done), it would be his pleasure and duty to refuse the Styrian title and formally return it to your Majesty, Ladislav. In this manner, both Emperor and King may be satisfied: that the title in question has been transferred to appease the former, and that the title ultimately retained to honour the latter.

Such a humiliating reversal would of course damage Cilli's reputation, and prestige is - if not irreparable - hard fought. If it pleases your Majesty, there are a few ways in which Luxembourg-Wittelsbach and Cilli could be seen to compromise.

Most humiliating of all is should the Carinthian Dukes emerge from the seat in Celje, by geography in the southern extremes of Styria. To justify refusal of the Ducal title, it would be fitting for the surrounds of Celje to come under jurisdiction of the Carinthian Duke. Specifically, we request that Styria south of the Drave be absorbed into Carinthia. Should his Majesty see fit, the Grafen of Cilli offer their services as magistrates of Styria to facilitate the local collection of taxes, ensuring all such are payable directly to the Duke (namely, his Majesty), the application of justice and so forth, to circumvent the potential problems of administration from distant Praha.

In order to secure the Duchy of Styria against conflict, the future must be prepared for. As such, the following suggestion is made: that the future natural male heir of his Majesty King Ladislas should be united matrimonially with a suitable partner from the descendants of Ulrich von Cilli. The Ducal title of Styria shall thus be passed down through the offspring of this union. Should his Majesty Ladislas die without issue the Ducal title shall revert to the first of the house of Cilli. This matrimonial contract would also serve to ally the house of Cilli to Luxembourg-Wittelsbach.

As King of Hungary, your Majesty is responsible for high appointments outside the scope of the administrative leaders of Hungary. Given the lordship of three Kings in recent years, the ambiguous position of the late Palatine of Hungary, and that another has not yet been royally appointed, it would be suitable for your Majesty to reconfirm the governership of Slavonia and Croatia by the house of Cilli, who currently and traditionally govern these lands by order of two previous Kings. In other words, we request that Graf Friedrich von Cilli and Ortenburg and his son Graf Ulrich be reconfirmed as Bans of Slavonia and Croatia by his Majesty Ladislav, King of Bohemia and Hungary.

These are of course not conditions for your Majesty remaining titular Duke of Styria (perish the thought!), but mere recommendations for your Majesty to follow 'at will'. Let it not be said that our allegiance to your Majesty relies on purchase!

One further matter - we have touched briefly on the lack of a royally appointed Palatine of Hungary. By your grace, we forward a nomination - there is but one Baronial house in Hungary with the history and backing to rule in your name without fear of contradiction, conspiracy or infighting. For the sake of our friendship and the stability of the Kingdom of Hungary under your rule, we forward László II Garai as most suitable and rightful candidate as Palatine of Hungary, and all but guarantee his acceptance by the Hungarian Diet. Again, please take this proposal as a 'recommendation'.


Graf Friedrich von Cilli und Ortenburg, Banus von Slavonia und Croatia.

 

[Mettermrck]

German Camp, Near Naples

”Sir Heinrich” was standing there when Johann Frederick turned around. He had been staring impassively at the corpses, completely unaffected by the manner of their deaths, though his eyes shone brightly with a vivid fervor. He turned to Johann, and the corner of his mouth curled, though whether in an expression of sympathy or a sneer, could not be discerned. ”Sooo...your first taste of true war, milord. Not very pretty is it?” He looked away from the young Brandenburger and walked towards the dead men. He looked back and nodded at the expression on Johann’s face, satisfied at something. Gesturing to his men, a detail of his knights came forward and began picking up the bodies, one by one. There would be no opportunity for burial, not in this foreign land. The peasants would only uproot and mutilate them. No...it’d have to a quick religious ceremony and then cremation.

Noticing Johann wasn’t saying anything, “Heinrich” shook his head. ”War is like a broken heart. It cuts deeply the first time. Then it toughens your skin so that the next time, it won’t bleed as much. The test is, not to lose your soul in the process. We all must continue to serve God while we seek to reap our glory.” He stepped closer to the young man, eyeing him closely, as if measuring him. ”The question is, what will you do to avenge these men? It’s Constantine’s hand that is behind this, I swear. It’s his blasphemy that puts sword and death to Naples, his heresy. He will burn in hell. We are merely the instruments of God and those who oppose us, and oppose the Church, shall burn for it. Speaking of which....if you truly wish to do something about these men....come here.” He beckoned to his tent, in front of which was a small stool. On it, was a parchment, a crude map of Naples and the surrounding area.

”Here. This was our weakest point. While we rode off south, the scum must’ve come from here, the north. And the only settlement of note within leagues is here. Avellino. There’s a Romanesque cathedral, some ruins, and it’s strategically placed near some hills. We preserve the cathedral, but we mark everything else for death. That should assuage your thirst...yes? And then perhaps His Majesty will get off his sorry rear and do something about these rebels? We Germans cannot fight this war ourselves, no matter how well we do so!”

 

[Mettermrck]

Avellino, North of Naples

The flames burned hotter and hotter as “Sir Heinrich” raced amongst the thatched cottages, making sure that his men carried out his orders. ”No prisoners, damn your eyes! Slay them all!” Spotting a silhouette racing out of a nearby little house, he raised his sword and slashed downward, feeling sharp metal meet soft shoulder. The cry was muffled by the noise of the chaos – screams and flames, and he never knew who the person was, man or woman, nor did he care. It was all the same to him, they were all equally guilty in the Lord’s eyes. He continued down the main road, making sure each and every house had been accounted for, that each had been torched and no one had been hidden or protected. By the time “Heinrich” would finish with Avellino, the only home left standing for leagues would be the cathedral on the outskirts, with its priest the only survivor.

He spotted a knot of three soldiers clustered around what looked to be a group of townspeople. His face lit with fury, “Heinrich” broke into a run, ignoring the searing heat of the nearby flames, and letting the destruction of the town fuel his own rage, a divine anger at his men’s seeming confusion and hesitation. ”What is going on here? Why are these people not dead?” He spotted the scared look on one of the young soldier’s face and he knew. Chivalry...it would always undo the sacred bond between the Lord and his warriors. ”Get out of my way. I’ll deal with you later.” He pushed his men to the side, and looked down at the prisoners. It was a man and a woman. The man was looking from side to side, clutching at what appeared to be his wife. His wife, screaming in terror was holding what was most definitely her young son. He scowled at his soldiers. Cowards the lot of them, “Heinrich” swore.

