[SS 6.4] The English-Aragon Conflict

[DrAndrew]

Hi guys. This is my first attempt at doing an AAR. I'm playing as the English on SS 6.4, and this is a brief novelization of why I decided to destroy the Aragonese empire in my game. I'd like you to know a few things before I set out with the story.
1. I'm not a native English speaker. Be gentle.
2. This is on an M/M campaign and battle mode mainly because although I've put an insane amount of hours in this game I still suck.
3. I might do other ones based on certain offensives and events that take place in my campaign, but I haven't decided yet.

Now, let's get on with the story.

The Aragon Campaign.

English dominion spread over all the British Isles, the trade hubs of Galway and Dublin secure under English protection. The mighty bastions of Norwegian power, Oslo and Bergen, along with the great city of Groningen, have fallen before the relentless onslaught of the English Elite Army. Cornered and with nowhere to run the Norwegian Ruling Family at Eikundarsund chose to give up their independence so as not to be completely wiped out and put to the sword. The Burgundy Blood Treaty, document in which Norway relinquishes its independence to British rule and authorizes unrestricted military and trade access, comes into full power circa 1150 AD. The troops, bloodied and beleaguered but victorious, return home only to find that the French have taken their hometown of Caen. During a heroic battle at the footsteps of the Caen castle the French general Pierre Clermont, eldest and most decorated son of King Jean Clermont, falls. This marks the beginning of the French-English war. After many skirmishes, bloody conflicts and the second battle and retaking of Caen, along with the taking of the fortresses of Lyon, Angiers and Bordeaux, the fall of Paris, Clermont, Rheims and Dijon during the year 1177 the French army is crippled and utterly vanquished. As a show of mercy on behalf of King Bartholomeu the Cunning, the Merciless, the French are offered the same treaty as the Norwegians. Bend the knee and we shall not destroy you. The French, beleaguered after 20 years of defeat after defeat at the hands of English armies, eagerly sign the conviction, hoping it would prevent a massive slaughter at the footsteps of their last bastion, Toulouse. Now, the English army is licking its wounds and filling up its coffers with plunder from the rich Parisian region, preparing itself for the Danish threat. After nearly 40 years of uninterrupted conflict, peace seems to have returned. At the moment, the Danes are too busy splitting the Holy Roman Empire's territories, long time English allies, amongst itself, Hungary and Poland. War with the Danes, although on the horizon, is still far off and there are more pressing engagements, such as the managing of the conquered French provinces and the restoration of the English Elite Army. The borders of the Bordeaux castle are shared with the Kingdom of Aragon, and as of late, the watchtowers have reported quite a deal of activity along the narrow mountain pass that separates English from Spanish territory.

Taken from the personal journals of Thomas de Normandie, the year 1196 AD, summer.
Today was a good day. Hunting in the woods of the Toulouse region with Stephen, my brother, is always a pleasure. He has shown me today how to properly snap a deer’s neck, and how to season rabbit. He may only be 26, but he knows so much! Sitting by the fire he tells us one of his most famous stories. The time he routed the rebels from our homeland of Caen when he was just 17 is always present with us at the fire. I enjoy spending time with him, I always learn so much. I’ve learnt how to saddle a horse, how to break one, how to properly charge at the enemy(spears down at the last possible second, hit everything, turn around before you stop and retreat, and always, always the spear goes UNDER the shoulder, NOT pressed against it) how to season deer and how to kill it. The last 3 years wandering around the forests of Toulouse and Bordeaux have truly been a blessing. I’ve come to love and respect my brother more than I ever thought possible.

I am worried, however. He has been a bit distant these last months, grumbling and complaining about our minor role in the English conquest. He is still bitter that our older brother, Guy, went to fight in the Norwegian and French campaigns, and became a celebrated hero, taking part in the Fall of Paris along with King Bartholomeu. He fails to see that while Guy is a celebrated General in the King’s Army, he was only 17 when Paris fell, therefore prone to excess, excesses that are now taking their toll on him and his family.

I do not wish that fate to my brother.
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There we go. Post your thoughts guys, any feedback is appreciated.

[DrAndrew]

2nd Update. I really need your reviews guys. Anything helps.

