>>6042174
''Near the Duchy of Verdecréneaux lie the lands of the Abbey of Saint-Baldéric, where the monks are known for their strict adherence to tradition and discipline. These monks are direct vassals of the King of Aurélie, though this is disputed by some of their neighbours. They have thrown back four attempts by the Counts of Cortenand. Sometimes with the help of neighbours, other times with the blood and sweat of a well-organised militia. Make no mistake, I do want to build my utopia, but I shall build it in the mountains, like that part of Tautenland, the Eidgenossenschaft. That confederation of monasteries, dwarven holds, mountain villages, and towns has been able to withstand any attempt at subjugation. If those men could live in freedom, why can't we? The other crusaders won't simply go over there to fight the good fight against the fire-worshippers; lots of them are in it for the land they think they wrestle from both the infidel and the Mithradians. Is it then so wrong that someone such as me, a pariah in most Curian social circles, would wish for a peaceful place to build a new society?''

>''You are violating the natural order of our societies; the old empire had an aristocracy, and so should we.'' After all, outside of the cities, there are few peasants who could stand up to bandits or raiders, and thus the noble and the commoner must coexist in synergy.

>''The gods would not approve of this course of action; the old empire saw a clear difference between the patricians and the plebs, and we must follow their example.''

>''Alright, fine, I will make an appeal to the Gonfaloniere and attempt to commute your sentence from whatever it is currently to banishment.''

>''You are violating the natural order of our societies; the old empire had an aristocracy, and so should we.'' After all, outside of the cities, there are few peasants who could stand up to bandits or raiders, and thus the noble and the commoner must coexist in synergy.

>>6042175
>>''You are violating the natural order of our societies; the old empire had an aristocracy, and so should we.'' After all, outside of the cities, there are few peasants who could stand up to bandits or raiders, and thus the noble and the commoner must coexist in synergy.
Welcome back!

File: Guy.png (650 KB, 1978x2626)

650 KB PNG

''You are violating the natural order of our societies; the old empire had an aristocracy, and so should we.'' After all, outside the cities, there are few peasants who could stand up to bandits or raiders, and thus the noble and the commoner must coexist in synergy. You know your history, of course most of the Argalian nobility is descended from Tautenic chiefs, former Isidorian legates and various other warlords who offered protection against the leftover horrors and followers of the Witch-King as well as other threats and evils that emerged once the empire had collapsed. Even your line, though the lineage runs cold by the eleventh century.

Guy, however, only scoffs at your argument: ''Natural order, pah, tell that to the Alatorans, or the elves or dwarves. And don't even think of bringing in the 'optimi senatores sanguinis'. Do you know why the church has had so many martyrs from the time of the potentate to the anarchy? The nobility of the empire was without an emperor, and they began to indulge their cupidity and whims. Thousands were tortured to death for the personal amusement of the imperial nobility, while it took the Curia six centuries to act by sinking the old capital and exterminating the old nobility. What came in its place? Tribal chieftains wanting the luxury of their 'civilised' neighbours, imperial legates and bureaucrats, eager to clear their way to the top, now the persons who could turn to goop were all dead. Nobility isn't the natural order. Before the corruption of the Isidorian Empire, there was a widespread idea not of owing allegiance to a lord, who in turn owed allegiance to a monarch, but to the idea of citizenship, with the emperorship serving as a guiding hand and helping it towards a common vision. And even then, we can find that our brothers-in-faith, like the halflings, do not understand nobility like we do; their model is more based upon who owns the largest acre and brews the most beer. Once thou hast opened thine eyes, thou art to never close them again. You must choose, young one: either you will help me or I shall await my salvation.''

>''Fine then, just rot in your cell.'' You are not going to spend any more time on this; you need to hire a ship for passage.

>''Oh well, have a nice day; I have a boat to catch.'' Let's see if he's desparate enough to fall for some bait.

>''You win; I will appeal for your commutation.'' This will be troublesome, but you let those followers of his run around the countryside.

>>6042431
>''Oh well, have a nice day; I have a boat to catch.'' Let's see if he's desparate enough to fall for some bait.

>>6042431
>''Oh well, have a nice day; I have a boat to catch.'' Let's see if he's desparate enough to fall for some bait.

>>6042431
>''Oh well, have a nice day; I have a boat to catch.'' Let's see if he's desparate enough to fall for some bait.

''Oh well, have a nice day; I have a boat to catch.'' Let's see if he's desperate enough to fall for some bait. You won't bother this man any more, your time is beginning to run out, if anything you would like to depart today, but you know that it will maybe be tomorrow. First you have to visit the bank to redeem the letters of credit your father gave you and hire a ship to transport you to Mithras, and it seems that you get no response from the monk. On the one hand you could swallow your pride and go back to ask him anyway, or you could leave immediately, you could also simply walk around the corner and wait to see if he will bite.

>Leave immetdatiy
>Swallow your pride and turn back
>Hide behind a corner, see if he budges [roll required]

>>6043130
>Hide behind a corner, see if he budges [roll required]

A classic negotiating tactic, much like demanding more than you actually want, is to threaten to leave prematurely in an ideal situation, the opposing party would come back to the negotiating table after you threatened to blow the whole thing up in front of them, leaving them with nothing. And so you begin to walk around the corner.

Roll a 1d100 if you would be so kind.

40DC

0 Success: Radio silence: Guy does not respond.
1 Success: a renegotiation: guy still believes he can wring something out of you, but calls you back.
2 Successes: Altering the deal: Guy is willing to let some of his demands go, doesn't want to give up all of his ideas.
3 Successes: With pleading hands: Guy caves to your demands. /spoiler]

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>6043701

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>6043701

Rolled 57 (1d100)

>>6043701

A minute passes, then another one, but you do not hear a ''Come back!'' or some other plea to get out of prison. No, you get silence and frustration as you stand there. Alfonso looks at you with a mildly annoyed expression, and you feel your contour warm out a bit, both from frustration and from embarrassment.

Another minute passes before you decide to walk up. And away from Guy and away from the cells. He is a lost effort, and you tell yourself it is not worth thinking about. Part of you wants to go back and give him a kick in the groyne or something else, but your senses win out against your temper. Assaulting a prisoner would land you in trouble yourself, after all, and you still need to get this expedition on track.

You wasted nearly two hours arguing with that troublemaker and got nothing in return. Going to Cremolora was at least going to let you meet a high-ranking member of the church, but Guy just made you want to shake some sense into him. His ideas are laughable after all and complete hokum; besides, you have other things to do. You need to find a ship to bring you to Mithras, and you need the money to pay for the ship. For that, you need to turn in the checks your father gave you to finance your part of the crusade.

Therefore, as you stand on the streets of Pocantello, you have two main options before you: go to the bank or visit the harbour to scout out any potential captains with ships. Alfonso has said that you should be able to find a ship as long as you will pay half of the agreed fare on the day of departure. The other half upon arrival, of course.

>Lets go to the bank first, time is money.
>Getting proper transport is more important.

>>6044073
>Lets go to the bank first, time is money.

File: Banking.jpg (88 KB, 750x466)

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Banking is a time-honoured tradition in Castana, meant as an institution that would safeguard capital and provide an exchange between various currencies. In time, this developed into full-on business banking. This includes extending loans to prospective artisans with new ideas, providing funds to kings for raising armies, and handling other financial matters. Your father had the concept imported to Greifswald to give the industries and other ventures a better chance at obtaining capital for themselves.

Families in the merchant or crafts business who switched to banking have spread the institution across Argalis, reviving and expanding trade. The revived trading networks are displacing the old autarkic manorial systems. And Castana is at the centre of it all. Ships come and go to Mithras, the Orient, and back again.

A low, businesslike profile and fortress-like characteristics, including bars on the window, define the bank. To keep the riff-raff out, two guards, a sweaty dwarf and a greasy orc, are present. Because your surcoat gives away your noble heritage, you and your entourage are let in without a problem.

Upon entering the low vaulted room that makes up the public section of the bank, you see a long row of men sitting behind a set of benches with various weighing instruments. Some are measuring various coins, others are scrutinising documents, some with transparent crystals, and others with specially cut glass.

A friendly-looking young gentleman with an enormous nose and a double chin approaches you. The greeter, most likely.

''Buona giornata, nobili signori. Posso aiutarti con qualcosa?''

Instead of waiting for Alfonso to translate or asking him to do it for you, you simply hand the man the bank check you have with you. You are not really in the mood for conversation at the moment. The greeter looks at the seals on the document before he speaks again.

''Ma certo, allora siete Grifonlegni? Per favore seguimi, ti porterò dal nostro specialista nella gestione degli affari con la tua nazione.''

Alfonso quickly whispers in your ear. ''He said that you should follow him, he will bring you to the specialist concerning Greifswald.''

And so you follow the fat porter, beyond the main hall into the office level, before the three of you stop before a door. The usher bade you to wait with a motion of his hand. He knocked on the door and went inside. A little later, he emerged again with an older man in tow.

>>6044572

An older man with gentlemanly features and warm, grandfatherly eyes. ''Please come in. I am the principal contact for this bank with Tautenland and Greifswald. Lived there a few years, my son still does, my brother handles Aurélie and Venautra to the west.'' Entering his wood-panelled office, he offered you a drink, but you politely declined. He sat back behind his desk and folded his fingers. ''I take you are here to cash in some checks to finance the crusade? Smart, some nobles run out of coin before they even cross the sea. At any rate, could you please be so kind as to hand me the check? Nothing out of the ordinary, just a regular inspection.'' He politely requested of you.

After half a minute of watching this man checking the document, he looks up with a smile.

''Well, everything seems to be in order. I recognise the signature and the seals, as well as the handwriting. So I can assure you, these are legitimate. Do you have another one? Yes, quite good. There's just one question I would like to ask you. In what currency would you like to exchange these? Normally, we would recommend paying out on both our local florins and whatever the local currency is to make certain you can trade in both places. However, thanks to poor monetary practices by Elisonikon*, I cannot, in both good faith and consciousness, recommend the usage of the Stautaron; inflation has effectively killed that currency. The silver in them is thoroughly debased, which has caused their value to depreciate, or, in layman's terms, the Stautaron is losing its value against other currencies because of its inflation. Therefore, we recommend using our local florins for a more stable currency, such as the Alotoran ducat, to ensure you receive the best value for your money.

>The Alotorans? Didn't they destroy the Mithradian fleets a few years ago?
>Very well, I would like half ducats and half florins.
>I would like it to exchange the notes for one specivic currency [choose either ducats, florins or stautarons
>Are the stautarons really that worthless?
>Very well, I would like half stautarons and half florins.
>Very well, I would like half ducats and half stautarons.

*Elisonikon is the capital of Mithras.

>>6044576
>>The Alotorans? Didn't they destroy the Mithradian fleets a few years ago?
>>Very well, I would like half ducats and half florins.
good

''The Alotorans? Didn't they destroy the Mithradian fleets a few years ago?'' You ask of the banker.

