SS 6.3, Byzantine Empire Early Campaign, M/M, first game for a few years on M2TW, used to be known as Tweety, long time ago but hope a few remember AARs like After Manzikert... this will be a mix of battle/character building, I like to role play but also to fight... hope you all enjoy, quite a demure opener but will build up to something more, C & C welcome
CHARACTER LIST c. 1105 AD
CHARACTER LIST c. 1118 AD
Shankbot12's Imperial Family Tree
Constantinople, 1100 AD
Ioannis Komnenos stood in the yard, loosing arrows at a target fifty yards away. Next to him, alternating shots, was Yaroslav Wladimirovic, a Rus ward of the Komenoi. The young Kievan was winning easily, his long blond hair blowing across his calm ice eyes as his arrows homed in on the target, while an ever more flustered Ioannis sweated like a pig despite the breeze. Laconically leaning against the wall was a herb-chewing grizzled old man, with weatherbeaten wrinkles, roughly cropped hair and stubble and a dirty cloak. His capbrim was pulled deep over his face, obscuring a glint from underneath it.
“Set to Yaroslav. Again.”
“Next game my call, swordplay.”
The willowy northerner shrugged and threw off his bracers, slinging his bow over his shoulder and turning out of the courtyard ahead of a broody princeling, steadfastly ignoring the dark old man, even as he gobbed on the cobbles in front of him. Not even sniffing, he quit, leaving Ioannis alone with the old man. Scowling, the first wisps of a beard dripping with condensed sweat, the young man made to copy his Rus friend, but this time the man spoke.
“Ioannis, your father would have us talk. Come with me.” The voice growled like a lion and beneath the floor-vibrating rumble there was the faintest hint of a Turk accent.
Unquestioningly and silently, the order was obeyed. The path trodden by the surly foreigner was traced, wending through courtyards into the armoury. A page was helping Yaroslav into light chain mail.
Again silently, the Kievan noble obeyed, eyes to the floor, his jaw a hard line the only betrayal of emotion. The old man pull up a chest and sat on it, gesturing with a gloved hand for his example to be followed. As it, of course way.
"Ioannis. Your father has sent me to talk to you. Can you guess why? Good. You are young now and have the softness of the brain man has until he develops with age. At the moment your skull is flimsy, like an eggshell and your brain itself is like yolk. All yellow and gluey. I am a Muslim and you know our peoples have the best doctors. Our doctors know this. Ioannis, royal blood or not, there are things you must be told. These are some of them. You are listening? Good.
First, your father is at war. Not with Turks any longer, we have worked our boundaries as you know and for now both sides must bide their time. But in the north are still Bulgars, Serbs, Croats, upstart lordlings who dispute the Imperator Romanum. We must fight them. And Magyars across the Danube too. On the Italian peninuslar Normans, Venetians, Milanese and Genovans. And our friend the Pope.
Except none of these people are friends. They are enemies, and enemies cost money. Who has money? Merchants. Merchants have money, but they do not have titles, land, a claim to anything much. Lords have these things and want money. So, a trade.
Some things are necessary for the realm and if you do not accede to your father's will I shall beat you black and blue with the flat with my sword with the Emperor's blessing. That is your lesson for today."
And the Turk left, his hat slipping slightly as he stood, to reveal a golden nose, burning dark eyes and thick caterpillar brows. Ioannis sat there with the discomforting feeling that the nose had stared at him, daring him to comment, before its owner swept with it out of the room.