”When I say all, I mean all. Schismatics include all folk, not just the ugly and the fully grown.” He turned to the young soldier, who’s eyes were widening in fear. Fear at what “Heinrich” was contemplating doing, and fear at what could be done to him if he didn’t obey. It was a crossroads for him. Take one road, keep his humanity but perhaps not survive the night. Or live, and become a monster to himself. “Heinrich” watched the personal struggle with a certain relish. Each man had to come to his faith in his own way. Finally he saw the tears pour down the young man’s cheek, and he nodded. Excellent.

”Good man. Help your mates hold them down then.” The father moved to block them, but was stabbed from behind by one of the soldiers. “Heinrich”’s sword rose and fell, dispatching the mother and child. With a satisfied smirk, he turned to his men. ”Now leave this mess here, and move out! And don’t let me see you crowding around again.” He turned and began to walk down the street, to check on the rest of the men. He stopped as he came abreast of the young man, who was looking down at the slain bodies of the family, trying to hold in his tears. “Heinrch” clapped him jovially on the shoulder, confident that the monster would surface tonight. The Lord’s own monster. ”Good lad. You do Our Lord’s work tonight, lad. He’ll remember you in Paradise.” With a smile, he walked off, the incident forgotten, Avellino burning and dying around him.

 

[unmerged(8054)]

- EVENT -

Russian Patriarchy

​

Sergius Romanivitch had studied at Mount Athos in Greece, he had visited holy shrines throughout Russia, talked to some of the more revered sterets of his time, and protected the Monastery of the Caves in Kiev with unprecedented vigor during the culiminating years of Lithuanian oppression. He had become Metropolitan of Kiev, under the Greek Patriarchate and the religous father of a great swath of oppressed Russian Orthodox believers

During the Orthodox rebellion against Lithuanian religious oppression and policies of extermination he had also become a hero. A rallying point for a people who were called outlaws simply because of their belief, called outlaws by a small catholic minority. However it was not long before Sergius saw that the Lithuanian minority, backed by foreign grants, armies and loans - some from another Russian patriarchate itself may ultimately bring an end to the revolution. So he escaped to Constantinople to join an Orthodox Synod there and raise further support for his people. Ultimately he would be too late to save the rebellion, but in the Synod a definitive issue was brought to light. The failure, treachery, corruption and necessary replacement of the Moscovite Patriarchate.

Over the next few years Sergius would travel to the city of Novgorod, gaining support for the inevitible. The archbishops of Pskov and Novgorod joined his side, their own flock having seen the danger of the fallen Moscovite church which now played to the tune of its traitorous Prince and who in his own turn followed as a puppet the Lithuanian King whose sole aim was the destruction of the same people the Moscovite Prince claimed as his own. Soon not only the Patriarch of Grennadius would be supporting Sergius, but those of Alexandria and Jerusalem. Moscow and her patriarchate had fallen to the Kipchak Khanate and increasing levels of darkness, regicide and treachery to her brethren. The time had come with the support of the heads of the Orthodox Church to save Russia's true faith from the terribly inglorious weaknesses and corruption that had befallen it. The only struggle would be that of necessity and salvation against tradition.




MODIFIERS:
Pskov spends 2 eco to trigger.
+1 to roll for continued good RP.

TABLE:

1.
Rather than bring stability to the Russian-Orthodox church, Sergius Romanivitch brings confusion and uncertaincy. The Patriarch of Moscow defends his actions, claiming that allthough distastefull, his cooperation with the Lithuanians saved many lives and has allowed the church to survive. And is it not true that Pskov, though pretending otherwise, has the support of many Catholic nations?
His arguments are heard, and Sergius Romanivitch' actions are seen as a naked attempt to grap power, rather than a move to save the church.
(-2 morale, -1 tech to Pskov for 1½ year/6 turns)

2.
"What are we now? Are we any better than the catholics with their constant political manouvering?" is a question many priests starts asking themself, as Sergius Romanivitch and the Synod declares Novgorod to be the Russian-Orthodox center of the future.
With his motives constantly attacked, Sergius Romanivitch fails to gather support among the lower ranks of the church.
(-2 morale to Pskov for 1 year/4 turns)

3~4.
Though some see the wisdom in Sergius Romanivitch' claims, and agree that the Patriarch of Moscow have failed in his duties, many more see an ambitious man attempting to sieze power.
With the Russian-Orthodox church thrown into a powerstruggle, Sergius Romanivitch fails to unite the faithfull of Russia behind him, but does manage to spread doubt regarding the Moscowite Patriarchs abilities.
(no effect)

5.
Even though prominent figures from all over the Orthodox world declares their support for Sergius Romanivitch, such majors changes are not determined by the leaders of the church alone. The change of leadership in the Russian-Orthodox church is succesfully carried out, but for years, many priests and peasants will continue to regard Mosciw as the center of the church. Eventually, Novgorod will become accepted by clergy and commoner alike, but the process takes time.
(Orthodox holy center moved from Moscow to Novgorod, stats changed accordingly.-1 morale to Pskov for 1½ year/6 turns)

6.
With prominent figures from all over the orthodow world speaking their support for the new Russian Patriarch, most, if not all, support the change. Over a relative short period, Novgorod is accepted as the center for the Russian-Orthodox church.
(Orthodox holy center moved from Moscow to Novgorod, stats changed accordingly.)

ROLL: 5 +1 = 6

RESULT:
Pskov spends 2 eco
Orthodox holy center of Moskva moved to Novgorod.
Russia looses the Orthodox center bonus.
Pskov gains the Orthodox center bonus.

