[M2TW AAR] Every Bright Light Casts a Shadow (Text heavy, some pics)

[krazyfilmer123]

Every Bright Light Casts a Shadow

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Holy Roman Empire under Emperor Henry IV (c. 1053 AD — 1101 AD) Chapter 1 — A Horde of Black Chapter 2 — Wooden Anchor of Friendship Chapter 3 — Life on a Shaky Throne Holy Roman Empire under Emperor Henry V (c. 1101 AD—) Chapter 4 — Were It So Easy Chapter 5 — The Citadel Chapter 6 — Behold a Red Horse Chapter 7 — Where Angels Fear to Tread Chapter 8 — Cry of the Highlands

PREFACE AND NOTES

Hey everyone. it's been a while since I updated the "Sons of Alfonso" story as well as the Poland one. I decided to leave them both behind, as overtime, they became tough to work with as i made the plot so confined to what actually happened while i was playing each battle. This time, the AAR will be more of a free-form story, as i will include things outside of battles, add my own ideas in and add things not actually present in the game. This story will also be in third person, as i work easier with that. As for the campaign itself... Goal: Unite all of Europe under the banner of the Reich Campaign and battle difficulty: both set to very hard. Rules: No adopting or accepting men of the hour under ANY circumstance. Marrying foreign princesses through diplomacy is fine. In other words, keep the bloodline pure. UPDATE 4/25/18: In case a reader is confused, as Henry IV and Henry V are both real historical figures, the two are distinguished as Heinrich and Henry in the text, respectively. However, when other characters speak of them in dialogue, they will always say "Heinrich" when addressing their name, as it is German variant for "Henry".

[krazyfilmer123]

Chapter 1 — A Horde of Black

The King of Poland was stout and lively. Every commoner near his residence would gather around their king to hear him tell stories, quips and advice. However, what most people didn't know was his secret hatred towards the pest he called 'Christendom'.

The King of the Poles, Zbigniew Herman, has never been more anxious in his life. He could hear the screams of his own men from outside his throne room, making him shiver in his chair like most would in the cold winter. Having no options left, the king busted out of his room and eventually reached the ramparts of the capital, looking down upon the winter landscape whilst arrows whistled through the air. It was of course, mostly a lustrous white, but in stark contrast was a mass crowd of black, appearing like a blight on Polish snow as they menacingly approached the walls. They carried banners as well, featuring an image which the king knew all too well.

Zbigniew quickly went down the ramparts and mounted his horse, awaiting his enemy to batter down the gates. As soon as they did, the legion of black-clad warriors rushed inside, engulfing the militia of whom could barely compete with them. Zbigniew watched in sadness as every line of encouragement he spewed turned into meaningless stuttering, seeing as his liveliness had been run over by the revelation of his irreligion to his people. The black mass kept growing and eating things in it's path, and the king had no choice but to fall back to the center of the castle with his bodyguard. Was this truly God's punishment for his defiance?

Arrows kept whizzing through the air as fast as a swarm of flies. The king and his bodyguard looked on from behind as the common folk that once loved him made their final stand against the invading force. One by one, each commoner was torn apart by the enemy's spear, and soon, entire rows of men would be crushed under the hooves of the commander's cavalry.

As soon as the enemy commander emerged from his crowd of bodyguards, Zbigniew studied the commander's physicality. His head was bald and vulnerable, looking as if a shaft would want to reach it. However, the bright blue eyes, the blond beard and stubble of a Scandinavian-like warrior and his tall stature easily compensated for this, appearing more majestic than Zbigniew's commoners could ever see out of him. The lust was now on the king, desiring to reach for his stupid, stupid bald head and cut it right off—

"Fire!"

The general shouted out, and soon a hailstorm of bolts flew into the king's bodyguard from above, looking as if God's angels were responsible. The poor King of the Poles hid amongst his men, using them as a barrier before their weight brought him down with them onto the cold pavement.

The last of the Poles was cut down effortlessly, and the king would see himself laying down amongst his bloodied, lifeless men. Minutes passed by as the atmosphere of the battle became silent, with the Polish king only hearing the light marching of his enemies. Finally, the commander came off his steed, approaching the Polish king of whom dressed in bloodied ornamental armor. The commander looked down upon Zbigniew, blocking out the sun.

"I presume you are the King of the Poles, no?" said the commander as he slightly squinted.

Zbigniew only gave him spiteful look, refusing to reply.

"Well, aren't you a man of few words?"

The commander paused, thinking about what to say next.

"Now then. Since you are the king, I will have you decide your own fate, for I am kind. You may exile yourself from your now extinct kingdom, or become extinct with it." The king also paused in thought. Soon he would rise up from the dead around him to give his answer.

"This is my kingdom. I choose to die with it." said Zbigniew in the tersest way he could.

"A commendable decision," replied the commander. "So shall it be." The commander turned his back on him, as he called his crossbowmen to line up in front of the king. The crossbowmen raised their weapons, preparing to fire the volley that would end the day.

After, the tall, bald general turned around, looking at the king in his hopeless hazel eyes. "The Kaiser sends his regards." Soon, he nodded at the captain on the other side of the lineup, signaling him to give the order to fire.

At the end of the siege, the peasants of the castle would never see their lively leader again, and could only gaze upon the raising of the enemy's banners that day, featuring a gold eagle that replaced their white one.

[Turkafinwë]

A great prologue. I'm excited to see more of this story.
For the Emperor, For the Empire!

[Alwyn]

A good beginning, I enjoyed your description of the increasingly desperate King of Poland - a nicely done use of your opponent's perspective.

[krazyfilmer123]

Chapter 2 — Wooden Anchor of Friendship

The town of Kiev was a shining instance of the Holy Roman Empire's pride in expansion. It is bordered by the provinces of the Kingdom of Hungary, that stood out as starting one of the Empire's many alliances. Evidently, it's king thought his realm would be snuffed out like King Zbigniew and the Poles before him as he shared a border with them, however, the alliance gave both the Emperor and the King a sense of relief, albeit an uneasy one.

Acting as Kiev's margrave and governor was Leopold von Salier, a man who was honored by everyone around as a bastion of selflessness and integrity. Scholars have gave him the epithet of "the Honorable" for his kindness towards those he takes for the Empire; able to restrain soldiers and mercenaries alike from senseless pillaging like rabid dogs on a leash.

