I like the use of the history class to fill in gaps. It seems like a device that could also be very useful for explaining things the characters could not know.
-
We have updated our Community Code of Conduct. Please read through the new rules for the forum that are an integral part of Paradox Interactive’s User Agreement.
OK next post should be here by Monday at the latest. To make up for the month wait this update will be super good. 
Last edited:
February 26, 1339, Konstantinopolis,
The Blachernae Palace, the home of the Emperors since the reconquest of Konstantinopolis, was echoing with the sound of footsteps. In the throne room, decorated with the sad few relics and banners that survived the Fourth Crusade, Andronikos III Palaiologos paced and muttered, “How did they do it?”
Timothy Komnenos, who was looking on in boredom asked, “Are you still wondering about the defeat at Maston?” Andronikos stopped glared at him, “No, why would I be thinking about that!” Timothy smiles and says, “Because, sir, that is the only thing you’ve been thinking of since the battle.” Andronikos stands silently then resumes pacing. “You’re right like always. I am thinking about it. How did they beat us?”
Timothy, with the weary sigh of someone who has argued the same thing over and over says, “Sir they outnumbered you by 4 to 3. It would have been almost been impossible to win.” Andronikos shakes his head, and reply’s, “No, we were winning the infantry fight, the battle should have been ours! AHA! The cavalry is the problem.”
Andronikos’s face lit up, and quickly said, “If we had an army more like the Latins, we could have a superior cavalry force.” Timothy shot up, “No! I mean, sir the Latin cavalry is completely undisciplined, and their infantry are little better than peasants. Furthermore, we have already have a system based on the Latin’s; the Pronoiar system.”
Andronikos just smiles and says, “We will keep the infantry as it is, but we will revise the Pronoiar system so it’s more like the feudal Latin’s system. This will allow us to field more cavalry and not have to use costly mercenaries anymore.” Timothy replies, “Sir but you will be giving more power to the nobles, further weakening your central power!” Andronikos answers with a grim smile , “Then you should be happy my friend.”
“But!-”
“No Timothy, I have decided and you are my megas domestikos and you will do as I say!” interrupted Andronikos. Timothy threw up his hands and resignedly says, “Fine, I’ll do as you ask.” Andronikos kindly smiles and says, “Thank you Timothy, you’ll realize that this is necessary, and the right choice.” Timothy just frowns, and says, “I’m going to retire for the night and so should you, Sir.” Andronikos says, “Yes of course. Good night”
------------------------------------------------------
It was black. An all-consuming darkness. A place like nowhere else, a place where there is not one once of light in the entire land. A place where there is no sights, no sounds, no smells, no senses at all. Nothing. In this expansive area where there is no landscape and for that matter, no floor, something stirred. A solitary man stood up in this vast wasteland. Andronikos III Palaiologos peered into the darkness which was as solid as a wall he wandered here and there for an indeterminate time, days, weeks, months; even years it blended into monotonous darkness. He wondered if he was dead, and if this was what being dead felt like, but suddenly a pin prick of light appeared in the distance. In the darkness it was blinding, and Andronikos quickly looked to the side. As Andronikos closed his eyes the light slowly grew in size and brilliance until it was searing the inside of Andronikos’s eye lids. Andronikos turned to the side to escape the light, and quite suddenly the light softened. As Andronikos stood, back turned, a commanding military voice said, “Turn your head my child.”
Andronikos hesitantly turned back into the light and gazed onto the face a handsome young man covered from head to toe in chain mail. Andronikos gasps in shock as he recognizes the face from hundreds of painting and mosaics. The soldier spoke again, “Do you know who I am?” Andronikos replies in awe, “Yes, you are Saint George.” Saint George smiles, and says, “Take my arm, my child, and let me show you something.” Andronikos complied, and they floated into a doorway of light.
