[SS 6.4 AAR] - Upon the wings of eagles - Poland

[HuliganFish]

Hello everyone,
This is my first AAR [hopefully] depicting the rise of Poland in a VH/VH Late era campaign.
While the first post is more of a prologue, presenting the setting and characters, I hope that the chapters that follow will give a bigger and more detailed account of the involved characters and the events that occur in their life.

I should also note that English is not my first language- so please forgive my writing

.-=-=-=Summer, 1220-=-=-=

"The decision is final."

"B-"

"It is /FINAL/."

Grand duke Leszek's voice echoed throughout the large meeting hall, and Helena could swear she saw her father's fist clench into a ball.


"I have fed you, I gave you shelter and education, - I even allowed you to prance around the country and beyond for whatever little thing that captured your heart. But you are a PIAST, Helena. And your duty lays with Poland. Not with a ploughing German prince."

A flock of advisors eyed Helena, nodding in affirmation- although none dared to lend his voice.

Helena's eyes locked unto her father's. She held the chair's arm tightly, until she could feel the blood draining from her knuckles.
Despite their differences, both Heinrich and Elisabeth treated Helena like family- something she never felt amongst her own siblings, Wladyslav and Tworzymir.

"Heinrich and I were supposed to be married off to one another in three months! You can't expect me to gallop willingly and marry that pig Stephen!"

The grand duke's fist slammed unto the table, and Helena saw her father's body tense upwards.
Even at the age of forty, he was an handsome man, with sharply defined features and a neat, trimmed beard.

"Get out."

The flock of advisors and minor Szlachta left wordlessly, knowing better than to intercept the family feud.

Even before the last of his cohort left the hall, Leszek paced towards his daughter, eyeing her critically.

"How long do you think it'll take our 'supposed' allies to turn on our borders, daughter? Just because you and Elisabeth shared dolls does not mean we are SAFE. If its not the Empire, then their demented offspring to the North, and if its neither of those, then its the Pagans and our neighbors to the south."

Helena's features hardened, but her father cut her speech by talking hold of her arm.

"You ride tomorrow. You are to be presentable, charming and approachable. You are to secure the future of this nation. So ACT appropriately."

His palm let go of her own, and she could feel the blood flowing back into her now aching limb.

Everything happened so fast- The emperor's hunger for conquest and expansion has earned him the wrath of the Pope, who in turn excommunicated him from the faith, creating endless opportunities for neighboring realms.

She wanted to be there with Heinrich when he liberates his country from invading forces. She wanted to clean his wounds after a long battle, she wanted him to tell her how he missed her after a long campaign.

But what she wanted had no place in the politics of the realm.

"Yes, father."

Her feet carried her out of the Hall, away from the flock of waiting advisors and nobles, away from the serving girls and servants, away from all those things that felt so meaningless now.

She pressed a teary eye against the pillow and dreamt of Heinrich.

=------------------------=

Leszek's chest heaved heavily, and he could feel an old wound burning in the left side of his chest, where his finger lingered, pressing the leathery scar that marked the area.

"You're worried, love?"

Salomea's voice took him by surprise, and he visibly shook, much to his wife's delight.

"You know I don't have much choice, beloved. If Pol-"

Salomea took her husband's side and passed a palm along his back.

"I support whatever decision you make, love. I know that you would rather see Helena happy"

Leszek eyed his wife in silence.
His marriage to Salomea were, at first, a political interest of her father, the duke of Halych.
He never imagined he would grow to cherish the petite girl from the fringes of his realm, with her neat black hair and reserved demeanor.

What first began as a chore turned to a blessing- and his younger self grew to appreciate, and even love his maiden.

"She will be gone at first light. Our daughter, our jewel. Cut away from her home and the man she wished to marry since she was six. I don't regret it, my love. I only pray that God will guide her - and us - true."

He could feel Salomea's body slide against his own, and the woman kissed his exposed shoulder blades.
=------------------------=

Tworzymir wiped the sweat from his forehead, then spat to the side.

"Ploughing-"

His sparring companion, Radovid, showed no signs of fatigue, and paced around the noble with light steps, sword at hand.

"You can always admit defeat, Ryzmir"

And that face. Radovid was everything that Twor wasn't- handsome, physically gifted and swift.
He had a way of reaching people with words. To win hearts, to make a man forget a grudge, or a girl to lose her virginity.

Radovid's blue eyes sparkled with joy and intelligence, while Twor always imagined his own brown pair to be more akin to a still puddle of horse .

"Again!"

Radovid nodded, accepting the challenge before pacing forward, ever graceful in his maneuvers.
Both of their swords met with a subtle ptang, followed by a series of clinks and clanks of colliding steel.

Radovid feinted, drawing Twor for an aggressive lunge, which he rewarded with a punch to the jaw.

Twor absorbed the hit and slashed aggressively, finding Radovid's sword, which soon followed with a poke to his rival's midsection.

Twor cussed and took a step back.

The prince was about to advance against his opponent, when a sentry approached the youth, bowing formally.

"Prince Tworzymir, head advisor Samuel wishes to see you."

He exchanged a quick look with Radovid, before dismissing the sentry.

"Must've been that messenger that came here earlier."

Radovid dismissed himself with a mock bow, and the prince left the courtyard towards the manor proper.
The sound of debating men greeted his ears even before he entered the hall, and he ran a palm over his features. This was going to be long. Long and boring.

He opened the great wooden doors and surveyed the gathered.
The entire council was present, debating, heap of paperwork and parchments covering the stained table that dominated the chamber's center, with some men possessing a cup of liquid or a plate of foodstuff.

Samuel rose from the opposite side of the table and bowed stiffly.
He was a gaunt man, and his trimmed white beard covered most of his jaw and face.

"Prince Tworzymir, good. We've much to discuss."

Something about Samuel always kept him at unease. His hawkish nose, the single brown eye (it was said he lost his second in his younger days while in captivity, which is something Twor found hard to imagine), and the long graying hair that cascaded down to his neck, all gave Samuel an otherworldly feel.

"We have just concluded a meeting with a messenger from Krakow. Your sister was sent to Hungary, following the Emperor's excommunication."

Twor's lip twisted. While he never favored Heinrich, he saw him as an upstanding man, cultured and intelligent. A bit unmanly, frankly, but a very suitable husband to his sister.

"Nothing to say? Good. Then we'll have more time to discuss your father's demands.
He wants you to prepare a suitable army to defend Plock's borders, should the Order see fit to diverge their attention."

"You and I both know that Plock is a trade hub. We lack the facilities, experience and funds held by the Order. At best, we can pray-"

"Which is why your brother and uncle will both bolster our ranks."

Twor exhaled uneasily.
His uncle, Jan, was a good man- albeit simple minded.

His brother Wladyslaw on the other hand, was much like Radovid- a man of grace and finesse, an experienced combatant, loved by men and women alike. But while Radovid was fickle and prone to self-humor, Wladyslaw was cunning and prone to explosive bursts of temper.

"I see you're uneased, my prince?"

Twor ran a palm along his stubble and seized the gathered as before. All of their eyes were on him, waiting.

"See to it, Samuel. The army that is. I want the men to be greeted properly. Have the servants ready the rooms. Expand our barracks if you need to- and likewise with the kitchen."

Samuel nodded once, and he jotted the prince's decree on a piece of paper.
"Good, now, let's discuss your father's other projects.."

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Welcome to the Writers' Study, HuliganFish!

I don't think you need to be forgiven for your writing - I had no trouble understanding it.

This is a nice start. I like that you've introduced us to your characters and set up some conflicts between different people. I especially liked the way you made Leszek behave ruthlessly in the matter of his daughter's marriage, and only revealed to us afterwards that he regrets not being able to make her happy. (Am I right in assuming that Elisabeth is Heinrich's sister, by the way?)

I'll be interested to see how the relationship between Helena and Stephen develops, and also to meet Wladyslaw and see him interacting with Tworzymir. And, of course, to see what happens in general!

[Seven of Spades]

It may be a good idea to disable emoticons in the advanced post options, as probably many I am looking forward for more.

The evil me likes the idea of a Princess in a unhappy marriage.

[HuliganFish]

This thing took way longer than expected!

I should also mention that both posts serve more as a prologue, since Poland's campaign has a tendency to start very slowly and then quickly get out of control.