Leopold went out of the town hall, looking up at the clear blue sky and taking delight in the tranquility of the town. The bald governor took a calm stroll through Kiev's dirt streets. Chatter and conversation could be heard among people in his native German tongue as he walked past them. Walking further, he would approach the many enclaves of people native to Kiev that spoke in some kind of Slavic tongue, dismissed as babble as Leopold kept walking on. The peaceful stroll would be interrupted by one of Leopold's scouts, who came from his faraway watchtower to deliver a monthly report on Kiev's border, stopping his mare and dismounting.

"Hello, my friend. Happen to catch anything other than the pigeons?" asked Leopold with intrigue.

"A lot more than the pigeons, my lord," replied the scout, pursing his lips. "On the horizon was an encampment of soldiers, along with many, many horses."

"Many horses, hm?" said Leopold, pursing his lips as well. "Must've just been brigands or nomads, I presume?"

"The soldiers' tabards were colored light red and light green. Mayhaps they were a spent Hungarian force."

Leopold cocked an eyebrow, scratching his beard in suspicion. "As far as I know, the Empire has never given them access to march their armies across our land... methinks it's some kind of... " Leopold soon waved the claim off. "Never mind it, they probably are spent. There should be no quarrel in allowing a close ally use our land to keep themselves comfortable." The scout shrugged his previous claim off as well, the two finally departing with Leopold continuing the final minutes of his walk.

A few days later, Leopold went back to the town hall, saluted by his mercenary garrison as he went inside. He was greeted by a messenger of whom carried a scroll.

"Greetings, my lord," said the messenger, approaching the tall governor and bowing his head. "A message from the Kaiser." He handed over the scroll, and the intrigued Leopold, who has lived in such an isolated town away from his family, promptly opened the scroll, curious as to what his father wanted to tell him. Perusing the text with his bright blue eyes, he frowned, feeling pity as one of the Empire's now-former allies declared war on Egypt, an ally to the Emperor as well.

"So, we break the alliance then..." said Leopold to himself. He turned his head to a mercenary captain. "Pack your belongings, and tell your other captains that we leave this place tomorrow at sunrise." The captain nodded, smirking as he went out of the town hall, telling the other captains of the recent news. They all smirked and chuckled, feeling a sense of cathartic release as they imagined the plunder that Leopold otherwise wouldn't allow them to take. The mercenaries knew full well that this plunder lied just across the border of the empire they were working for, bordering the Byzantines as well.

Leopold was now lost in thought. How could his father allow this? Was he not named "the Chivalrous" by scholars for his honor? Hasn't he promised not to break an alliance with anyone in lust for their land? In spite of it all, it was too late.

Leopold could no longer hold the leash.

[NorseThing]

A great start! I did like the perspective of the picture in Chapter 1! Do not forget to enter this into the MAARC LXXV competition. Let us all compete in this!

[krazyfilmer123]

Chapter 3 — Life on a Shaky Throne

The old Emperor Heinrich walked into the bright sunlight, taking the therapeutic fresh air into his nostrils. He took a walk around his courtyard in the heart of Milan, along with his sons Prince Henry and the youthful and attractive Conrad, who has recently came of age. His Prince also brought his wife, Urraca, as well, who was given to him by Spain's ruling dynasty, which in turn gave the Empire a strong alliance and Henry a stable family.

The elderly and tall emperor watched as his grandchildren Willelda, Welf and the innocent little Ruprecht played in the courtyard, basking in their jovial nature as they playfully chased each other around the porticoes. Urraca shouted at them, beckoning them with her hand to come back to her. Soon the three sweaty and tired children went back to their mother, whilst the Emperor walked towards his crown prince, placing his rough and callous hand on his shoulder.

"Heinrich, come with me to the court," said the Emperor in a low voice. "We have matters to discuss."

The Prince and his father started to walk away from the rest of the family. The young Conrad, about to follow suit, was stopped when Heinrich extended out his hand towards him, gesturing him to stay with the others. The young prince pouted, crossing his arms as he leaned on a column, as Henry and the emperor disappeared beyond the porticoes. Finally, the two men entered the court with Henry closing the doors behind them.

"So, my son," said Heinrich, scratching his aged skin. "God has mandated that—" The emperor abruptly stopped, coughing as he held a fist at his mouth. Heinrich swallowed and started again. "God has mandated that I walk the steps to his kingdom soon. Therefore, there are many things around our kingdom that you must take care of." Henry followed his father as he walked the steps to his gilded throne to have a seat.

"You are really deserving of the Kingdom of Heaven father," said the crown prince, smiling as he continued on. "Look at how feeble the Bishop of Rome looks, showing you his favor as his mouth waters for your wealth!" The two men chuckled, Henry's aged father turning his head towards him. "Well, methinks that's a great way to start off!" exclaimed Heinrich, chuckling some more. Heinrich soon waved it off. "Aside from this,"—he continued on after a pause—"this is about both the future of the Empire, and of Europe."

Henry slowly squinted in slight confusion. "The future of Europe as well?"

"Remember about the story I told you about the Romans? How their eyes were on all of Europe as well as in their hands?" said Heinrich. His son nodded, and his father continued. "They were powerful. Cohesive. United. They were all united under one banner. And—" Heinrich abruptly stopped to cough again. "I apologize," he said, continuing. "They were all united. And it has always been our duty to start this unity once more."

"Don't we have allies at our side, father?" asked Henry in worry.

"Fear not, Heinrich," assured his father. "You won't be the one to end all of them. It is a decision you must leave up to your sons and nephews. But I feel I should propose a good way to start off, and that is to start off by uniting the Frankish people,"—Heinrich leaned forward—"by getting the King of France on his knees,"—the emperor's voice got gradually more raspy and passionate—"and to see an end to the Greeks in purple, prancing around while calling themselves Romans!"

"Byzantium is a realm I am happy to see trampled," replied Henry. "but what about the Kingdom of England? Will they not turn their backs once France is on our sights?"

"There's nothing better in an alliance than testing one's loyalty." said Heinrich. Henry frowned at that statement.

"Is it not hypocritical as we're after Hungary now?" protested the crown prince, and his father snorted.

