Knights of the Cross | IC | Historical

[Quamunsia]

IC Thread

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Mevania, The Kingdom of Lairean
Royal Palace
Luc Chapelain II

"Thine words speak unto me with no understanding. What dost thou mean, 'the pope demands another 500 men'?!" the young king of Lairean looked into the eyes of his royal adviser, feeling nothing but aggravation. The kingdom's army was stretched thin as it was. Pagan invaders never ceased to be a threat, and the warriors already in Jerusalem were vital to the crusade. At times Chapelain wondered if it was all worth it. The land needed every peasant that worked on it, and having thousands of them leave their villages overnight to die in a sandpit was close to sheer madness. The king tried multiple times to restrict the army down to lesser knights only, but it proved futile. The Dragon Tyrant's legacy haunted Lairean and all its subjects more than the fear of death itself.

In the end, Chapelain knew what would happen if he disobeyed. Heresy was an ever growing threat, both in Europe and beyond. Besides, the risk of excommunication was too gruesome to consider. "Have the barons find thine knights, for the wealth of the crown shall not bear such a task." the king ordered with the wave of his hand. It was his duty to capture the Holy Land before the enemies of Christendom could. Once Jerusalem was secured, Chapelain made plans to push into Germania, homeland of Rome's murderers. Perhaps Italy, too, if only to retake the grand city of Rome. Mevania was destined to become the envy of Europe, but only if a strong king was willing to defend it with every drop of blood.

[Bhikkustan]

Sultan Mohamed gazed out from his palace by the riverbank. Sudan was a land of harsh heat and yet he and his people had still managed to establish a powerful state. Through trade he had enriched the lands of his tribe and taken new ones, until the tribes all knelt between his feet. Allah had gifted him this land, and every day he thanked him. His warriors were strong, and his lordship was not opposed by any man. He turned, and saw three guards walking in, carrying a dishevelled man. The man screamed, and the guards explianed. He was a traitor, a vile heathen Christian who had been caught spreading lies about his blasphemous faith. "Allah grant me the strength to deal with him" he muttered befor stunning to face the vile traitor. The man did not deny the accusations, and sought to intimidate Mohamed. He told of a crusading army of angels, coming to wrest the holy lands from Islam. "The man is crazy!" Mohamed exclaimed loudly, before drawing his fine jewelled scimitar. "This will be the fate of any of you so called angels," he exclaimed loudly, making sure everyone in the room could hear, before swinging the blade downwards. The man's hands were sliced cleanly off. Hearing the man's prayers that he was whispering, he exclaimed. "If you believe Christ will save you, you can suffer his fate. Only Allah can grant the mercy of a god to you and your vile kin. Guards, get some wood and crucify this liar. Make sure all can see what happens if you insult Islam." Satisfied, he sat down. He got out a piece of paper and began writing a letter.

My lords of the Fatimid Caliphate. I have captured a Christian heretic who claims that an army of crusaders is coming. Though I know that these vile heretics are inherently liars, I recommend you prepare armies. In Allah's name, we will smite these vile foes. In the name of Allah, King Mohamed al Moqquara the King of Sudan.

[The United Eastern States of Europe]

Copenhagen, King Christian X

Another boring day, Christian thought as he yawned. With all the christian soldiers off across the world to fight Muslims and hold some useless city, raiding has brought few results as the soldier's upkeep is generally higher. He stared at his map as always. Every land the Danish knew. To the Urals and the Caspian in the East, to Greenland in the west. To Svalbard in the North, to the Maghreb lands near Aegyptus. However, no raids means uppity raiders, and after the turbulence of the last revolt angry raiders were far from ideal. So stood the Shipmaster, chief advisor of all naval activity, waiting for his orders. "Lairean is still baron I expect, useless. England's navy would destroy before we could land, angering them is far from wanted... The Tectons? I expect they're just biding their time until they slay all us 'pagan infidels' or whatever it is they name us... The rest are too far or don't have access to the sea, or equally useless..."