A hundred thousand campfires burned into the deep recesses of the night, but that held no grandeur compared to the spectacle lay out before the eyes of all. Peasants, nobles, merchants all stared in horror at the terrible sight. Konstantinopolis was burning. An innumerable host lay outside the walls, fluttering Turkish flags danced in the eerie flickering firelight. The great beast lurched forward simultaneously and with cries crashed thunderously onto the ancient crumbling Theodosian Walls.
Though this bedlam Andronikos floated watching helplessly as the cries of defenseless civilians were cut brutally short by the merciless blades of the Turkish oppressors. Andronikos turned to Saint George, but as he gazed upon that severe face his pleas died on his lips. For hours Andronikos watched as the Queen of Cities was brutally and ruthlessly destroyed, but at long last he saw a small group of Greeks hopelessly waiting as the Turks slowly battered down Gate of St. Romanus. At the lead of this group was a man clad in imperial regalia. Saint George motioned for Andronikos to listen to the vaguely familiar looking man, “My brothers this is the end. The infidels have breached the city. I have failed you and the people of Konstantinopolis. I am honored, honored, to breathe my last with you my brave friends.” So saying the emperor took off his purple cloak and regalia, thus blending in with his guard. With a thunderous shake the Gate of St. Romanus burst open and hundreds of heathens flooded into the dying city. With a last sigh Andronikos barely heard the condemned man whisper, “The city has fallen and I am alive,” then with a roar he led the last Greeks onto down the throat of the beast.
The imperial sword swept the head off one, two, three Turks in a row until the emperor found himself facing a giant, covered with unknown tattoos, and a wild look in his eyes. The emperor feinted to the left then swung the sword to the right, but the giant for all his size moved like a viper. He deflected the emperor’s blow with his shield then swiftly impaled the off balanced emperor on a heathen scimitar. The emperor slowly slipped off the sword, eyes glazing over, and with a thump that familiar looking face hit the dirt. With a jolt Andronikos realized who the brave man was. A Greek stared in shock at the dead man, and cried out, “The Emperor is dead! Constantine is dead! The last of the line, Constantine XI Palaiologos, is dead! All is lost!” Hearing this, the few Greeks left alive, slowly backed away from the Turkish horde, then turning they ran, disappearing into the ruins of the burning city.
A single Turk richly clad in exotic armor and silks slowly walks through the ruined Gate of St. Romanus glancing down he sees a glint of metal that catches his eye. From the grip of a dead Greek the Turk wrests a beautiful sword, and holding the sword of the emperors up he cries in a foreign tongue, “Yunanlılar bir imparatorluk düşmüştü. Konstantinopolis bizim!”
Andronikos turns slowly to St. George and asks, “What horrible event have I just witnessed?” St. George looked solemnly out across the ruined city, and sadly replies, “This is what will happen in the future.” Andronikos upon hearing this falls to his knees and begs, “No! Please anything but this future for my sons.” St. George holds up and says, “Not now my child; I have one more thing to show you.” Andronikos once more grabbed onto St. George’s arm, and they floated off into the steadily dissolving night sky.
The screams of horses and men, and the clash of steel all fused together into one unimaginable din. Stretched across the desert plains were two huge armies. One was a glittering host, Arabic banners fluttering in the faint wind. On the other side (of the plain) was a smaller army, strangely dull in the sweltering summer heat. It was above this army, at the head of a wedge of heavily armored cavalry, which the flag of the Palaiologos flew. Andronikos rapidly descended toward this flag, and saw next to it sat a shockingly young man, no more than 25. Andronikos looks at St. George questionly, but all St. George does is to incline his head to listen. The man thunders, “This, my beloved Hetaireia is the moment we’ve been waiting for! This is the chance to make an empire for ourselves, and our sons! Hetaireia ready Kontos! Charge!”