"I've heard too many accounts from margraves and governors, telling me they resisted Hungarian bribes." Heinrich leaned back on his throne once more. "They are no different from the Milanese of whom I ended at Ajaccio, you understand? It is the same for every nation bordering us. They put us to sleep with gifts and reassurance, and soon after, survey our territory and spy on our every move!" The elderly monarch coughed, but continued. "The Hungarians should bend the knee soon enough, as you will carry on the campaign against them. It also gives your brother Conrad something to derive his accomplishments from. You and I know he is quite disloyal."

"Hopefully he will serve the Empire well," said Henry. "But I feel as though this plan will end in too much bloodshed."

"This is why we can acquire some land through diplomacy," reassured Heinrich. "But it will not be this that will guarantee you victory. You simply cannot close your eyes, waiting for reality to go away. You can do so if you so desire, but reality will still be present, waiting for you to re-open them. Force signifies that the Empire submits to no one." The old monarch finally got up from his gilded throne. "War will come. Death will stalk you, no matter where you are." Heinrich put his hand on Henry's shoulder once more. "But all the same, the future of Europe is in your hands."

Henry nodded and smiled with tenacity. "And I will not fail her."

[Turkafinwë]

Another chapter well written. I like the foreboding aspect of this chapter as well as connecting the Holy Roman Empire to the ancient Romans.

All in all a great update.

[NorseThing]

Agreed with the Roman observation. A great update focused on diplomacy. Now, we all can wait and see if these words are true words or not.

[krazyfilmer123]

Chapter 4 — Were It So Easy

The newly crowned Prince Leopold and what was left of his army found themselves running as fast as they could, aiming to hide in the dense forest at the bottom of a hill. Arrows sung across the field, reaching unlucky Germans, making them fall flat on the ground which was already painted in streaks of red. Leopold was near the front, where all of his other soldiers who were at the back acted as a buffer zone for him. The bald general looked back, seeing as the Hungarian horse archers were on the horizon, about to reach the first row of men at the very back as they cried out.

"We're almost there, Leo!" assured a veteran friend of Leopold, running down the hill before everyone else. Leopold and his soldiers followed suit and ran down to the first row of trees. The Hungarian riders approached at the top of the hill, kicking their steeds once more to keep running. At this moment, Leopold's heart raced faster than the sound of the beating ground as the cavalry accelerated down the hill with terrifying agility, running down more rows of unfortunate souls at the back whilst the riders flung the last of their shafts. Leopold looked behind one last time, seeing his lifeless veteran friend on the ground, made into a porcupine with multiple arrows stuck on his back.

The anxious German prince finally went into the dense forest, falling down to hide in the tall grass. The Hungarians' horses whinnied as they were stopped near the first row of trees, giving Leopold the opportunity to crawl farther away and towards a crowd of bushes. Finally, the Hungarian soldiers dismounted, leaving their mares and stallions behind as they went into the forest with their swords in hand. Leopold could hear the ruffling of the grass as they walked and cowered lower as he heard it more loudly.

"For the love of God! Where's that bald Teuton?!" shouted an angry soldier with his arms out.

Another soldier was across from his position. "I'm checking every cursed bush, and there's no Leopold! The King is putting a good three-thousand florins for this man's capture, and I don't want..." the soldier's voice trailed off, squinting in uncertainty as he could hear faint ruffling among the dense bushes and grass in the distance.

Meanwhile, the other soldier across him finally found their target in his hiding spot. "Oh! Greetings, sweet prince!" exclaimed the soldier vaingloriously. He beckoned one of his friends next to him to pull the German commander out, both dragging him from his arms as they pulled him out of the bushes.

Thoughts ran across Leopold's mind as he was held at a sword's edge. After losing his impulsive army of mercenaries at the mighty citadel of Bran, he thought the humiliation he would take couldn't get any worse. Was King Kálmán of the Magyars this cruel?! He couldn't accept this. He just wanted to see his wife. He just wanted to see his child. He begged the Father for mercy—

"Now!" screamed a tall black-clad figure, who quickly emerged from bushes farther away.

Leopold ducked for cover as a crowd of Imperial crossbowmen unleashed a flurry of steel bolts that whistled towards the unsuspecting Hungarian troops, which rattled bushes as well as the enemy's morale. While some Magyars stood their ground with their swords, others ran back for their steeds. The Hungarians that defended their retreating friends were cut down with ease as black-clad knights advanced quickly, and soon, Leopold's own troops would emerge from their hiding spots, using their fists to ward off the demoralized enemy. The prince, too, used his callous and hardened fists to fight, knocking out the Hungarian next to him with a single pummel to his cheek.

A few minutes later, the last of the Hungarian soldiers were struck down. The Imperial soldiers leaned forward, taking time to breath. The last of the heavy breathing stopped, and Leopold was approached by a youthful young man of the Empire, dressed in the finest plate armor, and stood about an inch taller than the prince. His dark brown eyes met Leopold's bright blue.

The young man chuckled, lightly patting Leopold on his shoulder. "It has been forever."

It took several seconds for Leopold to recognize the face in front of him. "You were so young since I left," said Leopold, lightly grasping his arm. "It's great to have you here, Conrad." Leopold soon turned the grasp into a brief embrace as Conrad's face colored slightly.

Conrad smiled. "It's great to see you again, Leo" said the young German. The two then sat down against the trees, starting pleasant conversation about their well-being and their everyday lives which turned into indulgent jolly rambling, whether it was about horse racing, jousting, archery, hunting or the thrills of being in the battlefield. The talk ended with the two commanders chuckling, and after it came silence between them as Conrad sighed contently and Leopold smiled.

The young German pouted, about to get to his main point. "Aside from all this, my— well, our brother sent me here to assist you. With what we have," Conrad smiled tightly in a determined way. "we can make the Magyar king bend the knee. He will not suspect such power, especially if we work together."

"I'm quite impressed by the troops' armor quality and everything else. Unfortunately," Leopold sighed and stood up. "fighting out here has made me mortified and gave me terrible scars. I've had my share. Now, I must go closer to home for a recovery."

Conrad frowned, hoping someone he knew as a great warrior would be around to fight alongside him. "A shame. Just pray God and our departed father watch over me and my brave men on that day, okay?"

Leopold smiled and grasped Conrad's arm once more. "They will always be watching. So make them and your old brother proud."