First- I'm truly grateful for the positive comments!

Second- This post's focus centers more around Jan, whom I chose not to introduce in the first post. I admittedly felt like the story had to progress, so both Twor and Wladyslaw will get their own turn under the spotlight.

Third- Elisabeth /is/ Heinrich's sister :)

Part One; Small steps

=Spring, 1221=

Wladyslaw decided it would be best to survey the men's training personally, and he fully committed himself to training the men, leaving his duties to those pesky advisors.

Ever since he was a child, he found himself more drawn to the field; to the art of war, to the tending of armor and sword, and to the prestige that followed the victor.

And now he is stuck in this ploughing castle, giving his approval to construction projects and petty matters of state.

A warm wind welcomed him to the training ground, and he silently surveyed the working men.

He couldn't help but feel an odd sense of satisfaction and pride.
These were his men.
They were the future of his home.
Their skill and zeal will be Poland's shield and sword in the upcoming campaign, should the Order's greed push them to invade.

Up by the archery range he could spot Mieszko, Pieter and , shooting at painted logs that resembled the dour brown of the Lithuanian militia.

A jolt of anxiety passed through his figure, and he couldn't help but sigh at the spectacle.

"Henry," he called to the man by his side "Have the men take a break. We'll need to stuff them with as much food as we can before they depart tomorrow."

"Understood, my lord."

Wladyslaw dismissed the man with a motion of his palm, before descending into the training field.
=-----------=

Helena stood by Stephen, and he held her hand softly.

Despite their age differences, he was taller than her, although his outfit was of simple design- in contrast to Helena's overly complicated trim and decorations.

She could feel her heart beating faster, sending jolts of anxiety through her petite body.

'This is it.'

She inhaled roughly, and turned to face her husband, whom mirrored her, with both palms still at hand.

"Helena Piast" he opened, his stern blue eyes locked down on his bride. She could see his chest heaving up and down evenly, much to her envy.
"On this day, I take you for wife- Striking a true alliance between our nations. But let no one say that this marriage, this conjunction of hearts, is born out of a political desire. For I truly love you, Helena."

Helena's heart jumped. The gathered, nobles and retainers, all looked at her amiably.

Even her father seemed pleased.

"Stephen Arpad" she replied, eyeing the man that would become Hungary's king, "On this day, I become your wife. On this day, I vow to never leave your side, in sickness, in poverty, or sadness- to love you, until the sun and the moon are no more, and the stars will fall from the sky."

She could see her father's features twisting some with disapproval.

'To hell with him.' She thought.

She always had this desire for poetry.

The bishop stood forward and nodded towards them both.

Helena's chest heaved dramatically,
And Stephan's lips sealed the ceremony.
She was filled with a hollow sense of satisfaction, and closed her eyes.


=-----------=

Leszek sat by his youngest son's cradle.
The sun was nearly gone now, descending behind the hill that dominated the manor view.

Mscislaw's eyes were tightly shut, his tiny chest heaving dramatically with each breathe.

He was a small child, but a tough bastard to bring into the world. Like he did not ever want to leave his mother's womb.

Leszek ran a palm through his greying hair and withdrew from the room. He received Helena's letter, describing Sofia and her new husband, Stephen.

'Tall and powerful, reserved and intelligent' her words rang in his head, 'The qualities of a true king'.

"A true king..." he echoed his thoughts silently, "But not a man she loves."

"Like that ever mattered."
He ran a palm over the length of his neck and continued reading.
His daughter elaborated further on her new maiden and the staff employed to keep her wellbeing, the Hungarian cuisine, and more short tidbits about her new husband.

Having secured the realm's southern border, marrying his only daughter to the future king of Hungary, and with Wladyslaw's and Tworzymir's preparations coming to an end, Leszek felt a jolt of pride creep over his spine.
=-----------=

Jan's body ached.
It ached and it reeked of sweat and filth, and his traveling robe was now stained with food and wine.

He poured a cup of cold water over his face and left the command tent.

The small camp was buzzing with activity: men folding their tents and feeding the horses, putting out the fire and preparing for travel.

Leading a force of sixty two mounted men, not including his own hand-picked fifteen bodyguards, the force was able to cover a lot of distance quickly, and Plock was only a few days away.

And then he would be expected to lead the intervention force.

The thought of leading his men against the pagans, and possibly the Order, filled him with dread.
Would he really be the one to strike down the servants of God? Men who were sent to fight the pagans and bring the word of Christ into their land?

Would he really be called a man of Poland if he did?

Jan's horse, Kopiwa, drank deeply.
He ran his hand over the horse's brown mane and sighed.


=Winter, 1222=

An unnatural silence dominated the camp.
Commoners and nobles alike huddled by the fire, trying to ward off the biting wind that haunted the Neman river and the surrounding woodland.
Jan sat with his own company around the bonfire, away from the common men and low ranking szlachta.
The men, especially the two younger ones- Bartek and Emil- exchanged details about the women that await them at home.
Rudolf invited himself next to Jan and wordlessly offered him some bread.

"Everyone's a wreck," his calm features twisted some to form a wolfish grin "But we're close. I'm sure the pagans know we're on their land. Piss themselves scared every night."

Jan eyed his companion. Rudolf was not a fair man; He had a long, oily hair black hair, a bloated nose, and crooked teeth. But by God could he fight. Fight and eat.
"Hrodna is just beyond the Neman, and our spies noted that the city's garrison is pitiful. The Order must be keeping them occupied."
"Mrhm." his companion hummed, "A good sacking, then. The men need that sort of satisfaction Jan."
"I'm not about the piss off the locals and possibly hamper our gains from this campaign."
Jan could swear Rudolf looked visibly saddened, but for now, he decided, he had to eat.
=Spring, 1223=

Konrad's lithe arms came to cross around his body.

His disguise, that of a Lithuanian peddler, was now covered in mud and muck- a sign that he committed his job faithfully.

"They're sending a noticeable reinforcement. I've counted, what- four hundred men? And that’s the main body."

"How close?"

"On the other side of the Neman. Unlike your men- they're making haste to Hrodna."

Jan massaged the bridge of his nose. Should the pagans reinforce the city, seizing it would make for a bloody task. And that’s without considering they could pour more and more forces on a land they knew better than him.

Yet should he besiege the city and the pagan force attack him from the rear...

"It would seem like the Order is counting on your arrival, commander."

Konrad's rough voice snapped Jan from his thoughts, and he lofted a brow- inviting the spy to elaborate.

"They're making a show of amassing their forces, but are nowhere near the border."

A jolt of anger went through his body. Those self-righteous pigs were waiting for his men to make the first move? To draw the pagans away?

His anger subsided, and he sent a single, firm nod to Konrad.

"Your help was invaluable. You are dismissed."

Konrad made a stiff bow before exiting the tent, and his companions invited themselves within.
All fifteen men watched their commander eagerly.

"We march on Hrodna! Prepare the men!"

His companions cheered loudly and quickly exited the tent, spreading the word to the eager men without.

Soon enough, more voices rang with excitement and expectation.

From here on, the road to Hrodna was short and relatively easy.
A paved dirt road made their journey much easier, and the warm sun and gentle breeze kept the spirit of his men lifted.
From time to time he would meet with Konrad, and the two would exchange details about the approaching force and the city's defenses.

At some days, the man would simply not show up, while at others he invited himself to Jan's tent, exhausted and filthy from traveling.

It was just before their approach on the city that Konrad entered their camp.

"They're giving up on the city," the spy said in-between bites "Supposedly forsaking an important family member. The commoners are furious."

Jan arced a brow.

"And the Order?"

"Mobilizing."

He drummed his fingers on the table and hummed.

"Good. We'll reach the city in the morning and encircle it. Those that didn't flee will die with it- or surrender."

"You don't truly expect the pagans to surrender..."

His features hardened.

"Of course not. But God knows, I'd rather spare a man than gut him."
Konrad murmured softly and helped himself to some more meat.

=Spring, 1223=


The men were prepared.

After a short siege, his force, now called 'The Eagle's Wings', constructed the needed equipment to breach Hrodna's walls.

Jan's company took the center of his force, and he drew his blade ceremoniously.

To his side- Rudolf sat on his own horse, Meave, his house's symbol proudly painted on his shield.

A chill breeze swept through his formation, but the Wings stood still- awaiting their commander's words.