The superbly armored horsemen thundered into a gallop, and aimed towards a growing gap in the heathen lines. In the midst of fighting, the Arabs one by one looked up at the sound of fast approaching hoof beats. Their eyes grew wide as they saw in the bloody golden masks of the Greeks, the faces of their own fearsome demons. The Hetaireia crashed into the gap at the same moment that the first Muslim fled in terror. What followed was an indescribable orgy of blood and gore. As the tide of fleeing Muslims grew irresistible and all heathens fled from the armies of God the young man dressed in violet waved a sword smeared with Saracen blood screamed something inaudible, lost in the shrieking conglomeration of war and history. While the heathen army fled from the pitiless angels of God, Andronikos once more felt a mailed hand on his arm, and he once again floated up into the blinding whiteness.
They stood in a small room, painted purely white, but Andronikos couldn’t have cared less about the room, he was focused on the man. St. George stood solemnly with his back turned to Andronikos. Staring silently at the wall, St George, at long last turned with a grave look on his face, “What you have just witnessed two possible futures for your people. As close together as a woven carpet and the only person that has the power to choose between them is you. You, and you alone, has the power to change this history. But the path is treacherous and hidden. You will have to go back to go forward. There will be few right decisions, and many wrong. Are you ready?” Andronikos carefully regarded those wise old eyes, and quietly said, “I am.” St. George stared at Andronikos for a few moments then turned, breaking into sudden movement, “The task you must accomplish is to kill the sons of Osman. With this fulfilled, your descendants will accomplish deeds beyond any imaging, or they will fall into deteriorating annals of history. It is up to them.” So saying, the room faded into blackness, and Andronikos was left to contemplate his turbulent dreams.
The Blachernae Palace, the home of the Emperors since the reconquest of Konstantinopolis, was echoing with the sound of footsteps. In the throne room, decorated with the sad few relics and banners that survived the Fourth Crusade, Andronikos III Palaiologos paced and muttered, “How did they do it?”
Timothy Komnenos, who was looking on in boredom asked, “Are you still wondering about the defeat at Maston?” Andronikos stopped glared at him, “No, why would I be thinking about that!” Timothy smiles and says, “Because, sir, that is the only thing you’ve been thinking of since the battle.” Andronikos stands silently then resumes pacing. “You’re right like always. I am thinking about it. How did they beat us?”
[Andronikos has been troubled by his defeat at Moston. Which even though he has been defeated before Andronikos felt that he should have won, despite the fact they were outnumbered?
Timothy, with the weary sigh of someone who has argued the same thing over and over says, “Sir they outnumbered you by 4 to 3. It would have been almost been impossible to win.” Andronikos shakes his head, and reply’s, “No, we were winning the infantry fight, the battle should have been ours! AHA! The cavalry is the problem.”
Andronikos’s face lit up, and quickly said, “If we had an army more like the Latins, we could have a superior cavalry force.” Timothy shot up, “No! I mean, sir the Latin cavalry is completely undisciplined, and their infantry are little better than peasants. Furthermore, we have already have a system based on the Latin’s; the Pronoiar system.”
Andronikos just smiles and says, “We will keep the infantry as it is, but we will revise the Pronoiar system so it’s more like the feudal Latin’s system. This will allow us to field more cavalry and not have to use costly mercenaries anymore.” Timothy replies, “Sir but you will be giving more power to the nobles, further weakening your central power!” Andronikos answers with a grim smile , “Then you should be happy my friend.”