 

[Mettermrck]

Solitudinem fecerunt, pacem appelunt
(‘They made a desert and called it peace’)​

Ruins of Avellino, North of Naples

”Sir Heinrich” was feeling jovial as he rode next to Johann Frederick, their force of heavy cavalry riding out of the village ruins and leaving behind the horrid remains of sack and death. ”Truly God has been kind to us this day, milord.” The column of knights rode down what was once the center street of Avellino, now fast becoming a muddy stream as the overcast sky let down the first showers of rain and dirt became rivulets of soil. Wet, hungry, exhausted, and uncomfortable, the German knights were nevertheless healthy and confident after their mad night of sport and justice in the Neapolitan town. A few voices could be heard, the crude soldiers’ jokes that would never truly be silenced, even by the ominous peals of thunder in the distance, or the steady splash of rain on armor. As each rider gripped his reins in one hand and his over-blanket in the other, the column steadily rode out southward, returning to Naples and the rendezvous with King Rene’s main army.

Behind them, out of sight and out of mind, the lost lives, lost hopes, and lost fortunes of the ruined town of Avellino, casualty to the rebellion in Naples.

 

[unmerged(23493)]

At Camp Near Conza


It was a dark quiet cool night. The camp was still, shielded from the Italian central highland winds by the the large ridge line to the southwest which was at the moment nothing but a great dark shadow looming not far in the distance. Down the slope a bit near the feet of this great shadow were the sparkling lights of Conza.

Antonio looked through the firelight at the beautiful creature before him. Her earthy black hair hung haphazardly about her wonderfully shaped shoulders, and her eyes instilled with a certain passion were heartbreakingly distant. Her beautiful mouth slowly articulated words as she gazed into the flowingflame, casting odd shadows against her olive skin, "They must have tortured him... It would be hard to say exactly, I didn't really stay around to check it out..."

In a melancholy sarcasm she gave a bit of a smirk to the Calabrian noble, a look that had a certain attraction about it despite the circumstances, Antonoio was a man after all. She sighed and looked away to the north, the camped soldiers' tents lining the gradual slope there and continued speaking, "Regardless, they have gone much too far. The King, and only in respect of God do I use the title, does nothing to control the german filth. They burn crops, slaughter innocents..." She paused and looked up from under her dark eyebrows at Antonio again, a bitter smile taking Rachelle's lips, "And its terribly ironic, he was neutral before the germans came. Before they began torching the vineyards of suspected supporters. It was the germans who forced Grenaldi into his position. After all, how can one by loyal to a liege that would destroy his own land, kill his own people so?"

Remaining silent for a moment, Antonio finally responded, "And that is the very reason for the resistance. His actions have done nothing but to jeopardize not only our wealth and prosperity, but our very lives. He would not shy a moment from sending our people to die in some distant field in France, all for his own ill-begotten benefit. Signore Grenaldi did the right thing, and as the Padre will tell you...", Antonio made a motion to the Catholic priest sitting there at the fire with them, accompanying the troops, "He will be smiled upon by God for doing so."

Rachelle was just one now in an endless supply of informants and supporters of the southern army of the confederation from all over a Naples outraged by the abuse of not only their King, but of dirty godless foreigners who were both cruel and barbaric. To Antonio as a military leader, these germans were a god-send, they provided him with volunteers daily, they outraged the populace who was then all too happy to aid the Confederate Neapolitans. Through them, Antonio knew of Avellino, and knew of his enemy's whereabouts at all times. In war where intelligence was so vital, it rest here firmly and soley with only one party, his.

 

[N Katsyev]

To all the diocese in Russia are brought the following message...​

"His Holiness, Patriarch of Novgorod, Russia and Georgia requests that the leaders of the Russian Orthodox Church meet at St. Sophia in Novgorod for a Holy Synod. This meeting shall concern but not be limited to the organization of the church, the church's mission and the affairs of the secular principalities."

 

[unmerged(6324)]

In Padua...

The Markets of Padua​

Ironically, during this temporary exhile, things went on as much as normally, only miles away from Venezia, in Padua instead. Guilds were establishing, and merchants were seen coming back and forth just as they had in Venezia. The banks were built at Padua, and it seemed as Padua was becoming more and more like the Venezia of old. The famous Silk Trade and paths into Europe shifted slightly from Venezia to Padua. Venezia was getting rich as it had been before, by this lucrative and demanding trade. Spices, silks, horses, and cottons were imported and sold for nearly double all across Italia, Venezia was making many profits, without it's named city. It seemed as though, Venezia really didn't need it's named city...but there was still the historical and moral reasons.

 

[N Katsyev]

St. Sophia in Lord Great Novgorod - Holy Russian Synod

​

The sleigh of Archbishop Dmitri Rhuzinin, vicar of christ of the Pskov diocese, pulled with the greatest of ease across the packed down snow of the Novgorod streets by four great dutch horses approached the Cathedral of St. Sophia. Regardless of the freezing cold about him, the uncomfortable journey from Pskov, Dmitri was somewhat excited the first synod of the new Patriarch, Serigus Romanivitch a man Dmitri had known and come to respect for some time now. There was much work to do, and it seemed obvious with the expiditious nature of the first calling to synod, Sergius fully respected this fact.

Inside the cathedral, Archbishop Mitula Semyonivitch was already sharing the darkened and incense filled chamber with the Russian Patriarch, awaiting the coming of the other church leaders. They had already been in quiet debate for some time, discussing things more important to Novgorod itself. The church's role in the foreign quarters, providing alms for the city's poor and working out contention with the nobility over a great deal of church land on some of the more valuable trade routes.

The door to the chamer was opened and Dmitri entered, nodding his head to the two men present, Mitula first and then the Patriarch, "Your holiness." Dmitri sat and the three men quietly began to speak, awaiting the arrival of other churchmen from throughout Russia.

 

[unmerged(8054)]

- EVENT -

Normal payments​

As the great war around the mediterenean and in the balkans draw to an end, kings and dukes disband the armies called in to fight and die for them.
As allways, only few men are left in the standing armies, and unemployed mercenaries once again wander Europe, in search of conflict and endangered lands.
Many of them find their way to England, others are drawn to the tension in Northern Germania, other still march to Iberia. But with so many men on the march, the leaders of the wandering bands are forced to once again lower their prices.