''Yes, yes, they did. They sunk a nice chunk of the Mithradian fleet. Some think that this led to the invasion of the infidels.'' The man pauses before he continues.

''The Alotorans are scum, a nation of pirates pretending to be merchants. It lies in a lagoon and has become the main naval power; much like how the Tautens, Aurélians, and the Ebronians fight for influence in Castana, the merchant republics fight over who gets to dominate the trade coming in and out of this land. The Alotorans buy concessions in one oriental port, and the Lugeans buy concessions in the other. The Lugeans take an island from the Mithradians, so the Alotorans must also have one. Of course, this does not mean that the republics refuse to work together. The main reason for the Alotoran-led naval campaign was that the emperor in Elisonikon attempted to clamp down on the practices of the merchants. Of course, if you let the brother of your favourite mistress lead your fleet, it does not guarantee success. And you can guess what happens next. At any rate, the Mithradians are a wounded beast in a death struggle with another beast, and the Alotorans are like vultures circling overhead, waiting to swoop in and take advantage.''

He rises from his chair. ''But we have spoken enough about this subject, if you would follow me please, I will arrange for the money to be placed in your hands and, oh yes, I would recommend you send a runner back to your camp to arrange for the transportation of the coins.

They can be quite heavy, just like the chests we use for transportation. Now then, I would like for you to meet me in the yard, preferably with an escort. I will give you the money there.

You returned to camp, deposited Alfonso there, and returned to the back with a cart and five horsemen, yourself not included. The banker was already standing in the courtyard with two chests filled with the coin and an escort of dwarves and orcs to guard and carry the chests. You received the two keys from the banker, and he had the chests placed upon the horse-cart. He shook your hand, bid you farewell, and you brought the money back to camp.

Gained: 1500 Florins and 1150 Alotoran ducats.

>>6046044
The next day it was time to search for a ship or, rather, ships. You would need multiple boats for yourself, the men, the horses and the supplies. Still, an inland sea like the Internarrean is calm for most of the year, so the horses will most likely end up rather sick and parched because of the lack of fresh water. Especially if it takes too long or if the winds stand unfavourable.

Unfortunately for you, according to the harbour master. The fastest ships of the city, owned by a self-proclaimed ‘mage-merchant’, set sail the previous night. So you must find someone else to transport you to Mithras. With the money you have, you could easily hire the services of most of the docked captains in this city. You should not spend too much. After all, you might need something to buy supplies in Mithras. Narrowing the suitable numbers down. You need someone with enough ships who is going to Mithras. With these requirements in mind, you find three captains who suit the conditions.

The first is a small, shaggy man by the name of Berto (No last name given.) who, according to himself, specialises in being the cheapest captain of the city, though his manners are lacking, and his ships look like they belong on the bottom of the sea.

The second-cheapest option is a young and beginning merchant named Amadeo Trodi, whose ships are well-maintained and clean. The young man has taken over his business from his father, a former fisherman, and has been busy learning the ropes of being a proper merchant. Much like Berto, he takes any job he can get his hands on, though he is in a better financial state, though he won’t directly sail to Elisonikon as his trade contacts are more on the western coast of Mithras.

The third man is an Alotoran. Casimiro di Foscari is a scion of the fabulously wealthy Foscari family. He will set sail directly to the capital of Mithras in a squadron of very impressive trade galleys. His services are expensive, obviously, but his ships are of the best quality, well, save for one.

>Hire Berto (600 Florins, -20 to all rolls while on the sea.)
>Hire Amadeo Trodi (900 Florins, no bonuses or taluses)
>Hire Casimiro di Foscari (890 Ducats, +20 to all rolls while on the sea)

>>6046045
>>Hire Casimiro di Foscari (890 Ducats, +20 to all rolls while on the sea)
Might as well.

>>6046045
>Hire Casimiro di Foscari (890 Ducats, +20 to all rolls while on the sea)

Casimiro di Foscari is a sly looking man in his early thirties with keen green eyes and the beginning of a beard. According to him, it is to have his seniors take him more seriously, as beards are fashionable in Alotoran high society, and the merchant princes take their fashion seriously. The man himself is pleasant enough; though he doesn't speak Tauten himself, he is more than willing to transport you to Elisonikon, as he has to make a stop there himself to buy silks and other perfumes. According to him, thanks to the special trading privileges the Serene Republic of Alotoro has with the Mithradians, it would be easier for you to get through customs.

To assure you of the quality of the ships, all build in the arsenal of Alotoro, he took you for an inspection across the galleys. The sails are clean, the hulls are made from the finest hardwood and the winged silver bull on a green field with eight fringes fluttering in the wind. When the waves allowed it, you also caught a glimpse of the rams. You also got a look at some of the rowers, and although you had rumours that gallley are usually rowed by slaves, he told you that these days most rowers were either criminals or prisoner of war there to row until their sentace was paid, or their ransom was paid.

Nevertheless, the rest of the day was spent loading in the goods, provisions, steeds, and passengers onto the various ships. Unfortunately you could not set sail right away because of the wind, thankfully the wind turned the next day and you were off. It felt good to feel the wind and the salt of the sea. Father had once taken you on a boat, it was pleasant enough, but he preferred to go hunting in the woods, it reminded him more of Fluddenmark. For a realm with a good amount of coastline, you did not often see much of it.

It takes some getting used too, but in the end you find your legs to be adjusted enough to the moving of the deck. Poor Ehrenfried and some others aren't as lucky and spend a good amount of their time losing their meals over the railing. Indeed, you are so at home that you decide to start learning yourself the Mithradian alphabet. With the assistance of Ulrich Schreiber, whenever he isn't seasick.

Three rolls of 1d100 if you would please, 40 DC, assistance of professional scribe -10

Crit-fail: A polyglot, thou art not. Language is not your forte it seems, a +15 malus on all future attempts to learn a new language
0 Succuss: You make no progress,
1 Success: You learn the simple characters, the ones easy to understand and are the closet to your own alphabet.
2 Successes: Your progress is good, and you learn some of the simpler word by memory.
3 Successes: You make great progress and can understand the Mithradian alphabet.
Crit Success: An omniglot in the making? You have a talent for languages it seems, -15 bonus to all attempts to learn a new language

Rolled 54 (1d100)

>>6047693
rollll

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>6047693

Rolled 93 (1d100)

>>6047693

You are not a genius with languages; that much became clear when you frustrated your private teacher into giving up for the rest of the journey. You are incompetent with the foreign letters, and you only end up making it a mess. Still, you do grasp the bare minimum, so maybe you are not completely hopeless when it comes to learning languages.

Three rolls of 1d100 please

DC 70 (Base DC: 50+Alotoran shipping +20=70)

Crit-fail: The tempest: a storm is brewing, and it is too late to escape the fleet is caught in a storm.
0 Success: No wind: because of a lack of wind, you are forced to rely on galley rowers and you come late.
1 Success: A small breeze assists the rowers of the fleet, and you arrive just in time.
2 Success: Good winds give the ship a push; you arrive right on schedule.
3 Success: A pleasant wind and calm waters gives you a fast voyage. You arrive a week early.
Crit-pass: A sharp gust of wind: The gods seem to smile upon you, a hard wind blows the ships way ahead of schedule, and you arrive early.

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>6050309

Rolled 8 (1d100)

>>6050309

Rolled 36 (1d100)

>>6050309

File: Mithras.png (306 KB, 914x642)

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In the next few days, the wind quickly picks up and propels the ships forward with a momentum that makes the captain delighted and eases the toil of the rowers. The vessel cut through the calm summer water like a knife through butter. Good sailing, indeed. The crew members are relieved to have a break from rowing and enjoy the smooth sailing experience. The captain takes advantage of the favourable conditions to compensate for lost time on their journey.

The first sighting of Mithras you caught was not of the main island. Still, according to Signore di Foscari, that is the island Ampulia (Mithradian: Αμπέλια), mostly renowned for its great olive groves and olive presses. The ships don't approach the coast. And just as soon as you see it, it begins to shrink away from the horizon.

It is later in the morning of the 18th of Calormons-VII, when the captain and the crew seem to be agitated. When asked about it, they say that pirates have been spotted in the vicinity because the Mithradian and Alotoran fleets are away fighting the infidels. Normally, they would avoid such a threat, but the Alotaran ships are built with ram-prows, and with the addition of actual soldiers in the form of yourself and your men-at-arms, they could potentially engage the pirate crews if you so wished.

>I will spare no opportunity to punish criminals, whether they are on land or at sea. (Engage the pirates.)
>it hurts my heart to do this, but Elisnakion is expecting me. I cannot afford any distractions. (Do not engage.)

>>6053374
>>I will spare no opportunity to punish criminals, whether they are on land or at sea. (Engage the pirates.)
death

>>6053374
>I will spare no opportunity to punish criminals, whether they are on land or at sea. (Engage the pirates.)

Your decision meets with less reluctance than you initially thought. The captain and the merchant briefly confer with each other before they make the decision. First, the galley you are on, the Dollaro Galleggiante will be packed with the best of your men; the horse transports and other ships will form a formation while you engage the pirate ship. It should be an easy enough thing to organise, as the pirate vessel is chasing a Mithradian merchant ship.

Spirits are high up on the ship, the men are eager to draw first blood, and the fact that these are technically pirates and not infidels is of little consequence. The captain gives a rousing speech to the crew in Castanan to boost morale and prepare the crew for battle; you do the same in Tauten. As the pirate ship comes into view, the crew prepares themselves for the impending fight with determination and focus.

Roll a 1D100, please.

DC 60 [base 50 (+20 Altoran shipping, -10 nimble pirate vessel)]

Rolled 50 (1d100)

>>6054477

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>6054477

File: Naval Battle.png (128 KB, 1075x801)

128 KB PNG

The helmsman adjusts the course, and the pirate vessel enlarges as you close the gap between you, them, and their would-be plunder—a large Mithradian merchant vessel sobbing low in the water. Thanks to your timely intervention, the pirates have not had the time to board the ship.

The Mithradian vessel is bulky and quite slow; its crew is scrambling to rally to the defence of their ship. The flag of their empire flies at the top of the mast, while on the aft hangs the standard of what is most likely the owner of this boat. From what you can remember, Mithradians are very fond of the colour purple, though because of the cost of that colour, they also use a very dark shade of red. The crew of the Mithradian vessel appears to be well-trained and disciplined, despite their slow response. Both vessels are busy taking potshots at each other.

On the other hand, the pirate ship is light, swift, and much smaller than its counterpart; its crew of swashbucklers is busy yelling war cries in a language you do not know and bringing out the grappling hooks until you appeared. Now they seem panicked, eager to break the engagement and slip away to live another day.

The wind, however, stands in your favour, and it feels good to have the upper hand in this high-seas confrontation. If you so wished, you could easily give the command to ram the vessel into splinters; it would ruin the pirate ship and any cargo still abroad, but it would end the entire ordeal rather quickly.

The other option is to do a boarding party of your own. Riskier is true; anyone with enough armour will sink to the bottom of the sea if they fall overboard, and there are enough who can't swim. A typical low-risk, low-reward high-risk high-reward matter then.