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Report on English troops in the Bordeaux-Angers region.
1195 AD. To his Royal Majesty.
King Bartholomeu.
Groeningen Region, English Country.
My lord, I bring you word of the troop recruitment as you’ve asked. At the moment, in the Bordeaux and Angers fortresses, we have the capabilities of producing Dismounted Light and Heavy troops, Normal and Heavy Billmen along with Yeoman, Longbow and Levy archers. Our stables, thanks to the Horse Breeder’s guild in Angers are able to produce some of the finest stallions and riders on this side of the English Channel, matched only perhaps by our Allies, the Holy Roman Empire’s own heavy cavalry.
Regarding the time measures you’ve asked, I am fairly confident that we can produce a sizable force in around 2 years which, along with the garrison forces, should be enough to fortify the Groeningen border. I await further orders.
Captain Edmond, Bordeaux Garrison Commander.

1196 AD. Toulouse-Bordeaux mountain forest. Thomas and Stephen de Normandie Warcamp.
Taken from the personal Journal of Thomas de Normandie.
Defection. What an ugly word. It brings shame at the best of cases, terror at the worst. I cannot believe that this could exist within the ranks of the English Elite Army, but it does. We have heard word that 2 Archer companies have defected over to the Aragonese side. It must have been that Diplomat who we confused as a merchant, Juan Guerrero, crossing the mountain range. What is disturbing is the fact that they were heading in the direction of the Bordeaux castle. I hope they do not cause disturbances on their way there.
My brother has sent word that should the rogue Archer companies be spotted we are not to engage in open hostilities, but instead try to reason and win them over to our side again. That is strange. He usually does not tolerate this course of action. “Too womanlike” he likes to describe it. I think, on the other hand, that this is a sensible course of action. Every man loses their way now and again and should be given a second chance at living to their fullest potential. Who knows? The person you spare today might save your life the next.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Hi, DrAndrew, and welcome to the Writers' Study!

I'm afraid you'll find it does often take several days before anyone comments on a new story or chapter - sadly, real life takes up so much time we could otherwise spend reading things here. But don't worry; we get here in the end.

I like the way you've chosen to do this with journal entries and reports. I think that adds a nice personal level to the story. Your explanation of the history leading up to this story was helpful, too.

I'm very much looking forward to finding out why Stephen has been distant and grumbling, and whether it's connected to his uncharacteristic orders regarding the defectors...

[Alwyn]

Welcome to TWC and to the Writers' Study, DrAndrew! I'm enjoying your AAR. I like the way that you show us the overall perspective as well as the individual viewpoints of characters - and I agree with Caillagh's comments. Looking forward to more!

You might want to look at articles in the Critic's Quill for ideas about writing AARs - there is a link to the Critic's Quill in my signature. If you have questions, feel free to post them on the Chat Thread in the Writers' Lounge or to start a thread in the Writers' Lounge. When you have 25 posts and have been a member for a week, you will be able to edit your own posts. One good way to increase your post count and to encourage people to read your story is to post on other AARs. If you add a signature to your profile with a link to your AAR and post occasionally on the Advertising Board (in the Writers' Lounge) this also helps to attract readers. If you need help with adding a signature of similar issues, then I recommend looking at Shankbot's Unofficial Guide for New Members - I find it very useful.

[DrAndrew]

Third update. The arc is finished, but the story has to be written. Will do so depending on how this one is received. so far it looks as if I'm going to write a new update. This is all I've written so far. Comments are welcome. Thank you Callaigh and Alwyn for the kind words. Will take your advice into consideration If I ever start another AAR. Enjoy.

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1197 AD. Toulouse-Bordeaux mountain forest. Thomas de Normandie Warcamp. Taken from the personal Journal of Thomas de Normandie.

