Crusader Kings: Blood of the Sacrament [IC]

by **Bezombia** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 12:34 pm

(OOC/Sign Ups)

The sun rose on January 1st, 500. The world was still reeling from the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, and the balance of power in Europe shifted day-to-day. New players entered the game that hadn't been there before, and old kings dropped out as if they were dust. This is the year the world stopped making sense; for in this world, everyone has a motive, and everyone has a knife. As for whether that knife will end up in the back of their brothers, or dragged across their own wrists...well, that's for history to decide.

by **Bezombia** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 12:59 pm

Arcadius awoke in the early hours of the morning, as he always did.
Something was different this morning, however. Arcadius looked around, and quickly realized that his wife was not in bed with him. He jumped out of bed, fearing the worst, and searched his chambers for any sign of her.
He eventually found her standing out on the balcony overlooking Rome. Relieved, he joined her on the balcony and asked her what she was doing out there.

"It's little Arcadius," she said, looking into her husband's eyes. "Lately he's been acting...strange."
The Rex replied, "What do you mean, strange? Is he sick?"
"I don't know. There's nothing physically wrong with him, but..."
"But what? Theadora, if something's wrong with my son, I need to know!"

She looked away. "It's probably nothing...The cook was probably just hearing things...

"Arcadius has been...mumbling. A lot. And...well...the things he's been saying...they aren't human!"

Arcadius looked annoyed. "You wake me in the middle of the night, scare me half to death, because my son is mumbling? Have you gone mad, woman? Is not the human mouth shaped to speak? Is it not basic human nature to make sounds? I'm talking right now, would you say that I'm acting "strange"? For Christ's sake Theadora, surely there's something more worthwhile to hype about?"

Theadora began to sob softly after that outbreak, and she ran back into the chambers. Arcadius himself shooed her away, and leaned up against the railing overlooking the city.
It's been twenty years, he thought to himself, Since this city carried more weight than any other. It's been twenty years since the Western Court was destroyed...
His eyes turned from the streets below to the stars above.
I've restored Italia, but...I've no empire. I have brought Italia peace, but I have not brought it glory. There are greater powers than I on this day...and that is unacceptable.

He stood there, pondering his plans, for almost an hour.

by **Tyben** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 1:59 pm

The smell of blood and ash filled the noses of the Norsemen as they walked through the fog, their eyes were alert as they spread out walking towards the ever silent village. The only sounds that filled the air were the dying screams of Jutes and the distant sound of fire as the fields of the traitorous Jutes had been set ablaze by loyal Dane warriors. As they closed in on the village, a formation took shape in the distance, a three deep line of women, boys, and some of the men who had fled from the battle that preceded the burning of the crops.

The Dane force seemed to have appeared from nowhere to the Jutes, their hearts were filled with terror and they knew that they would not survive if they fought, but they knew, too, that if they didn't fight they would be tortured before dying by that bastard of a king, Volund Bjornson. He had become a nightmare for the Jutes, slaughtering countless villages and demanding fealty from every Jute, deciding that he was due their complete submission, and declaring himself their king, their master. The irregular and primarily untrained forces of the Jutes stood behind their turned over wagons in their lines, waiting, hoping that for some reason that the murderers would turn away, a vain hope if there ever was one.

At the front of the force of the Danes stood a colossal man, larger than any they had ever seen before and they knew simply from his size who he was, Volund, King of Danes. As the Danes approached, the seemed to become increasingly numerous, more and more appeared from the fog, all covered in soot and blood, all grinning, all ready for the massacre to come. As they all appeared, they stopped dead in their tracks and then something terrible happened.

The Norsemen began beating their shields and laughing, the sounds mixing together and drowning out everything else in the early morning fog, a sound so terrifying the ranks of defenders were beginning to waiver, to fall apart, to lower their shields before a single sword had been swung. Then, something even more terrifying occured, the soldiers began pulling things from their bags and raising them into the sky. Within seconds the sun peered through the dense fog to reveal what these monsters of men had been raising, they were the heads of the deceased defenders.

The sounds of banging and laughing continued as the Son of Odin raised his hand in the air a signal to his soldiers, a signal that sent the defenders into a burst of tears and caused many of the young boys defending the village to soil themselves in contemplation of what the signal meant. The king pulled his hand down swiftly and in response, dozens of human heads, the heads of family members, of brothers, of sons, and of fathers were thrown into the defenders' formation and the sounds of fearful shrieks echoed out over the plains of the peninsula, the sound of coming demise. A war horn was blown at the behest of the Jarl of Jarls and suddenly a stampede of Nordic warriors rushed forward, climbing over the makeshift fortifications and jumping into the waivering and startled defenders of the village, the sound of steel hitting steel and steel hitting bone rang out, mixing and blending with all the other sounds of warfare, the sounds of Danish laughter, the screams, the sounds of fire, and the sounds of trampling feet.

It did not take long for the warriors to slaughter the defenders, they were unevenly matched, legendary warriors paired against young boys and frightened women. Within minutes, the sounds had subsided, leaving only the silence and the sight of dead bodies scattered across a village, murdered dead for their refusal to bow before their king who now knelt among the corpses praying to the great god of the Norse people, Odin, Father of All.

Volund prayed for many thing to Odin in that moment, to send Valkyries to take those souls who fought so bravely against him to Valhalla, to bless his blade in his warfare to unify his nation, and to give him the strength to spread the will of the Aesir across Europe and beyond, these were just but a few of the things Volund asked Odin to do, and in exchange he would spread the Faith and sacrifice to the Gods more of those who refused to bend to his will and to the will of Odin and his children.