Conrad tenaciously smiled tightly in reply. "Just wait until I bring Heinrich his crown."

The prince departed, riding off with a horse of a dead Magyar as Conrad waved goodbye.

[Alwyn]

Good chapter, I particularly enjoyed the soldiers' search for Leopold and what happens next!

[krazyfilmer123]

Chapter 5 — The Citadel

Looking down at the landscape from the Hungarian parapets of Bran was Bulcsú, the fair-haired son of the equally fair-haired King of Hungary. Seeing the foe slowly pushing their battering rams towards the front gate, the young Magyar blew a horn, watching as captains barked orders to their peasant subordinates, making them rush towards the gate with their crude spears and shields in hand.

As Bulcsú watched, he felt saddened at the fact that being in the confines of Bran for a few months meant little food, which meant cutting down on peasantry. It was a grim decision for his father to make, but nevertheless, the Hungarian prince left the captain and the poorly-trained farmers to their own devices, running down the rampart, towards the gate leading to the second inner layer of walls, and finally, to the innermost and smallest one, out of breath and heavily panting before his father as he reached him at the heart of Bran. King Kálmán looked down grimly at his son, expectant of his words.

"Father," said Bulcsú breathlessly. "Germans!"

The Hungarian king's eyebrows furrowed, turning around towards his finest infantry knights, wearing red and green tabards over their glowing plate armor. Kálmán cleared his hoarse throat.

"Everyone, at your positions! Your Imperial foe arrives!"

The knights happily obliged, running and taking their positions near the gates and at the ramparts of the innermost layer as Kálmán watched. During this, his weary son finally caught his breath, and as he stood up, the king tapped his son on the shoulder, directing his view towards a wooden beast present in the castle square, with heavy pots and rocks sitting beside it, and behind the machine were crewmen, cheerfully waving at the two.

As his father expected his son to chuckle deviously with him, Bulcsú instead turned to his father in skepticism. "Father... where's the honor in this?"

The King snorted, looking his son in his eyes with no hint of shame. "For the love of St. Peter, Bulcsú, they killed your grandfather and took Budapest, plundering it with glee. Bran is the only rich place I have left. It is our capital. You know full well they tried taking this place, but now it's their second time here. They're not worth the sweat and toil of our soldiers, you understand?" The young Hungarian could only bow down his head.

Meanwhile, the Germans at the first layer delighted in their omnipotence, slashing and cutting down the poorly equipped peasants as they uselessly poked at the Imperials' heavy chain mail armor with their spears and pitchforks. The last of the peasants ran for their lives, hoping they wouldn't get hit by a whistling bolt.

Conrad rode his horse in front of his infantry, encouraging his knights to push the battering ram faster, and eventually it approached the second entrance. Many bangs against the second wooden gate later caused it to break open like the last, and with energy, the German troops rushed in while the soldiers manning the battering ram followed suit.

The Germans found the inside of the second layer of walls to be empty, with no immediate threat jumping out to strike at them. It gave them a sense of comfort, as well as time to catch back some of the energy they lost fighting the brave but unfortunate farmers. Walking his horse through the narrow road in between Hungarian houses, Conrad and his bodyguard rode their steeds at the middle of the line of units, approaching an intersection, which made a turn towards the gate of the last bolthole. At the front were the operators of the battering ram, pushing hard for it to move while other knights followed closely behind. Conrad was hopeful of what was beyond the last gate. Just a few pauper to hunt down. Conrad was sure of it. Soon enough, the gloriously rich and undefended citadel of Bran would easily be German in no time.

But suddenly, a crash came about, and Conrad's eyes became dinner plates as he could see smoke rising from the front of the unit line, hearing screams of agony as he saw fire engulf the bodies of his knights and eat at their flesh, convulsing and jerking in pain as they hit the ground, begging the Father for mercy. Another object was hurled at Conrad's already troubled men, exploding on their battering ram and reducing it to a burning mess of wood planks and chips. The horrified young German stood still, desperately trying to gather his thoughts. Soon, a word would be echoed in his mind. Catapult. Catapult. Catapult.

Conrad's infantry watched in horror as a mess of wood burned at the intersection, with the charred bodies of their countrymen and friends littered around it. A wave of panic rattled their minds as Conrad watched them become light on their feet, ready to dash somewhere far away from whatever beast caused the burning clutter in front of them. The young German, having collected his thoughts somewhat, rode his horse in front of his slowly backpedaling army, blowing his horn.

"Come on everyone! You n-need not fear such contemptible tactics! M-move—charge—go, attack!"

The infantry subconsciously backpedaled further, ignoring Conrad's stuttered and poorly spoken order. In a gloomy sense of determination, the young commander turned to his bodyguards and knight cavalry.

"Men. We take matters into our own hands now."

"Commander, are you insane!?" protested a bodyguard.

"There are only two catapults standing between us, that gate, and final victory, and behind those catapults are worthless crewmen. Do you want it or not?!"

The knights, knowing they wouldn't go back home in utter shame of their cowardice, could only oblige and follow. Along with Conrad, they finally passed around the fire and turned towards the catapults from the intersection. Arrows from the towers came one by one, striking some of the knights off their horses, but the wave of cavalry still rode on. Approaching the catapult crewmen, the catapults slung the last of their igneous mixtures, marginally missing the cavalry as it passed right above their heads. The knights went around to approach the comparably tiny men hiding behind their toys, taking out their swords and swooping them towards the worthless masons who had nothing but small-bladed knives. An Imperial captain watched the fight while all the other infantrymen stood back, sticking out his head from behind a house near the intersection. He then became ecstatic with pride, shouting out to all of the men behind him as they renewed their courage, bringing ladders with them.

Conrad, his bodyguard and his knights soon fell back. With all their might, the ladders were lifted onto the walls, and the knights quickly scaled their way to the top, whilst the heavily plated Hungarians waited steadily. Reaching the ramparts, waves of black and yellow met green and red, clashing with each other and delivering each other scratches and bruises on their armor, as well as their ribs. The Hungarian heavy infantry impetuously went up the ramparts to help their surrounded friends, but were too late as their plated friends frantically tried forcing their way through the Germans, while others desperately jumped off the ramparts and back inside the innermost layer. The units of Hungarian knights could only concede to the numerous angry Germans slaughtering their friends.

