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Strala
Minister
 
Posts: 2497
Founded: Oct 25, 2017
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Strala » Mon Nov 19, 2018 9:39 pm

Imperialisium wrote:Meeting of Uri, Unterwalden, and Schwyz April, 1018AD The letter from the von Radnitz had been received by both the ruling families of Uri and Unterwalden, and naturally a reciprocal letter was returned in a matter of days. The von Ulrichs of Uri and the von Unterwalden's were the most powerful magnates in both respective cantons. Naturally, they would be the ones to represent the various landlords in both cantons. For both cantons were less centrally governed than Schwyz. Instead, Uri and Unterwalden were divided up into various baronies. With the Von Ulrichs and Unterwaldens holding the titles of Freiherr. Each holding the majority of the land and holding the most Knights in fief to them, naturally. As such, they arrived in Stan at the head of their own coteries of Knights and attendants. Each one bringing a dozen horse and an equal number of attendant servants for the meeting.
Stan like much of Switzerland was a small village surrounded by teaming, tall, snow-capped mountains. Thick dark forests or rolling hills with sheep and cattle grazing upon them. A few fishermen boats plied the waters near the village. Fishing in the lakes and ponds for the cold water fish that made such places their abode. Both parties waited in the center of the village. The village alderman having a table and chairs rushed out while both parties dismounted and waited.

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The Forest Canton of Schwyz
April 1018

Various smaller families with their personal retinue of knights and men-at-arms were lined up before the walls of the Von Radnitz castle. The banners of several feudal lords along with their personal coat of arms were fluttering due to the wind(there were around 10 flags as when Weilheim counted.) There were 100 knights of the Von Radnitz family,200 men-at-arms and their 200 personal guards were all present. The total number of men gathered were over 1000 men, among them, were over 300 knights, around 500 men-at-arms, and the 200 guards. The spirits and the morale of the gathered men were undoubtedly high. This was the realms military's backbone and the Von Radnitz family had mustered over half of them as a show of force towards the other representatives of Uri and Unterwalden. While they might assume that Schwyz wanted to talk about making a trade deal or something else along that route, what Weilheim had set out to accomplish was much greater. He was seeking the Unifications of the Forest Cantons either by making an alliance or annexing Uri and Unterwalden.

"My Lord, I have counted and your army has gathered and we are ready to march," yelled the marshal of the Schwyz force, Fredrich Von Werner, who for this occasion donned his old armor. "My Lord, the numbers are accounted for and none of your vassals are absent, even your brothers had mustered the guards of their estates." The various smaller lords seeing and hearing no reply broke into idle chatter. The nobles of the realm saw this as a chance to create more allies and to stay off the Von Radnitz's strike list. Fredrich instead of socializing with the other lords instead turned around and inspected the troops and gave a speech towards the knights about winning land and glory.

Weilheim stepped out after Fredrich had finished his speech. He himself was dressed in a suit of ring mail (Chain-mail) Hauberk, mail coif, a nasal helm, and a mail aventail. "My Vassals, I apologize for appearing at such a late time, we shall set out for Stan in ten minutes. As many of you know or have heard, my father, Heinrich Von Radnitz had united the various houses of Schwyz under the banner of the Von Radnitz family. Many of your houses have suffered and had lost land to my family. Today will be the day that you shall regain your honor, for this is the start of a greater Schwyz. I have called for a meeting among our fellow forest cantons of Uri and Unterwalden. What they don't know is that I, no rather WE will either force them to join us by force or by peace. The choice is theirs, but we all know that the peaceful option will be beneficial for us both." Weilheim paused as he walked over towards the assembled lords. "By uniting the cantons we shall double our land, population, and increase our military might. My goal and the goal that I want my descendants to strive for is the unification of every Canton of Switzerland. Only this way will we truly make our name known to the powers of the World. As a measly state with a total population of 80,000 do you think that the Byzantine to the East, The Franks to our west and the various Italian duchies and city-states have heard of us? No, they have not, but if we expand and conquer, they will learn of us and the amount of power we wield." When he finished, Weilheim mounted his stallion and his men followed, this would mark either the rise or fall of the Canton of Schwyz.

The ride to Stan was a merry thing. The lords talked among themselves while their knights and men-at-arms were talking to men of equal standing in the other baronies of the Canton. Weilheim himself, however, decided not to talk and rather appreciate the beauty of their surroundings. Men that grew up in the hills and valleys of Switzerland might find it unappealing to the eye and would rather be in a big city like Prague or Constantinople, to outsiders this would be considered not beautiful, but pleasing. The mountains, hills, and forests of Switzerland had never lost their beauty nor appeal in the eyes of Weilheim. After staring at the scenery for a decent amount of time he turned towards his marshal and uncle-like figure, "Fredrich, do you believe that these mountains, hills, and forests were a gift from God to us to ease our suffering? Is Switzerland a place of great beauty and strength? Our people fought the Romans, and while we lost we still gained the gifts of writing and literature. Do you, Fredrich truly believe that our people are blessed with a land as great as this?"

"My Lord, I believe in everything that you said. I also believe that your family shall be written in history as the unifier of Switzerland. Your nephew I believe unlike your useless brothers should be taught in the ways of war, jurisprudence, and theology and not sent off to some far off empire or noble house to learn useless things. Emperor Justinian the first grew up as a peasant and yet he became an Emperor and he also regained much of the former lands of the Empire!" Fredrich replied. Weilheim agreed with Fredrich for he himself wanted his nephew to learn from the troops and the talented men that he hired in his court instead of some useless noble.

When he finally arrived at the village of Stans, he noticed that both the Von Ulrichs and the Von Unterwaldens had already arrived. Seeing the size of their respective retinues Weilheim felt as this was a blessing by the gods. He had assumed that they like himself would bring a sizeable force to demonstrate their power, but as it seems they hadn't thought of that option. Before riding into the village itself he took with him his marshal Fredrich, and several of his larger vassals. The of rest of his band was stationed outside of the village. The villagers themselves were shocked and surprised to see the number of knights that had gathered. They were peasants, and unlike the canton of Schwyz, Uri and Unterwalden weren't as heavily centralized. Weilheim firmly seated himself before addressing the other two men. "Good day gentlemen, as I had written to you earlier this year, I have come to discuss with about many things. My nephew has been born so I will no longer have to worry about an heir, but that isn't the point gentlemen. I have come here to ask you whether your willing to join the Canton of Schwyz. This is not an alliance per se as you will have to answer to the Canton of Schwyz but with this, I am willing to centralize your personal cantons. You will join Schwyz, but you won't lose your current positions. In simple terms gentlemen like the holy roman empire, the Von Radnitz family would be the "Emperors" but your families and land will still belong to you and you will continue to rule like before. This will beneficial as this will strengthen our economy and military, by several times."
Last edited by Strala on Mon Nov 19, 2018 9:41 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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Ralioskener
Diplomat
 
Posts: 653
Founded: Jan 22, 2016
Ex-Nation

Postby Ralioskener » Tue Nov 20, 2018 6:17 am

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The Margraviate of Tuscany
Florence, April 1018 Anno Domini



Reading the letter was quite amusing. The Italian republics were quite ambitious, and a quick, cut to the chase deal was something the Margrave needed.
To Doge Simone of Genoa,

Then we shall meet at the former royal palace at Lucca, with the Doge of Pisa in a weeks' time. Rest assured we will come to an agreement that will suit all our interests.

God's Grace,
Anton Von Lichtenstein, Margrave of Tuscany

To the Honorable Doge Gian of Pisa,

As my vassal, I order you to join me and Doge Simone of Genoa at the royal palace in Lucca to resolve the disputes in Corsica. The meeting will take place in a weeks' time. It would be most beneficial for you to attend, as you will be given the option to directly give Genoa your offer at the diplomatic table. Hopefully we may find a peaceful agreement.

God's Grace,
Anton Von Lichtenstein, Margrave of Tuscany

After sending the letters, Anton called up his weekly meeting with his council and advisors. Gathering around a large table, with him at the head, Anton stood up to speak.

"Ser Galeazzo, has the Duke of Lotharingia replied to my letter?" he asked his diplomat. "No, my lord." was the reply.

"Hm. And Ser Paguia, what is happening around the peninsula these days?"

"Well my lord, word is that France is preparing to invade Otto-William of Burgundy, who recently became the king of Arelat by Imperial decree. Chaos has been erupting in Sardinia, and none of our information is clear on the exact details. Finally, the Norman king in Sicilia is looking for a wife."

"Interesting. I want agents inside Sardinia, and let them funnel information back here. The island may be of use to us in the future, and I would not want it falling to Islam or the Veneziani. That is all for this morning, Sers."

The councilors began to leave the meeting room. For now this would do. Not much happening in Europe was of a concern for him. But still, as he looked out at his domains from his palace balcony, he could feel that something big was about to take Italy by storm...
Last edited by Ralioskener on Tue Nov 20, 2018 7:26 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Toaslandia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1315
Founded: Apr 29, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Toaslandia » Tue Nov 20, 2018 6:39 am

Doge Simone had received the letter from Tuscany and handed it to Olinda Baldi. "Those men I sent you to hire are to follow me at a safe distance until we reach the palace. If the negotiations fail, I want the Doge of Pisa dead." She bowed and went off to prepare her men. But Doge Simone sat down once again to write a letter to his southern neighbor, the King of Sicily.
Dear Noble King Rainulf,
I write to you to propose a marriage between me and a noblewoman in your court. If you accept this humble offer, it would mean an alliance with my republic of Genoa, but I will not take offense if you deny my request as you are a busy man.
His serenity, Doge Simone of Genoa
Founder of The United Imperial Provinces and proud colonizer of space!

A class 1.181 civilization according to this index

Just a Socialist trying to live in Trump America

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Imperialisium
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 13572
Founded: Apr 17, 2011
Democratic Socialists

Postby Imperialisium » Tue Nov 20, 2018 6:59 pm

Image

Meeting of Schwyz, Uri, and Unterwalden
April, 1018AD

The meeting of the Forest Cantons did not go as one would expect from the start. The Von Radnitz arriving with much of their own army as a show of force did indeed have the effect of taking the lords of the other two cantons aback. Both looking at each other with raised eyebrows would their men murmured behind them. Some gripped the hilts of their swords ready to draw them. Some looked about warily as if expecting an ambush. Others simply frowned and kept silent. As the head of the Von Radnitz family spoke, giving his pitch, on a unification of the Forest Cantons politically they both squinted. "So, the Von Radnitz's ask for a meeting and come and bring swords to dinner. This is not honorable of you boy." said Von Ulrich. Who was at least fifteen years Von Radnitz's senior. Von Unterwalden remained silent until his compatriot was finished. "You are no Emperor and we are not ones to simply bend our backs for anyone to lord over us in such a manner." Von Unterwalden stepped forward a couple paces. Mail jingling. "You ask us much but provide promises which may well and truly be empty. We need to know that our rights will not be violated. More than just your word." Von Ulrich shot his counterpart a glare. "You cannot be serious." stammered Von Ulrich. "Despite my misgivings Von Radnitz is right about Switzerland being a backwater. Individually we are just ants below the great lords of the surrounding Duchies and Kingdoms. Like the Von Zahringen's to our North! They could win a war if they wanted one." finished Von Unterwalden. Von Unterwalden flicked his head at a squire who soon put some parchment, quills, and an inkpot on the wooden table in the town square.

"Come Von Radnitz. Lets see if your legislation is as good as your showmanship!" Von Unterwalden moved and sat down at the table. His mail armor jingled as he sat down. Undoing the leather strap under his chin he removedh is nasal helm and coif. Leaving only his leather cap on. Von Ulrich frowned heavily but marched over and took a second seat. Crossing his arms and not removed his own helm either.

Heinrich II, Holy Roman Emperor, Duke of Bavaria
Late April, 1018AD


The daily missives came and went. Petitions, decrees, dispatches, and personal letters came and went to and from from the Palace complex at Grona. One such letter that stayed for a rather long time however was that of the Frankish King. Robert naturally was quite irked at Otto-William becoming King of Arelat (Arles). Truthfully, Heinrich II had done so on purpose, and had got the expected reaction. This caused him to release a slight smile. He had been disgraced in Italy after the defeat of Imperial forces by the Byzantines own Imperial Army. A war of Imperial control over Southern Italy that saw it stay with the Romans. Further, Heinrich knew that so long as Basil lived he was unlikely to recover from such a defeat to return the favor on the Bulgar-Slayer. The Byzantines were strong and centralized now. So he needed to pursue claims elseware. One such location was the question of the Burgundian territories.

Burgundy was a land divided. On one side of the border you had the Kingdom of Arelat which comprised the Burgundian territories in the Holy Roman sphere of influence along with the Duchy of Provence. On the French side of the border you had the Burgundian territories which de jure were once part of the Kingdom of Burgundy, also known as the Kingdom of Lotharingia, which had been long partitioned by the kingdoms of Germany and France. Heinrich however did not like the notion of Burgundian territories of such strategic value being under the at least nominal rule of Robert. He viewed them as rightly belonging to his sphere of influence. So picking up the quill he began to pen his reply,

Robert, King of the Franks
Otto-William may not have been borne to the late Duke Henry. But he was adopted and legitimized none-the-less by Henry. For if he was not then would not the late Duke replace him or appoint thee? I cannot strip Otto-William of his title so flippantly. So I cannot name thee King of Arelat nor reclaim the title so. I ask that the King of the Franks respect the de jure territories of that crown and all of its rights, privileges, and responsibilities therein. Your dispute is with Otto-William, not me, for I may only lord over my vassals as my rights and obligations demand of me.

Signed,
Heinrich II, Emperor of the Romans


Early May, 1018AD
Kingdom of Arelat (Arles)
The proclamation of Otto-William had gone with fanfare and festivities within the Kingdom of Arelat. Banquets, parades, and even a tourney in Arles had been held for the occasion. While the official coronation had occured on April 29th by the Bishop of Arles. Yet, while all of this bright atmosphere occured within Arelat a rider had ridden hard from that realm into the Kingdom of France. Covering the distance to Paris in eight days and exchanging horses twice. The rider arriving in Paris to nearly fall from his tired steed. The local guards and constabulary having to lower him onto a chair, give food and drink lest he faint, while a stable boy led the horse away. An hour later the letter would make it's way to the King. In it was a short and simply declaration that the Burgundian territories within France would be renouncing their vassalage for that of Otto-William. As declared by Otto-William by invoking his de jure rights.