“But!-”
“No Timothy, I have decided and you are my megas domestikos and you will do as I say!” interrupted Andronikos. Timothy threw up his hands and resignedly says, “Fine, I’ll do as you ask.” Andronikos kindly smiles and says, “Thank you Timothy, you’ll realize that this is necessary, and the right choice.” Timothy just frowns, and says, “I’m going to retire for the night and so should you, Sir.” Andronikos says, “Yes of course. Good night”
------------------------------------------------------
It was black. An all-consuming darkness. A place like nowhere else, a place where there is not one once of light in the entire land. A place where there is no sights, no sounds, no smells, no senses at all. Nothing. In this expansive area where there is no landscape and for that matter, no floor, something stirred. A solitary man stood up in this vast wasteland. Andronikos III Palaiologos peered into the darkness which was as solid as a wall he wandered here and there for an indeterminate time, days, weeks, months; even years it blended into monotonous darkness. He wondered if he was dead, and if this was what being dead felt like, but suddenly a pin prick of light appeared in the distance. In the darkness it was blinding, and Andronikos quickly looked to the side. As Andronikos closed his eyes the light slowly grew in size and brilliance until it was searing the inside of Andronikos’s eye lids. Andronikos turned to the side to escape the light, and quite suddenly the light softened. As Andronikos stood, back turned, a commanding military voice said, “Turn your head my child.”
Andronikos hesitantly turned back into the light and gazed onto the face a handsome young man covered from head to toe in chain mail. Andronikos gasps in shock as he recognizes the face from hundreds of painting and mosaics. The soldier spoke again, “Do you know who I am?” Andronikos replies in awe, “Yes, you are Saint George.” Saint George smiles, and says, “Take my arm, my child, and let me show you something.” Andronikos complied, and they floated into a doorway of light.
A hundred thousand campfires burned into the deep recesses of the night, but that held no grandeur compared to the spectacle lay out before the eyes of all. Peasants, nobles, merchants all stared in horror at the terrible sight. Konstantinopolis was burning. An innumerable host lay outside the walls, fluttering Turkish flags danced in the eerie flickering firelight. The great beast lurched forward simultaneously and with cries crashed thunderously onto the ancient crumbling Theodosian Walls.
Though this bedlam Andronikos floated watching helplessly as the cries of defenseless civilians were cut brutally short by the merciless blades of the Turkish oppressors. Andronikos turned to Saint George, but as he gazed upon that severe face his pleas died on his lips. For hours Andronikos watched as the Queen of Cities was brutally and ruthlessly destroyed, but at long last he saw a small group of Greeks hopelessly waiting as the Turks slowly battered down Gate of St. Romanus. At the lead of this group was a man clad in imperial regalia. Saint George motioned for Andronikos to listen to the vaguely familiar looking man, “My brothers this is the end. The infidels have breached the city. I have failed you and the people of Konstantinopolis. I am honored, honored, to breathe my last with you my brave friends.” So saying the emperor took off his purple cloak and regalia, thus blending in with his guard. With a thunderous shake the Gate of St. Romanus burst open and hundreds of heathens flooded into the dying city. With a last sigh Andronikos barely heard the condemned man whisper, “The city has fallen and I am alive,” then with a roar he led the last Greeks onto down the throat of the beast.
The imperial sword swept the head off one, two, three Turks in a row until the emperor found himself facing a giant, covered with unknown tattoos, and a wild look in his eyes. The emperor feinted to the left then swung the sword to the right, but the giant for all his size moved like a viper. He deflected the emperor’s blow with his shield then swiftly impaled the off balanced emperor on a heathen scimitar. The emperor slowly slipped off the sword, eyes glazing over, and with a thump that familiar looking face hit the dirt. With a jolt Andronikos realized who the brave man was. A Greek stared in shock at the dead man, and cried out, “The Emperor is dead! Constantine is dead! The last of the line, Constantine XI Palaiologos, is dead! All is lost!” Hearing this, the few Greeks left alive, slowly backed away from the Turkish horde, then turning they ran, disappearing into the ruins of the burning city.
A single Turk richly clad in exotic armor and silks slowly walks through the ruined Gate of St. Romanus glancing down he sees a glint of metal that catches his eye. From the grip of a dead Greek the Turk wrests a beautiful sword, and holding the sword of the emperors up he cries in a foreign tongue, “Yunanlılar bir imparatorluk düşmüştü. Konstantinopolis bizim!”