Volund stood up, his large frame once again towering over those around him as he wiped off his sword and slid it back into its sheath before walking off, looking for his horse so that he could return home to his capital, Heim(built where Vejle is).

by **Washington Resistance Army** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 2:08 pm

Gnaeus Sempronius Sura stood on the balcony of the Palatio Princeps deep in thought, looking out over his growing capital city of Legio, the heart of the Provincia Hispania and of Roman rule in southwestern Europe. Since he had conquered the city several years ago it had begun to blossom as taxes from the rest of the province flowed into the city. A new forum was built in the heart of the city, failing road systems were renovated and new Legionary training camps were established. The old Legio I Hispania that Gnaeus had initially used to conquer his current territory was composed of local Roman troops as well as foreign mercenaries who fought simply for gold. While this system had served Hispania well in it’s early days Gnaeus wished to reform the provincial military, using a combination of old Roman systems as well as new systems. Legionaries would be awarded a military pension on a monthly basis, serving a six month sentence before being given the option of renewing their military contract. Time not spent in combat would be spent training and running drills to create a highly efficient standing force that while not the most numerous would still be effective. Being paid directly in currency rather than land would still ensure the loyalty of the men while also allowing the provincial government to use spare land for whatever purposes it deemed necessary.

Whilst reforms to the military were being made Gnaeus would also focus on attempting to gain alliances with other states. The first on this list was the Province of Tingitana to the south of Hispania. A Roman state had risen and Gnaeus had a desire to cement an alliance with them. Diplomats were being prepared already to travel by boat along the western coast of Hispania to Tingitana. With any luck they would be well received and an alliance would soon blossom between the Roman states. Trade offers would also be extended to the Romans in Africa and to the Visigothic Kingdom in hopes of bringing in more goods and money for the province.

Last on the princeps agenda for the time being was to slowly begin organizing his military forces for an eventual invasion of the ailing Suebian Kingdom to his west. For now he would not strike, but simply bid his time and continue building up Hispania’s military and economy. Gnaeus, still deep in thought, turned away from the balcony and walked back into his office sending for his Quaestor and Magister Militum. They had much to discuss and even more to plan if Hispania was to thrive.

by **Zaporizhian Host** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 2:26 pm

On an old dirt road marched an army. At the side of the road sat a tired Alaric on his horse and watched the marching men. Worn, tired warbands of Germanic warriors, men who have never farmed the land. This was not the Visigoth's lands, not his home. This was only the place the Visigoth ruled, with the sword. The Gauls, Iberians and Latins had learned that their masters did not fear to use violence to make examples or solve problems. Alaric's army had been raised for almost a decade, fighting across the borders against the Franks to the North and Romans to the West. Now, there was peace, but Alaric could not be calm. His lifetime on the battlefield had shaped him, into a catious man. Now, he was happy to return to his family. He had not met his youngest son yet, and not learnt to know any of his children.

The army was disbanded and the soldiers sent to their homes, but many did not have homes to return too. Therefore, King Alaric decided to keep a small force of 2000 as border guards in Iberia, to keep the few and scattered fortifications protected. When Alaric returned to Toulouse, he met his family again. It was a wonderful thing being able to be with his children and wife again, after years of campaigning. After night of feasting in the Castle and the local villages, Alaric set up his court. To secure his own power over the Visigothic Dukes vassalized under him, Alaric look over possibilites of strengthening the Kingship, by changing some crown laws. As a delegation from the Hispanian Province arrived Alaric recieved their messages in his court. Alaric sends the message that he wants peaceful relations to the west, and hopes that trade between the Visigoths and the Provincia Hispania may bring the peace that is hoped for.

by **Greater Mobile** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 2:45 pm

KINGDOM OF THE VANDALS

January 1st, 500

Carthage
Carthage, the great stronghold of the Vandals. The ancient city is the gem of North Africa, the pride of the Vandal people, and the throne of the Vandalirice, the king of the Vandals. For over 70 years the Germanic rulers of Vandalica have delivered unto their nation glorious triumph, and as the great Vandalirice Thrasamund Gunderic of Carthage entered his third year of rule, they were determined to seek glory once more.

Vandalirice Thrasamund sat in his throne room with his small army of advisers and took a deep breath as silence, and the regal presence of the king of all Vandals, filled the room. The common people of the land spoke Latin, or at least a version of it. This language, while widely spoken and understood, was shunned by many nobles who chose to speak the language of their forefathers: Vandalic. This language, reserved for the elite, was the only utterance seen as proper for the great halls of the Carthaginian palace.

"What do the fleets report, Admiral Huneric?", The kings voice boomed through the hollow room.
"Nothing other than normal patrols, sir," The raspy voice of the grand commander of the Vandal navy replied, "Both the Italian and Visigothic patrols were sighted at the expected times, so we believe their fleet movements are regular."

Thrasamund nodded "Very well. Speaking of the Italians, I'd like to call a meeting with them. I feel that these times are becoming far too turbulent to let our diplomacy stagnate. We will send a diplomat at once." As he finished this sentence, the men in charge of such dealings within the kingdom left to complete their duties for their liege in haste.

January 3rd, 500

Hippo Regius
The old Roman city of Hippo Regius was the first capital of the Vandals when they crossed the great Mediterranean sea generations ago. It is a great city, rivaling Hadrumetum and Utica, but still she could not hold a light to her mother city, Carthage.

Hippo Regius sat among a handful of small hills, and this was perfect terrain for the training of the most vicious and legendary soldiers in all of North Africa: The Vandal raiders, the elite unit of cavalry whose thundering hooves resemble the call of the gods, are bred from birth to ride and to conquer. When the word "Vandal" is spoken in the Berber tribes of the South it still evokes a feeling of fear, for the Berbers know well the wrath of the raiders.

In recent months, recruiting efforts in Hippo Regius have increased greatly. While many men are trained as normal cavalrymen, infantry, or archers, only the most distinguished rise to the ranks of the raiders. Today, another joined the bloody fraternity: A man by the name of Gunthamund. He has become a legend for his feats, and he carries with him the righteous wrath of the lord.

by **Bezombia** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 3:16 pm

Flavian Palace, Rome, Italia

Rex Arcadius sat upon his brass throne with Theadora beside him. He was dressed in a scarlet pallium ("I'll wear a Roman toga when I wear a Roman crown," he once remarked to a noble), and carried in one hand a brilliant gold staff adorned with various jewels and crystals.
His throne was at the head of a massive room, which mostly contained a 50-chair table currently occupied by three dozen nobles and courtiers discussing current events and matters of the state. Although not the formal courtroom of Italia, the throne room served as the meeting place for Arcadius's many subjects and visitors, and he treated it as an open forum for anyone who wished to appear before him. There was always a full Italian guard present to ensure the safety of the Rex, and so nobles often met in the throne room to take advantage of its safety.