>Let's not make a fuss, and play the glory hound. Ram the vessel full speed ahead.
>I shall not be denied the first taste of glory. Bring out the grappling hooks, and prepare for a boarding action.

>>6056330
>>Let's not make a fuss, and play the glory hound. Ram the vessel full speed ahead.

The Galley picks up speed and plots its ram-course. The sight of the pirates comes closer and closer. They react to your sudden advance with a panic and a loose potshot here and there. One of them bounces off the helmet of one of your men. A sailor nearby is not as lucky, as he catches a arrow in his throat. Blood sprays from the sailor's throat, his life fading away in an instant. The chaos intensifies as the Galley charges forward, cutting through the churning waves with merciless determination.
The pirates scramble to regroup, their wild eyes filled with fear. They unleash a hailstorm of arrows, whistling through the air like deadly serpents. The sound of steel meeting steel reverberates as your men raise their shields, defending their lives with unwavering courage.

Sweat drips down your forehead, mingling with the smell of the saltwater. With every passing second, the distance between the Galley and the pirate ship shrinks. The clashing of wooden hulls echoes like thunder. And you and your men reel from the impact, desperately clutching for the hull.
As the pirate ship groans under the strain, its defences crumble. The Galley's prow rams into its weakened hull, splintering wood and shattering bones.
The pirate ship lurches, its timbers yielding to the force of the collision. The collision causes the pirate ship to snap, and it throws men into the unforgiving ocean, where the merciless waves swallow their screams. Splitting the tiny raiding vessel in twain, your galley's sheer weight is overwhelming.
The Mithradians erupt into cheers of gratitude for saving you from the pirates, edging you on in a language you cannot understand.

As the pirate's plunder begins sinking and the trading vessel starts regaining speed, the captain approached with your interpreter. He points out that there are still living pirates, or at least those that can swim. He would like to know whether you would like to take any prisoners?

>I am not without mercy, throw out the ropes for the rescue
>Let the rats float in the water. I have a crusade to attend.

>>6059966
>>I am not without mercy, throw out the ropes for the rescue

They throw ropes out into the battle and remain ready to pull out any survivors. Slowly, but surely, the surviving pirates are pulled in.
They form a disorganised bunch; those pirates, their clothes are soaked, and they are exhausted. Much of their famed self-assurance and bravado now lies at the bottom of the sea. As they are helped onto the ship, their faces show a mix of relief and defeat. The reality of their situation sinks in as they realise the toll the battle has taken on them. They all look at you with the sad hatred of a dying animal. Some are looking for mercy; others have already resigned themselves to their fate, however sorry that might be.
They don't have any weapons, of course; those either sank or were left to float when their ship sank. After about half an hour of fishing around for any further survivors, the captain has the ropes brought back in permanently.

Through your interpreter, you learn that the captain and Signore di Foscari are in a bit of a legal conundrum. The ship flies an Alotoran flag, but the pirate ship sank in Mithradian waters. Normally, under Alotoran law, they would make these men oar rowers and they would serve their sentence. Mithradian law stipulates that these are to be hung after their sentence. The captain explains that they are unsure which law to follow, as they are currently in Mithradian waters, but the ship is Alotoran. He asks for your advice on how to proceed with the legal situation. Signore di Foscari and you form the two highest nobles; by general customs, it's your natural-born privilege to pass sentence upon the criminals.

Aside from the obvious, you could just throw them below deck and then chain them to the oars. It would be the simplest option, would require the least time. It would technically subvert the Mithradian penal system and would mean that their subjects would spend years as effective galley-slaves.

Though on the other hand, if you were to hand these ruffians over to the Mithradians, you ingratiate yourself with the government there, though it would probably be best to do so in Elisonikon, since your local backwater bureaucrat will probably not be very influential within the ranks of the civil service.

>Give them to the Alotorans, the rowing will tame them.
>As these men are most likely subject of the empire, I can do no other thing than hand them over their government.
>I want to see if their is anyone here who is multilingual, to teach me Mithradian, before I pass out judgement.
>Write-in

>>6061423
>>As these men are most likely subject of the empire, I can do no other thing than hand them over their government.

Until you can hand them over, they are to be chained to an oar to keep them in custody, to keep them from escaping or resisting. Your decision doesn't elicit any powerful reactions. The lack of reaction from the Alotorans shows that they may have expected this outcome, while the disdain shown by Ehrenfried, Konrad, and Adelbert conveys that they're not surprised by the decision either. Father had imparted to you a sense of justice; one of the first things he enacted was the right to a fair trial to all, noble or commoner, rich or poor. It is not your place to judge or sentence those who aren't under your jurisdiction. You look on as your men and the sailor escort the men under the deck; you allow a glimpse of satisfaction to appear on your face. They will probably remain in the dark cargo hold for an extended period, far from the warmth of daylight.

The galley sails on alongside white beaches with white-plastered villages, where the locals would come out early in the morning to fish their fill in their small boats. Here and there was a ruin, a decayed piece of memory of the past, pillars, statues, and monumental works that would have cost a fortune to build. Now left to the locals and nature to do with as they fit.

The sea is a light transparent blue, as is the sky, and as your ship passes through the narrows to your destination. You have a look at the landscape. On both sides, there were mountains, large and old; before them, the hills rolled down and down until they reached the sea and beach. Here and there, forests and woods dot these hills, both their leaves and the grass that you see has an olive-green-yellow tint, unlike the deep green hues of your beloved Greifswald.

As you continue to observe the landscape, you notice the occasional flock of birds flying overhead, their wings contrasting against the clear blue sky. A subtle scent of salt fills the air, and you can hear the gentle sound of waves crashing against the shore. The beauty of this land is undeniable, with its vibrant colours and serene atmosphere.

The journey to your destination is not without its challenges as the ship navigates through the narrows. Majestic mountains on either side create a majestic backdrop, their peaks reaching towards the heavens.

As you immerse yourself in the splendour of this land, you can't help but feel a sense of purpose. Your mission is not just to transport prisoners but to contribute to the godly business that is crusading. As time goes by, you constantly remind yourself of the importance of maintaining balance and upholding the principles that have been instilled in you in order to contribute to the godly business of crusading.

With a renewed sense of determination, you turn your attention back to the journey ahead. The destination awaits, and you are ready to fulfil your duty, guided by the principles of justice and fairness. Then, after a while, you see her.

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>>6062505
Elisonikon, queen of cities, the city of the world's desire, the greatest city on this side of the world. Elisonikon's towering domes, great marble white walls, and bustling harbour beckon to you, a testament to the thriving civilisation within. As you sail ever closer, you feel a sense of awe and anticipation for the adventures that lie ahead in this magnificent metropolis. It shall not merely be an adventure; the boldest and most pious of all of Argalis' second estate shall be there. The flower of chivalry from Aurélie, the stoic princes from Tautenland, clever merchant princes from Castana, and a slew of knights and lords from smaller nations, yourself included. And might be a problem.

Greifswald is its own political entity, free from foreign interference or influence; it has been that way since Father seized it from the Order of the Argent Star. Your inheritance was carved out from the old demese of that crusading order.

The orders will most likely also be there, and you might have to brush off more than one of your father's old foes if you cross paths with that particular order. The presence of the Order of the Argent Star could complicate matters, as they may still hold a grudge against your family for seizing Greifswald.

There is also another matter: politically, Greifswald is its own state, but culturally, most of the nobility comes from Tautenland; presenting yourself as a member of the Tauten delegation would hurt your pride but could potentially give you more clout if you manage to gather support from the rest of the delegation.

Presting yourself as an independent delegate of Greifswald would make you more free to cooperate with other foreign lords, on the other hand. You would also not be a part of the traditional rivalry over the imperial dignity that Mithras and Tautenland wage.

In the end, however, it is your own decision to make; the official reception or whatever the Mithradian emperor's call, is still a week away. The other crusaders should still be on their way, whether they go on land or through sea. Whether you join up with the black eagle of Tautenland or will fly the white griffon of Greifswald.

> I am at the end of the day, a Tauten, and a Tauten I shall remain. I shall come with the rest of the Tautens
>I shall not do under compared to the greater countries, I shall come as the Greifwalder delegation-the only one.
>By coming as a part of the Tauten's, I can receive a greater voice if I convince my peers.
>Write-in.

>>6062508
>I shall not do under compared to the greater countries, I shall come as the Greifwalder delegation-the only one.

>>6062508
>>I shall not do under compared to the greater countries, I shall come as the Greifwalder delegation-the only one.

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White upon red, blue upon white. One is the colours of the land, the other is your family. Proud and free Greifswald must be, and thus it shall be represented. It will most likely not be easy; being from a dukedom in the northeastern parts of the Curian world would make you a smaller fish in the pond when compared to the heavyweights that Angenland, Aurélie, and Tautenland might supply. That would also be somewhat of a touchy subject; the bloodlines of most families present would most likely be of the highest pedigree, and the house of Adlershorst would most likely be looked at as upstarts, or even disdain. Of course, there will be other types of men present as well: younger, more ambitious knights striking it out, second sons looking for new lands to subjegate, exiles in search of a new home, and penitents undertaking this endeavour for the good of their soul.

But then again, most of that—the extensive ancestral trees, the estates, and the martial prowess of the various continental noble houses would not impress the Mithradian nobility in the slightest; they have their own ideas of aristocracy and are known to be so elitist that they make even the elves look like plebeians. Ever since they were driven off the mainland, they have spent their time in more or less isolation, preferring not to interact with the outside world too much outside from sometimes sending out the fleet to punish some upstart town here and there. Of course, isolation and a sense of superiority over all could not prevent stagnation, corruption, decadence, and now decline. The day the infidel set foot upon Mithradian shores was the day that became clear.

A conspiracy was hatched, a coup executed, and the ruling dynasty was quietly deposed and blinded. And the army installed a soldier-emperor upon the throne, a certain Anastastius, who now reigns as Anastasius III. It was this man who formally appealed to the Pontiff in Portemosa, and presumably is the one who you will be meeting within a week. Such a man by his very nature would also need to be a member of the local nobility, or at least that is what you were told. From your conversations with the Alotorans, he rumoured to be a cold man, callous in his manner, unfeeling in his actions, and very secretive. Though they don't know what he looks like.

>>6064219
The Dollaro Galleggiante slips into the harbour like a woman's hand into a tailor-made glove. Ropes are thrown at her to reel her in. And the sailors enthusiastically call out to their fellows on the piers and other ships. Fellow Castanans, that is, as you are landing in the designated zone for the various Castanan republics that maintain their presence here. As you eventually step onto the pier. It will be a while before the rest of the men, the horses, and the other draught-animals and carts will be loaded off, and even then you can't billet them here, neither can you hire accommodation for them here without bankrupting yourself. No, you will need to set up camp outside the city walls, preferably out of sight; you wouldn't want to make the locals nervous now, would you?