RESULT:
The event "increased payments" end. All new land.mil. or sea.mil. purchases once again costs 1 eco pr. LM or sea.mil.

 

[unmerged(8054)]

Johann-Kazimierz, heir to the duchy of Bremen, had enjoyed a good winter. Not only because the weather had been fair. Not even because he was slowly being granted more responsibility, and had even judged some minor border dispute between two noble families. No, the real reason for the smile he constantly wore these days was a girl.

He was no stranger to girls. A young man, 20 years old, and with the great privilegie of being the dukes son, he had known quite a few. Most of them common maids, but from time to time he had the good fortune to seduce the daughter of a rich Hanseatic merchant, and even once, after a masterpiece of manipulation he was quite proud of, Ilsa von Herztwald-Grüningen, a noblemans daughter. Of course her father would have been furious, as would his own, but none of them knew or even suspected, and Ilsa understood the need for silence as well as him. He had send her a valuable gift to her wedding, and was certain that if he ever passed through her husbonds lands, he could enjoy a warm bed, and some more than pleasent company.

But the real catch of the winter had been far more than the daughter of a minor nobleman. Her name was Rosa-Maria, and her father was king Constantine of Aragon.
Johann-Kazimierz was not a naivé man. He knew that the friendly relations that once existed between Bremen and Aragon, the ones that had caused the girl to live the last five years in Bremen, preparing for her future role as duchess, his wife, was gradually disappearing.
King Constantines loss of the Aragonese capital and the loss of Naples as Aragonese vassals, coupled with his actions in the great Mediterenean war, had caused Aragon to fall out of the favour it once held in Bremens court, and both Johann-Kazimierz and Rosa-Maria knew that. But living 5 years in the same court, under the impression that they were to be future man and wife, had caused the two kids to grow fond of each other, and Johann-Kazimierz, fond of women as he was, had finally convinced the otherwise strictly catholic princess that as they were to wed sooner or later, sleeping together would not really be a sin.
And slept together they had. Not only once, but several times, and Johann-Kazimierz had come to realize that he harboured deeper feelings for the girl than simply lust. He would be sad when she was sent home to Aragon, and found it hard to imagine that he would be quite as fond of whatever wife politics dictated he married instead.
But even his deep feelings for Rosa-Maria had not limited Johann-azimierz to only one women, and with a smile on his face, he eyed every young women he passed on his way to a meeting with his father.

Johann-Kazimierz' joy was also partly because of this meeting. Duke Johann would most likely go to the wedding in Dijon, and Johann-Kazimierz suspected this would be his first time in full charge of the duchy. Sure, it would only be for a month at most, but it was a clear proof that his father was satisfied with him.

The meeting itself started just according to Johann-Kazimierz wishes. He received instructions on which noble families to watch, on which merchants to grant audiences immediatly, and which to leave waiting for the dukes return. On which likely situations and letters from foreign dignities he could answer, and which he should forwward to Dijon.
But as the last instruction had been given, and Johann-azimierz rose to leave, his father held up a hand, signaling him to stay.

"And now to more serious matters." The smile that had dominated the dukes face as he prepared his son for his first taste of real power had vanished, and Johann-Kazimierz sat down, suddenly worried.

Duke Johann III of Bremen continued. "So far, I have ignored your little games. I was once a young man, and you have shown you can handle the hints of danger that could surface from your adventures."

The heir paled. His father knew of his adventures, and had known for some time. Trying to mount a defense, the heir to the merchant-duchy started an answer. "Father, I know... But as you said..."
"Silence, Johann-Kazimierz." The way the duke pronounced his sons name was filled with meaning. The Pommeranian part of the name was stressed, as if duke Johann subconsciously, or perhaps willingly, tried to put distance between his own German name, and the deeds they were discussing.
"I am certain you have kept yourself informed of the events in Iberia?"

"Of course." Happy for any occasion where he could demonstrate knowledge, and thus please his father, Johann-Kazimierz was quick to answer, and was just about to launch a summary of the events his father had mentioned.

"Spare your breath. Under these circumstances, with Aragon loosing territory, allowing rebels to break free from vassalage unchecked, and loosing prestige among the nations of the mediterrenean, the once beneficial effects of your arranged marriage with Rosa-Maria are nowhere in sight."

"Yes father. Have you found a suitable match for me? In that case, I shall off course cease my adventures among the women of the household."

"I have searched for such a wife, yes. And I was close to finding one."

Johann-Kazimierz missed the last part of his fathers words. Drawing a breath of release, he allowed himself to smile again. Soon he would be marriaged, and though he would have to watch Rosa-Maria leave Bremen, he had no plans to stop his conquests among the ladies. He would just have to be a bit more carefull.

"Very good, father. I am certain you have made a good choice. When shall I meet the young lady?"

"You allready know her! Intimately."
Not giving the heir of Bremen time to respond, duke Johann continued to bring the news that had troubled him the last two days.

"Rosa-Maria, princess of Aragon, will give birth in no more than 5 months. So my physicians and the ducal confessions informs me."
Johann-Kazimierz was not alarmed that old father Andreas, the priests to whom the ducal family confessed their sins, would tell such news to duke Johann. He had suspected this for years, and had thus either not confessed his conquests, or gone in silence, incognito, to churches in the city of Bremen, there to confess to men not knowing his identity. But with a sudden dread, he realized that Rosa-Maria, strongly catholic, would never suspect that a priest would violate the trust placed in him in this way. She had confessed to father Andreas, and the old bastard had rattled to duke Johann.
And then Johann-Kazimierz realized the real danger in what his father had told him...

"Pregnant?"

Without much sympathy, duke Johann continued.
"We cannot keep this a secret, and my physicians inform me it is to late to hope that the child will not be born. Such would be to dangerous for the mother.
Even now, this will be certain to cause a scandal. The foolish girl kept hoping against better knowledge for some trick of nature, and only spoke to father Andreas two days ago.
You will have to marry her, and it cannot wait.
When I return from the wedding in Dijon, I except to return to a married couple here as well.
I will inform king Constantine myself. You can go."

Stunned by these news, Johann-Kazimierz got up and left the room. He would have to talk to Rosa-Maria about this...