Arcadius was discussing architecture with his steward when a messenger appeared.
The messenger stood before Arcadius's throne, far from the long table. He clenched his fists, and cross his arms in an X pattern, so his right fist was touching his left shoulder (and vice versa). He then uncrossed his arms, giving the appearance that he had just lifted a dumbbell. He finished the performance with a loud "Ave, Rex!" before relaxing his arms. Arcadius smiled and nodded at the completion of this ritual; Theadora suppressed a giggle.

"What do you have for me, messenger?" Arcadius never bothered to remember his subjects' names.
"My Rex, word from the Vandals. They wish to discuss diplomatic matters. In fact, they have sent a diplomat here, to the palace!"

Arcadius studied his words for a moment, then rose. His pallium draped over his legs as he stood up. "Signal for the diplomat to enter. You are dismissed."
The messenger silently repeated the ritual he performed upon first arriving, and then briskly walked away. It was all a formality, anyway - Arcadius didn't care much for the salute itself, but forcing everyone around you to show their loyalty every time they meet you has its benefits. Members of his inner council were except, mostly because Arcadius grew annoyed at every conversation lasting three minutes longer than it should.

He began to walk towards the main table, and signaled to his chancellor (who was discussing something of very little importance to Arcadius, judging on the fact that they weren't discussing it with him) to join him.
The table itself did not have a 'head' chair, so Arcadius and his chancellor (who's name was Remus Tullius Alomus, but everyone called him Tullian) sat side-by-side on the end of the table farthest from the door. When the Vandal diplomat arrived, he'd be escorted to a seat directly opposite Tullian's, one down from the end of the table. This was a formality that was strictly adhered to - if the visitor were to attempt to attack the Rex from across the table, the Chancellor would be able to either intervene or take the blow himself.

by **Reatra** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 3:22 pm

"Well, I mean, we've got... What... A thousand or so troops on their border...?" Rí Donal asked, slightly drunk.
"Yes, Don, now if we're going to do this we need a plan. We can't just waltz in and siege Dublin like its nobodies' business." Rí Ruirech Riley said.
"Yeah, we can."
"Jesus, Don, I'll talk to you tomorrow. I can't deal with drunkards." Riley said while leaving the fort.
"THEN DON'T BE FOOCKIN' O'IRISH!"

Dear the barbaric pagans in Dublin.

Mumu is coming to kill you. In the name of Jesus Christ. Have fun.

Sincerely,
Rí Ruirech Riley Soto na Mumu

"Fionnbharra, how have you been?" An Rí Ruirech said.
"Riley, my friend, very well! How about you? I heard that we've gone to war with Dublin?" The Bishop asked.
"Yes father, their Rí believes in the gods of our ancestors, and I decided to declare a holy war upon him. Our men will be upon their hillfort in a few weeks."
"Riley, I feel as if the spreading of Christ is not the only reason you have declared such a war." Fionnbharra said.
"Well, to be truthful, which I always will to you, father, their port is quite a nice thing to have, in order to launch raids against the Britons and Germans."
"Ah. Well, Riley, you know how I feel about the raids."
"I do, Fionnbharra. Yet I am no Rí Ruirech if I do not colonize lands for my people. You know my plans to be crowned at Tara. Dublin will be a good place to start." Riley said with a smile.
"Well Riley, if you wish, you are Rí Ruirech. I am but a bishop, what could I do?" Fionnbharra smiled.
"Ha! Oh Fionnbharra, you're a great man. I hope you can tell the Holy Father I am a pious man once I attract enough attention."
"You'll have to hurry up then, Riley, I'm not getting any younger!"

Wind and waves. Wine and waves. This was where Donald felt at home. Upon the sea, with the sails full of air behind him, and nothing but ocean in front. Eighteen hundred warriors accompanied him on his voyage, where he would conquer half of Britain and make the rest offer tribute. It was sad that the Irish hadn't been seafaring for a century, but their boats were as good as ever, and they could stand every storm or wave.
"Dumnonia! We can see it!" One of the oarsmen yelled.
"Raise the flags! Show the fleet we've arrived! And once we land, find their King!"

by **Greater Mobile** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 5:22 pm

KINGDOM OF THE VANDALS

January, 500

Roma, Italia
Gelimer hated to admit it, but Rome was the most glorious city he had ever seen. Carthage, in all it's wonder, was still no match for the ancient city that truly is a wonder of the known world. He knew that his mission was an important one, and he therefore would try to wipe the images of marble statues out of his mind before he began his task.

"Eils, Rex Arcadius," Gelimer said giving a smile and a slight bow, "I am here on behalf of Vandalirice Thrasamund of The Vandal Kingdom, as I know you are aware. Thank you for welcoming me to your palace."

Gelimer remained standing by the grand table, and shifted a bit uncomfortably. Admittedly, he knew little of Roman customs, something that would harm him if he ever sought out the seat of Chancellor.

A man then escorted Gelimer to the seat directly across from Arcadius, where he took his place.

by **Bezombia** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 5:38 pm

Throne Room, Flavian Palace, Rome, Italia

Arcadius gestured to dismiss the servant that escorted the Vandal diplomat.

He then looked towards the diplomat, eyeing him over. "So," he began, "What brings the Kingdom of the Vandals to my palace? I do not recall having any business them them of late..." He looked over at Tullian, who nodded in approval.

Truth be told, Arcadius wasn't very opinionated towards the Vandals either way. Carthage was one of Rome's two greatest enemies, but he had much to do in restoring the ways of Rome that didn't involve invasions into Africa. He'd never warred against them, but never allied himself with them either. Like the Visigoths, he'd planned on dealing them them far later down the line.

by **Greater Mobile** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 6:05 pm

quote="Greater Mobile";p="25053905"]

KINGDOM OF THE VANDALS

January, 500

Roma, Italia
Gelimer had lost most of his feeling of uneasiness, but he knew he was still a stranger in strange lands. The Romans used to call his people barbarians, and the elegance of the city made it feel as if anywhere else was somehow less civilized.