But, as with all things de jure and the lands changing hands over time. Several of the Burgundian Barons had not agreed to this. Simply biding their time to see who drew the first blade. As such Otto-Williams small declaration was little more than a reminder, a thorn as you would, in Robert's side that the crown of Arelat rests on his cousins head and not his. But did either King know this? No. Only time would tell how many of the Burgundian lords rallied to whom.
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Of the Quendi
Post Marshal
 
Posts: 15447
Founded: Mar 18, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Of the Quendi » Wed Nov 21, 2018 8:42 am

Al-Andalus
The City of Córdoba
The Caliphate of Córdoba


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The Black Standard of the True Caliphs




Muhammad ibn Muhammad II al-Mansur bi-llah

Dhu al-Hijjah 13, 408 / May 2, 1018





Al-Mansur's hands was shaking slightly as he took the parchment. "From Soraya?" He asked incredulously. The young Jewish man before him, nodded respectfully. "Yes my prince." Al-Mansur apprehensively unfolded the parchment. He had not spoken to Soraya since the day he had given her his poem, his ghazal. He did not relish telling her of his impending nuptials with a kafir countess of Barcelona.

The parchment contained a ghazal. Reading it al-Mansur blushed. The verses and the lyrics of the poem was of a quality fully equal to that of the great classics that al-Mansur read. Although he had poured his heart and soul into the poem he had written Soraya it had been by comparison and uncouth, primitive and immature text. Had she not said that she was illiterate? How came it to pass that she could write poetry the like of which Ibn Abd Rabbih or Mariam bint Abu Ya'qub Ashshilbi would have not been ashamed to be attributed? Poetry at once gentle and demure, as one would expect from a young woman's hand, and at the same time direct and clear. Amazed al-Mansur looked at the Jew. "Thank you ..." Said the prince.

The Jew nodded once more, a nod that was almost a bow. "Sh'muel ibn an-Naghrilah is my name my prince, I serve Zawi ibn Ziri as a tax collector amongst my people." The Jew said. Al-Mansur nodded curtly. "How came you to possess this missive too me from Soraya?" Al-Mansur spoke accusatorially feeling a tinge of jealousy. The Jew was handsome enough to look upon, healthy with no discernible ailments. He was older than al-Mansur, but by no more than a decade. The Jew, surprised by the harsh tone in al-Mansur's voice, looked up at him apprehensively. Then he smirked. "Prince, I came by it, because I wrote it. Your love was despairing of the fact that she lacked the skills to respond to the poem you penned her, so she enlisted my services."

Al-Mansur blushed and smiled sheepishly. His love, the Jew had said? Did he love Soraya? Did she love him? Al-Mansur forgot his jealousy.

There was no time to process the news, or read the ghazal more thoroughly. Al-Mansur was wanted in the reception hall of Abd ar-Rahman III. "Come with me Jew, this conversation is not at an end yet." Al-Mansur barked imperiously at the tax collector, who promptly bowed and followed al-Mansur as he marched back into the reception hall.

It was filled to the brim, it seemed there was hardly a courtier, advisor, scholar, soldier or bureaucrat of any of the five nations of Muhammad II al-Mahdi's great empire that hadn't come, bidden or unbidden to the grand reception hall that day. But there was no women, nor children present, nor was foreign envoys and ambassadors, merchants or mercenaries (but for a few heathens from the faraway lands of the uttermost north who sailed under the Caliph's banner, raiding the lands of his enemies) present in the hall. Such people had no place at a war council, which was what the reception hall hosted on that day.

The atmosphere in the room was heated. The Arabs, the Berbers and the Muladi, never able to agree on anything, were all incensed by the news from Sardinia that had reached the court the day before. Al-Mansur shared in the outrage, though he was level-headed enough to desire to know all the facts. So far the hearsay and speculation that had reached Medina Azahara was less than compelling. But much of the court had little interest in waiting.

At the centre of the grand reception hall the caliph sat on a divan surrounded by his most trusted court officials chiefly the powerful hajib Zawi ibn Ziri. Ibn Ziri rose and raised his hands to calm the almost tumultuous court. "Brothers." The hajib spoke loudly to drown out the murmurs and angry rumblings from especially his own warlike and unrefined Berber people. "Be silent that I may tell you what we know, what our trusted Mujahid al-Amiri of Denia report." Spoke the hajib holding up a letter.

The reception hall fell almost quiet. Ibn Ziri cleared his throat and began; "Thus writes the Emir of Denia. On the 28th day of the month of Dhu al-Qidah; the Christian people of Santa Igia came in the dead of night, with swords and torches to the town of Caralis, a town of Muslim believers, and unprovoked they did lay waste to it. They slaughter the men, ravished the women and enslaved the children. They desecrated the mosques and defiled the Qurans and they did blaspheme against the name of Allah."

Ibn Ziri's words, delivered in an angry voice was greeted by roars of fury from the court. The warlike Berbers, the refined Arabs, even the peaceable Muladi all shouted in fury. A primal guttural growl escaped al-Mansur himself. The Jew besides him seemed unimpressed, even if rumor had it that many Jews had been slaughtered in Caralis. "Was it not Caralis ..." The tax collector mused so quietly that only al-Mansur could hear it. "That not one year ago rebuffed the envoys of the Caliph who asked the town to acknowledge Muhammad II of the Banu Umayya, not Al-Qadir of the Banu Hashim, as the true Caliph of Islam, and denied the request for the ships of the Caliph to dock at Caralis when raiding Christian lands? I recall many spoke then of war, not in the name of Caralis but against it." The Jew spoke.

Al-Mansur gave the man a cold look and was about to give a very sharp reply to the man's cynicism. But something within al-Mansur stayed the reply. Was there some truth to the man's words? "Muslims was slaughtered Jew." Al-Mansur growled. "That they held to the false caliph of Baghdad and did not allow pirates to dock their port is not cause to ignore their plight. Their failings notwithstanding they are brothers in the true faith. I don't expect you to understand such things." The young prince declared concealing the fact that the words of the Jew had effected him. Al-Mansur vividly remembered his mother's fury against Caralis, she had actually cursed the city to perish in flames, and many had shared the sentiment.

But it didn't matter now. The court was at boiling point. Everyone had heard the rumors of heinous crimes committed against Caralis and now a prominent Emir of the Caliphate's coastal provinces confirmed them. The court clamored for war and the past antagonisms with Caralis was forgotten. Al-Mansur ignored the Jew's unpleasantly incisive observations and turned toward his father.

Caliph Muhammad II al-Mahdi rose slowly from his seat, looking out at his court. A strong leader he was not. His personal reign had been one of peace, but this stemmed not from Muhammad II's strength but rather from his fear of empowering his generals or loosing control over his troops. His greatest achievements was restoring the direct rule of Banu Umayya after the reign of Almanzor and his son's, and establishing a strong army based at Córdoba designed, not to expand the border of the empire, but to prevent it from being overthrown or usurped by its own Berber mercenary armies. Now al-Mansur realized that his father, if he did not commit to avenge Caralis would cause the very rebellion against his authority he had spent his entire reign fearing for. If the Caliph demanded peace when Christians burned a Muslim city, his support would fade away.

Abandonning his Jewish interlocutor al-Mansur made his way towards the dais where his father and ibn Ziri stood. "Father!" The young prince called out to the Caliph. The Caliph and the hajib turned with surprise towards al-Mansur. "Do not let this stand, avenge Caralis. Call a Jihad." Al-Mansur implored his father. The call for Jihad was repeated with raucous enthusiasm from all the Muslim courtiers in the reception hall. Ibn Ziri nodded approvingly. And so did the Caliph. Slowly and ponderously, but also determinedly. "Jihad." He roared, and for a moment al-Mansur thought he saw a glimpse of the man who had arrested Sanchuelo and raised seven thousand men of Córdoba to depose the House of Almanzor. The court roared the word with their Caliph.

Al-Mansur stepped closer to his father and the hajib. As the court clamored for war, a small group around the Caliph and hajib calmly moved the discussion ahead. "al-Amiri asks permission to prepare a fleet to attack the Sardinians Lord." Ibn Ziri declared. "Granted." The immediate and decisive response came from the Caliph. Now that the decision was made he seemed to be energized. "Father." Al-Mansur spoke once more. "Aye, my son?" The Caliph replied.

Al-Mansur took a deep breath. "I ask permission to join al-Amiri, a prince of the Banu Umayya ought be there to show the Muslim faithful of the West that Banu Umayya remembers them when Banu Hashim and the al-Fatimi does not." Al-Mansur said. The Caliph pondered this, while ibn Ziri smirked. "It might delay your nuptials my prince." The hajib sarcastically remarked. Al-Mansur gave the man a deathly glare. The Caliph looked unhappy, but then he nodded once more. "Aye, you shall go my son. Crush the foes of Allah in the name of the Banu Umayya, inshallah." He declared.
Nation RP name
Arda i Eruhíni (short form)
Alcarinqua ar Meneldëa Arda i Eruhíni i sé Amanaranyë ar Aramanaranyë (long form)

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Lendenburgh
Envoy
 
Posts: 268
Founded: Nov 16, 2014
Democratic Socialists

Postby Lendenburgh » Wed Nov 21, 2018 7:15 pm

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The Duchy of Provence, House de Genève

Gloire à Dieu, au Duc et à tout son royaume



Massalia, Provence
May, 1018 AD
Ramirus had taken up residence in a large home within the city walls, the closer he could be to his people, the better. But, the situation was temporary to say the least. The Kaiser had a caravan of gold destined for Provence in order to finance the construction of a new castle for Ramirus to continue his reign in.

Though favorable news had reached the duke from both Paris and the Imperial throne, the news of what was happening between the two was much less pleasant. It appeared that a succession war was imminent for the Kingdom of Arles, which Provence resided in. Upon receiving the news, Ramirus had called a diet of the largest landholders in the realm as well as the most trusted of his advisors to discuss the proper course of action on such a sensitive matter.

Royal robes floated ever so slightly behind Ramirus as he thundered down the stairs of the home from the living quarters into the main room. His advisors had already assembled per his instruction, and, finding the familiar face of his friend Silvan put him at ease. The Chancellor of the realm was also in attendance, along with two powerful landholders: the Prince-Bishop of Castellane, and the count of Avignon. The support of these two landholders was absolutely critical to Ramirus even gaining his seat as duke in the first place, and their counsel would be necessary for any major decision the realm would make.

"Alright, how do we balance our interests between the French and our liege lord?" Ramirus asked, cutting straight to the point.

The Chancellor, Chameiur, began to speak "I believe-"

"Proclaim yourself King of Arles," Silvan stated boldly, interjecting the old Chancellor.

"Silvan, don't you think that might be a jump that the duchy is not ready to take?"

The Prince-Bishop shifted forward in his seat, "If God has seen it fit to bestow you the position of duke, then I see no reason why you wouldn't have a holy claim to the Kingdom as well. For, it has only truly existed in title for many years now. The lord has found no ruler to actually sit in Arles itself, and you are the liege of most of its territory."

Silvan continued the Bishop's endorsement, "You're a great conqueror, Ramirus. Nobody else could tame the counts of Provence as you have. It is your destiny to be something more than duke!"

Ramirus took a minute to contemplate the praise he was receiving. Of course, he did not buy his friend's or the Bishop's bunkum about fate and the lord's prophecy of his rulership. It was more the Prince-Bishop who put him on a throne than God himself after all. But, maybe they did have a point. The lands of Arles were vast, but he was the single largest controller within its de jure limits. Perhaps, he could convince the Kaiser to acknowledge his de facto claim on the Kingdom.

"Count Giles, with your blessing, I will lay claim to the throne of Arles. Without it, we will continue on our current course of action."

Count Giles, the most powerful man in the room, who supplied the duke with a great amount of his levy and revenue from taxation, looked the duke in the eye, "Ramirus, I believe that today is not the time."

Silvan appeared to be on the cusp of opening his mouth again, prompting Ramirus to hold up his hand. As much as he appreciated his friend's support, there were much more important matters at play in this dance.

Nodding to Ramirus, the count continued, "It is sensible, even reasonable, that one day you would lay claim to the whole of the Arelat. However, the realm is still fractured and divided. You rule the duchy from a house in the town for the moment. We are about to go to the court in Paris to accept a bride for you. Laying claim to a throne that the King of France considers to be his and his alone would be political ineptitude. We must bide our time, but I believe the crown could be in your future."

With the count's speech finished. The Prince-Bishop, Ramirus, and Giles respectfully bowed to each other and the parties left the home of the duke. Ramirus signaled for the Chancellor to stay behind.

"Chameiur, I would like you to make arrangements for myself, the Count of Avignon, and Silvan to go to Paris. I would like to leave in a few days in order to make it there in time for the meeting." The Chancellor nodded to the duke and excused himself from the home. Ramirus heaved a sigh at the mess of politics he found himself in.

He took a quill into his hand at his writing desk, and penned a letter to the French king.

King Robert II,
I am honored to come to your court. Myself and an entourage will be setting out from Massalia in but a few days, and we
eagerly await our meeting on the 25th.

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Pasong Tirad
Postmaster-General
 
Posts: 11949
Founded: May 31, 2007
Democratic Socialists

Postby Pasong Tirad » Wed Nov 21, 2018 8:46 pm

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Emirate of Milan
امارة ميلانو
il-Mellieħa
May, 1018




He had never understood how his luck turned so well. A galley, to be manned easily by a hundred oarsmen, with room for up to sixty other men - marines and whatnot. It was like God Himself came down to bestow upon him a better life than plying the sea route to Mahdia and Tunis. It wasn't a bad life, but he wanted more. And so, when the beautiful dromon-like galley came into Melliena, offering to sell what looked like a new, freshly-painted ship for his rickety old trading vessel, he accepted it in a heartbeat. The Italian-sounding captain was eager to dispose of his ship, with no other reasons given other than "it's not financially viable" for him to keep two galleys. So, with barely any coin passing in between them, the Italian left with a decrepit boat. The Maltese man, now a captain, was overjoyed at the prospect of having outsmarted an Italian for his ship. They had left in such a hurry that they even forgot to take some of their equipment with them. Several Italian swords, shields, and spears were left in the galley's hold, along with a flag that the new captain didn't recognize of a golden lion with wings. He didn't even think twice about it because of the small pouch full of gold that the Italian forgot to bring with him. It told the Maltese two things: that the Italians were rich, and that there was a way for him to exploit this wealth. And so, he began to spread the word to his neighbors and to people in neighboring villages: he was going to raid.

But he could not go to Sicily to do this. The emir's fleet just a month ago was repulsed by the Sunnis on the Sicilian island and, seeing as how almost the whole fleet that went to Syracuse was wiped out, the emir was banning any raid on Sicilian ships or Sicilian soil owing to a treaty that granted them a year of peace, and some light Sicilian protection from other outside actors. So, the Maltese captain believed that he had to go further north. Go past Sicily, further north, and sail along the Italian coast until they could load the ship. But a local settlement wouldn't be wealthy enough. He would have to hit a more valuable target: trading ships. Specifically, trading ships carrying the flag he found in his galley, the lion with the wings. That would be a rich haul, considering the state of the galley he was basically given.