Our family’s name has been cursed. My brother, the fool, the idiot, the wretch has brought disgrace to our noble family. He has been swayed by the Aragonese Princess Leyda Castillo, and has gone over to their side. My uncle, King Bartholomeu became livid upon finding out. It is said that he thrashed the Noble Council in his rage and almost cut down Gilbert Cranmer, one of the nobles at the council. Rumor is he asked the King to reconsider his position and our current engagements. He would not, and now I am rallying a host and will march on the city of Barcelona soon. My older brother Guy will be marching on the castle of Pamplona. He is bringing his host from the Caen region and reinforcing it at the Angers Fortress. I’ve heard of a new up-and-coming commander called Ralph Fiennes. Supposedly he held one of the mountain passes in the Rennes region from the rebels and was granted a Knighthood for the fact. The way the story goes is that he, 2 Men-at-Arms companies and 4 Archer companies held a relentless Rebel onslaught. In the end, there were only him and few Archers left after the carnage. He is also riding along with a host of his own Raised in the castle of Angers. I believe he is to make the 1^st contact with the Aragonese. I hoped it would not come to this, but alas, it has. I have to find my brother, and I have to bring him to God’s justice.

1197 AD. London. Noble Council Chambers.
Report on the events of the Small Council Meeting regarding the Danish threat and the Aragon Situation as recorded by the Royal Scribe and embellished by the Local Historian.

“Gentlemen, noblemen, how fare you this day” Started the King, slouched on his chair, one hand on his chin, another on a golden goblet, full to the brim with wine. He observed them and after they sat at the table uttered “Wonder what filthy lies you bring me today.”

“Your majesty,” responded the royal courier “According to the governance at Groningen, the Danes are amassing an army at the borders of our holdings. This does not bode well. What do you propose we do?”

“Of course it does not bode well, you imbecile!” cursed Lord Anselm, “These filthy Vikings are looking to start another goddamn war. They have been angry at us ever since we forced them to break their alliance to Norway.” He continued. “The taxes we pay for the trade rights WE granted are ridiculous. They give half the deal we get to any other nation, including the God-forsaken Novgorodian heathens!”

“Perhaps if we treated them half as well as the Novgorodians treat them; we may be able to get a more profitable trade agreement.” Muttered Gilbert Cranmer under his breath, son of the famed Robert Cranmer, the diplomat who negotiated the total surrender of Norway.

“What was that, you runt?” snarled Lord Anselm, standing up suddenly and toppling his chair over.

“I said, you deaf baboon, that they might be more open to negotiating the trade agreements if we did not impose economic sanctions on their allies simply because they would not bow their heads or trade with us.” Countered lord Cranmer, staring defiantly at Lord Anselm. “While I agree with your assessment over the unfairness of the trade agreement, we are far from innocent of its terms. We should call for an alliance, or at least a truce, in order to improve our standing with both our neighbors and the Papacy. We haven’t had a cardinal in Rome for the past 10 years. People begin to wonder if the church even considers us a part of it still.” He added in a hushed tone and very rapidly, as if the mere thought could be considered high treason “Maybe, we can marry one of the Normandie children to one of their princesses, to improve relations of course.”

“I will not allow my children to be contaminated with Viking blood. It is bad enough that they descend from the French and….” slurred James de Normandie, heir to the throne, father to Stephen, Guy and Thomas, the boys running around in the woods of Bordeaux while dropping his goblet.

“SILENCE!” bellowed the King. “We WILL not negotiate ANYTHING with the goddamn Danes, unless it is their TOTAL and COMPLETE surrender.” He added “We will ALSO NOT engage in open hostilities with them, simply due to the fact that if I do, the treacherous Pope might excommunicate us. I will personally raise a host and head by ship to fortify the town of Groningen. You can tell that to your mayor, lad” He glanced in the direction of the Royal Messenger. “Tell him the King is coming to terrorize the Danes.” smiled the King, looking not 60, but 20, years old.

“Aye, My King.” Bowed the Royal Messenger and turned and left.

“Very well. With no further topics to discuss, I hereby declare the meeting adjourned” stated the King.

“But, my King, we have not discussed the rebel and heathen problems in the isles, and we have not been able to touch the subject of…” started lord Cranmer, in one last feeble attempt at diplomacy.

“The. Meeting. Is. Over.” Hissed the King, murderous intent on every word coming from his mouth. Right then, the Chamber doors opened again, and a ragged looking Royal Messenger stepped through them, clutching a letter with the de Normandie’s royal family sigil.