"Now charge! Take the walls and slaughter the pagans!""

A loud cheer swept through the formations, and the infantry entrusted with the ladders marched forward.

'And for God's sake, return safely.'

A hail of burning arrows greeted the advancing men, although the added weight and wind made the barrage ineffective.

"Archers- take position!"

A sizeable portion of his army hurried forward: crossbowmen, and archers, all of low birth, raced through the field and entered shooting range.

Another unsuccessful pagan barrage was repaid with a timed counter-shooting. A few screams of pain and the disgusting sound of arrowheads piercing flesh echoed from behind the wall.

"Don't give them break men! Ascend the wall!"

Four units slammed the ladders against the walls, practically hitting each unit of the garrison from both left and right.
And then the true fighting begun.



A line of Lithuanian spearmen charged the ascending Eagles, who in response, pushed forward with their shields to allow for the rest of their brother's room on the wall.

On the other side of the wall, Jan's light infantry massacred the enemy archers, who clumsily switched to their shield and sword.



All of his units quickly collided with the enemy, who stubbornly stood their ground despite being butchered to a man.

It took his men more than he expected- but the city gates were flung open forcefully.

"Archers," he signaled calmly as he commanded Kopiwa forward "Fire at will. I want that Lithuanian commander dead as soon as possible. Infantry reserve- cover them."

His men followed his orders quickly, and he could already hear the mechanical knicks and kancks of a reloaded crossbow.
The projectiles shrieked as they came down on the last defenders.

Horse and men cried as one as his Eagles shot them to shreds.
The Lithuanian captain made a valiant attempt at the Polish lines- only to be brought down by several crossbow bolts that pierced his armor.

Just like that- a member of the ruling nobles was no more. Slain like a common soldier.
But Hrodna was his- and it was only mid-day.

Jan jumped down from his horse and surveyed the city.

"Men- gather the populace. They are to understand that they now belong to the Polish crown.
Hang those that object- but let them bury the soldier's corpses.
And for God's sake- topple that ploughing shrine!"

[Alwyn]

Welcome to the Study! Your writing is good - I agree with Caillagh that the conflicts between characters are done well. Leszek's thoughts about Stephen, as he reads Helena's letter, are nicely done, as is Jan;s description of Rudolf. I like the way that your story connects with the images, so for example we can identify which knight is Rudolf and which is Jan in one of the pictures. I hope that this will be the first of many adventures for the Eagle's Wings!

[HuliganFish]

Since I was mostly away from home, I could not update my progression.

Sorry for the heap of lines and text, but this is where our campaign and story becomes (in my opinion) truly interesting!

This post will likely be cut in half and continued appropriately for the reader's sake (a hint on where I can edit my posts would be lovely!)
--------

=Summer, 1225=
Tworzymir entered the manor with a respectful nod to the guardsmen.

Krakow has developed drastically since he left five years ago. The walls were repaired, the farms expanded, and new business boomed in the streets, who were packed with merchants from neighboring villages.

A butler hurried to introduce himself as Feliks, and asked that he would follow him to the main hall.

Twor dismissed his entourage and followed evenly.

"How is my father?"

"He is well, My lord. Recent events have greatly pleased him," Feliks delivered naturally, his tone not shifting in the slightest "I was told to bring you to him the moment you set foot within the manor, my lord- so you will have to understand-"

"I understand entirely. I am here to discuss with my father- not bathe and chat with the court."

Feliks nodded - seemingly eased at Twor's acceptance- before making a turn. He moved to stand by the door and gestured simply.

"I believe you may enter, my lord."

"Mrh, thank you, Feliks. You may attend to your other tasks."

He did not bother to check on the butler's bow and rather invited himself into the chamber.

Both Grand Duke Leszek and a man Twor recognized as the crown's bureaucrat, Adam, were hunched over a heap of papers.

His father's hair lost its brown hue, and was starting to grey out.

He was nonetheless an impressive man.

"Tworzymir, good. Come join us." He said without looking up from the paperwork.

"...As I were saying- There is a very, very small profit in coinage. Jan's recent success has elevated the strain on our economy, but it still does not ease the burden of maintaining the garrisoned forces. Which in turn means we cannot start new projects in any of our domains to further capitalize on the new trades routes with our neighboring realms and Hrodna."

Leszek smiled coyly, and gestured with an ink-stained palm towards his son.

"Which is where Tworzymir comes in."

"Father?"

"Wladyslaw got married, by the way. I am sure you've heard?"

Twor's heart skipped a beat.

Plough his brother. Plough his brother and his wife. He wanted nothing to do with that man.

"Lovely bride," He continued dryly, before motioning his son to claim the chair next to Adam's "Wladyslaw is the heir to the throne. And now that he has a woman to impregnate, and two adopted sons roughly your age-"

Twor's brow arced. A sudden understanding fell on his mind, and a wild hue of crimson stained his pallid features.

"You want me to join Jan, don't you?"

Adam muffled a snicker against the back of his palm.

Grand duke Leszek eyed his son with disbelief.

"Shut up and listen before I geld you on the offense of treason. You will lead a force to the fringes of the Danish empire, and take hold of a city that rests on the shore. Once you've based your control- you will further push to a small island just east of the shore, and take control of a rebel settlement. Visby."

Tworzymir seemed visibly surprised by his father's plan.

"Why so far? We could pour more forces to either Lithuania or to conquer the rebel Rus that hold the eastern regions."

Leszek entwined his fingers to produce a loud knack and looked at the bureaucrat.

Adam's lips parted, although he took another moment to consider his words:
"The Kievan people are set on conquering these lands. We cannot invite another frontline while the Lithuanian front is so unstable. Besides- no one will expect you there."

"Expect? No. But if we don't piss of the Kievans, then we piss the Danes-"

"In which case, we negotiate for an alliance with the Danes and ask for a humble price. A price that will bolster our coffers, and hopefully will allow you to buy on some mercenaries for the subduing of Visby."

"You're forgetting the Order. If to trust Jan's words they are yet to commit their forces to the war effort- and can easily claim Plock."

Both Adam and Leszek stared at him for a long moment, before the king spoke.
"We are preparing and mobilizing a token force to hold Plock- should that happen. But we trust on Jan's forces to raze any Teuton hold should it come to that."

Twor's brow furrowed.

His father was always a risk taker. A smart risk taker, at that.

"If you wanted to see me accept your plan in person, then you've succeeded."

"Good." His father looked at Adam and dismissed him wordlessly with a palm.

His father leaned closer and placed a strong palm on his shoulder.

"Bring me the coast, and I will bring you the most beautiful wife Europe has ever seen. Fail, and our dynasty will crumble under our enemies."

Twor could only stare at his father before nodding stiffly.
=-----------=
Helena pinched Abel and Ada's cheeks and ran a hand over her swollen stomach.
Four years.

It has been four years since she left Poland and married Stephen, the heir to Hungary's throne.

In the last four years, Sofia became her home.

Prince Stephen would occasionally visit her in-between meetings and other princely matters, and the two would discuss the house affairs.

'Tall and powerful, reserved and intelligent...' her own words repeated in her mind.

Stephen nearly never drank. Not even with his closest companions.

What he did in his spare time was to either further train his sword arm or lay with her.

And although she found his company pleasurable- this is not how she imagined being married would be like.

She summoned her maiden, Anna, and ordered her to take her young ones to bed.

She was in the third month to her pregnancy and she could already feel the baby form within her.

Helena heard her uncle's victory over the Pagans. Even her husband gave a word of approval to her father's plans.

But she could never imagine her Abel killing a man. She could never imagine her Ada falling captive to their enemies.

She felt her throat stiffens at the thought and shook her head.
Stephen will be here soon enough, and she must be presentable when she receives him.
=-----------=
Wladyslaw pinched Przeclawa's shoulder, and the woman spun around to kiss her husband's cheek in affection.

Wladyslaw adored this woman, damnit.

He drank down another cup of wine and noisily ordered another one.

He loved this woman.

His two adopted sons, Izbor and Wracislaw, were busy dancing with some of the guests.

Przeclawa's golden curls waved wildly as she joined the dancers, and Wladyslaw found himself drinking the content of another cup.

His gaze was already dazed, but he pushed to a stand and joined his wife.