He began flying the emir's colors as he left Maltese waters: a plain white flag with the shahada in black lettering on it. Everybody had to know. They were Maltese, and they were to be feared. That setback with the Sicilians was a fluke. They were still a terrifying force to be reckoned with in the Mediterranean. He had a hundred oarsmen and thirty marines on his deck. It should be enough to handle any force a paltry trading ship could dish out. They had space for twenty to thirty slaves plus whatever loot they can carry back from the ships they attack. Nobody need die if the ships they raid were to comply.

It takes two days to sail to Sicily from Malta, and it took him and his crew another eight days of rowing and sailing to get into proper Byzantine waters. They had no quarrel with the Romans, and were thus left alone, but the large dromons the Romans plied the Italian waters with did keep their distance. They were too dangerous to attack. Naples was Roman land, and they were close to Roman waters. They wouldn't even be able to make it to Sicily alive.

But on the eleventh day, their crew spotted several sails. Small ships carrying the flag of the winged lion, just like the banner he saw. It was a perfect target. They looked to be no more than a couple lightly-armed trading vessels. They wouldn't be able to outrun the galley, and they would be loaded with valuables that the Maltese crew can steal. "Marines! Up! We have a target, let's get rich!" the captain said, getting his men excited. He hoisted the Maltese flag high, raised the sails, and set his rowers to work. They were perhaps a little under an hour away from the convoy. They were stags in the forest, and he was the hunter with a bow - easy prey, easy loot, and he'll be able to return to Malta a hero.



Kingdom of Sicilia
Palermu
May, 1018

Alliances




Rainulf was holding a meeting in his war room. It was just him and the four other Marquesses, who were attempting to figure out just what to do next. "We're all agreed at least, " Rainulf said, "that the Veneziani were threatening us, yes? This was a threat, they're going to be baiting the Maltese into attacking them - and when that happens, they'll have their casus belli for an invasion of the island. That's an invasion that we won't be able to stop because we only have a dozen galleys and a transport ship, whereas they can have a whole fleet!" They had a large map of Sicilia and its surrounding waters and islands on a table. It had southern Sardinia, the boot of Italy, Malta, and northern Tunis on the map.

"We can fight them on land," argued Asclettin, moving a wooden knight like a chess piece onto Malta on the map. "If we can land our troops, we can defeat them easily."

"Your Majesty, the question now becomes, who can we ask for aid in landing forces?" asked the Marquess of Trapani, a Latin Sicilian.

The Greek and Arab Marquess said their suggestions at the same time. "The Basileus!" "The Caliph!"

"The Caliph has far too many problems in Syria," Asclettin piped in, "he won't be inclined to send ships to help us in an invasion of Malta. We'd best look to the Romans. They have a bigger incentive to keep the Veneziani contained."

"I agree," answered Rainulf. "However, we won't have enough money in our treasury to pay for the building of ships, the training of our army, the rebuilding of Siracusa, and paying the Romans."

"Your Majesty," said the Marquess of Siracusa, a bit hesitantly. "Siracusa is a rich city. While it pains me to choose the Romans over the Caliph, if paying them means my people will soon be boarding ships heading for Mdina, then we'll be able to make do with the gold given to us by the Maltese. We're more than happy to make that sacrifice - for justice." The other two marquesses repeated those last two words. Everything they're doing is, after all, justice for the actions done against them. The Siciliani were more than happy to keep to themselves until the Maltese and the Veneziani thrust them into the affairs of other kingdoms.

"Your sacrifice will not go unrewarded, brother. Thank you," said Rainulf. "It is decided then. We'll halt the support Siracusa gets from the royal treasury - for now, at least. We'll send several chests filled with gold and silver, along with a promise of a shipment of grain from us. A fifth of the surplus that we'll get from the next harvest. Our storehouses are full, we can afford to have a little bit less to sell in the markets. In exchange, we'll want Roman ships. They don't even need to send their men, just their sailors."

"You know brother- my king," Asclettin said, stopping himself because this was in fact a formal meeting. "This alliance needs to be sealed by something concrete."

Rainulf was uncomfortable with the idea. He had already gotten around to accepting the idea of marrying a Siracusan, but this was something else entirely. "I'm aware," he said. "I'm going to have to backtrack on a promise I made, dear brothers. I'm going to have to make a sacrifice as well." It wasn't really a sacrifice on his part - it was a possible marriage to a Roman. That was several leagues above marrying a plain Siracusan noblewoman, but he had to frame it that way to make it more acceptable to his lords. "I'm going to have to break a promise, and in exchange we'll be able to achieve true justice. Make the letter, brother, and give it to our ambassador in Constantinopoli with the gold and the promise."

"We received a message recently, my King," Asclettin piped up, before the meeting could end.

"Oh? From whom?"

"The Genovesi. Their Doge wants to marry a Siciliani."

"Oh good God," Rainulf exclaimed, putting his head in his hands. "Aren't we already too entangled in the affairs of other realms?"

"It can help give us some leverage on the Italian mainland, your Majesty."

"Yes, but why do we need that? We don't. Just... just politely say no. I don't want to be involved anymore than I need. We can formalize our trade relations as a substitute, I'm sure they'd love to buy grain as well. Look, brothers, once we deal with the Maltese and keep the Veneziani far from our own shores, we'll be able to keep to ourselves, and to keep Sicilia at peace. That is our goal here. Go on, brother, write the letters and send them, so we can figure out what to do next. If the Romans accept, we have to begin training our army. The Normans are out of shape, they haven't had a good fight in over a decade."

To His Imperial Majesty, Basileus Basil II

Peace, and greetings in the name of God!

I, Rainulf of the House of Drengot, King of Sicily and the Siciliani, come before you as a humble servant requesting for aid.
The Veneziani are threatening to plant their flags near our island, and if that day comes we have no navy capable of stopping them. Our armies are strong, but they need sails to bring them to the lands of our enemies. If in your eternal generosity you find it appealing to aid us in keeping the Veneziani contained and out of the Mare Nostrum, then all we ask is that His Imperial Majesty provide us with ships and sailors that can aid in transporting our armies. In return, please accept the chests of gold and silver my appointed ambassador shall present to you, the Emperor. And to seal this naval alliance, I, Rainulf, King of Sicily and the Siciliani, am prepared to turn a Roman princess into a Siciliani queen consort, uniting the Royal House of Drengot with the Imperial Roman House of Macedonia.

Yours under the grace and generosity of our God,

Rainulf


To His Highness, Simone Boccangera, Doge of the Repubblica di Genova

While His Majesty, Rainulf, King of Sicily and the Siciliani, is pleased with the Doge's wish of being married to a Siciliani noblewoman, we regret to inform His Highness that no acceptable suit can be found at this time, and thus we are forced to reject His Highness' offer of uniting the ruling noble houses of Sicilia and Genova. However, should the Doge be so inclined to accept a different gift, His Majesty, Rainulf, is willing to accept an ambassador from Genova to come to Palermu and establish formal trade relations between our kingdom and yours.

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Toaslandia
Ambassador
 
Posts: 1315
Founded: Apr 29, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Toaslandia » Wed Nov 21, 2018 9:09 pm

Doge Simone sighed when he received King Rainulf's letter, but he knew it was a risky offer. He was afraid he would die childless and his dynasty would be gone forever. But he was happy to see that the Sicilians wanted to establish trade, and wrote a letter to be delivered with the ambassador.
To the Noble King Rainulf,
While I am disappointed to hear that my request has been declined, I will accept your offer to establish traing ties. However, I have heard that the Venetians have been giving you trouble, and therefore I will not trade with them until they cease their raids. Maybe this will change your mind on my marriage offer.
His serenity, Doge Simone of Genoa

He handed the letter to the ambassador, Giovanni Lucoso.

3 weeks later....
The Genovese ambassador knelt before King Rainulf and handed him the letter while introducing himself. "I am Giovanni Lucoso, the Genovese ambassador to Sicily. I hope our two nations can prosper from this deal"
Last edited by Toaslandia on Wed Nov 21, 2018 9:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Of the Quendi
Post Marshal
 
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Founded: Mar 18, 2010
Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Of the Quendi » Thu Nov 22, 2018 8:28 am

Al-Andalus
The City of Daniyah
The Caliphate of Córdoba


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The Black Standard of the True Caliphs




Muhammad ibn Muhammad II al-Mansur bi-llah

Muharram 3, 409 / May 22, 1018





Al-Mansur was strolling along the docks of Daniyah, or Denia, admiring the sight of a rapidly assembled fleet of the Muslims. Daniyah had always been an important port on the western coasts of al-Andalus. The musrikun Romans had first established a naval base at what they had called Dianum after one of their pagan gods. Under the kafiruna it's importance as a port had declined and only with the coming of Muslim rule had it begun to prosper again. As with all other things they found in al-Andalus the Muslims had made better Daniyah, building its strong fortress and enlarging its harbor. It was now in the hands of saqalibah and their captain Muyahid ibn Yusuf ibn Ali al-Amiri who ruled both it and the Balearic Islands beyond the cape of Daniyah, and they had turned it into a bustling industrious port teeming with merchant ships plying the whole of the Mediterranean Sea.

Today however there was few merchant ships in the port of Daniyah. Today it was filled with warships. Al-Mansur was amazed at the speed with which Muyahid al-Amiri had been able to mobilize a vast fleet, not just of impressed merchant vessels but of galleys of war. More than a half hundred ships lay in the port of Daniyah, near again as many further up the coast at the richer city of Balansiyya, or Medina al-Turab, the City of Sand, under the command of its emir Lab'ib and even more along the shores of the Balearics. All told in less than a month al-Andalus had mustered nearly two hundred ships from its western ports to ferry an army of five thousand men, twelve hundred ahorse, to Sardinia. As he strolled down the docks, admiring the sight of the warships and transports being outfitted for the first trip of their journey, to the Balearics to pick up the horses and resupply he was filled with an intense sense of pride. Truly the House of the Umayyads was magnificent and powerful to be able to accomplish such a feat of logistics. Truly they where the rightful caliphs, superior to the Shia's of Misr and the Abbasid captives in Baghdad, surely the kafiruna of Sardinia would rue the day they slaughtered the sons and daughters of Allah.

Al-Mansur sighed, taking in the sight of the might and arms of the empire, that filled the port of Daniyah. "It is impressive." Sh'muel an-Naghrilah said. Al-Mansur smiled at the Jew. "The greatest armada raised since the founding of the caliphate itself, according to al-Amiri." Al-Mansur remarked. The Jew smiled back. "That too is impressive, but I was referring to that ship over there." Said the Jew, gesturing towards al-Amiri's flagship, a magnificent adrumūnun in the Greek style, manned by more than three hundred sailors, soldiers and marines. Al-Mansur nodded; impressive barely did the immense vessel justice and he was amazed that the Caliphate even commanded such a ship, and it was not alone, nearly half the ships in Daniyah's port were great adrumūnuns or shalandiyyāt, true warships not impressed merchants or the longships of the musrikun northmen mercenaries.

The Jew seemed to share al-Mansur's amazement. "I did not know that the Caliph maintained warships at Daniyah." Said the Jew. Neither did al-Mansur. "In the days of al-Hakam II and Abd ar-Rahman III the Caliphate maintained a strong fleet here." Al-Mansur declared with pride. The Jew nodded. "That I knew." He said. "But I thought that fleet was discontinued under Hisham II, so where come all of these asātīl, these warships from?" Asked the Jew.

Al-Mansur sighed. He was glad that he had appointed the former tax collector as his scribe. The man was smart and dutiful and al-Mansur's correspondences had only been elevated by Sh'muel's appointment. More importantly he got along with the other man. Despite the age difference Sh'muel shared in al-Mansur's excitement about the coming expedition, and they had spent hours talking about combat and military life, Sh'muel had even shared with al-Mansur his secret fears, fears that al-Mansur was relieved to see shared by another person, even if al-Mansur could never confess to his fears. Beyond that they shared a love of intellectual pursuits, poetry in particular, and Sh'muel was teaching al-Mansur to write like a master poet, as well as an appreciation for the finer things in life. In the short time al-Mansur had spent with the Jew he had come to regard the man as being a friend, or at least as close to a friend as an unbeliever could be. But the Jew had an annoying habit of always asking questions and looking for secret meanings. Why he could not simply appreciate that the naval might of the Caliphate was much greater than anticipated but had to ask why, al-Mansur could not understand.

He gave his almost-friend an annoyed glance. "What does it matter?" Al-Mansur complained. "They are here when we need them, good I say, why ask questions?" Said al-Mansur. At that Sh'muel laughed, the Jew had become a little too familiar al-Mansur thought surly. "Spoken like a true believer." Said the Jew. "We embark on the first naval expedition of the Caliphate in decades and a fleet of warships appear and you have no questions ibn Muhammad?" Sh'muel teased. Al-Mansur grimaced. "Maybe al-Amiri built them." He remarked. Sh'muel raised an eyebrow, looking over at the vast warship. "He built that in less than twenty days?" The Jew asked incredulously. Al-Mansur blushed, the idea was laughable. A warship like that had taken many months to build and outfit. A strange thought occurred to al-Mansur. "Maybe he has been building ships for a while." He suggested.

The mirth in Sh'muel's eyes died down and a more contemplative look appeared on his face. He nodded respectfully towards al-Mansur. "Yes indeed he has, I have been visiting the shipwrights of the city, al-Amiri has been continuously building ships since he was given the city, but a little over a year ago he dramatically increased the production of warships. So did Lab'ib in Balansiyya." Said the Jew. That sounded very strange to al-Mansur, why would the rulers of both Daniyah and Balansiyya begin to build warships at the same time, long before the massacre at Caralis occurred? Nevertheless he shrugged, surely it had some sensible explanation. "What of it?" He remarked. "We benefit from the foresight of Daniyah and Balansiyya, why question it?" He stated.