Taken from the personal Journal of Stephen de Normandie. Circa 1196 AD. Winter. Toulouse-Bordeaux mountain foothills. King’s Road.
I despise them. They believe they are better than me. I loathe them. The nobles, in their puffed chairs, while I’m here, baking under the hot sun, shivering in the icy winter cold. The Ruling Council, with their policies, missions, and their hidden agendas. The god-forsaken King, who thinks assassins are the way to disrupt and bring down the outlying kingdoms. I loathe this forest, these regions, and these goddamn French sissies who pass as allies of ours, while just biding their time and plotting against our crown. I loathe my younger brother, always staring at me as if I was a god. Dear Lord, how I’d wish he’d not be so blissfully ignorant of so many things. The runt is barely 24. He has not even felt the touch of a woman yet. All for the better I’d guess. You can’t miss what you never had. I despise my father, comfortable in his seat in London, managing the city and followed by an entourage of professional bootlickers and ass kissers. How can they not understand that I live for battle? That I thrive in it? Do they not get it? Do they choose to ignore it?

The contact has proven itself useful. They have promised a fair maiden and a great dowry should I accept and defect to them with all my knowledge. I am running out of patience in these woods, hunting goddamn rebels that do not exist. I may have to make a move soon.

1197 AD. London. Noble Council Chambers.
Report on the events of the Small Council Meeting regarding the Danish threat and the Aragon Situation as recorded by the Royal Scribe and embellished by the Local Historian.
“I cannot believe this. This is dire news indeed.”

“No. This cannot be. This is impossible. I WANT HIM HANGED!” roared James de Normandie while pointing a crooked finger at the terrified messenger.

“Him, or your son, you treacherous bastard?” snarled Robert de Mowbray.

“I will NOT tolerate this treatment. My king, I demand retribution for this foul insult!”

“And I demand all of you to SHUT UP. Let me think. Messenger, you’re certain of the contents of this letter?” asked the king in a low voice.

“Aye milord. I saw him running away in the middle of the night with the Aragonese princess’ bodyguard. He did not even leave a note. Left his poor brother in shambles I reckon.” Answered the messenger.

“Oh my god, poor Thomas! This must destroy him! My boy! My beautiful baby boy!” wept lady de Normandie, a sad figure herself. After struggling with her husband alcoholism now she had to suffer the scorn of the King and the court, and all thanks to her hotheaded, beautiful and treacherous boy.

“Take the wench away from my sight. I cannot concentrate with women crying around me.” Said the King while staring at a deeply hurt James de Normandie. The news seemed to sober him up. All for the better. The next task was not going to be an easy one. “Lord de Normandie. I am sure you are aware of the position in which your son has placed us. We must be swift.”

Lord de Normandie gulped and looked at his King. “Aye, My King. I must ask, however, is there no other way? Can’t he be spared? Take my life instead?”

“It is what it is. I will not pardon turncoats. You and your brothers are well aware of that. You may be excused.” Declared the King.

“Excused? Why my King? Can’t I know what will happen to my boy?” begged Lord de Normandie.

“Absolutely. His head will be mounted on a pike at the city gates by the time I’m done with him. How we will get his head, however, is none of your concern, especially with the traitor’s blood running in you. I will not have you jeopardize my plans. It is bad enough that Stephen took a lot of information about the outlying areas with him. I will not have you hand the rest over to the Aragonese trying to save your son. Consider yourself relieved of your Council and Administrative duties until further notice. I would also advise that you stay on the island. No one is safe from the perils of the sea.” Said nonchalantly the King, but the thinly veiled threat was evident. James de Normandie was worth less than scum right now in the King’s eyes and he would not be missed should anything happen to him.

James de Normandie stared sheepishly at his king, withdrew from the council table and took to his quarters to weep in silence for the fate of his middle son.
“My King! I urge that you reconsider! War with the Danes will break out in any minute! We can’t fight on two fronts and possibly win! You know this! Cease this course of action and forget about Stephen!” pleaded Lord Cranmer, eyes bulging, fat stomach sagging.

“So… Will you have me forget about my enemies, instead of chasing them? Will you have me give them time to become strong and strike at us at home? Will you have me jeopardize the lives of the people in the mainland? Will you also have me forget about my sons and daughters who perished in battle? What about the insults that we have received from their family? Will you have me forget that?” Snarled the King, close to losing his temper.