Once the ramparts were cleared, the crossbowmen climbed up. The only Magyar forces left were the bodyguards of the king and his son, whom could only look up at the ramparts from their horses as the lines of crossbowmen aimed at them from above, watching their every move. The gate near them was also opened by one of Conrad's soldiers, making way for Conrad and his bodyguard to come inside with waves of knights behind him. The youthful general rode his horse in front of King Kálmán's, meeting face to face with him as Conrad beamed haughtily, while the now battered Hungarian king could only glare.

The king broke the deafening silence. "So. Bran is now for Imperial dogs like you. What will you do with me now?"

After such agony he saw in his burning men, Conrad reached no foregone conclusion. "The Kaiser sends his regards."

The king and his son looked up towards the crossbowmen one last time, hearing their weapons humming as a wave of bolts were released.

[NorseThing]

I liked how you handled the awkward and repetitive aspects of the game engine here with your narrative. It is a pleasure to read others dealing with the central square fight to the death requirement when it is arrows and not melee that end the battle. There ought to be bonus characteristics to Conrad for this slaughter of those who cannot surrender.

[Turkafinwë]

I can only imagine how it must feel like to see a huge flaming boulder racing towards you while you have nowhere to run. The panic it must surely cause is nicely described in your tale. I liked Conrad's stuttering command as his men fled from the fiery hell. I like the Game of Thrones reference as well. It seems Conrad is as ruthless as Roose Bolton.

All in all a great update!

[krazyfilmer123]

Chapter 6: Behold a Red Horse

Walking down the golden carpet of Emperor Henry's court was a slim man dressed in a jet black tunic, with a hood and veil covering his face. In his hand was a particularly special item which the seated emperor fixed his eyes onto, delighting in it's luster. The man took off his hood and veil, revealing a vertical scar across his blinded left eye and a stubble of oldness, as he approached the steps to the small and gilded throne which the emperor sat in.

The man gave the crown to the seated monarch. "It is done, mein Kaiser."

Inspecting the crown adorned with twinkling jewels and a few streaks of blood, Henry smiled conceitedly. "Good riddance to the fat man, thinking he was still King of the Franks in his last Iberian bolthole." He finally looked up at the unveiled man. "As always, I appreciate your absolute cunning."

The man smiled in satisfaction. "It is always a pleasure, mein Kaiser, rightful King of the Franks." The assassin finally went down the steps, kneeling down towards his ruler as the emperor waved.

After the assassin left the court, Henry beckoned a servant to place the crown on a table nearby, a few meters away from the carpet. The emperor then got up from his throne, leaving the court and heading outside of his small palace. He walked down the steps towards the heart of the castle, stopping to take a proud gander at the rotting French rebel whom he ordered hanged a week before, being consumed by flies and maggots. The putrid smell still lingered as it did for the past three days around the center of Toulouse, but unlike everyone else, the emperor never winced.

Walking past the gallows, Henry's eyebrows grooved while his cold eyes wandered in thought around the roads of the castle. He wondered where his son Welf was. He said he'd wait near my palace so we could go out and hunt. Did the stench bother him?

Still on the lookout for his son, the Emperor went down the road from the castle square as citizens who were in front of Henry subconsciously made way for him on the road. As he kept making his way down, the Emperor suddenly paused, looking right towards a plaza, hearing grunts and insults behind a small crowd of observers. Henry quickly jogged to the right, shoving past observers to see his son in a fight with multiple men clad in chain mail while his son was in his usual long tunic and cape, scratched as he fell on the ground.

One of the men shouted at the battered German. "That was for Francois, pig!"

Welf, once again, attempted to get bitter reality across their heads, knowing their tongue quite well. "Had your stupid friend not come after my purse, I would've not taken off his cursed—" Another man came in, interrupting and stomping on Welf's face, leaving a faintly visible footprint across it.

Anger welled up and seethed in the veins of the emperor, clenching his fists as he ran towards the gang, drawing out his sword without a second thought. It hasn't glistened under the sun since the last French city he ordered pillaged, and was still as razor-edged as ever. The emperor impaled one of the French knights through their chest, taking it out quickly as the man fell lifeless on his stomach, leaving blood spreading on the gravel. Another man met their maker as his head was quickly taken off, a fountain of blood coming out of their neck and slightly staining the monarch's face, standing lifeless for a moment before staining the ground even more as he fell. The last man standing was of short stature, and like the others, he wasn't armed, as everyone knew that if they tried to kill a son of the emperor, they would be endlessly tortured. He could only stand in terror before the monarch, who was much taller than him and more built than his two lost friends. Henry grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up with one hand, and was thrown at a cart, crashing into it as it split in two.

Welf looked up—his face bruised and nose bloodied from punches—looking around at the crowd as they dispersed in shock at what they saw. The Spanish brown eyes he inherited from his mother looked up at his father's cold blue while he was helped up by him with his arm locked around his. He held his son by his shoulders.

"I told you not to go out alone here!" snapped his father.

Welf looked down. "I apologize."

Right after, a man shouted to the emperor as he ran towards him. "My Lord! A message—an urgent message!" He stopped, looking at the two lifeless bodies on the ground, and turning his head towards a man laying at a broken cart as he moaned in pain.

The messenger looked up questioningly at the emperor. "My Kaiser, what happened—"

"None of your concern," said Henry. "What is it?"

"England and Denmark—they've blockaded our trade and have declared war! We need to act quickly—get the armies—"

"That's enough," interrupted Henry, surprisingly calm. There was a pause after as his son cocked an eyebrow, approaching his father as he talked softly in confusion.

"Father, you'd think after doing what your father wanted you to, people would be reminded of what you are..."

The old emperor turned to his young son, facing him before looking down to his bloodied sword. "Well, jealousy always resonates in those who gaze at our land," said Henry, "and my sword has proven itself to still hunger for those who defy us." Henry straightened and furrowed his eyebrows. "Polish your armor and feed your horse. We leave Toulouse before dawn with our knights and cavalry. Our traitors over at the bleak isles over France will be sorry soon enough." He then turned to the messenger. "We'll deal with the Danes later, but they will seldom differ. Also, get me a servant with a bowl of hot water. My son's not going to battle with that footprint."