"If I may make a suggest-"

"Shut up," Christian slapped him. The room fell into a long silence, a sickening one. It was the same silence and quiet that haunted Christian since birth. The only sound, the only voice, was his own. trying to call for something else. He clicked his fingers and broke it. "Lairean. It is our only fee sable option. Have some men raid their northern coast, whatever they take I'll have to send back in double as an apology. This 'King Luc' will be doing me a great service." The advisor bowed while rubbing his bright red cheek, bidding farewell and running off. Christian assumed his place on his small throne. The grandiose throne that was previously there was torn down and sold. After all, who cares about some stupid, uncomfortable seat?

Ribe, Stefanie and Gregers von Wittelsbach

"I assure you all, our father will come to a decision soon." Gregers shouted authoritatively to the rowdy crowd. Stefanie sat beside him, nonchalant and surrounded by guards. They both knew what these men would try if she was unprotected, especially when she's just the daughter of some hated, undecisive king. Stef nodded in agreement to her brothers statement.

"Why isn't he here t'en? A real king leads his men!" Stefanie laughed lightly as the men roared in agreement with the dissenting captain. Nils led his men right to his own death, Haraldur failed to lead his men and suffered a reign of turmoil. Their father led armies onto the Faroe Isles and Iceland. He landed them in Holstein and Jutland, but leading a raid was unkingly. "If we can't have no king wit' us, we'll have ourselves a prince!" Gregers shrugged and consented, sailing to another country is an experience every heir should have.

[Yorkistan]

Kiev, Vladimyr and Ivan Kolotylo

"A letter from the pope! A letter from the pope!" a courier yells upon entering the castle, interrupting a feast of the Kolotylo family and their adviser's. A snarl escapes Ivan Kolotylo's house, as he takes a sip of wine. "Another invitation to convert to Catholicism I suspect." says Ivan. The courier hands the letter to King Vladimyr, who upon reading the letter, raises to his feet. "The pope has invited us to the crusade. I'll need some discussion before I make my decision, and we're not leaving until we come to one". Vladimyr says. Ivan is the first to respond, saying "What is this even going to do for us, father? We make no benefit from having our men die in the desert. We're better off backstabbing the Teutons or the Hungarians". Vladimyr stares disapprovingly at Ivan, who takes another sip of his wine. "Saddle the horses. We send villagers to the front lines while our army pillages everything in site. I will lead the raiders, the little protection left in the back line cities will make for easy raids. Ivan, you will lead the villagers. This way, you can raid, Ivan, and we can avoid conflict with the Catholics until we're prepared to destroy them. Try to spread Orthodoxy to everybody you can, the more we convert to the proper religion, the more God will praise us. Onward to the Israel!" With that, King Vladimyr takes a drink from a flask, and grabs his crossbow, and leaves the room, followed by Ivan.

[The Ik Ka Ek Akai]

The fields of Germania were silent. Green meadows and open pastures dominated the landscape, with soaring mountains of incredible beauty to be beheld within such vibrant valleys. A babbling brook runs along gently down a gentle hill, delightfully streaming down the valley and into a nearby lake. There were no animals in this field, not man nor beast, for a loss great had occurred here that drove the likes of all life away from that spot.

The clashing of steel filled the night air. Fires raged around as the noble Goths fought for their lives against the sickening enemy warriors. Romans, Germans, all gathered to slay the Goths to their last drop of blood. The brave chieftain took a final stand as his armies fell before him, the Romans surrounding them and killing the men, capturing the women who dared to fight, and destroying the children. This chieftain sat atop his horse and saw death and blood everywhere, and knew it had come to an end. It was all over.

Now over this valley loomed a dark spirit, a force the likes of which peasantry and nobility alike did not dare enter, avoiding at all costs. Some say the slain Gothic warband still haunts the valley, and it is often reported that sounds of agony, feelings of dread, pain, and great loss, and overwhelming sadness overcome those who visit the mass grave site. Never since brave Alareiks had the Goths known such a leader so revered and remembered, and yet his name faded from history and his life put to legend. Now the valley sits, alone and silent, the shadow of death forever looming o'er.

We will not forget. We must not forget.

