Emperor_krk: Internet games are teh fun. The one I wrote about is my dream kind of game.
Specialist290: It's been tough, mainly because there's a lot of story I've plotted out and wanted to write, and simply haven't been able to. I tend to write things when I feel it's time, and that I can, and.. well, I might get to writing the story, rather than blathering on over here.
TreizeV: High-statted Generals I gave myself early-on are to blame for my expansion. I always fail at Byzantium, so I thought I'd give myself a little bonus. Unfortunately, it turned into a massive bonus. The few provinces it won me early on have made sure I'm not losing now.
likk9922: That almost perfectly describes most MMORPGs in a sentence. A parody of real life.
By the way, I'm birfucating the story. From now on, there'll be Chris segments, where we'll be studying history, and Alexios segments, where we'll be opening a window right into that time. Because I need something to rekindle my desire to write.
- - - - -
1501, Constantinople
"Captain Alexios. Welcome home."
It was symbolic, of course. He was a Cyprian, and had never owned land near Constantinople in his life. Yet the City
was home, in a way. The grand ideas, the sweeping ideas and beauty of the Roman Empire that lay at every good Roman's heart were enshrined here, in the great churches and cathedrals, the love of Christ, and the protection of civilization. The Moslem barbarians to the south and east, the hordes of unwashed Papists to the north and west - both enroached upon the Empire, tried to pull her down.
Yet the Empire remained ascendant. Rome had been destroyed, burnt to the ground, once before. It would never happen again. Barbarians stood at every gate, yet they would never be paid to leave the Empire alone again. He had been there, years ago, when Alexios Caspanias the Second had spoken.
"No Roman, no true man, would sacrifice his dignity as offal by paying such barbarians as these for peace. Should they fall upon us, upon the walls of our Empire, and grind us into dust, still we will fight, with pride and knowledge that Christ will welcome us into his arms. Should we fall against the barbarians, let all men know that, for a thousand years, our end will be a tale mighty enough to ring in the minds of men, and in their hearts!"
Saying thus, he had taken the army north, and shattered the Papist alliance, destroying their power once and for all. Alexios had been named for the first Emperor who was called such. In the south, where the Mamluks had fought, he had stood beside his captain, and, in their hundreds, they had fought the Mohammedians in their tens of thousands. They had been driven back, slowly, inexorably, and, as it seemed all hope was lost, a light appeared on the horizon, the torches and fires of one hundre thousand Roman soldiers, rolling over the plains like a tide of invincible strength, leaving no Mamluk alive, taking back all that had been lost.
It had been glorious. Fifty men in a rotting guardtower, surrounded by five hundred Mamluks. They had been considered surrender. Then the army had appeared. He had wept tears of joy.
Later on, he found out that his wife and children had been killed by the Mamluks as they had ravaged their way through Roman lands. He had wept again, but in sorrow. From then on, he had one desire. To kill the enemies of the Empire, who committed such brutalities, such evils. He was a captain, now. A centurion, his honorific went.
He had been given a full hundred men in Venice, and had been told to take the walls. The defenders had numbered as many as the attackers, but the key was surprise. Should the Venetians gather their Austrian allies to their side, they might well have lost the war. It was a foolhardy assault, but General Konmemnos had not been a fool. The Venetians were ill-prepared for an assault, and their morale was poor.
They attacked the walls without pausing in their march, dying in their hundreds. He himself had led his hundred onto the walls, and a full ninety of them were dead, now. But they had taken a foothold, and let many more on. The Venetians had lost that day, although only a thousand of them were slain - as opposed to five thousand Romans. Venice was now another province in the Empire, and her fat merchant princes had been paupered, to build the Great Cathedral.
It would be over six hundred feet tall, one of the greatest feats of human architecture ever. The Emperor, when with his army in Egypt, had seen the Great Pyramid. Almost five hundred feet tall, it had captured his imagination. He had seen a drawing of the Lincoln Cathedral in England - and that, too, had brought about his vision. The greatest cathedral in the world would be in Constantinople - no matter how many had to pay for it. The Austrians and Hungarians had paid much for it. Emperor Alexios, rather than taking land in the great war against the Papists, had accepted money in lieu of many lands. Austria and Hungary had emptied their treasuries, and the Emperor had spent it all on the beginning of the Great Cathedral.
Already, it stood a hundred feet tall, scaffolding surrounding it. It was mighty in area, and an entire neighbourhood where those in poverty had once lived had been demolished. Alexios had reimbursed them all, offering them places within the Palace, and employment, to boot. The Empire had been drained dry by the extra tax levied to pay for the Cathedral, and much grumbling had been raised about it. Yet it would cement Constantinople's place in the world as the greatest city, the most astonishing place in which mankind brought to life their skill and artistry.
He, though, was to meet the Strategos. A citation for bravery, and apparently more was his to gain. Perhaps a promotion. He was nearing thirty-five, and captaincy should not be forever.
His thoughts drifted away, and he put more effort into marching. There was only ten of them, now. He had hoped to be marching home with a full hundred. He marched proudly, dressed in imperial purple, and, finally, came to a stop, before the Strategos. And beside him, the Emperor.
Many men had gone before them already, others who had been brave, who had given good service - and those who received awards were loyal to the Empire forever. They were heroes from then on, and the people loved heroes. Perhaps he was a touch cynical, but, had they not served the Empire, no awards would have been given, he thought.
"Greetings, Captain Alexios. Your bravery in the face of danger has not gone unnoticed by the Empire. You have surely won yourself a place in heaven. For your service to the Empire, I am presenting you with-"
A sharp
twang rang out in the audience. A black crossbow bolt sprouted itself from the Emperor's face, protruding from his skull. The Strategos whirled. Alexios stepped in front of the Strategos, and drew his sword.
"Assassin!", he heard someone scream. Alexios Caspanias the Second was dead. The Emperor. Dead. The crowd surged in front of him, and another bolt flew towards the Strategos - but was stopped by Alexios's breastplate. And then by his shoulder. He fell to the ground, the Strategos falling with him. What had happened? Why would someone..?
The pain was immense, but he had faced worse in battle. This was just battle. "MEN OF THE EAGLE CENTURY!", he screamed, blood trickling through his armour.
His men formed up, his voice of command taking precedence over the situation at hand. "FORM UP AROUND THE STRATEGOS! TAKE HIM BACK TO THE IMPERIAL PALACE!"
Out of breath, and of blood, he fainted.