“Never, Your Highness. But you must remember! They are the rightful owners of the Royal Throne. They descend from William the Conqueror himself, the founder of this great nation! I urge you, reconsider the punishment on Lord de Normandie and his son! For the sake of the realm! Remember! They are the heirs to your throne milord!”
“That is IT! I AM DONE! Must you always remind me that I got here through the way of gold?” Snapped the King, finally losing it and advancing towards lord Cranmer. “Must you always remind me that the throne is not rightfully mine, but that wimp’s?” barked the King, withdrawing his blade. “Must you always remind me that I am nothing but a peasant?” He drew the blade in an arch and cut the Golden chain from Lord Cranmer’s neck. “Must you always remember where I came from?!” said the King as he shoved a table aside and closed his hands around Lord Cranmer’s neck, lifting him up a few inches above the ground. “Must you?!” he snarled one final time, before discarding the limp but still breathing body of Lord Cranmer to the side of the room.

“Someone should help him.” Declared the Royal Messenger.

“you’re right!” Smiled the King. “you will do just fine. Take him downstairs, the servants should be of help. Tell them he passed out. If I find out you did something different, it’s the gallows for you.” Stated the King and headed for the table again, where the rest of the nobles were staring at him, dumbstruck at what just happened. “Well, be on your way now, runt.” Snapped the king at the messenger, who promptly picked the Diplomat’s body and dragged it downstairs.

[Alwyn]

You're welcome DrAndrew, I enjoyed your latest update. That's a great opening line as I wanted to what had caused the 'curse' which is mentioned.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

There's some very lively dialogue there.

So... now we know why Stephen was acting strangely. I can't help wondering what will happen when people discover what the king did to Cranmer. (He's bound to tell somebody, if he lives - and the king doesn't seem to be planning to kill Cranmer.)

[DrAndrew]

Latest update. Haven't been able to put thoughts into pen correctly lately. Got sick as well. Will try to keep this alive, it's brimming with untapped possibilities.


1198 AD. Trade negotiations between the Kingdom of Aragon and The Kingdom of England come to an abrupt end. Nerves flare and both kingdoms are on the verge of war. With the English threat to the north and the Moors closing in on the other Aragonese holdings, King Pablo sees no other way out for his people other than total war. He sends emissaries to the Moorish, Castilian, and Portuguese embassies to call for a truce and maybe even an alliance, but few of these ever make it in time, most of them dying along the way. A small detachment of the Royal Aragonese Army forces decides to assault the small English fort guarding one of the passes at the Bordeaux region. Thus the first Aragon-England war begins.

1198 AD. Barcelona Region. Pyrenees Fort.
“Damien, what do you know of the Spaniards?”
“Well, from what I heard, they run with the bulls and are all apparently mad. I’ve also heard that they screw anything that walks and that they make beautiful music. They’re also born conquerors and talk like snakes if you believe the stories.”
“Oh. Well, I guess we will find out if all of that bull running made them really mad.” Uttered Michael, staring at the Red and Golden banners propped up on the mountain on the other side of the ridge.

1198 AD. Barcelona Region. De Normandie War tent.
“Milord, we have received word. War has broken out with the Aragon. They assaulted our Pyrenees Fort. It’s a ruin now. Your uncle has given the order. We are to find and corner Stephen. Bring him alive if possible. If not, then execute him on the spot. We must stay here and wait for the reinforcements from your uncle, your brother and Lord Fiennes. Royal Orders decree that we shall not attack until they are in the region.”
“Aye. Leave me alone for a minute.” Whispered Lord Thomas. Once he was certain he was alone in his tent and that the guards were out of earshot, he started weeping for his brother.

1203 AD. Barcelona Region.
Taken from the Journals of Thomas de Normandie.
This is it. We are finally at the gates of Barcelona. Word is that my brother, the traitor Stephen is here. We have been receiving messengers all day. My brother and his protégé are running down every single Aragonese force on the outskirts of Pamplona. Although they are becoming heavily depleted they still have a sizable garrison in the castle. Guy has started on the road to sieging it, but I do not know if the castle will fall soon.