Ταυρική Crimea
Δόρος Doros
MCXLV Anno Domini


Avina the Captive, daughter of Eboric the Boar, queen of the Tribe of Rain, had this runestone raised in memory of her people. The Tribe of Rain was birthed by an affair between the ladies Frijjo, Frawjo, and Austro. They are the chosen of Teiws as just rulers of the Ostrogoths. History shall always remember the great deeds of Eboric the Boar, who defended the Goths from encroaching Romans. His father, Thurismund the Old, restored Gothic culture and faith where the villainous Amaling clan tried to destroy it. May history forever remember the great deeds of the Tribe of Rain, and the enchanting beauty, infinite wisdom, and endless grace of Avina of Rain.

This stone was carved by Haduswinth and painted by Adalfuns.

The runestone had been raised. It was a true sight of beauty, the restoration of the art of runestone. While it had been lost as Christ swept Germania in times gone by, the Gothic exile likewise eliminating the practice, it had been since restored when the Ostrogoths settled in the region known as Doros to most. Content in seeing the stone properly raised, with clear red paint outlining the text, Avina mounted her horse and left for Doros, alongside those who had aided in raising the stone. She wondered what the future would think, seeing such a stone left in the wilderness. Would it be lost? Would people centuries later find it again, its paint long faded? The future of the Gothic people was a curious one, but she preferred to think about the present. Her lifetime. She was their queen now, after all, and had to act as such. To think centuries ahead was not appropriate for now.

As she rode through a valley and up a mountainous pathway, it began to rain. She brought the hood of her cloak up, and rode a bit faster, trying to escape the small-scale wrath of the thunderer. She chuckled to herself at the idea that rain was a petty form of divine rage as she approached the city of Doros itself. The walls were impressive in stature, at least 30 feet tall atop cliffs on most sides. Arrow slits poked out, and she might've been killed in a moment if any of the guards so wished it. Instead, she looked up to them to reveal her face, and the gates to the city opened. The entrance was a large arch, like that found in Roman architecture, with Gothic-style decorative carving along the sides, mostly simple patterns. She went into the fortress-city and made her way to the castle. Simple stone housing lined the street as she approached the greatest feat of Gothic architecture known. A large castle to rival any Great Hall found in old Germania, a defensive masterpiece atop one of the cliff-faces.

As she stepped inside, she tossed her cloak aside. Taking a few moments to fix and tighten her belt, she looked around the dark room and smiled. She enjoyed storms. She couldn't explain it, but storms were simply comforting. It made being inside feel so warm and comfortable compared to a sunny day instead. Avina stepped further inside and made her way to her private quarters, speaking with a few servants about potential upcoming meals. Once inside her room, she placed her sword aside and took a while to herself to relax, unwind, and enjoy the simple things in life. There was so much to do if Gothia was to ever rise again, and so such relaxation breaks were simply healthy for the poor girl. She soon fell asleep, only wakened by the call for dinner, at which point she left to enjoy a good meal.

Sometimes, one must enjoy the simpler things.

[Imperialisium]

The Holy Roman Empire

Imperial Capital of Augsburg
Imperial City of Augsburg
Kaiserliches Palast

Aemhyr von Zahyreis, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, King of: Germany, Bohemia, Italy, and Burgundy; Duke of: Austria, Moravia, Brandenburg and Lord Protector of the Church and Temple; Count of Augsburg, Nuremburg, and Zahringen. Lesser titles and trivialities went on. He ruled an Empire stretching from the Sun bathed hills of Tuscany to the frigid waters of the Baltic situated on the Pommeranian shore. From Flanders to the West all the way to Ratibor in the East.

Sitting on the Imperial Throne, he sat as he pondered the state of the Realm and of Europe. His family was firmly entrenched in the Imperial establishment, he had little doubt his eldest son would inherit the Emperorship from him. What troubled him was external affairs. The Empire was divided with a slight Reformed Germanic majority and a Catholic Minority. So far tensions remained low. But the Pope would not sit idly by as his power over Central Europe waned. Ever the Emperor and the Pope were fighting for supremacy. Last time the Pope came on top after the Investiture Controversy, but perhaps that was to change.

Aemhyr did not hate Catholics. No, he was tolerant to them and saw Christians as capable subjects. No, he feared that the Popes fears would galvanize Europe against him. So he needed allies abroad. Thus his mind went to the lands of Norway and Denmark. Being Norse Pagans they would prove to be the first choice in an alliance should Europe's Christian monarchs turn against him. But how to broker such an agreement?