But even as you stand at street level, you feel the imperial grandeur of old imposing itself upon you. This city has preserved many great things from its illustrious past aside from its magnificent white walls; even from a distance, you could make out the domes of the various churches and basilicas here and the arches of some other massive building, though you don't know the purpose here. There is a square that connects directly to the dock section you landed in; in the centre stands a bronze statue of a Mithradian warlord in a chariot pulled by four dolphins. Its unmoving metal eyes look over the harbour into the sea. Surrounding the square are a variety of shops, inns, taverns, and, well, it is a harbour, brothels. You should probably move out the men as soon as possible.

This being the Castanan quarter of the city, it, by extension, would also be where the main contact for the crusader would be. Most likely the Pontifical Legate; you wouldn't need the interpreter with him. Isidorian was drilled into you from a young age, and if there is a who would speak it, it would be a member of the clergy, though depending on where he came from or where he previously worked he can know Tauten as well. The Pontifical Legate would be the best person to approach for information, both about the Mithradian court, the whereabouts of the other crusaders, and a general update to the state of affairs here and elsewhere. First, you need Wittekind to be unloaded.

''Herren, have the horses been unloaded yet? I am in need of my steed.'' You told the assembled command.

''I believe so, but you should be careful; most of the horses have been weakened from the voyage; many are sick or underfed. It will be a while before we can use them as before,'' said Heichsgau.

''You don't know Wittekind in that case; that stallion is as resilient as an oak; it wouldn't surprise me if he had grown sea-legs on our little trip.'' You jokingly said.

>>6064220
And as if boasts were facts. Wittekind alone of the poor animals looks healthy; the stallion almost instinctively walks over to you; he wants to ride, and so do you. No more of the ever wobbling decks of the ship; rather, it shall be the solid ground beneath you and the wind in your hair as you gallop freely through the open fields. But first, the legate.

Obviously, he would either be at home, in a church, or attending the Mithradian court as the pontiff's official representative. You mount Wittekind and set off; even if you don't find a hint of the legate, you can at least explore the city. Though you don't have to look long, as you enter a street, you see a litter carrying a man dressed in red with a white-brimmed hat. A cardinal, and most likely the legate as well. You decide to ride up to him, to formally greet him, and to introduce yourself.

When you're about thirty paces from him, he orders his palanquin to come to a halt with a motion of his hand. He looks ill, though that is less due to any disease and more because of his profound sweating. He looks at you with the look of someone who received good news a week earlier than expected.

''I greet you, young lord. I wasn't expecting any crusaders for at least another week; you are early. Punctuality is a virtue I can appreciate, but normally even the most diligent people don't come to work early.'' By now you had approached the litter up close. This cardinal is unlike Cremolora; his hair is brown, he himself is younger, and he has a strong chin and jawline, untainted by age.

He wipes his sweat off with a silk handkerchief. ''Forgive me, but this isn't where I am usually stationed; my garments aren't meant for this land, and I myself am not from a country with comparable heat. I take it you have some questions, yes? I cannot answer most of them. The Basileus keeps a close lid on military matters, and he will only receive you next week.''

>Your eminence, I would like to know the latest developments in this empire if you would please.
>I have to ask, your eminence, where can I lodge my men? Keeping a few thousand soldiers in a city they aren't garrisoned in is asking for trobl
>Can you tell me something about the infidel? Or their leader?
>You wouldn't happen to know a good teacher in Mithradian?
>Do you know a cardinal by the name of Cremolora?
>I haven't introduced myself, your eminence.
>Write-in

>>6064221
>I have to ask, your eminence, where can I lodge my men? Keeping a few thousand soldiers in a city they aren't garrisoned in is asking for trouble

>>6064221
>>I have to ask, your eminence, where can I lodge my men? Keeping a few thousand soldiers in a city they aren't garrisoned in is asking for trobl
>>Can you tell me something about the infidel? Or their leader?

Yo?

>>6067380
Sorry, but I had some personal matters to deal with. I will return as I have more free time.

>>6067410
No problem

''I have to ask, your eminence, where can I lodge my men?'' Keeping a few thousand soldiers in a city they aren't garrisoned in is asking for trouble. Soldiers are always a rowdy bunch; city guardsmen would get nervous if there was a set of outlanders, heavily armed, incapable of communicating in a common tongue. You should keep them on a lease, at least while you are here, and get them out of the city walls as soon as possible.

''There was something the basileus wanted to mention. Hmm, I remember. There is a clearing about ten kilometres outside the city limits; it is an empty plot of land. No farm fields, no houses, and close to a nearby creek for water. Set up camp there for the time being, I suggest. I do suggest going there quickly; if you are here for more than one day, you are only allowed five armed followers as bodyguards, safety procedures, and whatnot.'' The cardinal explains.
''I should hurry up then.'' You are about to spur Wittekind forward when you suddenly recall something.

"I nearly forgot, your eminence. Could you provide me with some information about the infidels? Or their leader?"
Know your enemy and all that; it will probably be awhile before you will properly face them in battle, but getting to know them is always handy.

''The Mizarians are the descendants of a nomadic people who ended up in the Orient by promises of mercenary work and the decline of their pastures on the steppe. The appearance of the Udirgols only worsened the problems for them, so they set out to Mithras after the Alotorans crippled their fleets. Presumably on the logic that the Udirgols weren't familiar with sailing, in the lands they conquered, they are a minority in their conquered territories, outside especially depopulated areas, that is. I am not a warrior or strategist by craft, so I cannot speak for what their troops are like.''

''As for their leader, his nickname is 'Masmavi Safir.' We do not know his actual name. It apparently means 'Azure Sapphire', because he either has bright blue eyes or because of the blue cloak he often wears. The Mithradians are in the dark about him, even if he is their true leader or simply one of many. But he is the one they fear the most. Who he actually is or where he came from has become less speculation and more gossip talk. But he is known to be ruthless, both in defeat and in victory. You'll know if you face him if you see blue-green banners with white markings; that is the insignia of his personal host. Do not worry; he has been defeated before.''

You turn your horse about before the crimson prince of the church speaks again. ''Be aware of one thing: the Castanan quarter of the city is one of the better patrolled ones and the only one where you won't be looked at with suspicion. Anastasius may have invited us, but his courtiers aren't too fond of us. Stay clear of both the slums and upper class districts unless you are with a Mithradian. '' That's a bummer; normally you could easily access all quarters of a given city, from the town houses of the nobles and the guildhalls to the lowest of the slums. It would seem that you aren't free to go and come as you would very well please.
You say your goodbyes and head back to the dock, where the draft animals have already been unloaded, and enough men have been loaded off. It doesn't take long to devise a plan for establishing the camp. Initially, you and a few other individuals on healthy horses will search the clearing for an appropriate location. After that, the remaining men will arrive carrying waggons, sick horses, provisions, and other belongings.

Your first foray outside the Castanan quarter proves to be a mixture of amazement and disappointment; the great imperial monuments and city-palaces of the elite that stand further inward dazzle and glitter. Their occupants carry themselves upon tiled pave ways in the finest garments. Occasionally, their attendants fan them with feather fans. Two learned old men stroll by in deep discussion; a group of youths gossips and giggle as they walk.
You are not staying there; instead, you are heading out to the gates and passing through the lower classes' sections of the city. The streets become narrower, the buildings more dilapidated, and the people's clothing more worn. From the middling merchants, artisans, and craftsmen. To the truly destitute labourers and migrants, as well as a cohort of beggars strewn across the slums. The main roads to the gatehouse manage to hide the rot behind the facade, yet even the layman can see the cracks.

But throughout it all, you feel unwelcome here. The nobility barely took notice of you, and when they did glimpse at you, you felt disinterested disdain; the commoners were much the same. To them, you are an outsider, a mainlander, a barbaroi, and an Auruncian, the tribe from which the Isidorian Empire came from, and the namesake of the western rite of the Curian Church. The monuments glitter, the homes of the poor stand in the shadow, and you will leave this city soon. Cesspit and beacon of culture both, the centre of an empire both admired and reviled on the mainland. The city's beauty and history are undeniable, but the sense of exclusion and alienation you feel here overshadows any admiration you may have had.

Even so, the gates' exit is impressive to witness, with its impressive marble walls complemented by a lower brick wall, a moat, and another brick wall in front of it, and then finally there is another, bigger moat, about thirty-five metres thick if you had to guess, across which stands an impressive lengthy, open bridge. Made of marble, of course, and paved with a material that is unfamiliar to you.
The old imperial highways make your journey to the clearing a pleasant, if uneventful, affair. There are some tilled fields here and there, but you have the feeling that there aren't enough peasants to till them all properly. There is something afoot here, like the villages are slowly dying out. You're not really certain as to the reason for it, but something is amiss in the Mithradian countryside.

The clearing itself is not something to write home about—plain, empty, and barely any vegetation. However, the air is clean, the nearby creek is clear and fresh, and there is a nice hillock, a defensible position if you ever saw one.

You send a rider back to guide the rest of the men here.

''You should have them build a latrine ditch,'' Alfonso advises you.

''I beg pardon?'' you answer in question.

''I read about it in one of the old commentaries from the wars of the old empire. There was this legionary legate, Gnaeus Flavius Fodiens. He wrote that, to keep the risk of disease low within your camp while on campaign or at a siege, you should dig a specific ditch where the men can *ahem* relieve themselves without ruining the hygiene of the army.'' the engineer explains.
"Very well then, let's build it somewhere away from the main camp, away from the creek." It will be mandatory for the men. Us nobles will still use our chamberpots, of course.'' You announce.
It takes a while for the rest to arrive. But as soon as. Most of them are there. You immediately begin ordering the digging of both a latrine ditch and a defensive ditch, and you send out riders to forage for wood for stakes and firewood. The men grumble but eventually get to work, knowing that your orders are not to be questioned. As the sun begins to set, you have built yourself a nice little camp, and you can go to bed with an easy heart after the evening service.

The distant metropolis nevertheless appears to be alive at night because of the numerous lights, some coming from watchtowers and others from individual homes. You feel you should go out and do something after breakfast as dawn breaks. You have a week to fill, and you intend to do so productively.

>Few armies mean that supply is in low demand, so provisions are relatively cheap. We should go out and buy food and preservatives like salt.
>Mastering the local language is something I should look after. Schreiber has failed me. A proper teacher is in order.
>The cardinal is someone I should see again. He will most likely play the middleman between the crusaders, the Mithradian court, and the church on the mainland.
>I should look around a bit, ride around the countryside to get a lay of the land.
>It's sparring time. My sword-arm has been getting rusty.

>>6068458
>>Mastering the local language is something I should look after. Schreiber has failed me. A proper teacher is in order.

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Finding a teacher—a proper one at that—to be your didactician for a week. It is a bit short to learn a new alphabet and language, so you should look for an exceptionally capable teacher. Preferably a native Mithradian who speaks your own language.

Fortunately for you, such a man exists

You met him while going while riding through the Castanan quarter. An older looking Mithradian man was in an argument with a Castanan merchant, haggling about something or whatever, not really all that notable, until the Mithradian uttered an explicative: Arschloch. Asshole in Tauten, which came at you in an unexpected wave of surprise. You decided to approach this man.