1203 AD. Pamplona-Zaragoza Region.
Guy de Normandie’s war records. Excerpt.
Army is becoming depleted after destroying Aragonese forces at the outskirts of Pamplona and the prolonged siege of the castle. Moving on to the Bordeaux region to regroup, retrain and replenish forces.

1205 AD. London Region.
Papal Edict of 1205 AD. Signed by Pope Bonifacius IV of Genoa, ally to Denmark, Genoa and Iberian forces.

Your Royal Majesty.
London.

My king, I command you, in the name of God and all that is holy, to cease all hostilities against the Kingdoms of Denmark and of Aragon.

The shedding of blood by Christians upon fellow Christians is unnecessary and despised by the lord, our God, father of Christ. Have you no shame? No piety? Do your people consider themselves barbarians, that they must shed the blood of other Christian nations? I urge you, call back your forces! Return to your settlements and come back to church! God will see that your empire is taken care of! That your people are safe, because is that not what is important in the end?

Signed.
Pope Bonifacius IV, Kingdom of Genoa.

“Is he out of his mind?” asked one of the noble lords at court, staring wide eyed at the Royal Scribe with his mouth slightly ajar.

“Clearly.” Said one of the diplomats, none at all fazed, as if he was expecting this reaction from the Pope.

“The pig just called us barbarians. US! Honest Englishmen!” shouted another lord.

“The damn Danes are the ones who started this!” complained another noble.

“The Aragonese brought the war upon themselves after luring Stephen to their side. They should not have taken Lord de Normandie’s son!” Complained another diplomat.

“Silence.” Asked King Bartholomew “We must think. We can use this Papal Edict.”

“But my king, how? You cannot be thinking of divulging it! It would cause mass riots and civil unrest! Let alone the trouble it may cause with the church!” shrieked another noble,
clutching his cross tightly to his chest.

“That is exactly what I’m thinking, milord.” Replied the King, a sly smile creeping to the side of his face. “Have the Royal Scribes copy the document. Omit the parts that put us to shame, but leave the ones where the Pope insults our people. Plaster them all over the town center. Call for a Rally in the town square three days from now. I will fire the mob, and we will have a lot of willing soldiers.” Stated the King, leaning back in his chair, quite content with himself and his latest scheme.

3 days laters after the King’s rousing speech all of the English nobles, peasants and commoners, from the Inverness Castle to the Lyons Fortress, clamored for the fall of Aragon.

[NorseThing]

Interesting. I am thinking about starting an AAR. The fear of writing is not the reason for my hesitation though. It is the need to write about a game without doing the endless pictures to give it life. You seem to be doing fine with just the narrative. A good job and perhaps giving me a bit of reassurance to do the same.

[DrAndrew]

I know I should continue the writing, I jast have not had any time lately. I'll try to post an update soon tho. Stay tuned.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

We'll be here whenever you do have the time to write.

[DrAndrew]

1205. Groningen. Noble Council.
Conversation excerpt. Unverifiable by all accounts according to historians.
“Excommunicated? How? Why?” stammered a severely hurt Lord Cranmer. His stay in the Royal Palace had not helped him at all. Lean and gaunt he looked but a shadow of his former self.
“The de Normandie’s boy, Guy. He was ambushed. Luckily he captured and executed the large host of Aragonese troops on his way to the castle. The Pope frowned on it and thought of it as a defiance of his orders. His Danish councilors thought it was best to condemn the act.”
“… and there is no better way to condemn an act than excommunicate a whole nation.” Stated the King, hands clasped on his back, frown on his face, staring out at the sea in the direction of Norway. His voice sounded strained and defeated. The last few years had not been kind on him.

1207. Rome. Papal Chambers.
English Reconciliation Signing.
“So, who shall I give the funds to, your Holiness?” asked Lord Cranmer.
“You can give them to the Church Treasurer, third door down the hall.” Coughed the Pope, a sign of his deteriorating health.
“Very well. I shall leave it with them and I’ll join you for a cup of coffee. How does that sound, your Holiness?”
“Excellent!”