Step by groggy step, he moved to clasp Prze's hand and drew her from the hall- and she seemingly happily complied.

Her father, Cibor Piast, waved her goodbye and joined the wild dancers in the hall's center.

His arm came to rest against her shoulder. Damn, walking was hard.

"I think you are quite drunk, husband. Are you having a good time?"

Wladyslaw halted and narrowed his eyes at her.

He felt his pulse rising.

His open palm connected with her cheek and sent her flying to the floor.
"I am never drunk. Only lowborn pigs get drunk, woman!"

Outside of Halych, thousands of torches pierced the dark.
=Winter, 1226=
Plough the snow.

Twor sat in his tent and added some calculations to his battle plan.

He politely asked Radovid to add more wood to the fire and see that the men without do the same.
The man huffed audibly and left.

"He's giving me the bare minimum of Poland's forces and asks me to conquer this place? With no plans of reinforcements. Brilliant, father."

He twirled the ink case to prevent it from freezing and added another jot in the paper before him.
'She better be pretty', he found himself thinking.

His wife better be the most gorgeous woman in all of Europe, or this whole expedition can go plough itself.
Radovid entered the tent and casually cleansed his shoulder from a pile of snow.

"The men are restless, y'know. Building siege equipment in the snow is hardly anyone's favorite."

"I understand. Anything to add?"

"Yeah. Our men want a name. Like Jan's eagles? I thought out some for you."

Twor left his pen and turned to look at his friend, bemused.

"I already got one. "

The two men stared at each other wordlessly before bursting into laughter.

"I don't think my father will approve."

"...They don't have to be called like that officially. Go with something formal."

Radovid snapped his fingers "White scars."

"White scars is better than the first one, admittedly."
Radovid snorted in disapproval before exiting the tent.
=-----------=
Jan let out a burdened sigh.

He had to trust Konrad's words and sent them away to defend Halych.

He could not believe he was persuaded into listening to the spy, who based his word on a "friend of a friend's" word and a gut feeling.

Nontheless- Konrad pointed out the relative stability in the land, and managed to persuade him to send them on their way.

Jan himself had to prepare to sally out of Hrodna- in secret- and slowly advance towards Vilinus, while a small garrison kept Hrodna in check.
=-----------=
The castle was circled.

A sizeable force of Lithuanian horsemen and skirmishers has crept up on the castle and encircled it- placing it under siege.

Wladyslaw paced in his room and occasionally spat a venomous curse at a random advisor.

"How could this have HAPPENED? Under YOUR nose?!"

The men all looked uncomfortable, pale. They sat there, wordlessly as their lord spat cuss words.
The chamber's door flung open and a servant hurried inside.

"Mylord! Mylord! The pagans are retreating! They left their equipment in the field and rode out!"

Wladyslaw spat and spun to look at the boy, who couldn't have been more than ten.

"Riders bearing the eagle of Poland have appeared on their rear and chased them!"

Wladyslaw was struck confused but quickly regained his composure.

"Castellan Eligiusz! Have the men prepare to meet the enemy's rear! We will trap the pagans. Warcislaw and Izbor, prepare your company and arms. You will be joining me on the field."

Wladyslaw's men made haste outside of the now liberated Halych and unto a nearby grove, just on the side of the main road.



The unknown captain on the other side of the field has already roused his men into a furious charge into the Lithuanian front, killing many of their light infantry.



Wladyslaw drove his cavalry into a mad charge against what remained of the Lithuanians, whom hours ago have besieged Halych, and crashed whatever that remained of their pitiful force.



His sword decapitated a fleeing peasant, and severed an arm of another. It flew with such speed and rage that he could barely see where it sunk- but wherever it did, blood oozed out into a bleak river that formed over the undergrowth.

None will return home, he swore.
None will see their land again.
=Winter, 1229=
Jan knew the fake stability would not last long.

Konrad reported of increasing unease amongst the commoners, and his short voyages near Vilinus have nearly ended in his death.

He snapped out of his thought and hid behind his shield as another volley of arrows pinned his men down.
"Men! Plough these worthless shites!"

Rudolf joined his side as they charged the Lithuanian rear in conjunction with his force's right wing- lead by a talented friend named Gawel.



The Lithuanians were thrown into disarray, most of them being slain on the first combined charge.

Another volley of arrow has taken the life of a handful of his horsemen.

"You :wub:!"

He ordered his men back, to reform for another charge.
On the other side of the field, Gawel's men have caught up to the Lithuanian light cavalry, and silenced their bows for good.
The day was his.
=-----------=
Leszek jotted his signature on another trade agreement- much to Adam's pleasure.

"It would be worthy to note, my king- that the force you sent to take Prague has now put the city under siege. It shan't be long until the city will be ours."

"And is there any word of my son?"

"Wladys-"

"Not him." The king huffed angrily, and lazily dipped the pen in the inkwell "Twor. It has been some time since he last reported."

"Well, Nykoeping is pretty farm from our realm, my lord."

Leszek eyed the man in threatening silence, and rubbed his ink stained fingers in a dirty cloth.

"Is that your excuse?! Send a damned messenger to check on him at once, you dog!"

Adam's eyes narrowed, and he quietly left the room, much to Leszek's dismay.

He went through the rest of the papers that sat on his table.

Taxes, agriculture, construction, mobilization of forces and anything between the plights of governors to the supply lines of his scattered armies.

He wanted to be with his wife- not work out this mess.

Adam invited himself into the study and bowed humbly. "It has been done, my lord. A proper messenger will make way to your son come morning."

"Good, finally. Is there any word from Helena?"

Adam stroked his grey beard in thought, and Leszek's patience was about to run out when the man spoke out: "Yes- in fact, I remember picking on a hear-say in the main hall, just today. She is expecting her fourth child- a boy."

Leszek allowed himself to digest the news in silence while he ran a palm along the length of his neck.

'Fourth. And what would that swine Heinrich have given her? Nothing but a crumbling empire.'
"You are dismissed, Adam. Tell my wife that I will soon join her in our bed room."

The man bowed stiffly, before exiting the study.
Leszek piled up the papers neatly before following Adam.
=Summer,1230=
The battle was a disaster.

Twor's forces were not prepared for the fierce resistance the enemy put out- and his men- composed mainly of ranged support, failed to shake the hardened Norse warriors.

Worse still, was the fact that none of his messengers have returned with a promise of proper reinforcements.
None have returned at all.

Radovid took Twor's side and scratched a bandaged wound.

The survivors of the battle made for a sorry company- injured, down trodden, and far away from home.
He feared that his men might break away and return to Poland.

A man flung open the doors to his chambers, followed by a cohort of shouting guards.

"Edwar-"

The guardsmen finally took hold of the man, whom Twor recognized as the man in charge of his scouts, a local by the name of Edward.

He dismissed them with his palm, much to the guards' dismay.

"Do you have something to report, friend?"

"Ja, lord!" he gasped for air, and tried took a moment to settle his breath "Ja- the Norwegian crown has encircled our city! They've ships out in the sea and a large force just outside of Nykoeping!"

Twor and Radovid looked at one another in a mixture of fear and shock.

"Do you have proof?"

Edward nodded twice and ran out of the room, only to return with two youths.
"Erik, Alex- tell our lord what you've seen."

The youth took a step forward and presented an awkward, stiff bow of sorts, much to Radovid's amusement.
"We were out tending to the sheep and saw a torn piece of cloth. Red and blue, with a trim of gold. So, I looked at Alex," the youth turned to survey his companion, who took a step forward, "...And we both think of how out of place that cloth must be. We left our usual grazing ground, deeper into the forest- and see tents! And men, and bonfires! All wearing the uniforms of the Norwegian crown."

Erik shook his head "We did not dare to get anywhere near the encampment."

Twor's face was frozen.

He did not have the men to defend the city. He barely had the men to take it, and they were all in perfect condition, then.

"Radovid," he looked to his companion, "Have the men tear down any of our investments in the city. Sack everything that you can- but do not harm the people. We're leaving by night fall."

Despite his injuries, Radovid jumped into a stand and left the room.

Both Alex and Eric looked horrified- while Edward closed the door.

"The news cannot leave this chamber. May God guide your righteous souls to heaven."
Twor's sword hissed as it was drawn out of its den.
Part Two: The Red Campaign



Leszek quickly strapped on his robe.