The messenger nodded, jogging away towards the center of the castle while Welf flushed, feeling his face as he watched. Despite that, Welf looked up once more, beaming in clear optimism. "Let us make your father wish he was here."

Henry let out a soft chuckle. "Like I always do."

The emperor left the plaza with his son, thinking of how much more gallows would need to be built.

[Alwyn]

The emperor's reaction to what happens to Welf is dramatic. I wonder how serious the effects of the blockade will be and how much of a threat the armies of the blockading countries will be.

[krazyfilmer123]

AUTHOR'S NOTES/REPLIES

Alright, since I don't like replying to people in my AARs as I want to keep the thread tidy with not too many posts, any replies or notes i'll have stored here. @NorseThing: Yep, these are things I like to do especially in my AARs. However, most of the time you will see me changing things and throwing in my own narrative into it, because of how awkward and somewhat predictable the game actually is. The pictures featured in the images are even those not seen in the actual battle, as most of the time they're custom battle images I manufactured. Nevertheless, the game's still dang fun @Turkafinwe: I've never actually immersed myself into the Game of Thrones universe, but I appreciate your interpretations! @Alwyn: Thanks, as always, for your support and speculations. After this long chapter, you'll find out!

Chapter 7: Where Angels Fear to Tread

The once young Conrad, having grown broad shoulders and maintained his attractive muscular build and sharp jawline, thought back to the last time he met his brother, Leopold. He was sure he had already made him proud after avenging his defeat at Bran, but seeing what was perhaps the world's most inconceivably almighty city stand tall on the horizon as he marched with his army rekindled a certain fire in his heart. Conrad knew clearly what this sentiment pulsing through his veins was, that even though he swept through Bran and effectively drove the Hungarians out of their own land, he knew that he—no—the Empire, always had a big appetite. He knew that if his brother saw the crown of this so-called "Byzantine Emperor" brought to him on a silver platter, he would be ecstatic beyond belief. Conrad already found himself indulging in victory, painting images in his head—of glory, gold, singing, the finest beer and a few curvy doxies.

* * *

At the Great Palace of the great city of Constantinople, the adviser to the distraught Emperor John tried reasoning with him once more after hours of heated conversation. "My lord, Emperor of the Romans, King of Kings," said the adviser, reminding John of who he was in a time of crisis, "we must surrender to them! The small garrisons will fall to their armies! They bring with them barded horses, many crossbowmen, heavy plate armor, chain mail, and a certain fire of determination that we simply cannot—"

"I will not be defeated by Frankish upstarts!" angrily snapped John, still as aggressive as before. He slammed a fist on the arm of his gilded throne. "Have you never been here before?" The monarch stood up. "Have you not indulged in it's reverence?! No, Mavros, the soldiers stay, as well as the people. They will fight to the last man and breath. For the final time, I say we must not surrender our God-given city. We cannot be bettered by a gaggle of Franks! The might of our Theodosian walls will not fall to pretenders!"

Mavros gulped, eager to try once more to present reality to his agitated emperor. However, knowing a ship would be ready for him and his belongings, Mavros could only break eye contact, turning his back to walk away. "I apologize, mighty emperor, but if this is the path you want to take," said the disillusioned adviser, who looked at his ruler one last time, "it will not be a matter of simply beating barbarians." The adviser finally went out the doors of the court.

* * *

A few weeks have gone by outside the Greek capital. Conrad gazed at the three-layered Theodosian walls once more before the final assault. It took on it's usual daunting appearance, with a multitude of towers that were planted across the uppermost and tallest wall just behind two consecutively smaller ones, while Byzantine soldiers speckled all the parapets. However, the same grim defiance of the emperor behind the walls resonated within Conrad as well. This will be a triumph. This was what every German has been waiting for. Subsequently, he gave the order for the catapult crewmen to fire, letting their machines fling multiple boulders at the walls. After all, knowing full well of a catapult's ability to cause immense fear and damage, Conrad did not hesitate in using them.

After time passed as Conrad delightfully watched the speckles in the parapets get flung into the air and down to the hard ground, there were enough breaches for his soldiers to pass through. Conrad breathed in and out in stern anticipation, finally blowing the horn as he and his bodyguard lead the men into the city.

Conrad and his men rushed through the gaps, and were thereafter frequently skirmished by either mobs of peasants, small groups of Byzantine soldiers or gangs of militiamen, but most of whom were easily routed. However, after such lengthy sword-to-sword combat between the two parties, the German infantry, albeit looking dashing in their shining armor compared to the Byzantines, felt the insides of their helmets and breastplates heat up, growing weary as some pathetically clung to the nearest building wall or fell to their knees.

"Come on, everyone!" shouted Conrad, blowing his horn. "It is Constantinople! Don't you want glory? Don't you delight in every corner of this venerable place?! Get up and give the Kaiser a victory!" Knowing that the stuttering once heard by the soldiers had disappeared, some were compelled to lift their chests upward in obedience.

The optimistic German commander applauded them. "Yes! That is the spirit. That is what I like to see..." The general's voice trailed off, seeing a unit of what looked liked mercenary Magyars walking towards the exhausted infantry. The captain of this so-called "Vardariotai" unit leaned forward to jeer at the frightened general.

"Hey, you, Conrad of the Franks!" shouted the captain in a mocking tone, having learned some German for the sole purpose of derision. "The Emperor sends his regards!"

After hearing the ridicule of such a widespread platitude in his realm, Conrad's eyebrows contracted in annoyance.

"Well, dummkopf, allow me to retort—"

Before he could reply, a volley of arrows soared across the air, showering the weary and tired German infantry in sharp metal tips as well as their own blood. Conrad, knowing that this would continue so long if the infantry was still tired, boiled with anger as even some of his bodyguards were struck off their horses by multiple shafts. In the midst of the cheer of the Vardariotai, Conrad would perform what has been done at Bran in anger and abandon.

"No more banter!" yelled Conrad, kicking his horse into a gallop, being followed by his determined guards. "It's serious now!"

Conrad unsheathed his sword quickly, running his barded horse into the unit of cavalry that lacked Western armor, striking as much men as he could—left and right—off their horses while his bodyguards joined the slaughter. The Vardariotai did not back down, persistently swinging their scimitars, leaving gashes on their enemy's chests and backs. However, the more weary they became, their sword fighting became useless waving, and they ended up conceding as they allowed themselves to be cut down. Many of Conrad's guards were cut down too, but he felt that it was worth risking it for the well-being of his loyal men.