"Vandalirice Thrasamund believes that, given the history between our people, we should open up channels of discussion between our nations," Gelimer replied. "As I'm sure you know, our world is in a very delicate position. Power hungry Kings and Consuls dot the Earth, and there doesn't seem to be any reprieve from the tribal conflicts in Gaul or Africa. The world is divided against itself. For this reason, the Vandals seek to secure peace between our kingdoms. Vandalirice Thrasamund would like to secure a treaty of non-aggression, and we could also both benefit from the promise of trade between us. Do you have any concerns with this proposal, Rex Arcadius?"

by **Bezombia** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 6:18 pm

Throne Room, Flavian Palace, Rome, Italia

Arcadius was taken aback. Usually when foreign officials arrive in his court, it's to declare war. He'd never seen anyone try to declare peace.
Something seemed off to him, though. Even beyond the strangeness of trying to secure peace when there was no war, the diplomat himself seemed...strange. His Latin was broken compared to Arcadius's, but he knew full well that this was because of a thousand years of differing speech patterns.

Based on a passing glance, it was clear that Tullian was just as shocked as Arcadius was. Nevertheless, Arcadius didn't see a reason to not agree. "Although I do find your proposition strange," he said, calmly, "I accept. Although I must reassure you that although I will spare you my sword, I will not offer it to you. Make sure your king understands that. Do you have any further business in Rome today?"

by **Greater Mobile** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 7:21 pm

KINGDOM OF THE VANDALS

January, 500

Roma, Italia
Gelimer smiled at the response from the Rex of Italia, but he couldn't help but notice the passing glances between he and his chancellor. This proposal to them, according to the Rex, sounded strange - as it should have. Asking for peace when there was no war is unprecedented.

"Do not worry," Gelimer replied, "We came here not to look for mercenaries, merely to assure peace. My liege feels that turbulent times may be ahead of everyone along the Mediterranean. He seeks only to preserve the delicate peace that the many leaders of our region have kept so far. I thank you for your audience, Rex Arcadius, for I feel we have established a very good thing today. If there is no further pressing issue, I believe we may conclude this session." Gelimer was ecstatic, but tried not to let it seep through, for the control of ones emotions is the mark of a competent diplomat.

With all but assured peace in the North, the Vandals could focus their gaze to something a bit more familiar to them: War.

The Vandal conquest of Africa is nigh.

by **Bezombia** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 7:32 pm

Throne Room, Flavian Palace, Rome, Italia

Arcadius and Tullian rose from their seats as Gelimer started to leave.

Arcadius made his way back to his throne, and Tullian followed. He was the first to break the silence between them.
"I don't like this one bit, Arcadius. The Vandals wouldn't ask for peace unless they saw us as a threat-"

"No, Tullian. The Vandals are not fools. They do not see us as a threat - they think we do. Whatever they are planning, it does not concern us. It's strange, but the only reason that diplomat was here today was to ensure that we stayed away from the Vandals for the time being."

"Then why ask for trade? It makes no sense..."

"It makes perfect sense," Arcadius responded. "If I had promised only peace, there would be nothing backing that promise up. I could easily have sworn to peace, just to strike against the Vandals when I saw they were weakest. By opening up trade routes through Africa, the Vandals have both given me a vested interest in keeping the peace, and given themselves a way to tell if an attack is coming - that is, if the trade ships turn into fighters. It's an ingenious move, if not a very subtle one."

"What could the Vandals be planning, that they wish to keep us out?" Tullian asked, trying not to get on Arcadius's angry side.

"I don't know, and I don't care. If the Vandals were planning on attacking us or any of our allies, they wouldn't've been here today. And besides," he said, looking over to the empty throne where Theadora had sat an hour before, "I have bigger problems at hand..."
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by **Paketo** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 8:26 pm

Ceuta, Tingitana
Praetor's Palace
January 1st, 500

Manius Scipio, that was his name but it still felt foreign to him. Born a commoner but now he held a last name and the title of Praetor, the gods were favorable upon him. It seemed Bellona, Mars,and Athena had smiled upon him. Both the Greek and Roman gods smiled upon him surely since he now stood at the lead of a nation.

The man himself was listen to his Magister Militum currently in the throne as the situation developing in the south was explained. "Praetor" said Gaius Arcadon Magister Militum of the province "the incursion by the tribes to south numbered a 700 men and we were not able to push them back for 3 weeks as a sizable force had to be gathered. They looted many villages in the area during that, burning the houses and salting the fields. It is a act that can't go unpunished but how we punish is your decision Praetor. I suggest sending our army to forcibly annex their lands into our nation but our current force is too small for that task. We would need to recruit more soldiers for our standing army of 2,000 legionnaires backed by militia could not bring victory"

"Your a wise man Gaius and i agree with your assessment." responded Praetor Manius "The have caused our people suffering so we as Romans must pay them back tenfold for their actions. I consent to the extra recruiting, take what you will need from the treasury as we have funds to spare thanks to our control of the entrance to the Atlantic. These are my orders, take them and carry them out to your fullest ability"

"yes Praetor" answered Gaius before exiting the throne room. Manius took the moment of solitude and made way for the balcony which overlooked the city. Upon his arrival, he surveyed the rooftops of the grand city of Ceuta and marveled at how pristine it looked modeled in the old roman style. He marveled at it because only a few years prior, it had been burning and besieged on all sides. The North and West making a alliance looked to be the end of Manius and his Eastern forces. It was only by sheer luck and the tactical brilliance of Manius that the siege had been won and the war ended. A stray arrow from his own forces struck the head of the north general putting his troops in disarray. With a simple promise atop the walls from Manius saying "any who join me will not be pressed as traitors but honored as heroes as part of Legion", most of the the northern army defected to Manius leading the Westerners to be caught in a pincer and destroyed.