Adam has sent for a servant to wake his majesty and have him show up to a critical meeting.

He could've sworn he heard a rooster's cry when he descended down the flight of stairs, took a right, then a left, and invited himself into a well-lit room.

Adam and the rest of the royal head advisors were already seated- most with less clothes than Leszek- but just as many bleak circles around their eyes.

"What in the name of God-"

"An army of thousand Pagans is making its way to Hrodna, while a smaller army of Teutonic knights have besieged Thorn."

Leszek was in awe.

The Teutons- the men who swore to dedicate their lives to the will and word of God- have forsaken their holy duty and besieged HIS land?

"Is there any word of my god damn son?"

"Yes, my lord. Our messenger stopped at Visby to restock his supplies- only to find it is besieged by Tworzymir."

Leszek couldn't believe what he just heard.

A part of him wished for Adam to repeat his words, slowly.

"What about Nykoeping?"

"Gone. A large force of the Norwegian crown has surprised attacked him and his men, and he was forced to flee the city."

Leszek couldn't help but feel that Adam was far too calm.

"And he's besieging Visby? Is he mad?!"

"Following your orders, it seems."

"Prepare my horse."

Leszek called as he ran out of the chamber, much to the advisor's dismay. Adam quickly caught up to his king.

"You're coming along Adam."

"My king-?"

"We're going to lead the defense of Plock and Thorn."
=-----------=
Captain Mislaw surveyed the Teutons from the city walls.

Having served as Jan's stablemaster before he left- and appointed head of the castle and the surrounding
lands until (and if) he returned, the man was in command of the castle's modest garrison:

Sixty-two heavy cavalries, Sixty light horse archers, and seventy-six light spearmen.

If to trust his trained eyes, the knight's had a unit of trained archers, a unit of heavy spearmen and swordsmen, and two units of heavy cavalry- which far out skilled his own forces.

"Plough 'em." He spat.

Traitors like the so-called knights made him feel sick to his very core.

"So- we're going to meet them?"

'Jarek. Good- I need him sober.'

"Yes. Send word that we will be preparing to sally out and meet them on the field."

Jarek grinned and rant out eagerly.

'Young nobles and their god-damned enthusiasm.'

Mislaw's forces were prepared in two hours, after he instructed them of his battle plan and allowed every man to write a letter and carry a prayer.

"We'll divide their forces. Lew and Mariusz will command the light cavalry- who will encircle their force and barrage their heavy horsemen. Myself and Olek will each lead a company of our own heavy horsemen- one to clash with their sword brethren, the other to slide in the gap of their formation and tackle their archers.
Andrej- you will lead the infantry. Your role is crucial- you will form the anvil as you either meet their cavalry or infantry."

The men eyed Mislaw in silence.

They fully understood the danger of his tactic. Should the Teutons pursue or close the gap in time, their horses will be trapped in a ring of steel.

"Relax. Germans don't know :wub: about handling horses."

Olek lofted a palm "Me and my company will seek out their ranged support."
'Good man.' He thought, and nodded in affirmation.


The Knights quickly reformed as Thorn's gates dropped.

The knights of the cross, as expected, placed their heavy infantry in the front, with their ranged support in a thin formation behind, sealed by their horsemen.

Lew and Mariusz both took their own wing while Andrej, Mislaw and Olek drew closer in a relatively tight formation.

Both companies rode out in a faster pace towards the reformed knights, and Mislaw could see his mounted archers beginning to close on the knight's rear.

Bolts and arrows shrieked as they mercilessly tore through flesh and bone.
Mislaw's men hurried their horses and prepared their red lances, while Olek feinted to the right.



The polish cavalry tightened their formation and braced for impact.

Their steeled their ranks and heightened their shields.

"For Poland!"

Mislaw roared as smashed into the Knight's front, sending men flying to the left and the right. Those that stood after the initial charge wet hacked down with swords and picks.


Olek took advantage of the confusion and slipped to charge the archers down- which took the Knights with
complete surprise.

Most of the ranged support was destroyed in one charge, and the knights slipped away, following Mislaw's retreating forces.

The Knight's horsemen- forced to turn their backs to the polish mounted archers, hurried after the polish knights- whom split up as before.

"Let them gain on us!" Mislaw ordered, and signaled Olek to make a circular feint- a move meant to fool the enemy into a thinking he is about to be charged.

The knights made haste to smash Mislaw's rear and outran their heavy infantry.
Olek's heavy, but mobile force, dove from its original course and smashed the knight's rear, while Mislaw charged their front.


Mislaw's lance splintered as it pierced a Knight's chest, and he quickly drew his sword, swinging left and right.

He could hear the clank of steel and iron as the Teuton's infantry were marching to commit to the melee- ready to put to use their deadly advantage.

The Knights of Christ stood their ground, their heavier armor and refined arms giving them an advantage over the polish horsemen.

"Andrej! Trap their horsemen!"

The polish infantry- who were thus far standing in formation just beyond the melee- committed their spears and occupied the enemy cavalry.



Mislaw spotted Andrej as he and the unit's second in command drove their spear into a horse's chest, and finally claiming a rider. His men- all inexperienced commoners- followed their captain's example- much to the Teuton's dismay and horror.

"For the Cross! Slay them!"

The heavy Teuton knights finally reached the melee- battered and bloodied by the polish light horse archers- and sprinted into action.

Mislaw ordered the cavalry to retreat and form up just beyond the clash of the infantry.

He has lost more than half of his force, and the rest were a bloodied mess.

Their blood oozes over their snow- white armor and uniforms.

Charming.

Andrej's force annihilated the last of the knights and quickly reformed to meet with the approaching spearmen.

Andrej held his spear up, its bloodied tip glistening in the descending sun.

"Brothers, brothers! Hear me roar!"

His company followed with a loud, thundering war cry, and hit their shields with the crimson tips of their spears.

The Teutons, whom thus far took a slow pace, began a mad sprint and smashed against the polish infantry.

The German spears cried a grim song of death as they tore through the light infantry- who was now huddled and forced into a defensive position.

From the distance- Mislaw could see the bloodied Teuton general galloping to assist his men.
'One noble pig, that man is.'

What remained of Mislaw and Olek's forces formed into a shadow of their initial numbers.
He could see Olek's eyes as they searched between the survivors.

He wanted to know which woman will cry on his shoulder, and what father he will have to comfort.
The Teuton general drew near- and Mislaw pushed his men to a last, crucial charge.

The shadows of the fallen stretched into an impossibly narrow, gaunt hands, urging their captain to avenge their death in a wordless plea.

The polish horses galloped to meet the enemy's flank, just as the Teuton general and his body guards.
On the distant- the tired Light Cavalry pushed their small horses to the stretch of their abilities in a hopeless race against time.


Andrej's lifeless body was thrown back into the air.
Olek's chest was pierced by a black spear. He spat blood, and hacked the knight that injured him with his sword.

Mislaw's own second unhorsed the enemy general- who cried in pain as he was buried under one of his bodyguard's horse.

The light polish cavalry made an exhausted charge into the infantry's rear and trampled those that survived.
The white eagle proudly presented its wings on a field of red on the gates of Thorn.

Mislaw spat to the side and ended the general's life.

"No mercy for traitors."

=Summer,1233=
Twor's rugged features sunk into the enemy formations.

He lost much of his previous girth, and his unkept beard made strapping his helmet difficult.
Radovid eyed his commander and shook his head hopelessly.

The brigands who controlled Visby – The Free People of Gotland- have sallied out to meet him, their numbers bolstered by many of the natives.

His people were tired.

Hungry.

Restless.

But somehow- The Goat:wub:ers stayed true to their banner, and remained by his side.

He learned each of their names, their family, their hopes and dreams.

None of those were to die in a foreign land.

They had homes, wives- hell, most of them had kids. Grandsons, granddaughters.

He did not know what happened to the Poland he left.

"Advance" he uttered silently, and the men complied.

"Archers- pin down their forces. Infantry- You will divide and charge their forces- two for a unit of theirs. I will lead our cavalry and plough them from behind."

His archers rushed onwards wordlessly- and after a moment of jogging began to form into a half circle.
His infantry rushed past, allowing their brothers to unleash another barrage of arrows and bolts before charging to meet with the enemy.