After, the soldiers were reanimated from their burnout and were alive, well, and jovial. They marched their way closer, through roads and many intersections, shoving through and cutting down peasants who desperately tried to protect their God-given land. At last, Conrad saw the mighty Byzantine flag waving in the air, indicating that this would be it. The infantry were already rejuvenated and awaited patiently beneath a sloped road. Once the flag comes down it's staff, the city, it's riches, it's palace and it's hippodrome would—

"O stavros nika!"

A sudden cry came from atop the road, where soldiers lead by it's one and only Emperor flooded from the city's central plaza, rushing in to make their last stand as Emperor John blew his horn. Immediately, German infantry raised their shields in anticipation, clashing with the Byzantine swordsmen and pushing among themselves.

John's horse stood up in excitement as he encouraged his men to press on. "Courage, everyone! Make the Heavens proud!"

The Greeks kept pushing on with their shields, bashing them in the faces of Germans to daze them while going in for parries and stabs. The Germans, taking their resistance with condescendingly good humor, pushed back with their bucklers, decorated with their cherished Imperial Eagle. German maces bludgeoned and disfigured faces of the Byzantines, making them fall down to the legs of their enemies.

As the Germans grew increasingly tired and impatient with their enemies' resilience, Conrad would order his crossbowmen to mercilessly fire at them, causing a ripple of panic throughout the infantry and a disorderly rout. Before the monarch, his own troops would be dragged down, stabbed or battered as they tried to take off. Emperor John would then feel no differently, and seeing as Mavros somehow knew more than he did, he turned his steed away as his hope for Constantinople shriveled as well. Like the others, his horse was tangled in the mob of German infantry, and the Byzantine monarch was dragged down to the ground and given a beating that sent him wherever God wanted him to.

Finally, as the last of the Byzantines at the top of the slope were dealt with, there was silence among the very few Byzantine soldiers left, standing at the city square as they watched their enemy cheer. Being pleasured by their banter and insults towards the enemy, Conrad couldn't help but add a nice finishing touch.

The Greek soldiers looked at the German commander, horrified as he dragged the body of their emperor in front of them, slicing his disfigured head off and holding it up. Out of the small group of Byzantines, Conrad looked specifically at the Hungarian captain who had insulted him before, who managed to get out of the last fight alive. As he did, the tall and imposing German's pupils slightly shrunk, his eyebrows raised up and his mouth shaped into a haughtily cruel smile.

"Where's your emperor now?"

After a slight pause, the angry Magyar auxiliary spoke up. "Well, because of you German upstarts, he—"

"Where's your emperor now?" repeated Conrad with his teeth clenched, interrupting the captain. He finally tossed the head on the ground, letting it roll as it's tongue grotesquely stuck out. The general then nodded at the captain of his crossbowmen, having them come up to execute the last remnants of the Byzantine army.

They lined up, preparing to release the volley of victory, but to their astonishment, the Byzantines raised their swords up; their cries reaching the Heavens as they repeated their Empire's battle cry, charging towards the line of crossbowmen.

"O stavros nika!"

Despite this determination, the last thing they would see was the sight of dashing steel.

Thereafter, Conrad walked among the swathes of dead Greeks around the city square. He looked back at his army, who marched into the heart of Constantinople as well.

"All of you were great and dauntless men! Look at all these Greek corpses! As we stand atop them, do we not befit the title of Romans, brothers?" shouted Conrad vaingloriously.

The German soldiers replied with a cheer.

"Do you Germans not befit the three great days you're now entitled to"—Conrad's voice suddenly became raspy and savage—"sack this place clean?!"

The cheer was even louder and intoxicating for the proud Conrad, who then allowed the hungry dogs he commanded off his leash as he set them loose to take trophies for the empire. However, the aftermath of these three days was something more greater than Conrad had ever expected.

[Alwyn]

Good chapter! I enjoyed the way that you showed us both the perspectives of Conrad and Emperor John. The moment when the Byzantines use their Emperor's battle cry is nicely done.

[krazyfilmer123]

AUTHOR'S NOTES/REPLIES

I'd recommend you read Chapter 7 above if you haven't already. i'd say it's the most well-written chapter I put out so far and it will be important as the subject of Constantinople and Conrad will come up later Also! All jumps in time or location (or both) will now have three, centered, spaced asterisks in between two sections. I've also considered removing most of the images in the story, and only have one for each chapter. I want to tell my story almost image-free, so sorry for anybody who likes good shots of battles. I like those too...

Chapter 8: Cry of the Higlands

Edinburgh was in shambles. The peasants and clusters of Scottish soldiers that King Edward thought to be asinine soothsayers convinced everyone of future terrors; a sacked Edinburgh, filled with crying children and women, just like the sacred city of Byzantium. The prophecy of doom spread across the city like wildfire, leading the Scots to take whatever underhanded action they wanted, knowing either that they would possibly escape the city with many goodies, or that death would take them into his embrace regardless.

Alexander Canmore, Prince of the Scots, walked amidst the heavy scent of smoke, debris and shattered glass in middle of the chaotic city. He halted at a plaza, taking a moment to gaze at the disorder. Peasantry dressed in hoods went store after store to empty them, completely oblivious to the toil merchants went through to get their wares. Men barked orders at one another, either passing each other loot or settling personal scores kept within them during peace. It was because of all this chaos, that an irritated King Edward would see about two corpses lying in the city every day. However, to the prince at this day, it seemed that the body count doubled—no—quadrupled. During this seemingly endless chaos, he caught sight of the bald and stout adoptive brother he always knew to be Angus Forster. He stepped in front of Angus, stopping him in his tracks.

"Tell me, Angus—you bloody knuckle dragger—what's with that cart behind you."

Angus spoke in his rough, middle-aged voice stammering a little. "Brother, the Germans! Germans I say! They're coming! You've surely heard the news! W-Welf and his father, Emperor—"

Alexander rolled his eyes. "Oho, you mean Emperor Franky, the terrible lad who launches meteors from his eyes and shoots lightning bolts from his arse?!" rebuked the prince, mocking the aroused fear surrounding the enemy ruler.

An annoyed Angus rolled his eyes back at his puerile humor. "Sire, Scotland would appreciate if you take this matter seriously."