That time was now years ago and the city now shone again as it did before the war with traders from all over the Mare Nostrum coming to trade at Ceuta. The city coming to be known as the entrance to the Atlantic, a place many wares would enter on their way to markets in mainland Europe. Another large part of the success was of course due to West African Gold that came up the trans-Sahara trade route. Tingitana held the African half of the pillars of Hercules meaning that for the gold to get to Hispania and the rest of Europe, it would come through them. Ceuta was quickly becoming the major trading city in Northwest Africa.

by **Landenburg** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 9:20 pm

Suffolk, East Anglia
Kolbjorn's Keep
January 1st, 500

"The land will run red with their blood! Their people will cower! We will take what we want and I will personally split the head of the chief! Brothers are you with me!" Kolbjorn shouted into the air, his booming voice reaching all of his men. In response, they cheered and screamed, growling and drawing weapons. They were ready for war. They were ready to take loot.

A few hours later and they were slipping near a town under the cover of darkness. It wasn't too big yet it certainly had a certain wealth to it. The Norse ships landed on the nearby beach, some distance away from the town. A force of nearly 500 men were preparing to storm the town, simply awaiting the signal from Kolbjorn.

Now! Kolbjorn screamed, charging forward with his men.

The few guards the town had either panicked and fled at the sight of Kolbjorn, a man who had a reputation for being a bloodthirsty savage warrior, or were cut down by Kolbjorn's men. Torches were lit and homes were burnt to the ground. A few of the warriors took women as their own and many others took slaves. Kolbjorn himself took nothing, for he had the keep to clear still.

He and around 20 other men headed straight for the keep. The door was barricaded upon arriving, though even Kolbjorn knew that himself.

"You. Hack open this door." he said, pointing straight at the biggest fellow with the biggest axe.

A few swings later and there was a gaping hole in door, though several arrows flew straight through it regrettably killing the axeman. In a rage, Kolbjorn picked up the axe himself and finished the job, breaking through the barricade. There were a few archers yet they were not trained too well. Militia. A few of them fled through windows, though they would simply jump straight into the arms of waiting warriors. The rest that stayed and tried to fight were cut down like a hot knife through butter, Kolbjorn himself taking his axe straight into the head of the warlord. The axe landed in the cowering man's skull, splitting it in twain. After a few minutes of sawing, he lifted the mans head and let back his head. He screamed, showing all that looked that there was no hope. All would fall before Kolbjorn, the Iron Reaver.

Several hours later and the men were slipping back into the sea, as this was not an invasion. Simply a raid, to make sure none of the fellow warlords had forgotten Kolbjorn's might. And if he got a bit of gold off it? Just perfect.

by **The Vekta-Helghast Empire** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 10:15 pm

The Eastern Roman Empire.
Camp of Emperor Augustus Maximilios Scipio, just outside of Jericho.

RETRACTED

by **Tyben** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 10:29 pm

The Kingdom of the Danes was always under threat, internally, externally, and on every step of the socio-economic ladder. Jarls made silent moves to garner support among one another, peasants tried to curry favor to revolt against their jarls, and even thrall plotted together against the Carls. The only thing that had kept the Geat raiders at bay, kept the Carls, Jarls, and Thralls in line was the sheer fear of the man on top, Volund Bjornson. Every single Jarl within Jutland had at one time served directly under Volund, most of them having witnessed the man break his own father's back as if it was a twig in rage, and every single underling had either witnessed or heard of his performance in combat, fearing that the death of his next enemy, might be them, if they decided to revolt. It was this fear that bound the mightiest warriors on the planet together, this fear that had established a nation, and through this fear alone was peace achieved in Jutland.

Jutland had been his mother's homeland, and through oral tradition he had heard of it from his adoptive father, Bjorn. Among Volund's favorite memories were the times when he was a little boy when they would come back to the fire in the peasant housing and his father would tell him of the beautiful rolling plains, of the magnificent women, and of the freedom they had enjoyed before being captured by Geat raiders and sent work in a household over the Baltic Sea. And this was what he remember when he killed his biological father in vengeance for Bjorn's death, a land of freedom, a land of second chances, and his future, his rightful homeland. But when he arrived he found something terribly wrong, Geats and Danes pressured from the north, Jutes fractured and fighting each other on the planes, and Germanic tribes such as the Angles pushing forever north in search of wealth and women; it was this sight and realization that had sent Volund over the edge and caused him to rally his soldiers in the name of a unified Jutland, a kingdom where a man didn't have to worry about being murdered in his sleep over his daughters and wives.

Over time Volund learned the only way he could maintain this peace was through cruelty and absolute dominance of will, he would have to be feared by every single man who had ever heard of the Jutland. His countrymen, the thralls, the Angles, the Romans, the Vandals, and even the Huns would have to fear fighting him in combat, to feel the wrath in battle, to truly believe he would murder them and there entire clan for fun if it had to be, and too he learned that the only way to do this, to keep violence away from his beloved Jutland, would be to act aggressive, to push outwards, to expand, to buffer his dream from the vultures and at the same time he would be fulfilling the dreams of his Nordic brethren, he would send them to Valhalla if they died and if they lived, they would live comfortably, with full stomachs and plenty of women for them to enjoy.

Volund had become a necessary evil, a evil that while the people hated him, they would also realize after his death that he had improved life for them, he would leave them a glorious legacy, a legacy of wealth, plunder, and blood. But while he lived, the only people who realized this dream, who were willing to follow this dream, were his soldiers, battle-hardened warriors of the north who swore fealty to him in exchange for the gifts he would bestow upon them before sending them to Valhalla and for the gifts he would give to their children and their childrens children. Young men from across northern Europe flocked to the banner of the Son of Odin knowing plunder awaited those who could show their meddle in combat, those willing to die under the banner and who knew the possibility that they would eventually be picked apart by crows and vultures under it.