Twor's bodyguards followed him into the enemy rear- where they smashed into the enemy leaders' own bodyguards.
The man died in a near instant when his skull met a friend's shattered crossbow.


Twor felt a hollow sense of pride as they replaced the Free People's Goat with the Polish eagle.
'The Irony' he shook his head, and his eyes spied the pale goat on the field of red as it went up in flames.
=-----------=
Konrad limped into Jan's study.

Jan was done with what little paperwork he had to deal with, and turned to invite Konrad to share his table.
"Another force of roughly the same size approaches Hrodna, my lord."
Jan did not seem surprised.

Rather, he inspected the topmost paper that rested on a neat pile.

"And the Order has finally declared war on the Pagans, I know."

"Are reinf-"

Jan silenced the spy with a stare.

His bloodshot eyes were besieged by a sea of black. His lip was nibbled to its flesh.

"We will meet them tomorrow. On the field. I am done waiting."

Konrad remained silent for a long moment and considered the noble's words.

"Do you want me to return a letter to someone? In Poland, that is."

Jan's chest heaved dramatically and he stood up from his chair, his knuckles pallid.

"No one expected me to return when I left, Konrad."

"Our grand duke chose the most loyal man for the task, then."

"We have that in common."

Jan said before departing.
He crashed into his simple bed and closed his eyes.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

(a hint on where I can edit my posts would be lovely!)

I see what you mean about the length of that one! I admit I haven't finished it yet - I'm reading it in stages - but I thought I'd reply to this while I remember.

I assume you're asking when you'll be able to edit your own posts? As set out in this section of the FAQ (a link to the FAQ is found at the top of the page, if you need it again in the future), you can edit your posts (and edit your signature, and vote in polls) once you've been a member for at least a week and posted at least 25 times. You've been a member for way more than a week, so you just need to reach that 25th post. (I recommend having a look at some of the other writing in the Writers' Study and commenting on it. You should be able to reach 25 posts quickly and easily by doing that, and the authors of whatever you post on will appreciate your interest in their work. Your post might even encourage them to come and read your AAR... )

I'll be back to post a proper comment on your chapter once I've read it all - in the meantime, I hope that helps.

[Alwyn]

I'm enjoying this, particularly Captain Mislaw's brave fight against a more powerful force.

As Caillagh said, you can reach 25 posts by commenting on other AARs - and this might encourage them to read and comment on your AAR. You might want to post shorter chapters, as this will make it easier for readers to keep up with your story (and will also help you to reach 25 posts).

I wonder if you would like to enter the MAARC. (Entering the MAARC can be a good way to attract more readers to your story and those who win earn Writers' Study competition points. Writers who acquire enough points receive Writers' Study competition medals.)

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

HuliganFish, could you do me a favour? Could you check that last, really big post of yours? I think you might have posted everything twice.

(If so, let me know, and I can delete the second half of the post so that we just have everything once.)

[Edit: I think this is now resolved. ]

[HuliganFish]

Hello, and thank you all for the support!

Last week was a pretty busy affair- and luckily I got today to relax and continue writing (before I'm away for two weeks).

As for the MAARC- I might just enlist if I ever do a second AAR, as I feel this one is a bit messy and not as polished as I would've liked it to be. Regardless- I'll keep it in mind!



"Sir"

A heavy sigh

"...Sir"

Jan took a deep breath and opened his eyes, trying to discern which of his servants woke him up.

His eyes were blurry, and he had to rub them for a long moment before seizing Emil's figure.

The servant bowed "My lord, you ordered us to wake you at first light."

Hrodna's ruler pushed to a stand and presented his palms- mutely asking Emil to put a bowl of cold water in his grasp.
"Have you seen Konrad?"

He wiped away the water, stood up and went to look in the small, humble mirror in the corner of his chamber.
"Not as of last night, My lord."

"Very well," He paused, running a moist hand over his short, brown hair. The wild mop that was his moustache gave him a pang of disappointment "Any word of our returning forces? Of Halych at all, actually?"

"None as of yet my liege. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Yes. Wake up Rudolf and the rest of my bodyguards. Remind them that we will be sallying forth to meet the pagans."
Emil bowed as before and left the chamber.

The sun was to the Eagle's back as they exited Hrodna.

The city's populace- conflicted between which flag they would like to hang on top of their homes, remained silent. The eerie march reminded him of the same dread and uncertainty they felt when they left their home.

Rudolf pushed Meave to join Jan's side, and the two men greeted one another with a firm nod.

"Slept well?"

Jan shook his head simply and surveyed his men, allowing Rudolf to fill him in.

'He's going to talk about Giedre.'

" 'Course not. Can't sleep when tomorrow might be your last day, right? Gied-"

Rudolf's words hanged in the air as the loud trembling of drums boomed into existence.

Jan steeled his features. He turned his horse around and faced his men- sword held high.
"Do not let these Pagans scare you! Do not let doubt plague your heart! We fight for God!
We fight for Justice! We fight for Poland!"

The Eagles cheered loudly, challenging the war drums, whom answered with a frantic beat.

Rudolf hurried to catch up with his lord "So Gied-"

"Do you know who we will be facing today, my friend?"

"-She has good hands. And no. Some pagan prick and his circus?"

Jan shook his head and returned his sword to its place.

"Aliminias and his brother, Vysvaldas. They butchered a force of Teutons that got in their way to Hrodna. Konrad's report was very specific as to how they butchered all those that fled."

Rudolf kept silent for a moment, before dismounting.

Jan arced his brow and watched as Rudolf urinated by the side of the road, before catching up to his commander.
Jan rode back to arrange his forces into formation, and mirrored the Pagan's lines.

He could see a line of drummers, while the rest of the Lithuanian army taunted the Eagles with an exposed rear or some profanities.

'We've the men but...'

Jan shook his head and went onwards to assemble his bodyguards.

"Archers! Place your stakes!"



A large, dry plain separated the forces.

The Lithuanian cavalry was evenly separated between each of their force's flanks- and the middle housed a formidable force of Infantry.

A light breeze swept through the plain, rising clouds of dust that obscured his vision.

His plan was simple: Should the Lithuanians not attack the Eagle's fortified position, he will send them to harass the pagan forces and retreat. A charge will be met with a counter charge of both cavalry and infantry.

The Lithuanians held their lines for a long moment, before mobilizing forward.

He signaled his mounted archers to gradually pace away from his force- and reward the Pagans with a volley to their rear should they charge.

Aliminias took his time- his force creeping inch by inch, testing the Polish archers.
And then he roared
"Men! Look how dry this field is! Look how miserable it has grown under the filth from the west! Have the grass sip some of their blood! Have the trees grow fertile on their corpses!"

The Lithuanians responded with a loud cheer.

The Eagles shook in place.

Uncertain.

Unprepared.

Jan wanted to curse Grand Duke Leszek for sending him to deal with these men.

The Lithuanian cavalry galloped onwards and formed a long, dense line of lightly armored riders.

Aliminias sent his superior Infantry towards the Polish lines, while he and his brother left to each lead a cavalry company.
The war drums boomed.

Jan's heart nearly exploded in his chest, matching the instruments.

Bam baba Bam baba Bam baba Bam

"Archers, crossbowmen- shower them with arrows!"

His men replied with a barrage of death.

The sons of Lithuanian effortlessly shrugged off the volley, some soldiers leaping on a wounded or dead brother.

The war drums pounded his ears. He could hear their hidden words, chanting fanatically in a mad pace.

Blood Blood Blood!

Another volley hit the Lithuanian line.

Men screamed and collapsed. Shields were torn, armors were pierced. Crimson began to pour on the field.

The pagan brothers lead their respective companies in a mad charge towards the Polish cavalry, taking advantage of the Archer's slow shooting rate.

Jan lead his bodyguards forward- not too far from his Infantry- and lifted his sword above his head. The blade's slender build caught the rising sun.

Time stopped.

Aliminias's superior numbers charged to the Polish flank, as did his brother's.
Jan ordered his cavalry to meet the Pagans.
Their hooves trampled what little vegetation that covered the plain.
'Not now…not now...'

The Lithuanian cavalry hoisted their lances and spears to match the Polish cavalry.

And just as the two were about to collide- Jan ordered his unit to split and retreat- nullifying the pagan charge.

"Infantry! Slaughter them! Archers- target Aliminias!"