1208.Toulouse. Town square.
“I saw we should yield no more to these English pissants! Why are they not here, helping us deal with squalor? With public order? What of our kings? Why are they hiding in the cellar of the castle? They are very cozy up there. To hell with them! France is independent! We rebel today!”
French rebels overtook the fortress that week and killed the Prince and King during their sleep. With armors and swords of quality in their possession, they took the rest of the generals and hung them neatly and in rows in the central square. They stood there for a year until English troops retook the castle and cleared the town square and put them down.

1208. Pamplona Region. Outskirts of the castle.
Chronicle of battle. Ending moments.
Reynold of Suffolk stared at the 5 troop of horses coming for him. He looked around and took everything in. The ashes, the smell of burnt flesh, caused by his archer and the lighted arrows they spewed on the Aragonese troops. He looked back at the horses. They were closer now. He recognized the Aragonese King’s sigil. This was King Fernando, crowned after King Pablo died on the Pyrenees foothills. He looked at his archers and uttered a single word.
“Now.”
Stakes were raised, and before the riders knew what was going on, all 5 troop of horses were impaled and their riders toppled like sacks of discarded corn. Reynold went over and he saw that a few riders had actually fallen on the stakes and were as skewered as the horses. He looked around and saw the unmistakable glint of the Spanish Corona Real.
King Fernando laid sprawled on the green grass. There was a big pool of red liquid where his horse was lying on top of his left leg. The eyes of the horse were open. Open but unmoving. He then asked a single question to the dying king.
“Why?”
“I never wanted this. I advised Pablo against it. Now he’s dead, and I’m about to be. Does it really matter?”
“No. Not anymore.” And with that, he plunged his blade through the Spanish King’s collarbone, twisted the blade and snapped the head off. He took it and passed it to one of his Royal Bodyguard. He then grabbed a Spanish standard and passed it to the same guard. “Put the head on top of the standard, and let’s ride to meet the devils.”
The Spanish army broke and ran after seeing their King's head atop a pike, charging towards them.

[Alwyn]

The brutality and corruption of the era comes across well in this dramatic update, nicely done!

[DrAndrew]

The brutality and corruption of the era comes across well in this dramatic update, nicely done!

Thank you Alwyn. I try my best. I have had some free time so I wrote the next update aswell. It's just such and old campaign and I'm trying to remember everything that went down. There is also the Danish-English Wars that have to be written.

[Owlparrot3]

Lively update.It brings out the rawness and grittyness of medival battles.I like the fact that you dont hesitate to use modern day slang words like 'Pig' to make it more action packed.Following this aar from now on.

[DrAndrew]

New update, gimme your thoughts on this.

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1208. Hills overlooking the Barcelona City. Noon.
“You’re sure he’s here. You’re absolutely sure, not like last where you led us through a wild goose chase all over the Pamplona and Zaragoza hills?” asked the General, in an angry tone.
“Yes Master, I have seen him and the Spanish broad looking down at the army from their balcony. Almost everyone sees him these days. At first, it seemed as if they did not want to be seen, but that’s all changed now. The stores are running low. The poorest section of the town is starting to go hungry. They know that they’ll have to break the siege and sally out to just make it through the winter. They’ll kill themselves if they do so.” whispered the spy.
“Let’s hope they are that foolish.” answered the General, a wisp of hope accentuating his words.


1208. Hills overlooking the Barcelona City. Dusk. Winter. Excerpt from Lord de Normandie’s Personal Journals.
Father has retaken Groningen after a fearsome battle. King Bartholomeu held out pretty well during the three sieges it withstood, but alas he fell. A messenger delivered the Royal Crown to Father, and he’s King now. He does not hold as much sway over the nobles due to my brother treachery, but he has always been a quick learner, and he has already dealt with the undesirables at his court.

He sent a few on diplomatic “missions”. Only thing is that most of them never made it to their destinations, suffering unfortunate “accidents” along the way. I never knew he had it in him. Either way, with him becoming King and my brother refusing the title of Duke I’m next in line for succession should anything happen to Father. The war against the Danes is in full swing, and vital territories are being contested. Word is that the war is matched evenly, and only cunning will win in the end. In the meantime, I’m stationed at the gates of Barcelona. My brother and the Spanish swines will come out soon. We are sure to have cut off all of the supply lines, and with their port blockaded they will not be able to sneak a grain of barley without us knowing.