Thus was the reason Volund's mighty army always had ample young men to board his ships and cross the Baltic to the northern shore, where they would pillage the fields and settlements of the Geats and the Danes who refused to kneel before Volund, their women were raped, their brothers and children murdered in the night, and their grain storages would be pillaged or burned to spite them, to make them fearful of the Mighty Heathen Army. They would cross the Baltic from Spring until fall during which time they would do everything they could to impose their will on the Swedes. Ambushes would be staged on supply lines and on the convoys of military leaders and messengers would be murdered on their way to delivering news of the massacres across the coastline, all done in the name of keeping the Jarls in the dark and suppressing their ability to act against the asymmetrical raids of the Danish skirmishers. However, none of this would be done in the name of Volund, instead these raids would be conducted autonomously with the silent approval of Volund, and they would be given shelter in Jutland in exchange for a 25% tithe on all loot taken from the raided settlements, and soon the indirect vengeance of Volund spread, turning into something greater, becoming a revenue stream through which Volund and his people could fund infrastructural projects and to sustain those who remained home.

by **Reatra** » Fri Jun 26, 2015 11:30 pm

The Duiblinn army was tiny compared to that of Rí Ruirech Riley. With only six hundred warriors defending Duiblinn, the men of Mumu made up a force of over eighteen hundred, and with strongboats blockading any commerce to or from Duiblinn, the town fell quickly. Its pagan temple was sacked, and every piece of jewelry, gold, and general valuable things were taken and brought back to Corcaigh. Its port became home to Mumu strongboats and merchant vessels from Gallia. Its hillfort was the last bastion of Duiblinn resistance, and the siege began. Three ballistae were set up to pelt the palisades with stones, and flaming arrows were launched by the archers. Riley soon realized that archers were incredibly useful for sieges, and that burning down hillforts was by far the easiest way to get them to surrender. He made a note to encourage men to become archers, as at the moment it was a way for the young warriors to prove themselves in battle, and after ding so they would become one of the more common axemen or spearmen. As the palisades burned, the Mumu warriors climbed further and further up the hill. After a week of constant barrage of stone and arrow, the fort surrendered, and Riley moved into the husk of the former tower. He demanded that Rí Lugaid Uí Néill convert to Christianity or be executed. He chose death. Apparently the pagan spirits were more loving than Christ. Meh, his loss. Lugaid was drowned in the Irish Sea to show the good Christians of Duiblinn that they were correct in their choice of faith, and to encourage the pagans there to become good Christians. Within a week of taking the chiefdom for himself, Mumu missionaries began to penetrate the villages there, and the Holy Trinity's influence began to spread.

"Fionnbharra! How does the new church look?" Riley asked.
"Good, Riley, good. But I have qualms with how these funds were acquired..."
"I understand, father, but they were pagans, not like us, and besides, they now believe in Jesus Christ! We are doing God's work, Fionnbharra. I will conquer the land, you convert it!"
"Yes, yes, Riley, I know. Well, at least I can sleep on a bed now!" Fionnbharra said with a laugh.
"Of course! No hay for our bishop!"
"So what do you plan to do now, Riley?"
"Well, I plan to use this gold to build great walls and docks in and around Corcaigh, and ready myself for an invasion of Chonnachta."
"Riley. You are taking this to quickly!"
"No, father, I will wait until I have built up Corcaigh to proceed with my plans. Once Chonnachta is taken and completely converted, I will once again stop and wait for my men to be ready for war again. With Donal in Dumnonia, I will have an ally to call upon. Father, i know you are the wisest man in the Ríogacht, but let me handle this, please?"
"A... Alright, Riley. But I'll still hear your confessions."
"As if that is a question! Anyway, let me show you the foundations for the walls. I read some Roman books on architecture that my great-great-great-uncle took from Londinium, and I have to say, the Romans were very smart..."

"SHIELDS!" Donal ordered. Almost two thousand men raised their wooden shields against the Dumnonian volley of arrows. After about ten seconds of iron falling from the sky, Donal screamed again.
"CHARGE! GO! GO! GO!" And almost two thousand men ran towards the Dumnonian army as quick as they could. If they could close the gap fast enough the archers wouldn't fire for fear of hitting their own troops.

They did.

One thousand nine hundred and forty seven very energetic Irishmen utterly destroyed the surprisingly lightly armored Dumnonians. Axe and sword met leather and cloth as six times as many Dumnonians died than Irish. The screams of men killing and the screams of men dying were heard in the surrounding villages, and the day left fifteen hundred Dumnonians dead with only two hundred Irishmen meeting the same fate. Donal marched into the only fortress in the region, an old Roman one that was renovated recently, and killed its metern. Donal demanded that the local bishop crown him Rí of the kingdom, and that the villages in vassalge renew their contracts but to Donal. Most did. Those who didn't were mercilessly killed.

Donal was actually a nice guy, but when it came to politics, he goes Game of Thrones on that shit.

"Seoirse*! Come here one moment! I've a very important thing to tell you." Riley yelled across the hall.
"Damnit Riley, I'm about to get some man-booty!"
Riley rolled his eyes. "Well it can wait a few minutes... you're the only person I trust to do this..."
"What? What?"
"I..." Riley began, "Need you to... Go to Róimh."
"What."
"Yeah..."
"Róimh?!"
"Yes..."
"ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE! I'LL PROBABLY DIE ON THE BOAT BEFORE WE GET TO GHAILÍS!"
"CALM THE FUCK DOWN SEOIRSE! You're the only one who isn't a priest who can speak Laidin. And there is no way I am sending a priest because the Rómhánach Church is very different from ours and they'd get destroyed if they even tried to talk religion once. You're smart, you're pretty, you can speak their fucking language, I need you to go. Bring some smart people with you, teach them Laidin, as much as you can, on the way, once you get to Róimh you'll get used to the culture, and you'll be back in a few years. Hopefully by then I can throw you a massive parade from my castle in Tara."
"You motherfucking... [i]FINE![/i} It's not like I could refuse the goddamned Rí Ruirech ANYWAY!" Seoirse said as she stormed off.

"That went well."
"Jesus Donnchadh when did you get here?!" Riley asked.
"When you said "You're smart, you're reeeeeeeeeal pretty Seoirse!""
"Yeah. She'll go though, she'll enjoy it. She'll send some pasta back home every once in a while."

*Pronounced "Sear-sha"

by **The Huskar Social Union** » Sat Jun 27, 2015 4:31 am

York, Saxon Kingdom of Deira
January 6th, 500 AD

Cyneric was seated in one of the side rooms adjoined to the central Hall in his Keep at York, here he met with his council on a regular basis to discuss current matters both at home and afar in other realms across the Isles, as well as what ever news they learned from the Continent and the powers there. Some developments had occurred over the last few days that hinted at a new era of war across the Isles, both in Britannia, and the western Island the Romans named Hibernia

"Lord Kolbjorn of East Anglia, "The Iron Reaver" as he likes to style himself, has recently struck against a Briton Border Town south of their border, the local lords are calling for war against the Heathen invaders" His Councillor, Lord Eadric informed him, as they stood by the side of the table, examining the detailed map before them.