The Jew smirked. "Truly you are a paradox, my prince, I did not know the perceptiveness and utter lack of inquisitiveness could coexist in one person, but here we are." He joked. Al-Mansur blushed, not entirely sure if he was to be offended or flattered by the remark of not. He chose neither, shrugging of the remark and continuing his walk down the docks. The Jew caught up to him laughing. "Oh, pay me no mind ibn Muhammad, I merely jest. You are right of course, this fleet is a blessing from God. It comes just when we need it, why ask questions?" Said the Jew. Al-Mansur knew he was being manipulated with but he couldn't shed the question the Jew had raised. That was the thing about Sh'muel, his skepticism and questioning had a tendency to rub of on al-Mansur himself. "Maybe Daniyah and Balansiyya foresaw trouble on Sardinia?" He suggested. The Jew gave him a strange look. "Truly perceptive." Said the Jew almost to himself. Al-Mansur felt strangely proud. "Yet a year ago what signs was there that things would go awry in Sardinia?" Asked the Jew. Al-Mansur shrugged. None.

The pair fell quiet as they continued walking along the docks. Al-Mansur wondered if perhaps the whole discussion could not be resolved simply by asking al-Amiri why had had begun building ships. During the past two weeks al-Mansur had come to greatly respect the freedman and his son Ali, they where capable and intelligent commanders, both eager and committed to the expedition to Sardinia and loyal to the Banu Umayya. Asking al-Amiri would solve the question.

Al-Mansur had just about decided to do so when the Jew grabbed hold of his arm, interrupting his thoughts. "Look!" Said the man, pointing towards a ship. It was new, had not been in the port when Al-Mansur walked through it yesterday. That in an of itself was not unusual, ships constantly docked at or departed from Daniyah. But this ship flew a Christian banner. Christian merchants were welcome of course in the Caliphate but it was unusual. "I don't know the banner." Al-Mansur remarked. "You soon shall." The Jew replied. "That is Chi Rho, a symbol of the Christian Basileus, and the colors of the banner are those of the Archon of Sardinia. Its a Sardinian ship." Sh'muel exclaimed.

Al-Mansur gasped. Sardinians in Daniyah now, why? "It must be an ambassador." Sh'muel mused. Al-Mansur furrowed his brow. "It must have been here a while." He said. "Al-Amiri would have not permitted me to leave the castle if he knew an ambassador was on his way." Said the prince. "And yet here we are." Sh'muel replied. The two men exchanged a glance. Then al-Mansur turned from the docks and practically ran towards the castle. He heard a chuckled from Sh'muel but then the sound of the older man running right behind him.

~*~


Al-Mansur was gasping for breath as his sprint came to a halt outside the qa'a of al-Amiri in the fortified al-qasbah overlooking Daniyah, the laughter of the guards of the al-qasbah still ringing in his ears. Not everyday they saw the second son of the Caliph running through their fortress presumably. Placing his hands on his knees al-Mansur composed himself, it was quite a run from the docks to the al-qasbah, he had lost Sh'muel somewhere along the way, that filled al-Mansur with some smug pride. The prince wiped his forehead of his sweat and corrected his richly adorned silk robes. He looked and felt dishevelled and in no fit state to meet al-Amiri or a foreign ambassador but it would have to do. Not for the first time the past few minutes al-Mansur cursed the saqlabi for not warning him that a Sardinian ambassador was visiting. His breathing and sweating controlled and his robes ordered, al-Mansur walked rapidly towards the entrance to al-Amiri's qa'a eager to meet the ambassador.

He met him sooner than he planned. As al-Mansur moved rapidly towards the door, someone inside al-Amiri's qa'a rapidly, angrily even, flung the door open and marched out, looking over his shoulder back into the qa'a uttering angry words in latin. Al-Mansur almost collided with the other man. They barely avoided the collision and glared at one another. The man had the coloring of an Italian al-Mansur thought, his clothing and clean-shaven face and the latin phrases he had uttered gave the man's nationality and religion away. His wealth, displayed by his garments, and the two servants that followed joined him, reveled his profession. The ambassador. Vexed to have missed the meeting al-Mansur nevertheless bowed politely before the ambassador, an older man after all, "As-salamy alaykum." Al-Mansur said. The ambassador grunted and said something in his own language that by the tone of his words was not friendly. He turned from al-Mansur and marched away.

Al-Mansur sighed in frustration. Then he walked into al-Amiri's qa'a. Al-Amiri, his son Ali and a slave, a waiter, were the only people in the room. They where fetching maps and parchments that they had evidently put away during the ambassador's visit. Al-Amiri first noticed al-Mansur's presence. For the briefest moment al-Mansur thought he saw shock in the man's expression. Then al-Amiri lit up in a warm ingratiating smile. "Ibn Muhammad. Come in come in, good to see you." The man said jovially. Al-Mansur felt uneasy. He liked al-Amiri and knew the feeling to be mutual, but something about the man's behavior seemed odd. False.

Nevertheless al-Mansur did as he was bid and stepped further into the qa'a. "Was that the Sardinian ambassador I saw in the hall?" Al-Mansur, somewhat curtly asked. For a short moment al-Amiri hesitated. Then he nodded. "That it was, ibn Muhammad, that it was. A contemptible man, who serves a contemptible master, the Sardinian Archon and his Judges are kafiruna of the worst sort." The commander of the Caliph's fleet declared. Al-Mansur nodded, based on the ambassador's rude manners and contemptible words he could believe that. Then the prince's eyes was caught by a parchment on al-Amiri's tea table. "He brought a letter?" Al-Mansur said, stepping closer to the table.

So did al-Amiri, almost instinctively, al-Mansur guessed the man would hand him the letter, but strangely the man stopped walking, as if he had caught himself doing something he shouldn't. Al-Mansur, finding the behavior of his host odd looked at Ali, a man just a few years his senior and was surprised to see consternation, even shock on his face. "What is in this lette?" Al-Mansur asked curiously. He picked up the parchment and unfolded it.

Written in Arabic as well as Latin he could read it. He blushed as he went through the letter. Damnable kafiruna. "Infuriating, yes?" Al-Amiri, who now sounded more like himself, remarked. Al-Mansur nodded angrily. He threw the letter aside in disgust. "This archon and his people will need to be taught a lesson about respect." He coldly remarked. Al-Amiri and Ali nodded enthusiastically. Now that al-Mansur didn't hold the letter they seemed much calmer. Strange, the insulting tone and combative language of the letter was enough to make the blood of any true Muslim boil but it hardly seemed a thing to fear.

Al-Amiri nodded. "And a lesson they shall be taught ibn Muhammad. Tomorrow we sail for Yabisah. We will link up with Lab'ib and my Balearic cavalry at manûrqa and in just two weeks time we will attack the island of the kafiruna and teach them to fear the true lord." Al-Amiri smiled coldly. Al-Mansur smiled back. Two weeks. Two weeks till his first battle. "Inshallah." He said. He bowed politely before al-Amiri, nodded to Ali and turned to leave the qa'a. In the doorway he paused and slowly turned towards al-Amiri. "My lord." He spoke respectfully. "In the future I hope you will invite me when you receive foreign ambassador, my father the caliph sent me to you that I may learn a lesson of my own, about warcraft and affairs of state, that I may in the future be of greater assistance to him." Al-Mansur said. To his surprise both al-Amiri and Ali froze at those words. The emir of Daniyah bowed respectfully. "Of course my prince." He said, dispensing with the familiar "ibn Muhammad". "It shall not happen again." Al-Mansur nodded politely. "See that it do not." He said, leaving the qa'a.
Nation RP name
Arda i Eruhíni (short form)
Alcarinqua ar Meneldëa Arda i Eruhíni i sé Amanaranyë ar Aramanaranyë (long form)

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Ruskland-Preuben
Minister
 
Posts: 3419
Founded: Mar 03, 2017
Ex-Nation

Postby Ruskland-Preuben » Thu Nov 22, 2018 9:30 am

Image
A few miles off Calabria
May


A galea sottile along with a few other ships of noticeably smaller size were rowed across the blue waters of the Maltese Channel, the rhythmic swinging of oars adding to the cacophony of grunting oarsmen and splashed water. The captain of this fine vessel was Ottone Giudice, named by his father in honor of the Doge, and it seemed like the weight of the name payed off, as he had secured for his family a good reputation and a steady flow of income from trading. As of now, he had cargo to deliver to the port of Barcelona, and due to unfavorable conditions back at the Ionian Sea, he was delayed somewhat.

This would not do, and he had tasked his otherwise relaxed men to start rowing as hard as they could, he needed to be past the Stait of Messina. The ship’s heavy cargo sid not help in any way, only contributing to the exhaustion of his crew, and the cloud and wind free day exacerbated things worse, not to mention the other ships in his little trading fleet. He could summarize the current situation in two words, morale low.

“Ah, this windless day be damned,” he whined as he wiped off the sweat on his brow, “Send us a wind to go against for all I care, at least the men would have something to cool their irate heads off.”. The shaded officer’s tent, though covered from the sun, did little to block the heat from outside.

As the men started grumbling and thoughts of a possible mutiny entered his mind like an unwelcome guest, they were blown away by a fresh wind, both literally and figuratively. A sudden tailwind had come, powering the sails and blowing cool air over the hot heads of the crew and officers, a few sighs of relief would be heard as the noise of splashing watee and grunting subsided into quiet and slow rowing only. “Just my luck!” Ottone Giudice exclaimed, “With this kind of wind we’ll be able to go past Messina in no time!”.

Unfortunately for him, another unwelcome guest had appeared just behind his fleet away from his eyes, this time it was a human guest, and they seemed to have killing intent. By the time the rearmost ship had noticed the fast approaching galley, it was already beside them. And then they saw a banner raised upon that ship as that vessel set its sails, a plain flag of white with familiar lettering on it. Maltese colors.

Pirates.

The signal was hastily raised, and the ever tiring Ottone Giudice was abruptly awakened, by shouting. “WHAT’S THE SITUATION?” he shouted loudly, and irately, over the noise, and got one word in response, “Pirates!”. That was all the man needed to hear in order to understand what had transpired while he was treading the line between asleep and awake. Preparing his blade, and his mind, he rallied his disorganized crew into an acceptably coherent fighting force, and after arming themselves swiftly, quickly prepared themselves for boarding.

The Maltese galley seemed to be focusing on his ship in particular, as it was ignoring the others and beelined for his. He’ll be damned if he let the ship fall into a pirate’s filthy hands. “Men! Prepare yourselves for boarding!” he told them as the enemy ship neared. The moment the plank from the other side fell on theirs, all hell seemed to be loose. Chaotic fighting around the point of entry coalesced into different fights across the ship, and some Narentine oarsman was mad enough to take the fighting to the pirates, rushing over and jumping on the enemy’s ship, alas, whatever plan that man had was foiled, as he got a stab to the gut and was slit in the throat, by what seemed to be the enemy captain.

“Cut the snake’s head off,” he intoned as he observed the man crossing the plank and into his ship nonchalantly, he would then begin fighting towards him, “And the body ceases to be!”. He locked himself in a duel to the death with the captain, who looked a wee bit younger than himself. But it seemed as if luck was not in his favor, as the duel quickly ended with him defeated. Alongside the officers, he was forced to kneel, then it began.

Slice, one body in a red pool.

Slice, two bodies in red pools.

Slice, three bodies in red pools.

Slice, four bodies in red pools, now joined as one from all the blood pouring.

The captain then looked upon him, sneering. He began talking, and from what he could make out using his crude knowledge of Arabic, the man talked about not giving him a swift death. He swallowed a lump forming in his throat, “What does that mean?”. He was then tied to a rock with on his feet a few moments later. And was escorted to the edge by the pirate captain himself, but this would prove to be the enemy’s undoing, he thought as he began to hastily create a plan. “Goodbye Veneziani.” the man told him in rough Italian, then he smirked, and replied in Arabic, “No you.”. Grabbing the smaller captain by the leg, he jumped off, bringing the man with him to the depths of the sea. The Maltan tried to struggle against his grip, but he was determined not to let go. Covering the pirate’s mouth, both drowned at the same time.

Just another day for Doge Ottone Orseolo.




Image
Most Serene Republic of Venice
Late May


“Hahahahaha!” guffaws the doge, looking at a letter a man of his had snatched away, “Haaa...”. He smiled giddily, his plan had worked, and everything was falling into place. In his hand was a letter of complaint to the Giudice family about a highly delayed shipment, he knew that this family would be the one to lose something in order to gain something, and again, it worked, perfectly. One of his spies had intercepted this letter for him, and he had that man given a pouch of gold for his troubles, this was news, good news, amazing news.

He called for an envoy, “Summon the Council, I have something that they would want to hear.”. The man simply nodded, and left his room without a word, Ottone too, left the room for the council chamber, there was much to be planned. But first, a letter, one he would need to copies of, to send to the Siciliani, and another to show to his council.

To the betrayer King Rainulf
As of yesterday, I have received word of a Venetian trading fleet being attacked by the Maltans. I will get straight to the point, I had given to you a deal that if ever we were to be attacked by Maltese pirates, we would bring the fleet to them and end them in a way similar to the Narentines of old, I assure you, we are more than capable of doing so quicker than the late Doge Pietro II Orseolo. I will also cut the chase with my ultimatum, expel all Muslims from your lands and we shall sweep this under the rug like nothing has occured, do not and we shall conquer and include Malta into the Stato da Màr. You have 2 months to decide, I am that generous, but do not misinterpret that as weakness, think of it a as a mercy.
Two months,
Doge Ottone Orseolo of the Most Serene Republic of Venice


And that was that, two copies, one for king, and one for country. Next was the expansion of the fleet. He needed something to fight the Byzantines on even terms if the Republic ever came to the point of exchanging blows with the Bulgar-Slayer. That was how much he would invest into this potential war.
Last edited by Ruskland-Preuben on Thu Nov 22, 2018 8:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Krugmar
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Postby Krugmar » Thu Nov 22, 2018 7:47 pm

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The Black Standard of the Abbasid Caliphs

Āl-e Buye
Ērānshahr
Dhul-Hijjah 21, 408 / May 10, 1018

“City of Constantine, Stamboul of the Rhum,
You are like a Lady desired and deserted”
شهر کنستانتین، استامبول رودخانه
شما مثل یک بانوی مورد نظر و متروک هستید



The Queen of Cities, truly it deserved the name. Ador-Eil had visited Baghdad many times, was a native of Samarra, and had worked for years in Shiraz under the Shah's watch, yet none of them could compare. Cairo, Rome and Cordoba he had never visited, but he knew instinctively that only in the dreams of their rulers could they reach such heights as this. Perhaps Rome a millennia ago, under the great Augustus, may have posed a challenge, but this here now was the seat of the Caesars.

He strolled through the streets, crowded with people as they went their business under the noon sun. Ador-Eil had heard that all the speeches of the world could be heard in Constantinople, yet in the public forum he could hear only Greek. It did not trouble him, Greek had once been the lingua franca in the east for centuries, and even now it was taught more studiously than Arabic amongst his coreligionists. Yet where his Greek speech was formal, archaic and sat upon an alien tongue, that which he contacted here was fluid and elegant, sometimes even unintelligible.