His long nose, together with the folds of flesh around his chin, neck, and face, accentuated his form. He was balding, clean shaven, and tanned from long hours in the sun, but his lower hair remained mouse-grey. His eyes were tiny. His eyefolds almost concealed his pupils, but his vivid blue irises with a silver glint were clearly visible.

You knew this was your man, so you approached him and said something to him in Tauten. A poem, something to see how far he was immersed in the tongue and its culture.

Uns hat der Winter viel Schaden gebracht:
hat Heide und Wald ihrer Farbe beraubt,
wo mancherlei Stimme so lieblich erklang. –
Säh' ich die Mädchen am Wege den Ball
werfen, dann käme zurück auch der Vögel Gesang.


To your surprise, he answered in kind.

Könnt' ich den Winter nur verschlafen!
Solange ich wach bin, hasse ich ihn,
denn seine Macht ist so groß und so weit. –
Doch weiß Gott, eines Tages hat der Mai gesiegt:
dann pflück ich Blumen, wo der Schnee jetzt liegt.

He then looked up at you, for he was a head smaller than you, and spoke. ''A short little poem, I cannot say that it compares to the poet of yore, but I always found the rhythm and metre pleasing,'' He tells you with a smile.

''And who are you then that are so well versed in the poetry of Tautenland? Is all foreign culture not barbaric?'' you asked of him.

''I am Eleftherios of Destekias. I am a teacher at the Athenaeum, and was a roamer in my youth. I have always found the disdain of my kin to be arrogance.''

''How so?''

''Would you rather have one enemy and no friends? Or two enemies with friends? We do not consider most outsiders to be worthy of our attention and prefer to sit here since we were driven of both continents. Our culture has stagnated, and our government has crystallised itself into the ground. We have become isolated and stagnant, unwilling to adapt or learn from others. Our arrogance has left us with enemies on both continents and very few allies to rely on.''

''Are we crusaders not your friends and allies?'' you asked in return.

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''Desperation humbles even the most arrogant of men. Allies of convenience, yes, but make no mistake, there is a long way to go before our state would officially ally itself with a state on the mainland. And there are these at court who believe you and your fellows are unwelcome still.''

''I am in need of a teacher in Mithradian. And a good one at that. Could you help me?''

''I could, but what is in it for me?''

'''Payment, and it is only for a week.''

''Payment, pah! He who has the most is content with the least.'' He looks at you expectingly, like a schoolmaster might with a pupil.

''You aren't familiar with the classics, are you?'' He asked, to which you nodded in affirmation.

''Keep your money; I shall teach you from the ground up. Everything, from how to spell your name in our alphabet to reciting the great philosophers of the olden days.''

''Don't you have other students to teach as well?'' It's odd that a learned man has so much free time.

''Ive been unofficially expelled; the patriarch and the other teachers didn't like me introducing new techniques and didactics. They haven't stopped my salary, and I have plenty of free time, so why not? Come, we'll start right away. Don't think it will be easy; I am a demanding man.''

To say you were afraid of learning is an understatement; however, Eleftherios proved to be a harsh master to study under; you would get up early in the morning before the sun rose, and the study would last until late in the evening. It began simple: spell your own name in Mithradian, first in the Auruncian alphabet, and then in the Mithradian one. Thus, Albrecht became Alvertos, and then Αλβερτος. It then became intenser and intenser, with the old man hitting you on the back of the head until you got it right. You led it slide. The man was merely doing his job. Yet his lectures and methods proved effective enough that he took you on tour throughout Elisonikon later in the week. Where he made you read random signs and read them aloud, whenever he felt that you had advanced enough, he would talk to you about the finer subjects, the humanities. While you were walking near one of Elisonikon's biggest squares.

''Tis’ said of the cynic Diafanis that he once wandered through his city with a lantern, looking for true wise men, while challenging any mage to use their spells to find one. He was a bit of an eccentric and-.'' The sound of trumpets cuts short his talk. Right away, he took you somewhere you couldn't see. ''This should prove interesting, though it is best for you to remain somewhere unseen.'' He tells you as a troop of riders in shining armour make their way across the square, two men ride in the front, chatting casually with each other.

''The first one is Prince Alexandros, the emperor's intended heir, and his younger brother Prince Georgios; if those two are seen together in public, their father is not far away.''

''We'll see Emperor Anastasios as well?'' That sentence provoked a snort.

''You aren't even allowed to see him outside his throne room; to lay your eyes upon him is to be sentenced to death for barbarian. Even merely looking at his palanquin is enough to provoke a hot poker in the eye." He makes a mocking feint with his fingers for your eye. ''Besides that, he usually hides himself with so many silk curtains that you can't even see a silhouette.''

He went on, "It is Anastasios who is being carried by those soldiers—the large, golden one." A large golden palanquin, covered in endless clothes of silk and carried by men in ornate armour, followed the troop of horsemen. As the march passed around the square, he gave his explanation. "In the other litters are his spouse, daughters, cousins, and sons who are too young for battle."

''Where's he going?'' You asked.

''Most likely to the hippodrome. I haven't been there since I was thirty.'' He said with disdain.

''Hippodrome?''

''A place where you watch chariots race about; sometimes the people riot if their favourites lose, which is why I want it banned.''

''But must the people not have their entertainments?'' Tournaments usually weren't this contentious, and their audiences nearly never riot.

''Not if it comes at the cost of their own wellbeing and the wellbeing of the state. Emperors have been lynched in that stadium, you know.'' You gave you a smug smile.

Over the course of the week, the banners and camps around your own camp began to trickle in. Many banners from here and there. Tauteners, Auréliens, Angenlanders, and even a few crusaders from the lesser states of Argalis. The Castanans were also there, in their fleets. Of particular note was the massive galley of the Alotorans. The Alotorans talked about that ship during your voyage. Its appearance could only mean one thing: the Doge has come in person.

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The emperor's reception drew closer, and the day before, Eleftherios took you to the city's largest church, the Hagia Agnótis, not to pray but to show you something.

''Halt, barbarians aren't allowed into the Hagia Agnótis.'' The guard at the entry spoke, not to you, even though you could now understand him, but to Eleftherios, who in turn reared his head to you, and gave you a nod. Then you spoke.

''I am no barbarian, for if I were a barbarian, wouldn't I know of our language?'' you asked of the man.

''By right of tongue, I do grant you permission. Be aware that you may not disturb the priests. That also applies to you, Eleftherios. The princess might have arranged you a pardon the first time, but you won't escape the consequences if you do it a second time.''

As you walked into the massive domed structure, you whispered to him, ''What was that about? I think he was more upset about seeing you than me.''

''A correct observation, my pupil, but it is a story for another time. Come, do you see that fresco over there? Let's go over there.''

It is a massive fresco depicting a great battle. The battle every child with access to a religious book gets thought about. The great one, the last one, the struggle that lasted ten years and was fought on a battlefield taking up about the size of Greifswald twice over. On the left stands Scillarion, the dark one, the Schwarzherr, he-without-mercy, the witch-king, master of winter, and so many other titles. In Curian cultures, the personification of evil. Beneath him, his minions, march, orcs, men, dwarfs, elves, and other creatures enthralled under his will. His face isn't depicted. Only two red lights shine where his eyes probably were, his skin is sickly and purple, and he is wearing dark blue robes over his armour. The depiction makes you feel disgust and relief. Disgust at the fact that such a figure could ever arise, and relief at the fact that he is long dead.

On the right stands Isidoricus, the last emperor, the Sunlord, he-who-shines-brightest, the champion of summer, and many other titles. In Curian cultures, together with his party, the personification of good. The battle between these two eternal foes is said to have shaped the world as we know it today.

''I am not a religious man, but this is one of my favourite pieces of art in this city. Good against evil, light against dark, civilisation against barbarism, order against tyranny. It represents more than the battle from the histories. A struggle all our people are involved in. The one against malevolent forces, for a better world.'' He remains silent after that.

>’’Its…. magnificent’’ awe, that is all you have for this work of art.
>’’I do argee that it is great, but may I ask who made it?, and when?’’
>’’But where are the other great heroes? Isidoricus didn't defeat him alone.’’
>Write-in

>>6070169
>’’Its…. magnificent’’ awe, that is all you have for this work of art.
followed by
>’’But where are the other great heroes? Isidoricus didn't defeat him alone.’’

>>6070169
>’’But where are the other great heroes? Isidoricus didn't defeat him alone.’’

>>6070169
>>’’But where are the other great heroes? Isidoricus didn't defeat him alone.’’

I've been banned the last month, good to be back.

’’It's…. magnificent.’’ Awe, that is all you have for this work of art. Most of the Tauten depictions of this battle are smaller and less detailed, and though it isn't the best description, it is primitive. This fresco and the other frescoes and mosaics are the pinnacle of refinement if you ever saw it. Neither the cathedrals in Sternheim nor the construction pit that is the cathedral back home can compare. The colours are vibrant; the figures are lifelike, and the attention to detail is astounding. It truly captures the intensity and emotion of the battle in a way that is unparalleled.
But that does not mean that you aren't with questions. There were more heroes that day. Aside from the big ones like Isidoricus, Fulbodius, Siffridus, and the other chief gods, there were many centurions, officers, and other lesser-known people whose names were remembered. It is a rather large fresco, so you wonder why they weren't depicted.

’’But where are the other great heroes? Isidoricus didn't defeat him alone.’’ you asked of the dictactian.

''The reason for that Is more mundane than you might think. This fresco was originally made for the basilica of the imperial remembrance, which was a dedicated mono-temple for Isidoricus. It was lost in a fire, but the fresco survived and was placed here. There were plans to expand it, but a lack of funds and a higher priority for other artworks meant that there were no resources or artists to work on it, and the plans were abandoned once it became clear how much a remodelling would cost. Now it is standing there; the fresco's lime was smeared straight upon a metal plate; only those stone plates are keeping it in place.'' He gestures to a series of slabs of black-blue stone that connect the fresco to the wall.

''It's an old piece, very old. But it is a testimony to my hope that our culture isn't merely a stagnant cesspit of self-congratulatory nobles competing over their lines of purity. It is hard to remain hopeful when you see your homeland crumble and its leaders do nothing about it.''
On your way back, you talked to the old man one last time. ''Anastasios is a decisive and energetic emperor, but this throne is insecure. Given time, he will probably be able to breathe enough life into the empire that it can survive for a few more centuries, but if the aristocratic courtiers or the stragegoi manage to dethrone him, this empire will be finished; we are stagnating, despite the Mizarians. We shall be on a permanent decline, never to recover until the final death knell.’’

The reception of the crusaders had come. Knights and lords from all over Argalis had come here this day to bring battle against the infidel and to earn their spot in the annals of history. There were even some banners among them, you know. You had seen them in the herdalic almanack's or flown from the wall of their castle. Most familiar of all was the banner of the Landgrave of Goslaren, the emblems of your father and brother-in-law. Though they had left earlier, they had to rendezvous with the other Tauten lords and knights before they were able to make the crossing. If there is one lord you could call upon in case of emergency, it would be them. By union of blood if nothing else.