"Typical of our Norse friends, raiding is as true to their nature as it is to ours, and the Briton lords will do nothing, they know what happened the last time they tried to strike back, when their armies were smashed in the fields near Suffolk not three years past, words, nothing more. And lord Kolbjorn is a brave man, but he is not foolish, he knows not to agitate us or threaten us" Cyneric responded "Now Tell me of the events to the west, Dublin has fallen has it not?"

"Indeed my Lord, The armies of Mumu laid siege and quickly broke through the ranks of the defenders given their vast advantage in numbers. All who did not convert to the worship of their weak Christ were put to the sword and the town sacked. We believe Lord Soto intends to either Strike towards Ulster, or to the west into Connacht and strengthen his hold"

"Let them strengthen their hold all they want, i care not what they do on that Island, as long as they do not push eastwards into the lands i have a vested interest in they can do what they want. Speaking of which, what is the status of Osgar's army?"

"Osgar has taken a continent of 1700 men and is advancing north along the River Tees, where they will cross over and make west for the hold of Rheged as are your orders, they should be in position to attack with in a week's time"

"Good, good, they have been a thorn in my side for a while now, and i grow tired of their forces probing our borders. I want them destroyed" The Britons of Rheged had long been an obstacle in Cyneric's plans for expansion, but they would trouble him no more, he had dispatched one of his best commanders to lead the attack into their lands and seize their holdings. Rheged's battles with the Picts to the north had bled their forces dry and had left them vulnerable, they would regret their forays into Saxon land soon enough.

by **Bezombia** » Sat Jun 27, 2015 6:13 am

East Chapel, Flavian Palace, Rome, Italia

Arcadius stood outside the exterior door to the impressively large chapel wearing nothing but a tunic. The door was locked, and Arcadius was admiring the handiwork of the engravings on the brass lock.
Just then, Arcadius's formal imperial Chaplain, Sillian, arrived.
"Arcadius!" he exclaimed, "You're a bit early, no? Come in, come in."
He unlocked the door and Arcadius followed him in.

"Service doesn't start for another hour you know," the chaplain said, making towards the head of the chapel.

Arcadius responded softly. "I was hoping for something a little less...formal, if you will."

Sillian understood, and they both sat down on the bench nearest the front of the chapel.

"Has something been troubling you, Arcadius?"

"To put it lightly, father," Arcadius responded, "Yes. It seems like every day I'm facing more and more problems that shouldn't even be problems at all...

Sullian offered Arcadius cider, to which he declined. He then continued, "Sometimes I don't know if I'm doing the right thing here. I've caused a lot of deaths, and although I say it's for a good cause, sometimes I'm not sure. I have brought peace and stability to the Italian kingdom, but...some days I start to think that they don't want it!"

Sullian responded carefully. "Well, Arcadius, if it's any comfort to you I can tell you that you've done wonders for the church. You've restored the holy city to its control, which is something that I'm sure God appreciates."

Arcadius wasn't pleased by this response. "What is the purpose," he said, beginning to sweat, "of being favored by the kingdom of God, if I'm hated by the kingdoms of man?"

"Well," Sullian said, "That's a question we all have to answer for ourselves, eventually. Some men spend their entire lives trying to answer it. Others yet make their choice early on, and spend their days chasing after fulfillment in that way."

"What do you think, father? Have you made your choice?"

"Indeed I have. But I'd be a terrible minister if I tried to impress that upon you."

"Point taken. Well, father, I didn't come here only to discuss theology..."

Sullian smiled, and said, "I'm well aware of that, Arcadius. You never have."

"Father, I'm about to do something that I really don't want to do. And I think that I'm not the only one who'd disapprove."

Sullian leaned back a bit, entirely unsure of what would come out of Arcadius's mouth next.

"It's something that I can't avoid doing, but I know that both man and God will curse my name for it," Arcadius said, almost panting at this point.

Sullian leaned forward again and folded his hands. "Let me tell you a story, Arcadius. I was in Constantinople once, many many years ago. I was on a mission to help the poor there, but that's unimportant. When I was in Constantinople, I saw the most pious man on earth, and the least. During my time in the lower parts of the city, I witnessed a man and a woman, happily married. The woman left their small hut, for what reason I do not know. Upon taking less than ten steps outside her door, she was attacked by a brute in the street, who had his way with her right there in front of her house. I, being but a priest at the time, did nothing but watch on in horror. The woman's husband ran out of the house carrying what I believe was a horseshoe and beat the brute's head into the street for almost ten minutes. By the time he was done with him, there was barely anything left.
Sullian sighed pensively, and then continued. "It was a horrible sight. But somehow, deep in my soul, I knew that God had looked away when the man picked up the horseshoe. Somehow, I think God condoned him."

Arcadius fully understood what Sullian was trying to tell him. "Thank you father, I cannot tell you how much you've helped me today."
They both rose and, shaking hands, Arcadius began to leave. Sullian called out after him just as he opened the door.

"Maybe next time you'll take me up on that cider!"

by **Sasutary Island** » Sat Jun 27, 2015 6:29 am

Cherbourg, Duchy of Normandy
6th January, 500AD

The docks were packed with Coracles and Currachs and Galleys, lined up along the shore, moored by a single rope. There were various goods loaded aboard the boats, some of which were to help the Normans in their conquest of Kent. The soldiers numbered 6,970, most of them the sons of former Roman legionnaires. Their equipment was of Imperial origin, either captured or remade. Clearly, the military's fantasies to restore the Roman Empire did not die with the final breath of the Western empire. The city of Cherbourg was walled, wooden palisades with a stone wall as the last barrier from the Barbarian hordes. Even then, the imposing keep, atop a bluff overlooking the English channel is a city in itself. With various other materials essential in the preservation of an empire in the making, the ships were bound for the Kentish coast, where they would make landfall and besiege the city of Portsmouth, the capital of the 'Kingdom' of Sussex.