Alas, he was not here for idle observations. That could be left to the pilgrims who accompanied him, and apparently his servant boy whose jaw had yet to close since their ship entered the harbour. No, his task was far more important. Perhaps he would even have the pleasure of speaking to the Emperor of the Romans, a man second only to God himself?

"They say Aleppo's walls fell when the Basileus planted the standard into the ground. The Saints themselves rode alongside him as they took the city!" Said a young boy to a crowd of his peers, imitating the miraculous victory as he narrated.

Ador-Eil stopped sharply, his servant colliding into his back and yelping as he dropped some of his master's documents. Ador-Eil paid that no heed, his eyes fixed only upon the narrator. "You there, boy, what is this talk of Aleppo?" He asked.

"We've heard the city fell to the Emperor, that soon he will reconquer all lands stolen from Rome by the Mahomedans." Answered the boy, giving Ador-Eil an inquisitive stare as he wondered whether the stranger was himself a Mahomedan.

Ador-Eil's heart sank and disappointment contorted his face into a frown. He recovered a few moments later, realising the crowd of children now gave him a deathly stare. "It is the will of God that it should be so, my disappointment only lies in that I was sent to entreaty with your Master. Now I shall be unable to congratulate him on his victory, and shall have to deal with lesser creatures." He said quickly, gaining a reprieve as the children returned to their embellished tales.

It did not take too long to bustle through the crowds to arrive at the Great Palace. Dumbfounded by the news and already having expent his wonder on the city itself he was unable to take in the sights. He handed to the guards his credentials and documents and they allowed him entry, knowledge from the docks seemingly having travelled faster than he.

With any luck the Emperor would soon return from his campaign. Ador-Eil was tired, and another journey so soon after his arrival was not a welcome thought.
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Of the Quendi
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Postby Of the Quendi » Fri Nov 23, 2018 4:18 am

Kingdom of Pamplona
The Monastery of Santa Maria de Yarte
In the Realm of Sancho III of Pamplona


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The Black Standard of the True Caliphs




Abd ar-Rahman ibn Muhammad II bi-llah

Dhul-Hijjah 21, 408 / May 10, 1018





Abd ar-Rahman swung his curved saif sable against the kafir soldier, slicing through the top of the man's helmet and cutting a deep gash into the man's forehead. The man screamed and drops of his warm blood sprayed onto Abd ar-Rahman's face. "Allahu Akbar!" Abd ar-Rahman roared, his voice shrill and brittle, as the man stumbled backwards and fell onto the ground. Another kafir stepped forward to face Abd ar-Rahman. The man swung his kafir sword, but Abd ar-Rahman saw it coming a mile away. With the grace of a dancer he stepped aside, the sword of the kafir passing through thin air. Abd ar-Rahman struck out with his saif against the man's unprotected belly. A perfect hit. The saif tore through the man's clothing cutting into his belly and spilling his entrails. A stench of exposed organs and human excrements hit Abd ar-Rahman as the man fell to the ground. "Allahu Akbar." Abd ar-Rahman once again screamed manically.

Allahu Akbar indeed. This was life Abd ar-Rahman thought as he stepped forward for more foemen to kill or maim. The struggle on life and death with enemies of the faith, putting your life on the line to test your mettle against and adversary, nothing else Abd ar-Rahman had ever done made sense to him as this. The way his body reacted twice as fast as ordinary, the absolute clarity in his mind when he by pure instinct defended or attacked, the thrill of knowing it could be over in an instant. "Allahu Akbar." He roared once more maniacally, feeling absolute joy. He struggled to find a new foe. Already the enemy formation was breaking. The guards protecting the kafiruna monastery of Yarte had been only half as many as Abd ar-Rahman's force. Even with armed villagers and the occasional monk they where no match for Abd ar-Rahman's force.

That was the prince's one regret. The wild razzia he had waged across the kingdom of Pamplona had not yet seen him fight a real battle between proper armies. The rapid movements across Sancho III's grand domains did not allow for major battles, only skirmishes between forces defending the villages that Abd ar-Rahman's force sacked. A week ago at the Monastery of Irache it had been a close call. The king, or one of his generals, had lead an army of kafiruna knights to the defense of that monastery, but Abd ar-Rahman, having not the men to resist such a force, had withdrawn from the monastery retreating south leaving Sancho III without his prize. Four days later he was raiding the lands around Riezu, slaying the subjects of Sancho by the scores.

Abd ar-Rahman looked around on the battlefield looking for a foe. Finding one he advanced laughingly towards the man. The man wore armor, real armor, and wielded a proper sword. He was shouting in the kafiruna language and by his commanding tone and the quality of his arms Abd ar-Rahman surmised he was a commander, perhaps even the commander of the defenders. "Allahu Akbar!" Abd ar-Rahman shouted at the man. "Santiago!" He roared back.

They circled one another. The kafir officer was clearly no scarred peones or half trained militiaman but a trained professional, a true caballero. But he was no match for a prince of the Banu Umayya. "Allahu Akbar!" Abd ar-Rahman howled at the top of his lungs, charging the man. Sword hit sword, a fury of blows and blocks ensued between the two commanders. For a time the caballero seemed equal to the task of holding of Abd ar-Rahman. The man had twenty years of training on Abd ar-Rahman and was undeniably the stronger man. But he was also slower, and he had not the stamina of youth. Abd ar-Rahman's righteous fury compensated for his lack of strength, the caballero had no similar compensation for his lack of speed and stamina. Finally Abd ar-Rahman got a deadly blow against the man, he fell, wanly screaming for his god. "Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar!" Abd ar-Rahman kept roaring. A young kafir looked at Abd ar-Rahman with tears and rage in his eyes. The son of the caballero by the looks of him. Abd ar-Rahman smiled curly, stepping forward, eager to end their line. But he was held back by a strong hand.

Confused Abd ar-Rahman briefly looked away from son of the caballero to see which of his men dared lay a hand on him. His second in command, a Berber named Waggag. "Prince." The man hissed with desperation in his voice. "Pamplona is upon us. Three hundred men ahorse are on their way." That calmed Abd ar-Rahman's fury. He cast a disappointed glance at the monastery in the distance. He would have loved to plunder and torch it, but three hundred of the king's men was too much for his small force to handle. Annoyed he shrugged. "We retreat south, towards ..." He began, but Waggad interrupted him. "The men of Pamplona come from the south." Waggag shouted. Abd ar-Rahman frowned. That made no sense, Pamplona lay to the southeast and the most direct route to Yarte ... They had flanked him. The bloody kafir king had learned from Irache and was flanking him. With a sense of dread Abd ar-Rahman realized he was dangerously close to being routed. Ignoring completely the son of the caballero Abd ar-Rahman turned southwards away from the monastery. Clouds of dust in the distance; approaching.

The blood drained from Abd ar-Rahman's face. He heard a sound and instinctively he jumped aside, just as the son of the caballero charged at him. Waggag raised his sword. "No!" Abd ar-Rahman shouted, pointing his own blade against the youth. "Get the horses, we retreat westwards, get the men ready." Abd ar-Rahman ordered, swinging his blade against the young caballero. As Waggag did as bid Abd ar-Rahman quickly dueled the young kafir. He was not half the man his father was, too young, though in truth he was probably at most a year or so younger than Abd ar-Rahman. It was quick. By the time Abd ar-Rahman's saif found the throat of the young caballero his mind had not yet processed the disaster he was facing. The caballero dead Abd ar-Rahman bolted towards his horse with most of the rest of his men already retreating ahead of him. The defenders of Yarte made no attempt to pursue. Half of them were dead or dying and many of the rest was grievously wounded. It was a poor balm for the sting Abd ar-Rahman felt at fleeing, and it did nothing to assuage his fears. His successful razzia was turning into an ignominious defeat.




Sardinia
The City of Tharros, the Guidicate of Arborea
Under the rule of the Archons of Sardinia


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Sigil of the Archon of Sardinia




Barisone of Torres, Archbishop of Sinis-Tharros

June 7, 1018





It was not Barisone of Torres's custom to personally celebrate mass in his cathedral when it inconvenienced his busy schedule. His appointment of archbishop owed nothing to his personal piety or religious devotion, of which he had preciously little, and everything to the fact that he was a member of the powerful Lacon and Gunale families that ruled Sardinia. As the younger brother of Gonario, the powerful Judge of both Arborea and Logudoro, Barisone had been given his powerful episcopate not for religious reasons but to serve as his brother's governor in Tharros. Gonario favored the capital of the Giudicate of Logudoro, Porto Torres, to the Arborean capital of Tharros. So did Barisone for that matter. Nestled on a tiny peninsula and surrounded by water on three sides Tharros was an overcrowded town teeming with filthy people rubbing against one another every hour of the day. Yet Barisone had not been asked if he wanted to govern the town, he had been told. As Gonario was the most powerful man on Sardinia, more powerful than the Archon who had long been since seized to be anything more than an arbiter or intermediary between the powerful judges and petty kings of the isles, there was no point refusing him. If Gonario wanted Barisone to be archbishop of Sinis-Tharros, then archbishop Barisone would be.

But it had always been Barisone's private little rebellion against his older brother's superior authority to shirk almost all of his ecclesiastic responsibilities. Barisone had once shocked the religious community of his archdiocese when he refused to celebrate easter mass in 1016. That he should rise from his well deserved sleep for a common lauds ceremony, Sunday or no Sunday, was unthinkable. What else was monks for if not to observe such divine offices and sparing their bishop the trouble. Yet for some reason Barisone had woken early from a good sleep. Grumpily he thought momentarily to stay in bed and hope that sleep would come again, but thinking against it he grudgingly got up. If he bothered with lauds he could perhaps justify to go hunting for the rest of the day and escape the cramped atmosphere of the filthy town and its troublesome people with their constant petitions and demands. Heartened by that thought Barisone put on his episcopal robes.

The sounds of feet running on the steps of the stairs leading to Barisone's chamber caused the man to sigh. His servants knew better than to approach him this early in the day, but the monks of the cathedral seemed incapable to understanding that their archbishop did not relish rising for prayers early in the morning and late in the night the way they did, well at least this time Barisone had no woman in his bed, that had been one awkward conversation with Abbott Pietro, the man still could barely look at Barisone.

To Barisone's surprise the door to his chambers was unceremoniously flung open without so much as a knock on it. That was no way to approach a prince of the church, Barisone would need to have a word with Abbott Pietro. But the man who entered the archbishop's chamber turned out not to be a monk but rather the captain of his guard, one of Gonario's creatures. "Moors!" The man exclaimed before Barisone could protest. "The Mohammedans are upon us Lord Archbishop." The man solemnly declared. Barisone gasped. Moors. He remembered hearing stories of their wild raids, their heinous crimes and mindless brutality. He gulped, the Mohammedans did horrible things to Christian bishops. Barisone stepped towards the window of his chamber and looked out. He grew pale. A vast fleet could be seen approaching Tharros from the west. The ships was too many to be counted, and seemed to have a span from north to south broader than the whole of the bay of Tharros, Barisone could barely see an end to them. More importantly they where close, very close.

As Barisone watched the terrifying vista of the great Moorish armada approach a small squadron of ships came into view sailing around the cape of Sinis heading straight for the suburb. The ships weren't two full miles from the port of Sinis. They where not galleys and did not fly the black and green standards of the Moors but rather was Norsemen longships under raven banners. Them again, Barisone briefly thought. They were clearly working with the Moors. "Sound the alarm." Barisone ordered in a trembling voice. "Muster our troops and prepare out defenses." He ordered, knowing how futile his order was even as he gave it. He did not have two hundred soldiers in Tharros and Sinis combined. The fleet before him was counted in the many thousands, and neither Tharros, and certainly not Sinis, had defenses to speak of. Defeat was inevitable. "God help us." The archbishop of Sinis-Tharros said, offering the most sincere prayer of his life.
Nation RP name
Arda i Eruhíni (short form)
Alcarinqua ar Meneldëa Arda i Eruhíni i sé Amanaranyë ar Aramanaranyë (long form)

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Imperialisium
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Founded: Apr 17, 2011
Democratic Socialists

Postby Imperialisium » Sat Nov 24, 2018 4:11 pm

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May 19th, Constantinople

The arrival of Ador-Eil had been received as one would expect for a visiting dignitary at the Great Palace. He and his party had been given their own apartments, all well furnished, facing the Imperial Gardens which were extensive and generally open to the public. The Outer Courtyards and gardens of the Great Palace teemed with families enjoying the temperate conditions of Constantinople and the clear skies. Guards patrolled the walls, colonnades, and stood sentry at the gatehouses. The structure of the Imperial Army mirrored the divisions and structures within Constantinople. The Athrimos, one of the largest components of the Imperial Army, patrolled the Palace's outer areas much like they protected the actual Theodosian Walls. Often backed up by Optimatoi archers and Hikanatoi cavalry when patrolling the streets in squad sized units. The inner regions of the Palace was exclusively guarded by the Varangians and they kept a rigorous and uncompromising barrier. Turning away without compromise anyone that failed to show their credentials or who did not work in the inner regions of the Palace. Even further the Heteireia with their distinctive Rhomphaia arms that guarded the actual Imperial apartments of the Basileus, his brother and their family, and that of his daughter Anastacia.

Ador on the 19th however would ear the blaring of trumpets and various musical notes. As a column approached the Palace. Passing through the outer courtyards and into the inner regions. Stopping in an inner courtyard numerous Varangians and Heteireia walked about. Servants carried items and effects out of a parked caravan of carriages. Female handmaidens carried smaller items and moved into the Imperial Princess' apartments to set up the furniture and clean. Stepping from one of the carriages in a plain dress was the daughter of the Bulgar-Slayer. She looked about and made her way into her own chambers. Returning from her sojourn at Spoleto.

To Ador however news had come that the Basileus would not be returning for some time and that important matters should be addressed to Basil's brother Constantine and the Imperial Court.

Massalia
May 24th, 1018AD

Horns blared and the gates yawned open for several horsemen preceding a carriage with even more armed men bearing bows. The horsemen were men at arms led by a Knight bearing the colors of the Emperor, Heinrich II, and denoting him as a lord native to Bavaria. The Knight was escorted into the presence of Duke Ramirus. The knight and his men-at-arms dismounted, bowing, and gesturing to the carriage were a pair of bowmen, weapons slung at their backs, carried a heavy wooden chest. One of the bowmen pulled an iron key out of his pockets and slotted into the mechanism. The chest gave a click before being pulled open to reveal thousands of gold coins. Far away Byzantine Nomisma, gold coins of mark bearing the appearance and name of Heinrich II, and also several bags of silver deniers that could be converted into local coinage. All of which amounted to the value Heinrich II had stipulated from the Imperial coffers. The Knight in turn pulled from his saddlebags a wide scroll of parchment. A copy of the contract that this loan would be held by.