 

[N Katsyev]

Kitchens, Pskovskeey Kremlin​

​

The remains of the evenings dinner around them, finally full and content two Princess sat in the dark kitchen in the early hours of morning, though dawn still a few hours away. Mina and Katya sat at a small table in the dark, lit only by a couple candles, leaning from the bench against the table facing each other. Speaking in low honest tones that either rarely had fully the opportunity to do.

They were still dressed in the beautiful garments they had worn earlier that night at dinner, both adorned with diamonds and gemstones, both looking maybe even more beautiful in a fully relaxed state, their hair now let down about their shoulders. Katya's fingers came up, her nails slightly brushing against her forehead as she pushed back a bit of hair revealing a moderately intoxicated playful smile, "I think Prince Vanya has an eye for you Minya."

Mina's fingers slowly moved around a delicately fashioned venetian spoon in the stew she had not eaten from for so long it was cold by now, her forehead resting on her hand, Mina's grey eyes glanced over at Katya, "Like i've always told you Katya love, you must acquire the adoration of everyone. Whether you deem them important or not, threats can after all come from anywhere. Vanya... well, Vanya is important." Mina bit her bottom lip and shifted a bit more to face Katya more fully, her cheek resting on her hand now as she looked over Katya's beautiful face, "It is good Andrushka has taken a liking to him so... and likewise. Tver is necessary as the most loyal, they are the most powerful as well."

"And what of Yuri? Have you heard anything from the Prince of Rzhev?", Katya's eyes watched Mina's with an intimate curiousity. Katya enjoyed Mina's company fiercely and always had, for she was the only person that Katya ever felt could truly and fully entertain her intellectually. Two powerful personalities which just so happened to co-exist in relative harmony.

"Not a word since the Zubtsov Prince came as our guest. But it is winter, old men ache badly in the winter...", Mina's lips curled in a bit of a mocking smirk.

"You've never forgiven him have you Minya?", Katya's eyes narrowed slightly, her brow slightly furrowed.

Mina's smirk dissapeared and she rolled her eyes back as if in deep thought on the matter, but it wasn't a few moments before her full lips curled in a wicked smile again. Her eyes going to back to Katya who could not contain a giggle. One that both Princesses soon took part in, though Mina far less than Ekaterina. Mina sat more straightly, appearing to take on a more serious nature and she took Katya's hands in her own, looking at her "sister's" face, "Kitty love, I respect my uncle. I forgive him as family. But I can never as a ruler for the weakness he showed. His actions put in grave jeopardy our family's position. What if the Oligarchs had chosen someone other than my brother with my uncle gone? We wouldn't be sitting here, there may not be a Patriarch in Novgorod, there may not be the alliance we created tonight... He risked too much in weakness, that I can never forgive."

Katya's face however took a suddenly sullen look when Mina mentioned her brother. The alcohol still rich and flowing through her veins, the emotional moment, and the mention of her father. Katya's eyes moved away from Mina's face a moment before returning, though unengaging to her aunt and her "sister", "Minya, I miss papa..." Her own words were all it took, to let loose the penned up emotions and Katya's beautiful eyes began to tear, her hands gripping Mina's more tightly, "When he was alive... I hated him at times, I didn't think he loved me, he blamed me for my mother's death... I know he did... But now he's gone and I miss him... "

Her playfulness vanished and Mina edged forward to Katya, letting go her hands and embracing her, holding Katya's face to her neck, the warm tears dropping on Mina's elegant shoulders. Mina leaned her chin on Katya's forehead and whispered, her own heart beating faster but she tried to keep her composure, "I told you Katya love, his last words to me, he thought he was speaking to you. He loved you Katya, more even than Andrushka, you are his pride." Mina remembered well the last moments of her brother, in that inn in Riga. Her hair falling about his face as a canopy as he spoke loving words to a daughter that he saw in Mina's face... The thought brought chills up Mina's spine and it was all she could do to hold back the tears herself.

Of course, Katya had heard this before, but Mina's voice more than anything soothed her. She sniffed and hung closely onto Mina's body, simply taking comfort in the warmth of Mina's skin, the softness of her neck. After some quiet minutes, her crying mostly subsided Katya spoke quietly, she let out a sigh that contained something of a laugh though her cheeks were still stained with tears, her eyes still wet and her voice uneasy, "At the funeral, in the wilderness. Pavyel cried like a baby, but I was rigid... I honoured my father then, I revered him. Now I just terribly miss him... or do I regret never having a father and never will I have one now..."

This was a chord that struck deep with Mina, as she never truly had a father either, being raised mostly by her much older brothers Yuri and Pavyel. It was also a major bond between the two girls as Katya had never much known her own father, Mina's brother Yuri. For the moment, Mina found she had nothing to say. All she could do, and maybe it was the best thing was to press her full lips to Katya's forehead and stroke her hair. Katya's hand came up after a few moments of silence and with the side of her finger she wiped away her tears, she shifted her head to look up at Mina's face, "Do you mind if I sleep with you tonight Minya, I don't want to be alone... "

"And deny my lovers?", Mina coyly answered with a smirk. Evoking a smile from Katya at which Mina replied, "Of course not love, but come, its getting late." With the rustle of friction between silk and fine material the two Princesses stood and walked quietly out of the kitchen.

In the corridors of the Hall on the way to Mina's chambers they recalled the earlier night. Mocking various nobles and merchants, remarking on dress, exchanging gossip - something which Mina had an incredible and insurmountable ability for gathering and talking about the foreign Princes. How lovely Prince Ivan had acted, how aloof the Princess of Vladimir-Suzdal who it seemed had some previous history with Andrushka and the baseness of the Prince of Ryzan who Mina had admitted along the way at a mischevious grin from Katya she had come to the verge of having hung from the walls. By the time they reached Mina's chambers, the sadness and seriousness of the last minutes in the kitchen had been replaced by mirth, light conversation and giggling.