"Scotland can lick my arse clean, lad, if she's so afraid of beer swilling Franks. King Henry promised us reinforcements—"

Suddenly, the middle-aged noble grabbed Alexander by his sturdy shoulders, looking at him with his desperate green eyes. "England quit. They've taken their coffers and left the isle. Understand? The Germans first came to this isle prepared. Understand?"

Anger boiled in the prince at his adopted brother's harsh tone. "You're telling me our ally has no power?! After the rich cities they raised—"

"And lost."

"—that King Henry has no spine—"

"You know, brother, I would love to break his spine if he ever had one." Angus took in the prince's anger with some patience. He sighed. "Look, Alexander, both me and your father know we pick our battles. We know the Holy Roman Empire to be a powerful people. They've ended France and practically all of England. I have a wife and two offspring, and i'd rather have them live up in Inverness with the English rather than a German Edinburgh. So does your father, Edward—a wise lad. Right now we're completely outnumbered here, and at any moment, the thousands of Imperial knights spawned from the former castles of England and their own back at home can level this entire isle. Do you under—"

In the midst of such a crisis, King Edward of Scotland finally rushed into the plaza, stopping to look his son in the eyes while everyone stopped their looting craze to stare.

"Alexander! The Emperor and his favored son—thirty miles from Edinburgh but surrounded by a forest! A little birdie told me they're out in the open!"

Alexander was astonished as well as Angus, albeit in a skeptical manner unlike his cheerful brother. The prince's eyes widened in excitement. "You change your mind?"

His father smiled proudly. "Yes." He took a quick glance in the general direction of the enemy army. "Come on, to the war room. The scout is there. He'll tell you everything. Come on, laddie!"

Angus looked on as his father and his brother ran from the plaza and to the Scottish palace, feeling a hopeful fire burn in his darkened heart.

* * *

The beautiful, shimmering white of the snow that covered the Scottish valleys was dulled by an abundance of red, and covered by the bodies of numerous men of the Imperial and Scottish forces—covered in scratches and lacerations, while small piles of fresh red mixed with pink spilled out of their heads and chests. Atop the valley of death, numerous clusters of black clad soldiers stood, tired and wearisome. However, one cluster of black held a man of interest; someone who was known to throw insults at a realm others knew he wouldn't defeat.

Two plated men kept the arms of a battered and bruised King Edward bound around theirs as he dangled from them, on his knees while he stared at the ground, refusing to make eye contact with the Germans around him. In front of him were the two royal Germans he was supposed to take the heads of, who insulted him in their tongue. He completely ignored the foreign babble his brain didn't understand or bother interpreting, thinking about his son Alexander—whether or not he was okay. Deliriously, he spoke.

"Alexander? Where are you?"

In a puerile manner, a German soldier mimicked the strange tongue in his hoarse accent. "Aleksanda?! Ver ar yoo?" The black clad soldiers around him chuckled, but Welf, being a royal family member, was half-lidded and not amused. Edward, coming from a realm where profanity isn't unheard of, replied with one of the few German words he knew.

"Schleimscheisser."

The delivery was tight and raspy, and the pronunciation was almost on-point for the Germans to understand. Ass-licker. That's what it meant. Welf, thinking the insult was directed at him, quickly booted the face of the Scottish monarch, leaving cold snow on it while he let out a grunt. After a pause, Welf turned to his father.

"Father—the strongboxes? How much longer will it take for them to come? I don't want to be stuck around the stench of battle."

Emperor Henry replied with some patience. "It's only been a day since this. Let these Auslanders take their time. Sixteen-thousands florins is a lot to carry." Welf nodded in understanding.

The bearded son of Henry then went to a nearby tree, leaning against it while he smiled to himself, gazing at the land below the hill he stood at, ignoring the clusters of bodies. He was already picturing the many chests that would arrive, being drawn by many horses. He pictured the many mounds of gold inside—the gold that could be spent on gleaming plate armor, a two handed sword or a large palace-like dwelling. But only he and his father would be seeing this. Ruprecht should be here, he thought. He also thought of his youngest brother, Wilhelmus too—he just came of age, and he'd love to see him treated to such an event and the thrill that would follow. Welf then thought about Willelda. It's been a long time since he saw those pretty blue eyes, and he wished the same for her. Too bad she was vulgar and defiant. Too bad Henry demanded she be made a ghost. Too bad Scotland is the same way.

"Welf," called the old Emperor. Welf snapped out of his thoughts and stood straight. "Bothered by something?"

"A little bit," replied Welf, softly. His father playfully grabbed his cheek, like he would when he was young.

"There's nothing to be bothered about. Think about how much more strongboxes we can have once we're there."

Welf beamed as he looked at his father, his Spanish brown meeting German blue. He nodded.

* * *

Angus Forster sat in a seat in the administrative center of Edinburgh, his hand covering his face as his elbow rested on his knee. Tears streamed down his face. The news went out that Alexander Canmore wouldn't come back as his mangled corpse was found among the clusters of dead Scots that day, that only his father would return. He did, but Angus wasn't any happier. He lived in a similar way to those in the slums of the city, as he melted every piece of gold he owned, as well as artifacts of the palace, to save such a good king, and to see his brother back, as the Empire promised. But he was dead. Angus wanted justice—to see every man of the ruling Salian dynasty of the Empire to be burned at stakes. He wanted to show his brother's gutted body to the world; to show everyone what the snakes did to him.

Angus heard faint screams from outside. Getting out of the wooden chair he was sitting in, he busted out the doors of the administrative building, seeing the Scots running into whichever house they could find. He looked on the horizon, down the long road beside his headquarters. He stood, mortified and angered as his eyes twitched. It was them. They lied. They said that if the ransom was met, they'd be spared. He shouted angrily at the warriors on the horizon, disregarding the fact they couldn't hear him.

"Bloody galoots! I melted everything! Liquidated everything to florins! What will the Church think of you now?! And you people call yourselves holy? That's it, i'm—"

A stray bolt reached the bald head of Angus, a mess of his pink cerebrum gushing out.

[Alwyn]

I think one picture for each update can work well and your picture is well-chosen. I like your dialogue, too. This chapter made me wonder what happened with the ransom - did Scotland not have enough money to buy back the prisoners?