The Knight and his companions waited for Duke Ramirus response.
Last edited by Imperialisium on Sat Dec 01, 2018 3:45 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Pasong Tirad
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Postby Pasong Tirad » Wed Nov 28, 2018 6:19 pm

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Kingdom of Sicilia
Palermu
1 June, 1018

Heart of Malta




"Do you see this brothers?! This is what we're up against!" Asclettin said to the various nobles and clergymen that made up the King's Parliament. He was clutching the letter they had just received from the Venetian Doge. They read the letter out loud to get as enthusiastic a reaction as they could get from their lords. It was the afternoon, they had just concluded the morning's proceedings with the more minor matters, which included welcoming the ambassador from Genoa, and opening up freer trading ties with the Genoese.

"We are up against a madman!" Asclettin continued. "A raving lunatic! A godless, Muslim-hating bastard of a duke!" This got the nobles riled up, particularly Rainulf's Muslim lords, who were hungry for Venetian blood. "We didn't attack them, Maltese pirates did, and yet they have the gall to act as though we are just as responsible for the actions of others, as though it is our hands that are stained with the blood of the Veneziani! I say this is unacceptable!" People began cheering, applauding the Marquess' short speech. "My king," he continued, "as father to all of us, as my liege, as a good Christian to another, and as my brother, I plead to you now to not let this challenge go unanswered. Your subjects demand retribution against the people that ravaged Siracusa, and these Veneziani are getting in the way of our yearning for justice. We must make it known that Sicilia wants nothing but peace and justice, but is not afraid to go to war! Sicilia!"

"Sicilia!" the nobles answered. Even the older, less energetic men of the court were viciously shaking their fists at the thought of fighting the Venetians. This whole speech was just a formality, and Rainulf knew it. In reality they had already decided that, should it come to war, they were going to fight. The decision just had to be made public, and it had to have the support of the king's subjects. And, this is the kicker, he wanted to ask the permission of his lords before he mustered the army - not their personal levies, but his own Norman Guard. He was holding up his very traditionally kingly power and giving it for free to his parliament. It would set precedent to the future rulers - possibly Asclettin - of Sicily that their power is not absolute, and that their rule must have the consent of the lords. He's turning Sicily less into the Roman Empire and more into the Holy Roman Empire and their process of electing monarchs. While his monarchy won't be elective, his rule will be much more democratically-inclined than his contemporaries. Rainulf's flare for the dramatic had a drawback: he was sensitive to the happiness of his subjects and lords. He wouldn't do anything that they would not like.

So, what better way to rally his people around the banner than by uniting them against a common enemy?

Rainulf stood up, put his hand up to silence his rapturous parliament, and proceeded to say his piece whilst walking around and addressing his lords - a flair for the dramatic, after all. "My lords, my bishops, and my imams, God has given us this moment to unite under one purpose, and that is to seek justice for the Siciliani that have been so viciously murdered on our shores. Weeks ago I sent our ambassador on a diplomatic mission to Constantinopoli with several chests filled with gold and silver, asking the Romans for an alliance of mutual interest. This has a drawback, however. In order to solidify this alliance, I have offered my own hand in marriage to a Roman princess." He paused for a moment to see the reactions of his nobles, who gave no indication that they were violently against this idea. "I will have to break a promise I gave this very parliament. In order for the Romans to grant us the use of their ships to transport soldiers to Malta, in order for us to get justice for the wrongs done to the Siciliani, I will have to marry a Roman princess, not a Siciliani noblewoman. I must ask you now, will you accept this deal?"

There was silence. It felt too long for Rainulf, but it was no more than a few seconds. A Siciliani nobleman stepped forward, he was the lord of a manor somewhere south of Trapani. "My King, you honor us with your humility, and we accept this outcome. I'm sure our Greco brothers will be more than happy with this arrangement," he said jokingly, which got a few chuckles from the Greek nobles, "and I hope I speak for all my other Siciliani brothers when I say that if it means getting justice for our Musulmani brothers, then it is an acceptable arrangement for me. Assemble your retinue, my king, and train them. For justice!"

"For justice!" the call rang out, and it was so, and Rainulf was very pleased with this outcome.

"Then it shall be so because of all of you, my lords," Rainulf said, sitting on his throne. "I thank you. I shall do as you all command. I shall prepare my forces, I shall train them in the arts of war. It has been over a decade since the Norman banner was last fully raised. Not since the days of the true first king of Sicilia, our Great Count, have we prepared for war on this scale. Let this war be swift and decisive, and let it be our offering to God, who is the final deliverer of justice. For justice!"

"For justice!" Rainulf made a note to ask his brother to get all the information he can get on Malta and the fortress of Mdina. It was going to be a long year for the two brothers.

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Adab
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Postby Adab » Fri Nov 30, 2018 7:11 pm

April 25, 1018
Rouen, Duchy of Normandy

The thief was brought before him in chains, dazed and bloodied from the beating the city guards had given to him. His hair was a dusty, unruly mess, and his eyes dared not look at the man before him as the guards pushed him to his knees. Flanked by several guards, he said not a thing during the entire ordeal; perhaps the shame had finally gotten to him. What a shame it had not reached him when he was leading his den and taking from his victims. From his great wooden seat, the lord gazed down at the lowly thief, his grip tightening on the handles at the sight.

"So, this is the great Herfast, the terror of Rouen. The entire town recoils at the mention of your name," said the lord in his deep, commanding voice, staring at eyes that would not stare back at him. "Why, do you dare not look at me? You and I, we are both men, creatures of the Lord, and you know that. What is it that differentiates me from you now, that makes you avoid my eyes and fear my presence? What could I have done to deserve that?" Slowly he rose to his feet, and his voice became even deeper. "Or what have you done to deserve that? Guards, raise his head! I want him to look at me!"

The guards unceremoniously took him by the hair and jaw and pushed them upwards, and with them the whole face. For the first time since he was dragged into the castle, Herfast the thief found himself looking at Richard II, Duke of Normandy, who promptly returned to his seat, though his eyes did not leave Herfast. "So, Herfast," he said more calmly, "we finally meet. No, I don't want you to say anything. After everything that you have done to my people, I would prefer it that you keep your silence here. We've had enough of your actions, and my senses tell me that if you speak up I will soon have had enough with your words." The thief maintained his silence, the first time he obeyed the Duke.

"I have much more important business to attend to today, so I will make this short," the Duke continued. "My people and my dignity have suffered for far too long, and we cannot take it anymore. To put it simply, the people demand your blood. Of course, I can simply punish you by ullac, but don't you think banishment is somewhat too merciful for a man of crime like you? Besides, no land will willingly take you. I do, however, admire your... intelligence and ingenuity, even if they were used for the wrong reasons. Therefore, I shall allow you a choice in this matter. Oh, and of course, you may speak now. Do you choose hanging, beheading, or burning at the stake?"

Herfast's face was a dark grimace, his mouth slightly agape, but for a while he still said nothing. Richard continued staring at him from his seat with some satisfaction, hoping that his silence was a sign that the severity of his crimes had finally settled in him. And it had. But regret always comes too late. "Beheading, my duke," he replied monotonously, sweat running down his red face.

"Very well, then," the Duke said. "But do not hope that you will be afforded the opportunity of a dignified death. We'll make a space in the town square for your beheading, and the people will come out and jeer you like the monster that you are as you are dragged to that square to face your well-deserved fate. For now, though, you shall spend the night in the cells. We'll be here busying ourselves with the business of this duchy and making arrangements for your long-awaited demise. Your beheading will take place tomorrow morning or noon. We'll get back to you with the exact hour. Guards, take this man down to the dungeon! And let the royal messenger in."

The guards promptly obeyed the orders of their lord, dragging the defeated thief from the room to the dungeon for his final night. A royal messenger had been kept waiting outside as Richard delivered his judgement on Herfast. "Good duke," the young man solemnly, if nervously, greeted the Duke as the guards escorted him in. He was holding a folded scroll of parchment. "I bring with me a message from the King of the Franks. It is very urgent business."

"I see." The Duke rose from his seat and walked up to the messenger, smiling slightly and nodding as he took the scroll from the young man and opened it. It was always good to hear from a friend and brother-in-law. He was soon lost in the letter, his eyes widening and his face analyzing every detail in it. As he reached the end of the letter, a smile again formed in his face, and a wider one than before. "Yes, this will be very good indeed. And no doubt it is time for Papia to be married."

To Robert, King of the Franks,

May this letter find you in good health and happiness. I have received your letter on the proposal of marriage for my sister Papia, and I must say that it is a stroke of genius on your part. Indeed, this marriage will strengthen the relationship between the royal throne, our duchy, and Provence, and it is time that Papia find herself a good and suitable husband, which I am sure she will find in the Duke of Provence. Rest assured I shall be in Paris on May 25 for the negotiations on this marriage, and I shall bring Papia with me. We should like to meet our sister, the Queen, whom we have not seen for quite a while. My love and loyalty stay with you always, my king.

Richard, Duke of Normandy


May 10, 1018
Palais de la Cité, Paris, Kingdom of the Franks

If Paris ever saw a foreign contingent of that size arrive to settle peacefully, then surely it was a long time ago. When contingents of that kind arrived, it was usually to besiege and pillage the city, like the terrible Vikings of old had done in 845 when Ragnar sailed up the Seine with 120 ships and 885 when Odo, Count of Paris and the sturdy walls of the city beat back the invaders. Now an army of foreigners numbering just more than a thousand was once again upon the walls of Paris, but unlike the Vikings they were here peacefully and, indeed, by royal authority. They had come from a faraway land in the north, a kingdom so unknown to the people that many had never even heard of it at all, and yet the Kingdom of the Franks had taken this other kingdom as its ally.

It had been met with great opposition and even greater bemusement, but the Franco-Scottish alliance had been made official, and now no less than 1,200 Scottish troops were in Paris and its surroundings to serve in the King's service. The most immediate problem to solve was where to settle them. Some, including the commanders and other important personages among the troops, were settled in houses on the Île de la Cité itself, their original occupants now finding themselves having to share their abode with foreign people from a foreign land; some occupied nearby villages (a few villages were emptied for the troops and the villagers forcibly moved to other localities) and the islets of the Seine; but most camped by the left bank of the great river, within sight of the Île de la Cité; their place was soon to be known simply as the Scottish Camp.

A great banquet was held at the Palais de la Cité to celebrate the arrival of the Scottish troops and the return of France's ambassador, Archbishop Arnulf of Reims; though no one acknowledged it, it was really a dry run for the banquet that was bound to be held during the marriage negotiations with Normandy and Provence, at this time scheduled for May 25. The King's council, the men and women of the royal court, and many important citizens of the city were among those gathered in the palace on this important occasion. The doors were thrown open and Archbishop Arnulf solemnly marched into the hall in his vestments, with Domnall, leader of the Scots, walking beside him. The entire hall rose to its feet and cheered. The royal official Baudouin, the Archbishop's representative on the royal council while he was away, rushed to Arnulf and kissed his hand; with the Archbishop back, his work was now done.

Flanked on their left by the King's guards and on their right by several Scottish warriors, Arnulf, Domnall, and two translators - one from the Frankish court, the other from Scotland - made their way to King Robert, who greeted them with arms wide open. The King first hugged Arnulf and kissed him on both cheeks. "You have done very well, Archbishop Arnulf." The King smiled. "You have made us proud." He then hugged Domnall, clad in chain mail. "Domnall of the Scots. By all accounts you are a great and brave man, a man with a high and well-deserved reputation in your land. It is my pleasure to have you here, and I trust that you will serve us well."

The Frankish translator spoke the King's words in Latin to his Scottish counterpart, who then spoke to Domnall in their native tongue. Such was the manner of the conversation. "Thank you, my king. I will not disappoint you," said Domnall, and was promptly translated to the King. Domnall was not a man of words; literature had no place in his life, he could not read and was a coarse practitioner of the art of speaking, and he would rather hold a sword or spear and cut through a mass of enemies than attend a banquet. For now, however, he tried his best to remain dignified.

"My king," Arnulf leaned over to the King and whispered to him, "have you received the letter from-"

"The letter from the Scottish king?" The King whispered back. "Of course, I have received it. They will not be intervening in our struggle with Burgundy, yes, yes, I have read it. It's not like they're in any position to intervene, anyway. 1,200 troops is good enough. But now is not time to be concerned. Now is the time to celebrate our newfound alliance. I trust that the little girl is already shown to her chambers."

"Lili? Of course, I have already arranged for it. I believe you want her to be presented to the court tomorrow?"

"Yes. A banquet is no place for a child. She will have a more formal presentation tomorrow. In the presence of my son, of course." The King then turned to the crowd of dignitaries before him. "Lords, ladies, men, and women, we have found a great and loyal ally in the Kingdom of Scotland. We have here before us Domnall, leader of the Scottish warriors, a brave man and warrior whose reputation precedes him. Let it be known that, from tonight, he shall be Domnall, Captain of the Scottish Guard, he and his men loyal forevermore to the throne of this kingdom. I now propose that we raise our glasses to the alliance and to the establishment of the Scottish Guard. May our enemies tremble in fear!"

To Malcolm, King of the Scots, greetings!

I thank you for your part in the establishment of this great and holy alliance. May the alliance between our two countries last forever, and may it benefit both of us and your peoples. I have established a Scottish Guard out of your brave warriors, and I trust that they will serve me well, in war and in peace.

Your granddaughter Lili is adjusting very well to life here. She has been presented before the royal court and met my son, and they appear to have gone off to a good start. It will take a while for them to be truly acquainted, but so far the signs are encouraging.

I fully understand if you do not wish to be fighting any war at this moment. Your warriors are already a very valuable contribution and I thank you for that. I plan to gain the Kingdom of Arelat, and the Duchy of Burgundy with it, and when the time comes I trust that your troops will make themselves known on the battlefield. No one shall underestimate us, and no one shall underestimate Scotland.