For the occasion you had decorated your lance with the banner of Greifswald, it would make the lance useless in combat, but so long you held it high, it would signify your status as the official representative of your father and your nation. It also meant that you and your following made up a smaller group in the parade that was now parading itself through the broad main streets of Elisonikon, proud and united as you marched along the avenues. You are more familiar with the city than most of your fellows here, which at least gave you a good enough sense of direction to stay on course, something some compartments of the procession had trouble with, for which the circus had to be stopped to fetch these bunglers.

But eventually, you came in front of it. The imperial palace makes Father's Palace in Rittersbach look like a hovel. It's massive, on the waterfront, has near endless rows of galleries and arcades, and a massive gate with great bronze doors inlaid with gems and precious metals. They were open and led to a courtyard filled with guards and stablehands, who scrambled over to lead the mounts to the imperial stables.

You were then led up the stairs, under an arcade with low, heavy stone arches and into an antechamber filled with tapestries and golden statues. It was in this chamber that the first proper cultural clash happened.

A heavily perfumed man, in silk robes, approached the group with a bow. His usage of such strong perfumes already made some suspicious of him, and before long a whisper had begun among the group—that was an eunach, a man without his manhood. It is a practice many on the mainland are uncomfortable with, in a similar way as they are with the blinding of their enemies. The Mithradians see it as a mercy; as the blind may live, many mainlanders would rather die than be subjected to the loss of sight.

Though further discussion would have to wait, as you were led through a long, vaulted hallway with red marble pillars on both sides and windows on the western side with heavy satin curtains opposed to the mosaics of the previous emperors. It was interesting; the fashions of the emperors slowly changed from their ceremonial cloaks to a more modern type of gem-encrusted robe. Sometimes they were clean-shaven, other times bearded. They silently look down upon the assembled guests as they walk by, each mosaic eye unmovingly watching.

Next, you entered a rotunda with a large fire in the centre that was fed by an odd, greasy fluid. The walls were covered in elaborate tapestries that portrayed historical battles, and the flames swirled and flickered, creating large shadows.

Before finally you entered the throneroom.

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There, upon a throne older than any on the mainland, sat a man in his late forties, dressed in purple and surrounded by guards too pale to be local Mithradians. Then the eunach spoke

''You can disperse yourself into your respective nations.'' The group then broke up into various smaller groups, each one following their respective banner: the black eagle upon gold for Tautenland, a semé of golden suns for Aurélie, another semé of red roses upon white for Venautra, and a white wyvern upon red for Angenland, and of course, your own: the white griffon of Greifswald.

When you got closer, you could inspect the man for whom you would be fighting. If he stood, he would be tall, his eyes were narrow, his nose was big, and he had a moustache, which was atypical of the Mithradian nobles you did see; they are usually clean-shaven or have a full beard. You could see why this man was placed upon the throne; this is not the type afraid to do his own dirty work.

Then the Emperor spoke with a hard voice, like a hammer striking iron. ''I welcome you, honoured guests. I shall not mince words. Our situation is dire, and our own armies can no longer recruit enough men to drive the invaders out. That's where you come in.''

''Bring in the map.'' He ordered with a whiff of his hand, and eight servants came in with a large rolled-up rug. A tall man In armour also came with them, the rug was rolled out and revealed a map.

''Come over, form up around the map. As you can see, our enemy has overrun most of our eastern islands. Some isolated garrisons are holding out in the north of the small island to the east of our main campaign target so they won't be a priority. Our primary https://boards.4chan.org/qst/thread/6042174#p6053374objectives are on Éndoxonisí, the biggest island; recapturing it is of vital importance to winning the war. The western part is still solidly in our hands, so we can safely land you there. The further inland and the further east you go, the less we or the Alotorans will supply you. Because our fleet isn't battle-ready, I shall give the floor to the Doge of Alotoro.''

As can be seen here >>6053374

Purple is the Mithradians
Red the Alotorans
and turquoise the Mizarians

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The man that steeped forward had deep, sunken eyes, big jowls, and a moustache. He was hard to read, as his eyes seemed to be covered with a shadow from his brow. ''I thank the honourable gentleman for allowing me the opportunity to speak.'' He had a strange way of speaking Auruncian, which was a bit distracting. ''We shall take it upon ourselves to destroy the enemy fleets, and after that, we will form a blockade around their main port cities and an interception force to prevent any enemy reinforcements from reaching you.''

A silence then fell over the gathered war council; most were busy translating the words into their own tongue or having it translated for them. Still, if there was a time for asking questions, it would be now.

>With how many are they?
>What is the terrain like in Éndoxonisí?
>What is the averagee supply limit?
>Write-in

>>6072723
>>With how many are they?
>>What is the terrain like in Éndoxonisí?

>>6072723
>>With how many are they?
>>What is the terrain like in Éndoxonisí?

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''With how many are they?'' You enquired of the Mithradian officer; you know little about the enemy or their number, other than what you'd heard in rumour.

''Usually, they aren't great in number. Large hosts are only seen when their lords have an objective they agree upon. Aside from those instances, they mostly split up into smaller raiding parties, which roam about the countryside, extorting or pillaging as they go through the villages and estates in the countryside. The cities they leave alone, for they cannot breach them with their meagre numbers. But your average raiding party is about 300 to 500 men on horseback, usually with bows.''

Horse-archers! The masters of the steppe. Father had given them a good trouncing a few years back. Though that mostly came down to the cooperation of the parties involved, and today, it's mostly remembered as the victory of the King of Mozolavia, King Casimir 'The Fortunate'. The terrain also helped, as the Udirgols had made the folly of fighting near a forest, something that the men of Greifswald specialise in. Indeed, depending upon the terrain in Éndoxonisí, you could easily repeat the same tactics of your father.

''And then what is the terrain in Éndoxonisí like?'' you asked again.

''It's incredibly hilly, and its mountains divide it. A portion of the issue stems from the difficult-to-reach valleys that separate the coasts that we and they control. These valleys have turned into no-man's-land, home to roving bands of Mizarian raiders, regional warlords, small-time brigands, and other like individuals. Ordinarily, we would disregard these lesser headaches in favour of the principal threat, but our resources are stretched thin, and our armies are divided to aid our garrison under beleaguered in the cities.''

He then stepped onto the rug and drew his sword, then he pointed it at the map. ''There are three main paths to the enemy. The first one is the most direct through the delta's of the Perones, recapturing it would mean the recovery of one of our most fertile regions. But the most dangerous one, at least in terms of being directly confronted with the forces of the Mizarians, is that their leadership grasps that the land there is valuable to them as well.''

''The second and third routes are through the north, which is more mountainous as well. Though the second route is the one that treks the most through the valleys and passes, it's also the one where the enemy prefers not to roam, so a capable commander could focus on restoring control in the valleys there.''

>>6075293
''The last route goes along the northern coast, so supply ships could stay in contact with you. However, there is an obstacle: the fortress city of Kathis Omichlis. Wrought from the stone of the hill it now wears as its skin, it is a formidable fort. The fortress shall be your primary objective and obstacle. But if you do somehow get control of it, you could effectively lock off the northern part of the island to them.''

He kept quiet after that, as the nobles began discussing amongst themselves who would go where and what they would do, and most importantly, who would be in charge. In tongues that were assembled, you heard arguments.

''Et toi? Tu n’as jamais dirigé une armée de ta vie!'' one said Aurilien to the other.

''Ist das alles, was Sie zu Ihren Leistungen und Ihrer Abstammung zählen können? Ha!'' A Tauten noble mockingly pointed his finger to the other.

''Wat loop je nou te zeuren? Ik ben de oudste, dus ik heb de leiding.'' Someone in the back said.

This tumult went on for a while, even as you were being escorted to another great hall for dinner. Because of your status, you were awarded a seat with the other so-called 'great lords', though you were seated near the end of the table away from the emperor and the cardinal, as well as some other important men. Aside from some pleasant small-talk with the fellows to your left and your right, your own men were down at other tables. Though the wine and food came and went as if they were in unlimited supply.

A piece of pork, roasted to a perfect red-brownish hue with a nice oily surface. It tasted delicious as well, as did the venison, the mutton, and so many other types of meat. Ones cup was always refilled as soon as it was emptied, so much so that by the time dessert came over, half the hall was inebriated.

Even after you had finished the dessert, the filling of the cups continued. Had these Mithradians an unending supply of wine? Whatever it was, at this point in time, many had been reduced to giggling drunks who could barely stand or talk without assistance. You look over to your cup, a silver piece set with emeralds, and decide.

>To empty it and fill it up again, from tomorrow on, we might never taste wine again, so tonight, we feast.
>That this will be my last cup; such revearly is nice and all but it is a bit too much, time for some fresh air in the gardens.
>That I have had enough. I want the comfort of my bed, and the silence that comes with it.

>>6075296
>To empty it and fill it up again, from tomorrow on, we might never taste wine again, so tonight, we feast.

I think option 2 would be the best for us by giving us a chance to build up a force of locals and play into the specialties of our in forests.

>>6075296
>>To empty it and fill it up again, from tomorrow on, we might never taste wine again, so tonight, we feast.
yeah

You raise the cup to your lips and let the wine down your throat, savouring the rich taste and feeling the warmth spread through your body. It was a red wine with a sour-sweet aftertaste that lingered on your tongue. You didn't have enough time to appreciate it properly, as the cupbearers came to refill soon after. You didn't want to get too drunk, at least not drunk enough to ride your horse.
It is an old tradition, shared by many cultures, to feast and drink before going out to war. It is good to engage in some merriment before going there, where some may not return. You drink one cup, then a piece of peach, and then another cup. By the end, you feel dizzy; by midnight, you can barely keep your balance in the saddle. You go along the streets and the country at a slow pace, yet you keep your balance. There are a few close calls, but your co-riders intervene and pull you back up.
It goes wrong when you attempt to dismount in camp. You fumble when you try to raise your left leg from its stirrup over the horse's back. You bring the left leg too far to the right, and you fall. Miraculously, your horse doesn't drag you along in panic. Instead, someone removes the stirrup from your right foot and pulls you back up, they then bring you to bed, without an evening prayer or last drink before bed, just sleep, and a killer of a hangover.
Come the next morning, and a camp has already started packing. The last things to be packed are the cauldrons and the pans, for the men are still eating their breakfast. As are you. Though you have already packed up your tent and placed all the furniture besides the table and folding chairs in the carts. As for breakfast itself: scrambled eggs, three pieces of bacon, two pieces of bread, a piece of sausage and a cup full of milk.

’’Right, my lords and banner-men, the Mithradians and Alotorans, will ferry us over to Éndoxonisí as soon as we arrive near the coast.’’ You said while cutting a piece of the sausage. ‘’The other crusaders will most likely also be eager to get across, so there will be a lot of traffic on the roads today. Therefore, I have decided to take it a bit easy for now. Rushing through to the ships will simply cause chaos, which we don’t need, and besides that, it's not like we could get preferential treatment from them.’’