The polish Infantry leapt into action and met the dull brown tide of steel and flesh. A unit came to charge Aliminias and his force, while another mirrored the act on the Left flank.

"Cavalry! Regroup!"

Rudolf took Jan's side as they quickly reformed away from the ensuing melee.

While most of the Lithuanian managed to pull away, they couldn't have escaped the Polish counter-charge.



On the left flank, Lew, the cavalry captain took his force to assist the now dwindling polish lines and flank the Lithuanians.

The polish light infantry stood defenseless before the upcoming charge.



Jan's sword pierced armor and cut away through flesh and muscle.

His spearmen were annihilating the enemy light cavalry.

"Polak!"

He looked up, spotting a decorated man upon a beautiful brown steed.

"Face me!"

Jan flicked his sword at the air, cleansing it of blood and gore.

The Lithuanian general lifted his visage and smirked viciously. He paced towards Jan, who suddenly felt his sword arm heavier.
Aliminias' sword was wet with blood.

Polish blood.

The blood of his men.

Jan's fist clenched around his sword's hilt, and Aliminias charged to meet him head on.

"Face me, polish dog!"

His legs hanged uselessly against Kopiwa's side.

His breath was labored, shallow. His heart pounded.

'Is this where I die?'

A loud shriek pierced the air, followed by a scream of pain.

Aliminias' steed was peppered with bolts, while his body flew down against the plain, bolts protruding from his chest piece.

Jan shuddered and regained his composure before leading his men to join the main body and the left flank, slaying what remained of the Lithuanian host.



Jan dismounted from his horse.

He surveyed his forces, and silently knelt between friend and enemy.

His lips parted in silent prayer.

God has given them this victory.

God still watched them with favor.


=-----------=

The Kievan Rus forces appeared out of nowhere.

Wladyslaw surveyed Halych's exterior, analyzing the enemy's forces.

"At least six hundred."

Henry gave his rough assessment.

Wladyslaw inclined to agree with the man.

"Keep watch lad. I'll have a servant fetch you some wine."

He descended a flight of stairs and returned to his manor, leaving a group of men on the lookout for any movement beyond the walls.

The Kievans were bound to assault the walls any day now.

Wladyslaw held a palm at an approaching advisor, dismissing him wordlessly.

Now was not the time to discuss unimportant crap like trade routes.

He stood by the door to his chamber, listening intently, before walking in silently.

Przeclawa sat on a chair before a large mirror and coated her face with a thin line of powder.

"Love" He approached the woman and placed his hands on her shoulders.

She visibly shuddered at his touch.

"Y-yes, husband?"

"Turn around."

Przeclawa hesitantly turned in place to face her husband.

Her cheek was blueish, bruised from an earlier outburst.

He felt a jolt of remorse.

He leaned in to kiss his wife's bruised cheek.

Prze whimpered, although she kept herself in place.

Wladyslaw left the chamber in silence.

He had a battle to win, damnit.

Servants were running from one place to the other, while members of his force ran to arm themselves.

'So, the Rus are not going to wait for tomorrow.'

A servant ran up to him and promptly bowed.

"My lord! A reinforcement from Krakow is nearly here!"

"Good! Then they'll see just how we crash the Rus filth."
=-----------=
Stephen rose from the marble floor.

Helena exhaled uneasily.

None of her family members arrived to Stephen's crowning ceremony.

'A disgrace to our alliance' she thought, and turned to survey the court room.

Each of the neighboring realms sent an envoy of representatives to congratulate the new king of Hungary.

All but her own people.

Stephen turned to look at his wife, and she strode to take his side.

"King Stephen Arpad, the first of his name, and queen Helena Piast! Please, accept these gifts from our beloved Emperor, the king of the Holy Empire."

The man's unmistakable accept rang in Helena's ears, and he stepped backwards to allow a Bache of servants to haul a heap of jewelry and furniture.

The spectacle continued for some time, much to the Hungarian nobility's delight- and while many nations brought their gifts and tokens of good will- none have surpassed the Empire's pile.

Stephen stoically nodded at each men and women whom introduced themselves, from minor nobles to dukes and knights.

Occasionally, Helena noticed, her husband would survey the German representative, although he soon turned to exchange a word with one of the guests that came to present themselves.

It was only in a late-night hour when the last of the guests have left, and Stephen returned to their room.

He un-ceremonially removed his robes and tossed them on the marble floor.

"The Emperor wants me to join his attack on your people's land."

Helena at first froze in place- although she quickly regained her composure, turning to look at her husband.

"Roughly four other realms are waging a war against your father, all from different fronts. The Emperor believes we can quickly annex most of the Polish territories and split it between ourselves."

Helena's throat stiffened. She could feel her breath trapped inside her chest.

She knew her father marched on Lithuania- but she barely bothered on checking the states of affair since the war started.

"…A-and what-"

"I turned him down."

Helena seemed shocked at Stephen's answer.

She understood the Emperor's logic entirely. He father was likely far too occupied, his forces stretched too thin, his coin spent on keeping long supply lines intact- that even a single advance from the Empire could shatter his plans.

"The Emperor clearly does not know your father."

"They were close friends, once."

"Once. And now the Vulture sits in wait to peck on the Eagle's bloodied corpse."

"Will they ask you to honor your alliance to them?"

"Of course." He stepped closer to his wife and ran a palm down her cheek.

Never in her marriage did Stephen act so warmly towards her.

Her pallid cheek quickly took the color of red, although she remained tense- eager for his words.

"And I am going to turn them down. Both because I respect your father, and because you are my wife."

"…And do you not fear the Emperor will move his forces against our kingdom, love?"

Stephen flashed a rare grin. His blue eyes laughed oddly, and Helena found herself mesmerized by the sight.

Queen Helena leaned against Stephen's chest and shed a single tear.
=Winter, 1234=
The crowd rambled uneasily.

They moved anxiously, restlessly, awaiting in the cold morning.

Two guardsmen escorted a tied figure to a makeshift stage, with a stool of sorts at its center.

The large man allowed the two to lead him forward, his grim features unmoving, even under the barrage of spits and rocks that flew his way.

A pebble hit his forehead and bruised his face. Blood poured on his face and dripped down his neck freely.
He fell to his feet- only to be hauled up by one of the guards.

More and more rocks shattered his back and neck, and the captive meekly continued to the stage.

"Guardsmen Pawel, Henrik" a deep voice rang from the stage.

Captain of the guard Rafal motioned to the stool, and the two complied silently, leading the captive towards the lone furniture.

Pawel kicked the man's knee- and he whimpered, falling to his feet.

Rafal held his hand up to silence the crowd.

A few ruffians were still making a racket behind the large gathering, much to his displeasure.

"Good people of Prague! I present to you, Olaf! Olaf of Frankfurt!"

The crowd jeered and another volley of rotten fruit and spit hit the stage, largely missing the man.

"Olaf is accused of passing Information to our beloved neighbors to the east. Information such as garrison size and the yield of our crops!"

He surveyed the people, and allowed a faint smile to etch on his features.

"Now let me tell you this, Olaf of Frankfurt. We, the people of Prague, do not fear you nor your fat Emperor!"

A booming laughter came from the crowd. Some men clapped, the others held a fist.

"Any last word before I send you to hell?"

Olaf opened his mouth, his jaw trembling.

"W-"

Rafal's sword pierced the man's neck and sent him for eternal rest.
=-----------=
Adam calmly freed a tied message from a dove's leg.

Leszek restlessly paced around the camp, stroking his proportion less white beard.

Occasionally he sat with Adam, whom passed down the current affairs from all parts of his empire.

It has been two weeks since he mobilized a small force and left from Thorn to Palanga - a relatively undefended Teutonic castle.

"Mrh…" Adam hummed, giving a letter another glance, before he turned to his king.

"My lord. The Emperor's soldiers have moved into our land. Several reports from different settlements and villages have reported seeing the Empire's forces marching through our land- next to Prague, Stettin and Wroclaw."

Leszek stood his ground.

His tired features were frozen, his face to the setting sun.

"…Prague's Commander of the Guard's report mentions a captured Spy and a heap of paperwork he was going to pass out."

"Do you think I lead our people on the path of ruin, Adam?"

"My lord?"

Leszek did not bother to face his advisor. His now lithe frame stood against the night chill. He wanted to remain motionless, calm and strong.