May God be with you,

Robert, King of the Franks
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Imperialisium
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Founded: Apr 17, 2011
Democratic Socialists

Postby Imperialisium » Sat Dec 01, 2018 4:46 pm

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Road from Syria to Armenia, thirty miles South of Theodosiopolis
June 1st, 1018AD


The long column wound its way on maintained road, courtesy of the Byzantine administration once they left the former Emirate of Aleppo over a fortnight ago, with the marching of thousands of booted feet. The creaking of wooden wheels and the clacking of horse hooves. The banners of the Imperial Tagmata were held aloft in resting position to denote the units places in the column. In the distance light cavalry detachments patrolled to keep potential ambushes at bay. A large banner denoting the face of Christ signaled were Basil Bulgaroktanus was present, it now watching from a low hillock, as the army marched past six abreast. Basil has taken his Imperial Army, sans the Syriac formations which would remain in their native province, and instead would rendezvous with Thematic forces marching from Sebastea or already mustered at Theodosiopolis. 2,000 men had been mobilized from the theme of Sebasteia; 1,500 from Derzene; 250 from Mesopotamia; 730 from Taron was marching North-West to Theodosiopois; 7,000 from Armeniakon; 4,900 from Paphlagonia; while, Koloneia, Iberia, and Chaldia had already mustered 8,100 men at Theodosiopolis. The Themes had not sent all of their forces, the Basileus only requesting a general campaign muster, as they retained enough forces to defend their own provincial boundaries. Something that Basil wisely took into consideration when forming his campaigning armies.

The latest news from Constantinople had caught up with Basil a week prior. His replies had been sent, his affirmations or rejections of his brothers decisions, and his own directives to the bureaucrats in the Imperial capital. "What will you do about the Sicilian King requesting a bride my Basileus." asked Konstantinos Pharaon, Komes of the Athanatoi as he sat on his steed next to the Emperor's own horse. "My daughter remains unwed and ready to be with child." replied Basil matter-of-fact. Pharaon cocked an eyebrow, "Surely she deserves more than a lowly petty King of an Island rightful to yourself Basileus?"

"Find me another Emperor or King worthy of a daughter to the Emperor of the Romans and I will consider him." mused Basil. The Emperor reined his horse around, "Besides I already sent my reply with the other directives. Anastacia will do what her father demands of her, what Constantinople requires of her, and what is her duty as a daughter. No more, no less."

Constantinople
June 2nd


Anastacia was enraged when the letters rolled in dating from a fortnight ago. Her father, whom she loved and said she would do anything for, had sold her to the king of Sicily to secure the Island as an ally. No doubt to bring it within the boundaries of the Empire when the much older King kicked the bucket and whatever child produced would be manipulated into bringing the Island back into the Imperial fold. It was not what she wanted, dreamed of, and for that she had locked herself in her private study. After throwing a chair across the room, several books, and chucking a glass decanter of Wine out her window. For it to shatter in the courtyard and be hurriedly picked up by Palace staff. Themselves glancing up warily for any other improvised missiles the Imperial Princess wished to use on her war path. The Palace guards, Varangians or Roman, simply kept their faces straight and warily looked up at the windows if they had to pass by the Princess' apartments.Just in case they needed to raise their shields to protect themselves from the fury of a woman's scorn.

Alternatively, in the interior of the palace, the guards simply shoo'd away anyone seeking to disturb the Princess. They and the veteran staff had long since learned to let their masters unleash their fury on inanimate objects rather than potentially them.

On June 7th the reply finally reached Sicily
To: Rainulf, King of Sicily

In the interests of Roman-Sicilian relations and the long Imperial desire of securing our Western territories, I, Basileus of the Romans. Hereby offer as a potential marriage candidate my own daughter. Anastacia Artimesia Porphyrogenita, of House Makedon, if you wish to decline this offer then any response is to be made to Constantinople for my brother Constantine. This marriage will bind in blood and sacred bond our two realms in perpetual alliance.

~Basil Bulgaroktanus
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Dahyan
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Founded: Nov 10, 2018
Ex-Nation

Postby Dahyan » Mon Dec 03, 2018 2:32 pm

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The Fatimid Caliphate
Caliph Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah

Caliph Al-Hakim felt betrayed. Not only had the Romans refused to answer to the diplomatic missive that had been sent to Constantinople after the first raids against Aleppo began, but Emperor Basil Bulgar Slayer had made short work of the Emirate, fully incorporating the proud Muslim state into the bloated carcass of Rome that was the Byzantine realm.

Years of careful planning, negotiation and cordial relations now had been thrown into the garbage in order to satisfy the "translatio imperii" fever dream of the Christian emperor. The entire principle of the peace treaty of the year 1000 now hung in the balance.

"If only my ancestors had continued the campaigns against the Roman Empire", the Caliph murmured to his assembled advisors, who nodded in agreemend. The Bulgar Slayer would have never had the chance to cut his bloody swath throughout Bulgaria, and we wouldn't be faced with this insanity now. If, back when our Caliphate was but a North African emirate, we would have put out naval might fully behind the Bulgarian cause, Constantinople could very well have been flying red lion flags today." The Caliph banged his fist hard on his end table in frustration.

Above all, he wished he could march the Fatimid armies straight across the Bosporus to put an end to the decadent Romans once and for all, and finish the job the Goths had started centuries prior.
But Caliph Al-Hakim, Ruler by Allah's Command, knew deep inside that he did not want to be the man to throw the Caliphate into slaughter willingly. No matter what madness had gripped the Romans up north, the Caliphate would not walk blindly into battle.

No, a better way to hit the Orthodox Christian empire presented itself. For the Fatimid Caliphate had a bargaining chip that, more than anything else, would hit the Christians of Byzantium where it hurt the most. The city in which they believed the Prophet Isa ibn Maryam, whom they blasphemously named the "Son of God" had been crucified and resurrected after three days.

By order of Imam Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah, Ruler by God's Command, Caliph of Islam and Commander of the Faithful:

In response to the treacherous actions taken by the Roman Empire in violating the sovereign borders of the Emirate of Aleppo, thereby insulting the Caliphate and its citizens, as well as breaching the spirit of the peace treaties signed between the Caliphate and the Roman Empire, the Imam has declared that henceforth all pilgrims of the Eastern Orthodox rites hailing from the lands of the Roman Empire shall be barred from entry into the city of al-Quds (Jerusalem) and its holy sanctuaries, until further notice.

This command shall be in effect immediately and shall remain valid until repealed. Inhabitants of the Roman Empire visiting al-Quds at present will be given three days to vacate the area and return to their homeland.
Last edited by Dahyan on Mon Dec 03, 2018 2:32 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Of the Quendi
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Civil Rights Lovefest

Postby Of the Quendi » Tue Dec 04, 2018 7:18 am

Sardinia
The City of Tharros, the Guidicate of Arborea
Under the rule of the Archons of Sardinia


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The checkered banner of the Banu Umayya




Muhammad ibn Muhammad II al-Mansur bi-llah

Muharram 19, 409 / June 7, 1018





The town of Sinis was no more. The city of Tharros was in the final throes of its demise, struggling, writhing, resisting to succumb to the fatal blow that had been struck against it. Both settlements was ablaze in flames, their buildings looted of all valuables and then torched by the invaders. The people of the settlements screamed in despair, fear and agony as their whole world collapsed around them. Many lay death in the streets where they had once lived their lives, cut down by the soldiers of the caliph, but most of the women and children yet lived to be enslaved by the killers of their father's and husbands. Triumphant soldiers were dragging them away, after often ravaging the women, down to their ships.

Standing on the docks of Sinis, just beneath Tharros itself al-Mansur bore witness to this carnage. His eye's where filled with tears that was not caused solely by the smoke of the fires. His first taste of war filled his mouth with a sour taste; this was not what he had thought it would be like. The caliph's men, good Muslim men who said their prayers and obeyed the sharia, was roaming Tharros and Sinis like predatory beasts, having abandoned all morals and all decency. They laughed as they struck down old defenseless men or ravaged screaming woman to the cheers of their comrades. Christian or not the people of Tharros and Sinis was still the children of Allah, and deserved to be treated with respect. But it seemed that the smell of blood, the distance from their homes and the rules that they faithfully lived by there, or the swords in their hands had stirred something dark and ugly in the caliph's men. In al-Mansur a cold, simmering rage was stirred against his own army, an undisciplined and brutish horde who had forgotten its faith far too quickly.

A pair of Norsemen, howling like savages, walked past al-Mansur, dragging a crying half-naked Sardinian woman, whose torn clothing and scarred physique revealed that she had already been ravaged with them. It was of course natural, desirable even, that slaves should be taken during a razzia, al-Mansur's own grandmother was such a slave, so was al-Amiri's wife, who was a good and kind woman, yet it was plainly obvious that the northern savages did not intend to treat their prize with the respect and propriety mandated by the teachings of the Prophet. Al-Mansur, needing an outlet for his fury, sneered at the two men and marched towards them. "Release her." He imperiously ordered them.

The savages probably spoke not a word Arabic, but they understood al-Mansur's tone and glared at him angrily. With no friends nearby the sensibly thing to do for al-Mansur would have been to back down. Whatever else could be said of the Norsemen they where seasoned fighters and the pair before al-Mansur seemed deadly enough, Al-Mansur himself had never killed a man. But al-Mansur was in no mood for sense. Sinis had fallen so quickly that he had not had a chance to see any actual fighting and now he itched for combat. Threateningly he lay his hand on the pommel of his sword, a universally recognizable move anywhere in the world. One of the savages immediately dropped the women and grabbed for his own weapon, and ax, while the other held on to their prize.

Things could have gone very badly for al-Mansur then if not for the arrival of another Norseman. This man was a warrior in chainmail armed with an expensive looking sword, a chieftain among the northerners, of whom few possessed such weapons. He shouted something in the northmen language that by the tone sounded like orders. Very grudgingly, with angry glares at al-Mansur the men gave up their prize to the chieftain and left sulkingly.

The chieftain, holding the Sardinian woman by her arm approached al-Mansur smilingly. Al-Mansur glared coldly at him. The man looked to be somewhere in his twenties, he was a big hulking figure, dark haired and with a dark beard, handsome to look upon. Around his neck hang a crucifix. He said something to al-Mansur but as al-Mansur did not speak the northmen tongue he merely shrugged. But then a thought struck al-Mansur. "Excuse me?" He inquired. The man repeated himself, and now al-Mansur could hear that the man was speaking in a heavily accented but otherwise adequate Arabic. What al-Mansur thought the man said was; "Tis an ill thing to rob a man of his prize."

Al-Mansur shrugged indifferently giving the chieftain a cold glare. The man shrugged himself and smiled. Then he gave the near catatonic Sardinian woman a gentle push towards al-Mansur. She stumbled and al-Mansur had to step forward to grab her lest she fall. Once she was in al-Mansur's arms the woman came out of her catatonia. She started to scream and struggled to get out of al-Mansur's grip. Instinctively he held her firmer to prevent her from tumbling, which only increased her desperation. Al-Mansur blushed, realizing that the sight of him holding the screaming woman was a rather unseemly one. He dropped her and she fell down on the dock, sobbing. Frustrated and embarrassed he stepped away from her, eyeing the smirking norseman angrily. "I think she likes you." The norseman remarked. Al-Mansur's blush deepened. "What is your name norseman." He barked at the chieftain. The norseman replied. Al-Mansur's jaw dropped. "What?" He asked, incredulously. The norseman repeated himself. Al-Mansur shook his head. "In what heathen nation can one possibly be named ... That?" The chieftain shrugged. "I hail from Göinge and am well known there as a great warrior. If Svarthöfde Ormson is too difficult for you to pronounce you may call me Blackhair, most you Mohammedans do." The chieftain spoke.

Al-Mansur, ignoring the remarks about Mohammedans, nodded slowly. "Well Blackhair of ... Goining, I am al-Mansur ibn Muhammad al-Mahdi, Prince of the Banu Umayya." The princeling declared. The chieftain, unimpressed by the title, nodded. "I know it. My father Orm Tosteson, served a man with your name, in Serkland, he raided in Galizuland for him." The chieftain declared. Then he shrugged. "Enough of this. I was sent by the Amir to summon you Almanzor." The chieftain then said. "Al-Amiri?" Al-Mansur asked. The norseman nodded. "The very same. He lies at the dock of Tharros, on the other side of the peninsula, and has summoned his commanders to talk. Come I have horses for us." The chieftain said.

Al-Mansur followed the man. The pair quickly walked through the chaos of Sinis and came soon to the gate of Tharros where a small handful of norsemen awaited with horses. Mounting the horses al-Mansur and the norsemen rode into Tharros. It was no great city. Its lack of proper walls had doomed it. The chaos al-Mansur had witnessed in Sinis was nothing compared to what went on in Tharros. The narrow streets, more like alleys, that cut through the city was almost impassable as the city was teeming with soldiers and citizens. The smell of blood and excrement was intense. It took more than twenty minutes for al-Mansur and his mounted company to traverse the three hundred meters from the gate to the port of Tharros.

The port of Tharros, which unlike the port of Sinis lay on the eastern side of the peninsula on the shores of the gulf of Oristano, was teeming with the ships of the Andalusians. On its docks lay many Christian dead, but those Christians it seemed was soldiers, not like the old men and women that littered Sinis. As he dismounted his horse next to al-Amiri's flagship al-Mansur even saw a line of dead Muslim soldiers, whose corpses were tended to by the imams. The port of Tharros had witnessed real fighting it seemed. "Blackhair?" Al-Mansur remarked, turning to the Norseman chieftain as a thought occurred to him. "You where the one who led the first attack on Sinis, no?" Al-Mansur asked. The chieftain nodded. "Aye." The norseman said. "I know this island. I told the Amir of an island of the coast of Tharros. I anchored my ships there last night and when I attacked this morning I hid behind the cape. By the time Sinis spotted me I was barely a mile from their harbor. They never stood a chance. By the time you Mohammedans docked the port, my men had already taken the gate of Tharros." The man spoke.

Al-Mansur nodded. It was difficult not to respect the man's skill, though al-Mansur was struck by how odd it was that a clearly Christian man had apparently played such a key role in the Muslims taking Christian Sinis. Even Christians it seemed could become a tool of Allah. "Indeed, I barely had cause to draw my sword once today." Al-Mansur, doing a poor job of hiding disappointment, remarked.

Al-Amiri's son Ali had stepped onto the deck of al-Amiri's flagship while al-Mansur conversed with the Norseman. "Ibn Muhammad!" Ali called out stepping onto the docks of Tharros and marching towards al-Mansur. Al-Mansur walked smilingly towards Ali and embraced him. During the journey from Denia he had come to regard the man as a friend. "How was Sinis?" Ali asked smilingly. Al-Mansur's smile died at the thought. "Uneventful." He laconically replied. Then he gestured towards the line of deceased Muslim soldiers. "Not so Tharros I take it?" He asked. Ali nodded. "They defended their port well, but briefly. The rest of the city fell easy enough. Too few men, and not at all prepared. Did you hear the city's ruler fled even while his troops was still fighting. Him and a half hundred of his best troops withdrew to the Cape of Saint Marco before the city fell." Ali laughed at that. "Fools, there is no food on that mountain. Some goats and sheeps. We will starve them out easy enough." Ali laughed. Al-Mansur smirked. "So the city is ours, all resistance crushed?" He asked. Ali nodded. "Aye. Now come, you too Blackhair, we are discussing what to do next."