Leading the army was Liam himself, placing his cousin Maximillian the Grey as regent. The Duke had never seen combat outside of the small engagements with barbarians in Normandy. The Romans having left Britain in 410 AD, the Islanders would, potentially, be better equipped than the barbaric Germanic tribes beyond the Rhine. A rallying call with a trumpet, and the boats set off. The swift wind, sharp drizzle and high waves, all regular to the English channel, were expertly traversed with the help of English guides. The bells of the Cherbourg cathedral rang out in the distance, as the ambitious Duke sets his eyes on abit of Nation-building.

[I don't know what else to post about]

by **Altito Asmoro** » Sat Jun 27, 2015 6:33 am

January, 500 AD
King Alfarinn Arnason

Kingdom of Island

Kingdom of Island had been independent for almost 70 years, and in these years peace is not an option. A pretender rose up, claimed to be the real "son" of his father, in which his claim was quickly crushed as Arnason, Alfarinn's father, only had one wife and one son, which is him. He has troops, but his troop size is small compared to Alfarinn's troops. The pretender is not even gaining support and losing his troops' loyalties.

On the other side, he faces relationship problems with his fellow Norse kingdoms across the sea. On the bright side, it takes time for them to come here, to Island. But in the end, he began to prepared his kingdom for what coming.

by **Aelex** » Sat Jun 27, 2015 11:32 am

The sun was still low on the sky and the odor of the dew was strong in the forest in this wintery morning. A one thousand and half frankish soldiers were aligned in approximative ranks. Most of them were simple peasants who had been took away from their fields and who were wearing only a scythe or a pitchfork, when it wasn't a mere stick, as only weapon.
Tribal chiefs and Lords, some at foots others riding horses, were turning around them encouraging them, threatening them, shouting for them to form up, to make a line with their spears and scythes and sharpened hoes, to stand their ground.

Breaking the calm silence, a dull rumor could be heard in the distance, growing louder and louder and louder. Emerging from the plain and heading toward the Frankish, 600 heavily armored men and horses were charging hell for leather.
The commanders repeated their speechs to the soldiers a last time, ordering them to be brave and strongs, before retreating behind them.
As the earth was shaking under the gallop of the Gallic cavalry, the footmen could do nothing but to wait for the wave of iron and steel which was charging them and to tighten their gripe onto their makeshift weapons.

Leading the vanguard despite his advanced age, Syagrius, when he was near enough to be able to see the face of the men he was charging drawed his sword and yelled to his men “ EQUITES! CONCURSUS ET AD CLADEM !” (Cavalry! Charge and give no quarter!). To his order, his men responded by shouting even louder as they were piercing the ranks.
As Syagrus himself was making his way through the men by slashing again and again, he could saw that the footmen were already breaking under the charge and that some of them were fleeing, trying to escape and to save their life.
But, the lighter cavalry lead by Alexius, the son and heir of Syagrius, had flanked the battlefield and was now pursuing the deserters, slaying them and barring them from escaping.

Three hour later, as the encampment had been set up and the Vultures had finished the wounded Franks , Syagrius was talking in his tent with his son when a man eventually arrived carrying a two heads, as he entered, he knelled before presenting the still bloody skulls to them.
“We lost 51 men, Dux; the man sayed; we don't know how much men exactly the Frankish lose but it should be around one thousand! We bring you the heads of their leaders, as you ordered us.”
Syagrius stared at the head intensely, a grin of satisfaction appeared in his face but he remained silencious; after some time, Alexius waved his hand toward the servitor, making him sign to leave.
Then, he sayed “So... It seem that we killed the last two half-brother of Theodoric.”
“Indeed; the old man replied; which mean that with them dead, the Francia is definitely our.”
Alexius frowned skeptically his elbows “Well, as long as Theodoric don't regard too much the fact that we're stealing his lands and don't try to reclaim it...”
Syagrius laughed at Alexius's concern “Don't worry too much about your nephew my son, he won't be a problem. Plus, you were a magnificent commander today; so there are no needs to fret yourself, instead, we should celebrate this great victory!”
Saying this, he took a pot nearby, poured wine in a cup and handed it to him.

by **Actan** » Sat Jun 27, 2015 4:35 pm

North of Sarmatia, Slavic lands

ATTACK!!!

Sarmatian horsemen fell upon a small mass of peasantry. Wielding simple spears and wooden shields made from the local trees, they had been call by their local despotic chieftain into service. The arrogant braggart had refused the demands of Azos, King of all Sarmatia, conqueror of tribes, and destroyer of peoples. He had refused to listen to the lamentations of his people and neighboring arrogant chiefs, all of whom could attest to Azos's brutality to resistance.

As he rode up to the carnage, careful to avoid actual fighting so his Kingdom did not lose him, he reflected on the small tribe. North of Sarmatia, they had been called Slavs, at least by the Romans, whose alphabet was adopted by the Sarmatian clergy and nobility. The men would be killed, the woman forced into slavery and children turned into Sarmatians. Alas, he did not enjoy such conquest, but Azos knew that he could brook no mercy lest the legion of Slavic tribes to the north, east, and west grew too arrogant to recognize his rule.

As the fighting died down and his men had their fun with looting the corpses, part of their payment for fighting, he unsheathed his sword to call attention to all of them. The chieftain was thus brought forth from his small fort, a tiny building compardd to the other Azos had sacked many times before, including ancient Roman temples in Dacia.

Forced too his knees, crying, he watched as his family was brought into Sarmatian custody. His wife would likely become a concubine for one of the nobles who participated in the battle, while his children would be imprisoned, and forced to formally cede their lands to Azos. After that, they were at his mercy.

Unsaddling his horse, Azos took his sword and placed it on the Slav's neck. He didn't speak whatever tongue this chieftain did, and he didn't particularly care what he had to say. He quickly chopped his head off, grabbed it and displayed it to his men as they cheered.

"Now, on tot he next one!"

Crusader Kings: Blood of the Sacrament [IC]

Crusader Kings: Blood of the Sacrament [IC]

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