‘’That’s a pity, the other will gain all the glory if we are too late. Before you know it, they are on the other side of the island, while we are still here.’’ Adalhard says.

‘’I doubt that,’’ Konrad replies. ’’ The western coast is still in the hands of the Mithradians, so it would still take a while before they are in contact with the enemy. On that regard, is the enemy aware of our presence?’’

>>6077104

‘’There could always be a spy or an informant for the Mizarians in Elisonikon, who could report on our presence, but even if they do, I doubt that the Mizarians know why we are here. If they are aware that we are here, they will probably think that we are Western mercenaries. Hired because of the lack of manpower.’’ Ehrenfried explains
After breakfast, they folded the chairs and disassembled the table. You had your armour put on and mounted up. The ships faced a mess while trying to manoeuvre in and out of port because of the sheer number of men that needed to be ferried across. Additionally, smaller rowing boats brought the footmen aboard while the horses' heaver equipments had to be brought aboard in the docks and harbours, it was no wonder then that you ate your lunch aboard a ship, though it thankfully didn't take long before you were across.

It was a smaller city, a satellite of Elisonikon really. In bygone times, it probably served as the principal city through which goods from the interior were brought there, but it has since fallen upon hard times. A good slew of abandoned buildings and destitute people remain, though the only businesses these days seem to be in fish. Aside from that, only the garrison injects some much-needed presence into this town, though you won’t be staying here for long.
From what you have heard, most of the crusades that are already here have chosen the southern route, with only a few lords choosing to go north. Thus, there is a choice to be made, either you go south to the river delta, or north, and once you are north, to decide between hugging the coast or using the pass into the valleys.

>We shall ride south, to the river delta
>We will march north, along the coast, upon the fortress of Kathis Omichlis
>We must go north and then into the valley. Once secured, we can strike unexpectedly.

>>6077105
>We must go north and then into the valley. Once secured, we can strike unexpectedly.
The mountains speak Tauten.

>>6077105
>>We must go north and then into the valley. Once secured, we can strike unexpectedly.

We should attempt to bring extra rations if we can, buy up some dried fish.

With bandits and raiders everywhere I'm sure that we would be able to win some locals over with spare food. To that end, I don't doubt that many a bandit is engaged in his trade due to an empty stomach, might be able to turn them and make use of local knowledge or at least focus the bloodshed on the infidels.

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North, and then into the valley. Secure the valley, bring back order, and then strike from the rear. Thus bypassing Kathis Omichlis altogether. A sound plan, and with a vague enough timetable for you to schedule, and with the majority of the crusaders going south, it is obvious that you will be one of the bigger fish up north.

Indeed, the southward heading crusader already has elected a leader for them, and with a good majority of Aurilién lords in the army, they have chosen the Duc de Montpèlerins. A powerful duke from Aurilie as their warmaster, he is also a full cousin of the King of Aurilie and thus had the social gravity to be made the leader. It helps that that is uncle is cardinal as well.

As for your northern journey, it would be less organised. No one has really tried to force a unified command structure. The biggest armies were your own, the Comte de Castelanne, from Aurilie, the Viscount of Marlwick from Angenland, and the Count of Westlaasen, from the western part of Tautenland. Or at least, those were the banners that you saw being carried north; there will most likely be people who will come afterwards, and you don't know if they will go into the valley as you did.

The last thing you did before setting out properly was buy some provision in the form of fish, whether it be pickled, salted, dried, or otherwise. The locals were at first suspicious, especially when they saw you come in with a coin, though they were more than happy to accept it after they had the old man with good teeth bit it for its value when it was proven not to be debased junk like the Mithradian coinage. They eagerly accepted your transactions. You leave the city with barrels filled with fish, fresh water, and some vegetables that don't rot easily. It shall take you a few days before you are properly north and near the entrance of the valleys. You pass by some other villages on the way there. Yet the weather remains pleasant, the army itself in good spirits.

Before you reach the split to go properly inward, you and the other northward armies are constantly followed by two to three ships that follow you along the coast. These are here to raise the alarm back in the capital in case there is an unexpected emergency. They are also here to allow the Mithradians to monitor the situation. Something you feel less warm over, but nevertheless, you manage to have a quick and quiet journey before you reach the split in the road where the road to the mountains and valley joins with the straight road along the coast. As you climb up the roads into the mountains, away from the coast and into the valleys of the interior, the climate begins to cool, the outside feels more comfortable, a nice change of pace from the warm climate that dominates Mithras, and the flora also becomes more green. Though the human settlements begin to be few, you are in the semi-wilderness now.

(1/2) The red thread thingies are mountain passes.

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You camp near the few inns or clearances that are available, but aside from some rumours about mountain lions or bears, no tragedy befalls the army, most likely because you are with so many and you didn't send out anyone to forage. But it is the end of the month of Calormons (VII) when you reach the summit of the mountain highway, and the sight is something to behold.

One may still see the sea from so high, yet now it's more of a puddle than a true sea, for it now is so far down that you could mistake it for something lesser. Aside from that, there are the cliffs, beaches, little hamlets, ravines, woods, and fields, which you can now see with a near bird's eye.

But for all that nature's beauty covers, there is something manmade that truly captures the eye. An archway, old, ancient, but not crumbling; the paint over the marble might have faded and discoloured, but the construction itself still stands. As does the great eagle and laurel leave that perch above it. A legacy of a bygone imperial era. It is covered in scars from time and in reliefs. Most prominent is an inscription that reads:

''PER QVEM MONTEM TITVS ISIDORICVS IMPERATOR AB SVBIGENDAS EDOXONIAE POPVLOS MITHRADATIS EXPEDITIONE TRANSIIT. HIC ARCVS AEDIFICATVS EST VT VICTORIAM DE PASTORIBVS NOTARET.''

Or as you translate while approaching it ''Through this mountain pass, the Emperor Titus Isidoricus passed to subdue the Mithradian people of Edoxonia. This arch memorialises the victory over the shepherds.''

A true monument to imperial conquest then, this mountain pass was used by an Emperor of old, Titus Isidoricus, to subdue the people beyond in the valley. So you're really marching in the footsteps of the past, you think to yourself as you pass under the arch, after which come a series of pillars interchanged with pale marble statues, after which you marched over a bridge that was built over a small creek, most likely to ease travel, and you caught glimpses of more monuments to the glory of the past: a brick aqueduct, an old, abandoned villa, a grand column with a gilded statue atop. The creek also followed you though it became wider and slower, and by the time you had reached the low point of this particular valley, it had become wide enough to warrant a bridge with five arches.

There are no signs of the other crusaders here, and you might be the first one here. Thus, it is up to you to decide how to proceed. This is an unspoiled country, well aside from whatever bandits, warlords, or other unsavoury figures might say, but in terms of first dibs among the crusader, it is your oyster.

>We should seek confrontation, find the biggest baddest warlord we can find, and kill him.
>Caution first, we should scout out the vicinity with the light cavalry, then we shall act.
>We should search for a suitable base of operation for the time being, an old fort or something along those lines.
>Contact with the local villages is a must, that way, we may secure supplies from them, or use their information.
>Write-in.

>>6077856
>>Caution first, we should scout out the vicinity with the light cavalry, then we shall act.
check then go

>>6077858
>>Caution first, we should scout out the vicinity with the light cavalry, then we shall act.

>>6077856
>We should seek confrontation, find the biggest baddest warlord we can find, and kill him.

As the Emperor did, we must do.

>>6077988
>>6077885
Gentlemen, we are the first to arrive and if we wish to establish supremacy over the other crusaders in this area we need to establish ourselves. The greatest warlord of this area must be brought to his knees and with this establish a base of power.

>>6077858
>We should seek confrontation, find the biggest baddest warlord we can find, and kill him.

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''Divide the light cavalry into one force of sixty men, and the rest into patrols of six; we shall continue on from here. Return before nightfall. We shall encamp at the nearest defensible position. The sixty men shall not scout but actively search for either the nearest stronghold or retinue of the most formidable of the local warlords. As for the rest of you, you will give information about everything of interest within these valleys, whether it be ruins, villages, or the favourite hiding place of the local bandit chief. I want everything in between these mountains to be combed out and on my desk for the following morning.''

Kicking off dust clouds as they went, the horses and their riders left in good order. You and the others continued along the old road. You would have liked to go with them, but alas, duty comes first, so with the foot and the heavy knights, you stayed.

You travelled along the thalweg, that is, the lowest point of the river where the horses could drink and rest if necessary. The temperature in the valleys is rather pleasant compared to the warm, sweaty fields and hills of Mithras. The higher attitude combined with the mountain blocking out the sun save for the midday makes it much more bearable. You eventually found a good spot near a fork in the river with good slop for defensibility; you had the standard raised so that the scout might find their way back.

There were a bunch of other things you should probably take care of, but most of them were for the long term, and when you establish your presence here, this will be your first time here, so you can take the time if you so wished, aside from any other crusader that will be heading this way, that is.

When the sun began to crawl behind the mountains, the riders began to trickle back in, one by one. Most of the reports you painted paint a picture of something out of a novel: isolated villages and their fields surrounded by wilderness, and whatever else lives away from the few remnants of society. Because the scouts didn't understand Mithradian, they left the villages by the side. Whatever bandits they did see mostly dispersed upon the sight of the horsemen. Aside from a few potshots by some of their archers, the bandits probably knew that your men didn't carry anything to rob. And besides that, no mugger would ever mug a town guard. Aside from that, there was the local militia, either raised by the towns themselves or whatever local aristocrat was still here. The ruins are also interesting. Aside from the old temples, there are the remains of what the Isidorians called 'castrums' as well as even older Mithradian fortresses. Very interesting. If you had the time, you could probably ask Eleftherios or write to him, but that's for later.

>>6079248

The report from the sixty men you had sent to look the most formidable warlord was most interesting; they had stopped men, mostly in simple garments, following a light blue banner with a white sun upon it. They thus decided to shadow these men until they had found their destination. Which, upon being found, turned out to be an old, sem-ruined fortress nestled in the mountains. Though time had only given them the time to inspect the fort from afar, they concluded that this could be the base of the local warlord of this particular valley chain. The biggest fish in this pond, so to speak.

The next morning, you decided to go a bit closer to that particular fort, not to directly attack. But to gain a better picture of the army he is gathering. It was to your southeast, so you move in that direction. Crossing the river at the nearest ford, you pick up the old road again, and you march past an old vineyard, though the place has been abandoned, the vineyards have been overgrown, and the warehouses stand empty. The warlord's base is somewhere beyond the hills, according to the report of your scouts.

Then over the hill came about five riders, though they weren't on the proud steed bred for travel and war like yours were; only their leader seemed to have a respectable horse under him, but most curious of all was that there was a type of bright cloth over their armour, reminiscent of a tabard or surcoat used in the west, that alone piqued your curiosity. They stopped for a short bit, then rode onto the road and towards you.