The three men walked onto the flagship of al-Amiri, Ali leading them towards the cabin of his father. The cabin was crowded with people. Al-Amiri himself and Lab'ib as well as a number of junior commanders was there. Al-Amiri was leading the meeting. "So we are agreed then?" He asked Lab'ib, the powerful governor of Balansiyya. The man nodded. "We are. I shall stay here at Tharros with most of my infantry, to fortify the city and establish it as a foothold for the Caliphate, to siege the other settlements of the Gulf, and to subdue the people who fled to the Cape." Lab'ib spoke. Al-Amiri nodded. "Good. I shall take the fleet and the rest of the infantry and sail for Caralis and Santa Igia immediately. It is crucial that I reach those cities before news of this attack does. I trust you will do a splendid job of pacifying this region and establishing Sinis-Tharros as a Muslim city Lab'ib." Al-Amiri declared. "That then leaves us with the question of our cavalry. They could join with me on the fleet to Caralis, but they would do little good there. Cavalry is of no use when you are sieging a city, and in any case after two weeks at sea the horses need some exercise." Al-Amiri declared.

Ali stepped forward. "With your permission father I would like to lead the cavalry over land towards Santa Igia." Ali said. "The land from here to Santa Igia is not like the mountains elsewhere on the island, its a landscape suited for horses. If the fleet can land my horsemen at the bottom of this bay I can bring the cavalry quickly from there to Santa Igia in just two days. Santa Igia may be better protected from the seaside than Caralis, but they will never anticipate an inland attack. Once the fleet takes Caralis Santa Igia will be like the metal between the hammer and the anvil, and we will crush the city and avenge the massacre at Caralis." Ali loudly declared. Al-Mansur was stunned that his friend knew so much about the geography of Sardinia, but like everyone else nodded in agreement. If Ali knew what he was talking about it sounded like a good plan. "We will do this then." Spoke al-Amiri. "Allahu Akbar!"
Nation RP name
Arda i Eruhíni (short form)
Alcarinqua ar Meneldëa Arda i Eruhíni i sé Amanaranyë ar Aramanaranyë (long form)

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Pasong Tirad
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Postby Pasong Tirad » Tue Dec 11, 2018 12:29 am

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Kingdom of Sicilia
Palermu
June 7 1018



The Count of Malta


It was a Sunday, and the king had taken part in the noontime service just hours ago. It was now the afternoon, and instead of resting, Rainulf was once again meeting with his tutors, but this time in his own private study. A room in the old Emir's palace had been converted into a place where Rainulf can continue his never-ending studies with the three learned men of the cloth that represent the island's three main religions. He was once again pushing for more representation for his Jewish community, something which his two Christian tutors were vehemently arguing against, with many of their arguments rooted in antisemitic vitriol that just was not to the king's liking. "They're Jews!" was their main argument, and Rainulf was having none of it. He had already pushed this question aside for too long, and he wanted it done. His mind was made up and, despite the protestations of his nobles, he wanted to grant a title to a ranking Jewish man. He knew this idea would be protested against, however, and he was especially aware of the plain fact that no noble would ever think of giving up one of their holdings for Jews. This is why he was pleasantly surprised when his Muslim tutor, an imam from Siracusa, brought up an interesting solution.

"If I may have a word in, your Majesty, my dear colleagues," he said, after spending the past few minutes just watching the king's two Christian tutors bat it out over the idea of Jews. "It seems that we're well aware of the plain fact that no good lord under Heaven is going to be willing, without the use of force, to give up one of their manorial holdings - and I would be the first to proclaim that any attempt to violently coerce a noble into surrendering their God-given land will be unjust and sinful-" he paused to take into account the reactions of the bishop and the abbot, both of whom seemed to be in agreement with him "-and would be a grave attack against the order and stability of the kingdom. Therefore, there seems to be only two choices for His Majesty. He must either renounce his beliefs, and refuse to grant an estate to be populated and run by the Yahud, or he must find land that has not a lord governing it."

"There is no land in all of Sicilia without a lord that governs it," answered Rainulf, listening intently to the words of his imam, perhaps the only man left in the room who still had some semblance of reason with him.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Which is why I believe it may perhaps be a good idea for us to use our powerful, God-given minds to think of a possible place that Sicilia may not control as of yet, but will soon almost definitely be controlled by us Siciliani?" The realization dawned on all three other men in the room as quickly as the imam had said it: Malta. The king looked relatively pleased with this idea, as did the bishop and the abbot. "Your Majesty, I know that it will not make sense for you to grant a Jewish man the title of anything higher than a count, so perhaps, if I may make the suggestion, it may be more prudent for you to grant one Jewish man a particularly large personal manorial land- the city of Mdina and the three villages of Attard, Balzan, and Lija, perhaps. It might even be possible to grant him the lands of Rabat-"

"And give control of the catacombs of San Paolo and Sant'Agata? I would rather they fall on a sword!" said the bishop. While the man was not entirely hostile to Jews, he was hostile to anything that would disrupt the balance of power too much - like, perhaps, a Rabbi having any influence over royal affairs as the personal tutor of the king. Having a Jewish count take control of the supposed burial place of one of the greatest saints in all of Christendom and one of the patronesses of the island of Sicilia. "Your Majesty, if there is to be a Jewish lord ruling over Malta under your name, then I must plead with you to have a Christian lord governing the lands that hold the catacombs of San Paolo."

Rainulf thought the two proposals over. He saw it as pure genius on the part of the imam to use rhetoric on his side. The idea of a Jewish count would have been ludicrous, had he not ended his proposal with the even more ludicrous notion that a Jewish lord rule over the lands holding the sacred catacombs of Saint Paul. That was rhetorical prowess.

"It would not be a Jewish county, if a Christian ruled over it. However, I like many other Christians recognize the spiritual significance of the catacombs. Therefore, once I bring this discussion over to the Parliament, I shall make a provision on this proclamation that the land surrounding the catacombs shall be royal land, to not be used for anything but the burying of the dead - be they Christian or Jew - and the expansion and rehabilitation of the underground caverns. Upon parliamentary assent of this proposal, I shall have the Jewish assemblies all throughout Sicilia convene to elect amongst themselves a man that they believe to be the most noble and most competent candidate to become Conte of Malta. Once they have chosen such a man, he shall be presented to the Parliament, who shall have the power to question him, but not to reject him. They shall have the power to reject the proposal, but not the nominee, who only I shall have the power to reject. After that meeting, he shall meet with me and, if I find the man suited for ennobling, then he shall become Conte of Malta. And, once we have full control over the Maltese islands, this new Conte shall aid us in carving up the land for the several Jewish visconti and baroni that will rule the Maltese lands. Once that is done, the emigration of the Jews from Sicilia to Malta shall commence, provided that this exodus shall be strictly voluntary. I will have no lord ruling under my name be complicit in the forcible removal of Jews from their land. The Jews shall be granted all rights expected of any other Siciliani, but their jurisdiction shall be restricted to the Maltese islands. Are these terms acceptable to my noble tutors?"

Rainulf spoke for a while, but the answer was clear on the faces of his tutors: they approved of this plan, and would support it wholeheartedly once it came to the Parliament floor. Many lords have already begun complaining about the presence of Jews on their land - mainly Sicilian Catholics - and it would have not been long until hostilities flared up and blood was shed.

"Your Majesty," said the Greek Abbot, "a Norman has been waiting with a message by the door ever-so patiently since we began. He's been there for a while now, I believe." He pointed towards the door, which he did not even notice was open. A Norman guard was waiting there with three messages in his hand, one bearing the wax seal of the Romans, and the other two bearing the elaborate seal of his spymasters. It wasn't any other Norman guard, however. It was Ozouf. The king's occasional nightly companion.

"Your Majesty," he said, looking the king straight in the eye. Rainulf took the letters, slightly brushing his bare hand against his.

"Thank you," Rainulf answered, which was not custom. You did not thank a guard for doing his job. Thankfully, it seems as though nobody else took notice, and Ozouf went back to the door, able to listen in on the conversations. Rainulf was focused, however, and paid no more attention to his lover being in the same room - which was never supposed to happen. He opened the first letter, which he read out loud to his tutors, detailing how the Cordobans have invaded Sardinia. He opened another letter, detailing how Jerusalem has officially been closed off to Greek Christians, in retaliation for supposed Roman aggression in the area. "Inform Parliament, and send the appropriate response to the Basileus and the Holy Father, assuring them both of the commitment of Sicilia to protecting Christians, and that we fully believe that the oppression against Greek Christians is unjust." One of his tutors went to the many desks in the room to begin writing the letters.

And lastly, Rainulf opened the last letter, bearing the seal of the Roman Basileus. He was suddenly very aware of the fact that his tutors weren't the only people in the room with him. But, his beloved men of the cloth were looking at him as he was reading the letter, expecting him to tell them the contents, and so he had to say it. "The Basileus has agreed to the match," he said, his throat suddenly getting dry. He tried to keep his sight away from the door, and away from Ozouf. "His daughter, the Princess Anastacia has been presented as a possible bride to seal our arrangement."

There was a tense silence after he said those words - tense for Rainulf and perhaps Ozouf, but not for his tutors. "Well, your majesty?"

"Sorry?" he said, getting himself out of his stupor.

"What is your response, your majesty?"

"Ah, yes, uh, send a reply that we accept this arrangement. And make sure Parliament is ready to meet the Jews next week. Excuse me." He left the room from a different door. He avoided Ozouf's gaze as much as he could. He would be sleeping alone for that night - and probably for the next few nights afterward.

To His Imperial Majesty, Basileus Basil II

Peace and greetings, in the name of God!

I am humbled by your choice to accept our offer of partnership and marriage, and I am more than happy to accept the hand of the princess Anastacia Artimesia Porhyrogenita, of House Makedon. May this marriage bind my royal house with your imperial one, for the greater glory of God. Rest assured that we the people of Sicilia shall grant unto her an imperial welcome, and all the splendors of our land shall be open to her as is befitting for a royal princess. We shall be waiting with bated breath until the day her ship lands on our shores.

Furthermore, word of your troubles in Gerusalemme has reached Sicilia. Rest assured that I sympathize with the pilgrims who have been barred entry into our Lord's holy city, and shall be more than happy to provide any assistance should the Holy Father in Rome command it.

Yours under the grace and generosity of our ever-loving God,

Rainulf, of the House of Drengot



June 14, 1018
The Ennobling


They were in the throne room. David, son of Aron, a prominent merchant from Palermu (one of the wealthiest, if rumors were to be believed), was selected among the many representatives chosen by the Jewish assemblies. He had gone through the questioning of the Parliament with ease, being able to answer every perplexing question with rhetorical wit on par with Rainulf's tutors. And, he was able to impress even the king with his charismatic attitude. Several prominent Jewish Sicilians were present in the Parliament, and David's family was right behind him. He was kneeling right in front of the throne where Rainulf was seated. Rainulf took his ceremonial sword - a rather heavy weapon of steel and silver, used only during these kinds of traditional rites - and placed them on David's shoulder.

"David of Palermu, son of Aron, your people have spoken highly of you," said Rainulf, making sure that he was loud enough to be heard by everyone in the hall. "You are a man of Yahweh and of your people, the Jews. You have shown yourself to be an intelligent man, capable of standing up to the interrogation of the Royal Parliament of Sicilia, and impressing even myself. Your people have chosen you to represent them, which means both God and your people have brought you here to be both ennobled and granted land. Do you swear your allegiance to Malta and the people that will be hers?"

"I do," David answered.

"Do you swear allegiance to the Kingdom of Sicilia?"

"I do."

"Do you swear allegiance to your king, Rainulf, and his noble and royal House of Drengot?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to defend Sicilia, and fight beside your king in defending her against her enemies?"

"I do."

"Do you swear to safeguard the people of your lands, to do no wrong, to favor no man above another, and to uphold both the law of your God and the Siciliani?"

"I do."

Rainulf tapped both of his shoulders with the sword. "Arise then, David, son of Aron, Barone di Mdina, Attard, Balzan, and Lija, Conte di Malta Protector of the Jews of Sicilia. May he serve the kingdom well!" The new lord stood up, and as soon as he turned to face the Parliament, cheers erupted throughout the whole hall. Malta wasn't Sicilian, but David now officially was - not only were the Jews of Sicily recognized as proper subjects of the king, but now they had a proper representative in the form of David. Now, Rainulf could focus his people - even more united than before - in the building of ships, in the training of the Normans, and the coming invasion of Malta.
Last edited by Pasong Tirad on Fri Dec 14, 2018 12:17 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Imperialisium
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Imperialisium » Fri Dec 14, 2018 12:04 am

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June 15th

The Imperial Princess dromon had departed from Constantinople on the night of the 3rd. Stopping at Kreta to take on water and supplies before moving on a Westerly route. Moving North-west to skirt the Peloponnese, stopping a few times along the way, before reaching Corfu and meeting up with a flotilla that was to escort the Princess dromon to Sicily. The flotilla numbered four Dromons and a half dozen smaller ships. The sailing from Corfu to the boot of Italy was a turbulent one. For a storm had swept up South to batter the Adriatic coast. Forcing the Flotilla to temporarily anchor off the Southern coast of Italy. Finally when the harsh winds abated and the waves had died down did the Flotilla make good head way. So as the morning of the 15th dawned did the Byzantine pennants come into view of the Syracusan's. The Imperial flag flapping in the breeze as the Princess Dromon and escorts slipped into berths at the wharf. Immediately, Byzantine Marines would supervise the unloading of supplies while a messenger boy was sent to the local ruler to state the arrival of the Princess.

Theodosiopolis
June 17th

Basil II Bulgaroktanus, studied the maps of Georgia and Armenia like a young scholar working on an assignment from his teacher. Scrutinizing every detail and calculating various distances, marching times, and logistical costs. He had had meetings with officers and administrators for the last week. Has sent and received replies from the Georgian King, George I, on the matter of him occupying Tao. A territory that was de jure Roman since the last Byzantine-Georgian Treaty. Further, on why Seljuk raiders had been allowed to raid Roman lands from Georgian and Armenian territory. George's reply had been lacking much in what amounts to an explanation beyond declaring that Tao was rightfully his. Something that Basil could not abide and thus he had given over to the reality that a military operation needed to occur. A detailed campaign against George I that would see the recovering of Tao and the reordering or annexation of various territories to secure the Eastern Frontier from the Euxine Sea to Syria.
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