Andronikos turns slowly to St. George and asks, “What horrible event have I just witnessed?” St. George looked solemnly out across the ruined city, and sadly replies, “This is what will happen in the future.” Andronikos upon hearing this falls to his knees and begs, “No! Please anything but this future for my sons.” St. George holds up and says, “Not now my child; I have one more thing to show you.” Andronikos once more grabbed onto St. George’s arm, and they floated off into the steadily dissolving night sky.
The screams of horses and men, and the clash of steel all fused together into one unimaginable din. Stretched across the desert plains were two huge armies. One was a glittering host, Arabic banners fluttering in the faint wind. On the other side (of the plain) was a smaller army, strangely dull in the sweltering summer heat. It was above this army, at the head of a wedge of heavily armored cavalry, which the flag of the Palaiologos flew. Andronikos rapidly descended toward this flag, and saw next to it sat a shockingly young man, no more than 25. Andronikos looks at St. George questionly, but all St. George does is to incline his head to listen. The man thunders, “This, my beloved Hetaireia is the moment we’ve been waiting for! This is the chance to make an empire for ourselves, and our sons! Hetaireia ready Kontos! Charge!”
The superbly armored horsemen thundered into a gallop, and aimed towards a growing gap in the heathen lines. In the midst of fighting, the Arabs one by one looked up at the sound of fast approaching hoof beats. Their eyes grew wide as they saw in the bloody golden masks of the Greeks, the faces of their own fearsome demons. The Hetaireia crashed into the gap at the same moment that the first Muslim fled in terror. What followed was an indescribable orgy of blood and gore. As the tide of fleeing Muslims grew irresistible and all heathens fled from the armies of God the young man dressed in violet waved a sword smeared with Saracen blood screamed something inaudible, lost in the shrieking conglomeration of war and history. While the heathen army fled from the pitiless angels of God, Andronikos once more felt a mailed hand on his arm, and he once again floated up into the blinding whiteness.
They stood in a small room, painted purely white, but Andronikos couldn’t have cared less about the room, he was focused on the man. St. George stood solemnly with his back turned to Andronikos. Staring silently at the wall, St George, at long last turned with a grave look on his face, “What you have just witnessed two possible futures for your people. As close together as a woven carpet and the only person that has the power to choose between them is you. You, and you alone, has the power to change this history. But the path is treacherous and hidden. You will have to go back to go forward. There will be few right decisions, and many wrong. Are you ready?” Andronikos carefully regarded those wise old eyes, and quietly said, “I am.” St. George stared at Andronikos for a few moments then turned, breaking into sudden movement, “The task you must accomplish is to kill the sons of Osman. With this fulfilled, your descendants will accomplish deeds beyond any imaging, or they will fall into deteriorating annals of history. It is up to them.” So saying, the room faded into blackness, and Andronikos was left to contemplate his turbulent dreams.
Aye that is the mission but there is a very nasty very Byzentine suprise in store for him. Also we will have to go through the tedious task of interducing people before we can get there .
.
Yes it will live. My computer crashed, and that lost me all my photos, maps, etc. Luckly, though I played most of the game on another computer, so other than the last 50 years, the biggest war, and the birth of the next generation everything is fine. *Trying to put a happy face on.* The updates should be coming faster because I'm out of school.
Luckly, though I played most of the game on another computer, so other than the last 50 years, the biggest war, and the birth of the next generation everything is fine. *Trying to put a happy face on.* The updates should be coming faster because I'm out of school.
OK so I tried to figure out what was wrong with my computer today, and I turned it on thinking it will just turn black in a few seconds. MY COMPUTER WORKED FINE! AFTER A MONTH I TURNED IT ON AND IT WORKS! I AM PISSED, AND NOT ONLY THAT EVERYTHING IS STILL THERE! *deep breathes* Its like my hardrive went on a vacation to Brazil for a month! So I guess that means I will be writing this again. On a side note Happy Independence Day/weekend everybody!