You yourself were riding at the head of the army, with a few outsiders circling it to prevent any surprise attacks. As the riders approached, you and a few of your knights picked up speed to meet them. This caused them to bring their horses to a stop, which meant that you had to bring yours to a stop as well.

Their leader spoke, ''Halt, in the name of the rightful Emperor Prokopios Maniakes, I bid you to stop.''

''Prokopios Maniakes? I am not familiar with that name, pray tell, who is he?'' You answered.

''The rightful emperor of all Mithras, Castana, and all provinces of the former Isidorian empire, when the usurper had the rightful dynasty blinded and exiled, he managed to escape; he was a brother-in-law of the previous emperor, you see? Unfortunately, the usurper has forced him into hiding, which is why he has sent his brother, Valourus Cephalas Maniakes, here to raise an army. Be ye a mercenary? We could use thou services.''

So that's what's going on; a pretender to the Mithradian throne is plotting his own rising and has sent someone here to lay the groundwork for an army to claim the throne.

''And how long has this Cephalas been here?'' You asked again.

''He came here with a few men at the end of spring; unfortunately, our numbers are still low, so know we have permission to hire any men who can bear arms. What say you? Prokopios shall reward all those who aid him.''

>''Take me to this Cephalas.'' Let him lead you to this warlord; you will decide what to do once you are there.
>''Begone with ye! Run back to thou master and tell him to make ready for battle; tell him that the men of the west have come.'' According to your maps, this valley is a dead end, so there is no place to run; the cat has the rat in the corner and is ready to pounce.
>Write-in

>>6079251
>Write-in: You know we are a crusading army sent to drive the heathens out right not mere mercenaries? aren't they also your enemy or do you think a civil war is more important than driving out the heathen?

>>6079251
>>''Take me to this Cephalas.'' Let him lead you to this warlord; you will decide what to do once you are there

>>6079336
A conversation better held with Cephalas, I should think.

>>6079336
I meant it that way, but didn't mention it. thanks for reminding me.

>>6079634
>>6079863
wrong link.

>>6079251

>''Take me to this Cephalas.'' Let him lead you to this warlord; you will decide what to do once you are there.

>>6079251
>>''Take me to this Cephalas.'' Let him lead you to this warlord; you will decide what to do once you are there

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''Take me to this Cephalas.'' Let him lead you to this warlord; you will decide what to do once you are there. That is the plan; either way, no matter what you do, you will have found the first proper warlord of the region in his more or less hidden mountain fortress. But what his motives are or why he lets his men be so open about his whereabouts is a mystery to you. Anastasios doesn't seem the forgiving type, so maybe. But even then, if the Mithradians can't even project power in these valleys, you suppose that this would be a good hiding place to raise an army, though it probably can't stand up to whatever is garrisoned in Elisonikon, that's for sure.
The riders, for their part, open up more. However, your evasion of the offer for mercenary work means that they weren't that open.

''Most excellent outlander, we shall lead you to our warcamp. Cephalas shall be more than happy to receive you.''

You declined to ride ahead with the horsemen, as you thought that might make you more susceptible to any trap or ambush once there, even though it took longer that way.
And you began climbing again, up the slopes and into the rugged wilderness of the mountains, where you knew the war camp would be located. You weren't really certain what you could expect there; it could be some peasant conscripts levied to fight for a man they have never seen, an elite fighting force, a secret meeting of hardened Prokopian veterans, and like-minded personages. Or even a ragtag rabble of mercenaries, adventurers, and whatever else they could pluck off the streets.

Morning had begun to make way for the midday when you had laid your eyes upon the fort of the Prokopians, as you had begun to call them in your mind. For all the climbing you had done, you would now need to descend again, first into a fir forest and then across a minor creek before taking another steep ascent towards the fort. It is an old design equivalent of the old legionary castrums, rectangular in nature, with a foundation of drab grey stone. It had taken quite the beating over the years; the plaster had mostly given way to the brick skeleton it once had, one wall was largely gone, and a massive breach had taken its place. The towers too were mostly gone, though around some of them was at least some scaffolding, implying that the master of this fort had plans for restoration. There was more to note, of course; some buildings have had their red roof tiles removed in favour of straw, while others have had their singles revived in old glory.

Though the gate was right next to the crumbled wall, the sentries still guided you towards the gate. There was some minor scepticism behind their helmets; they let you past together with blue cloak riders.

As you passed under the old gate, you passed by some trainees, deep in focus with the usage of their spears and shields, though they lacked proper armour and iconography. Most wear a light blue homemade cloak to indicate loyalty to the Prokopian cause. Most of them look like they have never been a day from home, though that perhaps explains why another group is running back and forth on a field of sand.

You come to a halt before the only two-story building. The leader of the riders told you to wait here, as Cephalas didn't like to be interrupted by someone he doesn't know
.
The building didn't have any windows, so you could hear him walk up the stairs and to the office of Cephalas. But what you heard next soured your opinion on the man before you even met him.

''You did what!'' A loud, bellowing voice echoed from the building, followed by metal hitting stone. It seemed like Cephalas was not in a good mood.

''I told you before to send someone back if you want to recruit people, especially mercenaries! Just because that brother of mine sent the previous batch doesn't mean you can let everybody here. I had to comb through five history books to find this place, and if Anastasios finds me, I can say goodbye to both my set of balls, the one's in my head and the one between my legs, and I am rather fond of both!''

There then was a moment of silence. Before he continued on a normal tone, which made whatever he was saying unintelligible. Then he came downstairs.

In his youth, he would have been an impressive man, muscular and broad-shouldered, but he had now grown in diameter rather than height. His face was weathered and lined, evidence of a life spent outdoors. Despite his appearance, there was a glint of intelligence in his eyes, but there was also something else, something darker, though you didn't know what.

''And you are?'' He said in a tone impatient.

''I am Albrecht von Adlershorst, heir to the Duchy of Greifswald and commander of the Greifswalder section of the crusade, here to restore order to these valleys.''

''Crusaders, you mean those mercenaries that Anastasios hired to drive out the infidel? You? You are part of them; you're not even thirty, and they make you the head of an army?.'' He said with a snort.

''Do you know we are a crusading army sent to drive the heathens out, right? Not mere mercenaries? Aren't they also your enemies, or do you think a civil war is more important than driving out the heathen?'' You asked

''Oh, however noble, I do assume that.'' He then stopped short. ''Sorry, I have been short on my temper as of late; allow me to rephrase. Prokopios has assured me that he would arrange for matters in the capital. And that he would make certain that a civil war would be avoided.''

He let out a tired sigh. ''But that's Prokopios for you; he was always a schemer rather than a warrior. He managed to marry himself to the sister of the old emperor, and he claims the throne, and then Anastasios decides that he wants our family dead as well, because Prokopios attempts an assassination! And then I had to flee away from my own estates, and then Prokopios asked me to raise an army here! And ever the loyal brother I am, I now sit here! In the cold mountains! Training the peasants so that HE CAN SIT HIS ARSE UPON THE THRONE!''

''It's that he is my brother, or else I would have dragged him before the usurper myself. But it was either this or a hot poker, courtesy of Anastasios.'' He casts his eyes off to the west.

>Maybe you should seek to make amends with Anastasios; I mean, you didn't order his assassination.
>I can understand why you are upset, but you should not tear your nation apart. Appeal to his sense of patriotism.
>But why on earth do you serve your brother, a brother you sent you out here? Stoke his resentment. Hopefully, he’ll burn his bridges with his brother.
>Write-in

>>6080146
>>Write-in

I am not so great with words, but perhaps we should attempt to seek a middle ground between stoking resentment and inflaming patriotism?

If perhaps he could raise his standard for the crusade, in his brothers name of course, he might both help his country and potentially save his foolish plotter of a brother from the reigning Emperor. If they prove instrumental in resisting the hated infidel, it would put the Emperor in a compromising position to pursue vengeance against them. After all, do you see the Emperors banner being carried forth against the infidel?

We could perhaps offer them safe haven in Greifswald if the Emperor should prove vindictive still. Though it might be far away and far from their taste, the Emperor has no reach there.

Overall, I think we should seek to avoid conflict here at all costs, as well as try and remain as neutral as possible. We shouldn't waste our strength on a fight that is not ours, and we can only benefit from having local support.

>>6080358
I'll support this

>>6080358
+1

>>6080358
>>6080146

Support this one

''There is another option; if you are unwilling to face Anastasios or unable to leave your brother's cause, you could join me. Redeem yourself in the eyes of the imperial court and earn a pardon for yourself and your brother.'' As you told Cephalas, his agitated and resentful eyes turned sombre.

''I am not certain as to why you offer me such an option, but my brother isn't one to back down from his ambitions; either he shall sit on the throne or he shall be dead. He is someone who believes in ride-or-die. And he does not tolerate contradictions or objections. No, if I went with you, I would become a target of my brother's wroth as well, and he has no restraints when it comes to things like kin slaying; trust me, even as I grew into the stronger of us two, he still terrified me as a boy. He always was and is extremely callous by nature, with a ruthlessness that knows no bounds. He is like a crossbreed between a snake and a donkey; do not ask of me where he is, most likely stalking in the shadows or somewhere dark, deep, and dank, plotting his next move.''

''But that doesn't mean that Anastasios is a saint either; even when he was a mere strategos, he could display brutality of extreme proportions. For the old imperial family, he burned dozens of villages and estates to the ground, beheaded tonnes of his defeated enemies, and suppressed riots of the hippodromes in the capital by slaughtering the charioteers, the horses, the supporters, and the lighting the chariots themselves ablase. No, sir, I cannot, for the life of me, go with either man if I could. Prokopios I only followed out of familial duty; joining you would be a way out for my subordinates and men, but not for myself.''

''I could host you in exile as well if you are that keen on not having to face your brother or the emperor. Greifswald is a safe haven; the Mithradians can't reach that far.''

''I do not know of your home nation, but walking away from this conundrum would be a way out for me. In truth, I never wanted to go here, and I have my suspicion about whether Prokopios was all that honest with his intentions when he sent me here.''

He then turned about to look at some trainees. ''These boys will see no punishment; they'll melt back into the hills and fields and villages after this is all over, whether you bring them with you home or let them return here. But for me, that isn't so easy.''

''Does that mean you give me command of your men?'' You asked a bit confused.

''No, I shall announce that they either may join you or go back home; after that, I shall have to disappear. Prokopios hates crusaders, you know, not for any religious reason, but because they're outside of his control. He told me to kill them on sight, and if he hears about this, well.''

>>6081453
>I know a captain of a ship. He could smuggle you out of the country.
>I have an idea. We could fake your death, and send back your helmet and cloak as proof
>You could travel incognito, masking your identity from both of them.
>Write-in

>>6081454
>>I know a captain of a ship. He could smuggle you out of the country.

Fyi anons, the Byzantine brain drain after the fall of Constantinople was one of the catalysts for the Renaissance. Not to say this would be equivalent, but certainly couldn't hurt us.