Mina's bed chambers were as always warm and comfortable. It was actually not the largest bedchamber in the Kremlin at Mina's request. She preferred a smaller, more cozy room, the bathing veseel resting right in front of the fire which notably had a number of pelts spread all around it. Her bed and numerous dressers that held her seasonal wardrobes on a slightly higher surface than the fire, the bath and her bedroom desk which she hardly used except to write down things that came to her mind at that very moment. Right now however all that rest on the desk was a book of folklore opened to a story about a number of children who had become lost in a small village in Olonets...

Katya and Mina stood side by side before the mirror, removing their jewlery and commenting upon it as they went. They always shared everything including clothes and it was something of a game for them during formal events to try new combinations to later pass on the effect to the other. "Do you think he smelled a bit?"

Mina's finely trimmed eyebrow raised slightly in her reflection in the mirror, "Who is that love?"

"Prince Rodislav."

"Luckily I was far enough away to claim ignorance.", Mina's face retained an amused expression as she slowly worked her way out of her dress.

Katya, following grinned as she reached behind her unclasping the hidden loops at the back of her dress that held it tightly about her body and which then with relative ease slid off from her, "I'm serious Minya, I think he smelled funny. Do you think they bathe in Ryzan?"

Mina's eyes hung on Katya's shapely body a moment, before coming back up to her eyes with an amused smirk, "With that much tatar influence, its doubtful." Katya smiled and Mina turned away and walked over to the bed, slipping under the covers and immediately as she always did, wondering why anyone would want to leave such a comfortable place.

Katya followed around the other side of the bed, passing before the fire, its flickering light alone the room lighting up the skin beautiful Princess' body. She then slipped in on the other side of the bed and lay flat, her face alone turning over to look at Mina whose eyes had already closed, "You will be remembered Minya, forever."

Her grey eyes then opened again, and Mina looked over at Katya who had now in turn shut her own. Mina didn't have to ask, she knew exactly what Katya meant. In the past decade, Mina had assured herself a place in Russia's history, one that would never be forgotten, tonight's actions major ones, first steps to something grand. A wickedly coy smile took Mina's face in the flickering firelight, the very thought brought no little bit of excitement to the Czarina and Grand Princess who now moved across the bed.

Katya felt the movement. Her eyes opened as Mina's warm soft lips pressed against hers and they closed once more. Katya's hand reaching up to feel the side of Mina's face, her soft silky hair that fell down toward the pillow. Mina for her part was struggling - though not greatly, with a familiar passion. One that now awakened desperately wanted sating, and what better medium than this firm beautiful body next to her? It would be so easy to give in, Katya was pliant and her kiss was obviously welcomed and being quite pleasingly returned, she had always been attracted in a sense to Katya and had kissed her before, why not do this now?

But she didn't, and she didn't even know why. With subconscious effort she hesitatingly let go of the pleasure that were Katya's full lips, her tongue, she looked with undisguised passion into the grey eyes so much like her own that looked back with clear desire. Katya's body was aflame and her thigh had already sneaked up onto Mina's, the alcohol in her veins dismissing whatever reservations she'd normally have. But Mina now only touched Katya's nose with her own and the Grand Princess smiled, a develishly playful smile, "Goodnight." Mina who had been laying on her side over Katya now rolled back and turned away, her body agonizing from the close encounter for more, but she simply closed her eyes and did her best to dismiss the urge.

Katya, stunned, her heart beating, and aching now for pleasure was left a moment in shock. But her emotions with the drink, with the releases of earlier in the kitchen, were about as pliable as her body had been only a moment before. After a moment she smiled as well and turned onto her side, draping an arm over Mina and pressing her face into the back of Mina's shoulder laying a single kiss, "Goodnight."

 

[unmerged(17303)]

The Imperial Palace at Astrakhan​

As those assembled thought they had neared the end of their meeting, the Great Khan stood up and applauded them.

[color=bd9200]"Brothers, You have been given a gift. You will be alive to see the greatest era of our people's history since the Blue horde conquered Russia so many generations ago. Today we will sign an historic document which will outlaw the laws of this new entity... this new Mongol state... I believe it is called -- by westerners -- Empire."[/color]

The crowd began to murmur.

"Quiet down! let the Son of Heaven have your devoted attention."

[color=bd9200]"Today we will discuss what belongs written down so that it will be preserved for all time... and will become the basis for the law of Mongols in the future... Today we decide not only our fates, but the fates of those who will join us. After all, We are not the only realm of Mongols... but we are the only proper realm of Mongols, led by one who has truly descended from Genghis Khan, the Father of our people, One who is led by a great warrior who has the mind of a sage... We attempted several times to bring our realm closer to the Khanate of Timur. Timur claimed he was going to revive the Ilkhanate, but instead he perverted the lands it once occupied. We asked the Aghakhan, Yesugai to sign the pact of the Second Great Mongol Empire. He refused, so we look at the Timurids not as Mongols, but as foreign. the Khanate of Nogai refused as well, as did the Khazaks. Those states, as they refused to sign, are no longer recognized as true Mongol states. Mongol law will state that only those who are subjects of the Supreme Khan are true Mongols. Those who have strayed and become pacifists, those Khanates mentioned before, they will not be seen as Enemies... they will be given the opportunity to correct their mistakes... They are our brothers, and brothers do forgive... But should they continue down the path of darkness and despair, we will abandon them. The law will mention this as well. Come, all of you, speak up, What else should be written? We will debate this until the sun dies, and then is born again, if we must. This document will signify what we stand for and believe in, what we will not tolerate, and what will happen if our laws are broken."[/color]

And, as he stated, they did debate for hours on end. Reformers, such as Baku and Sukhebataar dominated the argument over what the Laws would say, while Traditionalists like Shao and Ulugh dominated the debate over what the punishments would be should the laws be broken. In the end, both sides claimed victory, while it was the moderates who truly won, as the new law was not very different from the Great Yassa of Genghis Khan.

Yassa of the Year 242 of the Mongol Empire​

Behavioral Laws​

1A: No Mongol is permitted to run his blade through a fire, beheading the flames.
1B: Doing so is punishable by death.

2A: No Mongol is permitted to eat without swallowing all in which he has inserted to his face.
1B: Doing so is punishible by death.

3A: A Mongol man is permitted to have as many female partners as he wishes.
3B: If two Mongol men are found joined by the flesh, they will be punished by death.