I hate the fact that it has come to this. War is brutal. War brings people and families apart, even though Father keeps saying that we are bringing the kingdom together. I am starving a city just to get one person out and then what? Hang him for treachery and when he’s dead plant his head atop a pike to serve as a goddamn warning. A person I used to play games with. A person who I used to idolize. A person who is my brother, family, the blood of my blood, kin of kin. When will it stop? Once we have conquered the Aragonese? What about the Moors, who dominate the peninsula? What about the Holy Roman Empire, who despite being reduced to almost rubble, is still kicking its flairs of dominance? These questions trouble me, and I loathe the day when I become king and have to answer them.


Excerpt from “King James and the Aragonese War” Chapter 21 “Decisive Battles against the Aragonese Crown”.
1208. Barcelona Region Hills. Dusk. Summer.
Battle for Barcelona
The Yeoman regiment was acting perfectly. They had the range and accuracy of elite marksmen. They were being led by the master archer that usually accompanies these divisions. Defensive battlements were in place and two companies of Miles Pedites were prepared to defend the archers should anything break through the stakes. The horse companies commanded by Duke Thomas were flanking the enemy archer companies, who in turn, were preparing to rain down arrow fire on the Duke. While they were trying to focus on the Duke a company of dismounted King’s Men and another of Heavy Swordmen went behind them and began their killing in earnest.
With the enemy’s archers silenced and the infantry on the low ground, the Duke and four other Heavy Horse companies started a grand charge. Since the enemy’s economy had been crippled by the prolonged siege and the economic sanctions imposed by the English kingdom this army was no match for the elite and highly trained English forces, with consisted of various companies of men at arms, Miles Pedites, Feudal Knights on horses, Yeoman Archers and dismounted King’s Men.
The Grand Charge by the Duke naturally broke the militia army that had assembled at the bottom of the hill and started scattering. It was at this moment that the Crown Prince Tenorio, heir to the Aragonese throne decided to make his appearance. He was immediately felled by a hail of Yeoman Arrows. Below is an excerpt from his last moments, according to the Chronicler of Battle.
“The Prince emerged from the woods north of the Duke position, directly in line of arrow fire, no more than 200 meters away. He started galloping at full speed towards the Duke. When the Master Archer realized what was happening he is quoted yelling at his troops “THE ARSE-WEASEL SPANISH DANDY PRINCE IS THERE YOU SPINELESS WOMEN, AT HIM, AT HIM WITH ALL YOU CAN, GRAB A ROCK IF YOU RAN OUT, BUT BY GOD IF YOU’RE NOT THROWING SOMETHING AT HIM I WILL PERSONALLY IMPALE YOU ON THESE HERE SPIKES!” He is reputed to be a lovely man, very fond of the men he went to battle with”.

[Owlparrot3]

So at some times one begins to question 'Why war?' .
The last part where the leader says 'If you are not throwing something...' is pretty hilarious and funny.As someone had once said,the best story is one which fullfills all different types of flavours and contains all the types of literature.'
Those unfortunate accidents are mysterious.
I wonder if you could as a request tell us just one of those unfortunate accidents.
Like this 'There was one man who never returned or another who was found in a lodge sprawled on the floor'.
Just a suggestion,you may write as you like.Good luck my friend.

[NorseThing]

I hate the fact that it has come to this. War is brutal. War brings people and families apart, even though Father keeps saying that we are bringing the kingdom together

This seems to be a common theme for many of our AAR's. Brother Against Brother! - An AAR For King or Country [Updated: 21/12/2017] seems to be contemplating the very same in a future AAR.

I do look forward to more of your AAR.

[Axis Sunsoar]

I very much enjoy your writing. The small excerpt method has allowed you to provide many different perspectives rapidly to tell the story. Like both of the commenters above me I took notice of the Lord de Normandie's dislike of the need for war. The juxtaposition of the rather amusing look at the battle at the end with the archer and his string of insults is something that wouldn't be possible if the AAR was written a different way. I applaud your work so far and await more!

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Like everyone else, I like the way you've included some thoughts on the nature and effects of war.

I'm not sure I want details of the 'accidents', though - I think not knowing the details is more effective.

As always, your dialogue is very engaging.