4A: Mongol women are forbidden to mate with foreign men.
4B: Should a Mongol woman be caught mating with a foreign man, they will both be punished by death.

5A: Mongols may not mate with their immidiate kin. bonding with parents, offspring, and maternal siblings is not permitted.
5B: Should this law be broken, those who broke this law will be exiled to separate Khanates.

6A: A Mongol man shall not force mating upon a Mongol woman that refuses him and is of equal or greater status.
6B: Should this law be broken, the man who commited shall be punished by the severing of his mating organ.

7A: Speaking falsely to anyone of greater status is not permitted.
7B: Should one do so, their tongue is to be severed.

8A: Theft is strictly prohibited.
8B: The punishment for theft is to have one's arm severed.

9A: Non-Mongols are prohibited from killing Mongols.
9B: If a Mongol is killed by a Non-Mongol, the killer, and all of his possessions will be given to the family of the victim, to do with what they wish.

Religious Laws​

10A: In the lands of the Mongol Empire, belief in the Sunihia religion is prohibited.
10B: Those who have been proven to be followers of the Sunihia sect will be burned from sundown to sunrise.

11A: The Mongol Empire will set taxes for religions however they see fit.
11B: If a follower of a religion fails to pay the appropriate tax, they will be punished by either exile, imprisonment, or death.

12A: Nonbelievers are prohibited from disrupting religious ceremonies.
12B: Those who disrespect another's religion are to be fined a set amount.

Land and State Laws​

13: The Mongol Empire will be ruled by the will of the Supreme Khan

14: Only a direct descendant of Genghis Khan will be permitted to rule the Mongol Empire as Supreme Khan

15: The Lesser Khans may attempt to change the text of the Yassa every fifth year.

16: Should the Supreme Khan voice disapproval of any law changes, they will not be added.

17: No Khan other than the Supreme Khan shall be permitted to interfere with another Khan's ability to govern his own Khanate.

18: No Khan will be permitted to assume the name Temujin or Genghis.

19: The Capital of the Mongol Empire will remain in Astrakhan unless the city is captured by an enemy.

20: Women will be permitted to ascend to the rank of Khan, but not Great Khan or the Supreme Khan.

21: After the death of a father, the senior son may dispose of the father's wives, except for his mother; he may marry them or give them in marriage to others.

22: Children born of a concubine are to be considered as legitimate, and receive their share of the heritage according to the disposition of it made by the father.

23: All except the legal heirs are forbidden to make use of any of the property of the father.

24: One who is found to be a traitor by his Father, his Chieftain, or to his Khan is to be punished by death.

25: Any lands that wish to join the Mongol Empire may do so, as long as approved by the majority of Khans and then the Supreme Khan, However, their subjects must obey these laws when traveling through Imperial lands.

 

[AugCaesar]

Valladolid - Dawn

The sun was just beginning its slow ascent into the sky as Juan de Sessa, Marshall of Castile strolled into his father's chambers and found him staring longingly out the window at it. The elder de Sessa, like his King, longed to be away from court for some time, he did not regret giving up the throne for he knew now that he was too old, too disillusioned for it. Countless papers and petitions assaulted him every day and this wedding was a great opportunity for him to escape it, but he held his reservations that the other members of the Cortes would seek to sway the King to their side. The two men of the Cortes he could trust, he could now only call upon one, for Juan Garcia de Sevilla was away in Grenada, but his own son was here, and in this time of looming war he could think of none better to replace him. Sancho was drawn out of his thought by his sons strong young voice,

"You called me father?"

"Yes," Sancho turned and motioned at the nearby table which he approached. "I shall be gone to France for..." He paused as he took his seat and settled, his son doing likewise, "for an indeterminite time, I trust in Enrique to do all that he can, but he is still younger even than you, and was not raised with all the responsibilites you were Juan."

Juan blushed a bit, and lowered his head, embarrased by his fathers compliments, but he did answer back,

"So I shall watch over my cousin?"

Sancho nodded, "Protect him, see that the Canciller and the others do not gain too muchof his ear."

Juan stared his father in the eyes, his acknowledgment known from the stern look he bore as he thought of the potential challenges of the weeks to come. He did not speak again before his father continued.

"You know my mind on Aragon, and I trust that you have handled the preparations well."

Quickly Juan interrupted as his father paused, "Should the King himself go to war?"

"He shall decide that," Sancho continued, more relaxed, "I shall journey first to Barcelona, to call unexpectedly upon the Greek, I hope my meeting shall make our position more decisive. You know what to do Juan, you have my faith."

Sancho motioned then for his son to leave, "I have much packing left to do now, go and rest, it is still early."

Juan obediently obeyed and was quickly back out into the castle's corridors, but one thing still bothered him that his father said. He did not know what his father's intentions at Constantine's court were, but it certainly sounded like he intended to start a war.

 

[N Katsyev]

Arkhangl'sk Colony
Two Fishermen​

​

Beloye Morye - Myzenkov​

It had been some months since Nikolai Pytoritch Gretzkov was interrupted that night by the odd stranger and he had long since forgotten, now he looked out over the white sea as her winds brutally attacked him sitting on a stone overlooking the mouth of the Severnaya Dvina river. In his lap was a thick bundle of furs upon which he was doing his best despite the wind to write a letter to a contact in Novgorod. While this was slow and agonizing work considering the conditions, it was only just now starting to become warm enough to spend much time outside and exhausted of spending endless days in the closed dark confines of his home, Gretzkov was just happy to be outside.

"... and you must understand Petya, that for the operation to truly begin in earnest I need at least then more men before mid-May. If you only knew Petya how quickly the weather turns inclement and untraversable here you would realize the short periods we are given to work and still have time to catch the cheap cogs that head south before the freeze returns... "

This wasn't fully true, in fact men were already in his salt mine and the extraction rate was good, however labor this time of year was cheap while the ground was still too frozen for sowing and so Nikolai was all too enthusiastic to have as much sent his way while the prices were good. A white lie never hurt and he had full confidence in "Petya". Just as he began setting his pen down to write again, two men walked past behind him. They were fishermen, Nikolai could tell that in a moment from the terrible downwind smell.

The smell however wasn't what piqued Nikolai's attention. It was the topic of their rough speech, murder. It had been two years since anyone had been murdered in the colony, and for good reason. The wealth around was far too abundant to create much competition yet, but the main reason was that everyone was simply usually too busy trying to stay alive against the climate, conditions, and diet to worry about killing one another. From what Nikolai could hear, it happened over the night, a young boy had been found slain in the street, strangled and a crucifix burnded into his forehead. Curious, but then the two fishermen walked out of earshot and Nikolai simply went back to writing his letter. Though a moment later a chill ran up his spine, maybe from the wind... maybe not...

 

[unmerged(2461)]

- Battle of York, 1449 -

Or, Being a Tale of Jack Sully: Ploughshares to Swords
Like many local men from Lincolnshire, when Edmund's army conquered Lincoln city and marched into it triumphant, Jack Sully readily joined it. The King's armies were headed by Raiphe Mortimer, the Duke of Norfolk and one of Edmund's favourites. The Duke's men stayed the winter in the city and treated Lincoln and its lands well after their capture - a marked contrast to what had happened in Bristol, earlier that year. The Duke punished those of his men who misbehaved harshly, and several had even hanged in compensation for their crimes. To Sully, a practical man who took life at face value, this had been an act of good faith on the Duke's part.

Sully did not ask what had brought the King and his enemy, the big northern house of Lancaster, to each others' throats. What he did know though, when he saw it, was the King's banner. Sully, who had rallied to Harry's colours at Agincourt as a young man, was only one of hundreds of Lincolnshire's finest who flocked to it again.

Jack packed enough belongings and provisions for several weeks as the army readied itself for the long march north. Jack had also sought out his old, trusty long-handled bill-hook, well worn from its years of working Sully's yeoman master's farm and, before that, cracking armoured heads in France. Although it was made for use in agriculture and forestry, in anger it could be used as a lethal polearm, and was the favourite of many an English foot-soldier.

A knot of Lincoln lads had formed in the Duke's army. Having kissed his fretting wife and children goodbye moments before, Jack found his fellows soon enough, shouting bawdy greetings to those he knew. They named themselves the 'Lincoln Billmen' - a doughty mass of two hundred country men who marched to fight the King's war, carrying farmyard tools much like Sully's and every bit as vicious as a sword in the right hands.

* * * * *​

Jack and his boys came to meet many new faces in the army, on its march north. From some fearsome-looking archers who spoke with strong, Welsh accents, Sully learned that they were on their way to meet the Duke of Lancaster's army at York. The archers laughed easily at the mention of their enemies and looked confident. Apparently, Lancaster's army was large, but poorly trained and armed. The archers expected the battle to be a one-sided, all too easy defeat.

* * * * *​

On the eve of the battle, Sully and several of his gang sat with some mercenary crossbowmen from Genoa. Jack had never heard of the place, and when one of his men respectfully tried to explain that it was somewhere south, near Italy, Sully nodded sagely and desperately tried not to show that he did not know where that was, either.

The Genovese mercenaries were fine fellows who enjoyed good company and had a jaunty taste in music. As dusk began to fall, and the myriad campfires of Edmund's army began to glow in the dim light for miles in every direction, one of the Genovese produced a lute and started playing. Soon, his comrades were clapping and singing a folk song that was clearly familiar to them. To louder cheers still, one of Sully's men returned to their fire after a hunt for provisions with great water-skins full of good, brown ale.

As the hours passed, the Lincoln Billmen and their Genovese camp-mates, who could not speak a word of each other's tongues, danced, cheered, drank and joked like merry fools into the small hours of the morning, blissfully unawares of the horrors the next day would bring.

* * * * *​

Battle
It was midday and the battle had already been raging for hours. Jack Sully sank to the ground, grateful beyond measure for the chance to take a rest. He, and those of his men who were still alive, were exhausted to the point where they could barely speak. His lungs tasting of smoke and his face dripping with grimy sweat, Sully looked down the slope, which was strewn with the bodies of the dead and the writhing nearly dead. The three battles of the Earls of Winchester and Warwick and Henry Holand, the Duke of Exeter, were fully engaged with the slowly retreating remnants of Lancaster's shattered army.

Sully and the Lincoln Billmen were attached to The Duke of Norfolk's battle - the biggest in the King's army. They had seen heaviest of the day's fighting on the army's eastern flank when it had attempted a successful, but bloody and mutually expensive, flanking action on Lancaster's line. The fighting seemed to have gone on forever; Sully had never seen an army as large as Lancaster's. He and the Lincoln Billmen had fought hard, but they had not liked killing men who cursed them and shouted to each other in Jack's native English. The men Sully had slaughtered could easily have been his friends and neighbours; some of the younger Lancastrians had reminded him of his own sons. When the Duke's trumpeter had finally sounded the long awaited signal for their battle to withdraw and regroup, Sully and his men had staggered from the fray dismayed and disillusioned.

Sully hefted his bill-hook and stood to his feet. As one of the oldest veterans of the Lincoln Billmen, he had been a natural authority in the group since they had left their wives and homes weeks ago. Now that the Billmen numbered just over fifty - only a quarter of their original number - they looked to him not just for guidance but also for their chance of returning to Lincolnshire alive.

Sully became aware of a pain in his right shoulder, and he saw for the first time a deep gash there, the dried blood from which had already turned crusty black. He ignored it, and began rallying the remainders of the Billmen, kicking and poking with his bill-hook at them as they lay wearily around him. The order to charge could come at any moment.

* * * * *​

As it happened, the gates of York opened before Norfolk's battle had fully rallied and rested. Knowing full well that they could not repel their Yorkist enemies from the field, the remaining Lancastrians, themselves worn down to a quarter of their original number, retreated behind the safety of the walls of York. Those men inside the city, still fearful of the men of Lancaster who had conquered them nearly a year ago, faithfully sealed the gates in the face of the King's men.

In years to come, historians would chronicle this day in English history as a great victory for Edmund and his men. Jack Sully, who had only seen a book once and had never read, threw his blood-stained bill-hook to one side, buried his face in his hands, and wept.