His body betrayed him and he shuddered.

"My careless expansion has brought us to this point. My son is over the sea, in God knows where. My second Son has barely managed to shrug off a Kievan invasion. The same can be said about Jan. And now my old friend stabs me in the back."

Adam snorted.

"I know you for seventeen years, my lord. And I were there when you decided to invade Lithuania- just as I were there when you decided to send your son away. You thought about what's best for your people. Your people and God."

Leszek remained motionless for a long time.

"How will they call me when I die? Would you make sure it's something grand, Adam?"

The advisor put away the cramped letter and let out a sigh.

"They will name you Leszek, the Protector of Poland and the Cross."

"You can't lick your way any higher Adam."

"I-"

A soldier cut Adam's words and came to a halt before Leszek.

"My king! A Teuton force approaches us from the North!"

"Good. That means no one will defend Riga when we march on it. Prepare my horse."

He dismissed the soldier carelessly while moving to his tent "Leszek the Protector of Poland and the Cross marches to battle…"

Adam snorted, amused.



Leszek arranged his men in an odd formation- what few Infantry he had stood in a thin line, shoulder to shoulder, while his mounted crossbowmen and heavy cavalry stood a respectable distance away from their dismounted brothers.

The Grand Duke of Poland took out his sword and spat to the side. A dense fog began to creep into the battlefield.



"And from here- to Palanga!"

A loud cheer echoed his words.

There was no moment to spare.

He felt his heart racing, and the heavy fog descended down unto the battlefield.

He could hear the Teuton commander ordering his men about.

"Crimson Wings! Charge!"

His men followed the fog and down through the small hill and unto the Knights, while another unit of heavy cavalry and light crossbowmen surrounded the bleak warriors of Christ and smashed their rear.

White and Black collided and a symphony of steel and silenced screams filled the valley.

When the Knights tried to re-organized and counter attack the horsemen at their rear, their foes simply galloped a few meters away and peppered them with crossbow bolts, while Leszek's men mercilessly cut them down from the front.

Those that were not slain quickly tried to escape the filed under the cover of the heavy fog.

Leszek hoisted a bloodied sword and ordered his men to pursue the remaining soldiers.

And like white clad angels of death, the Crimson Wings of Poland followed each and every man, sword at hand, and put an end to many lives.

=-----------=
Captain Ostrogniew calmly ran a cloth on his bloodied sword.

His men have already repelled a stronger German force a day ago and slaughtered them to a man.

He spat and eyed his newly looted weapon in silent admiration- a long blade, with a golden hilt depicting a two faced Roman eagle, while its tail formed the rest of the sword's handle.

'Would they stand with me to the end?'

Ostro pushed to a stand and lazily stretched both ways.

He had a big frame- bulky and muscular from living the life of a professional soldier.

He passed between companies big and small all throughout his career: The elite Crimson Wings of Krakow and the Palace Guard, The small but professional Snow Snakes, and even an eventless service under the Maces of Prague.

And now he proudly wore the black of the Hopefuls- those men who either had nothing to live for, or were poor enough to consider enlisting into the rank of the double-paid men.

Ostro eventually turned to study Miscow, who, like him, was cleaning his new weapon.

"What are our odds, Miscow?"

"I'm not planning on making it out. Neither should you." He stopped to turn the blade and surveyed it critically.

Spotless.

"You've a good point."

"Mrhm."

The Emperor's children have advanced on them quickly, with superior Archers, Cavalry and Infantry- both heavy and light.

"But you're staying?"

"This is where my life leads me," Miscow replied and sheathed his blade "They better put our name in a song."

Ostro closed his eyes.

He remembered yesterday's battle clearly:


His men were helpless against the superior Roman cavalry and infantry.
They held their ground stubbornly until another unit flanked the overzealous Roman commander and impaled him through a spear- causing panic in the attackers' lines.

And now they're counting on a new general to do the same mistake.

They better put their name in some ploughing song.

The sun begun to set as the two forces met.

Occasionally, a single drunk might still hoist a tankard and sing 'The Hopefuls of Wroclaw'
In memory of captain Ostrogniew.
=Winter, 1235=
Twor entrusted Visby with a small garrison before landing on the northern shores of Poland, and marched hard towards Plock.

Despite news of the war that took his nation, Plock was still the same prosperous city.

He left his men to camp outside of the city while he himself drove onwards towards the city gates.

An endless stream of merchants, peddlers, business owners and commoners made their way throughout the city streets.
He allowed himself to fully immerse in the hear-say of the street.

Mostly, he heard of the invading German forces and the efforts to repel their seemingly endless numbers of troops.

"...I've heard king Wladyslaw has defended Halych with only a third of the Rus' numbers!"

A merchant exclaimed and a friend confirmed with enthusiasm.

"...Do you think the king will rise taxes to support the war effort?"

Another pair exchanged as they made way towards the city gates.

He felt a shudder pass through his frame, and he heavily leaned against a wooden structure by his side.

'Father is dead? How?'

Twor took a moment to gather himself before striding to the city hall.

The large stone building stood by the far side of Plock, and it took Twor more than several attempts to find himself between the now unfamiliar city space.

He hurried pass the guards and flashed a worn seal that marked him as Plock's governor, much to their dismay.

"Hold!"

"Do you not recognize your own lord, fools?!" He called angrily and hurried past several advisors and other prominent city figures- nearly all of whom he did not recognize- and onwards to the council hall.

"Adam."

The man stiffly erected from his seated position, and he seemed visibly surprised to see Twor.

"My fath-"

"Is dead." Adam offered calmly and politely gestured for the noble to take a seat by the table.

Twor huffed uneasily and joined the man. He bothered to glance at the stack of papers that covered every inch of the head advisor's table, while the man in question leaned back against his chair, surveying the noble.

"Him and his men defeated an invading Teuton force. He came back without a single scratch, but his servant came back the next morning to wake up a corpse."

'So, he died in his sleep. Lucky bastard.'

"You must have many questions." Adam let out a sigh and lazily cleared his desk.

"O-of course I do," Twor seemed visibly shocked by Adam's nonchalance, and he leaned further, elbow planted on the desk "How is the realm doing. Both with my brother as Grand Duke and with all the fronts."

Adam opened his mouth to reply, but he was cut short by another barrage of questions.

"My sister? Jan?"

Adam drummed his fingers on the desk's surface and took a deep breath.

"The Norwegians offered us a ceasefire not too long ago- which we accepted. Your uncle is still stationed in Hrodna, and occasionally defends it from a Lithuanian horde or a Teuton company. It was recently under siege by the Teutons, but Pope Honorius demanded that both sides ceased their fighting and deal with the pagans."

Twor nodded once, absorbing the information and allowing Adam to continue.

"Honorius also excommunicated the Roman empire for marching their troops unto Polish soil. Since most of our funds and troops are directed to the Eastern campaign, we've had some difficulties with containing the invasion. Wroclaw was lost only a day or two ago- in fact."

"I've most of my men with me, Adam-"

"Which is why I advise you to make haste towards the Western front and lead the defense of the realm."

Twor nodded twice in a quick token of affirmation.

"Stephen is now the king of Hungary. Him and Helena are both very happy." Adam's palm shadowed his words, giving Twor the idea he did not much care for the two.

"To his credit- Stephen severed the alliance between him and the Empire."

"Good man. I ought to pay him and Helena a visit once we're done with all this mess."

It was time to return to his men.

Adam neatly stacked some papers and hummed something in affirmation.

"Oh- and Twor?"

The noble halted, turning survey the man.

"He died with a smile."
=-----------=
Ignacy's small company has been moving from forest to forest in the past year.

With the recent developments in Hrodna and the Pope's holy decree, the Teutons have shifted their attention towards Vilinus- and the numberless Pagan warriors that answered their king's call to defend the castle kept the castle an unapproachable destination.

But Mensk- A city east of Vilinus, was usually kept lightly garrisoned, as the Lithuanians were allied with both the Kievan and the Novgorodian Rus.

He was charged by his father, Grand Duke Wladyslaw, to take the city and further cripple the Lithuanians.
Occasionally a man that presented himself as Konrad would enter Ignacy's tent and offer pieces of information regarding the road ahead.

Ignacy found that even in a year's travel, his small force met only a handful of pagans, and those were quickly slain to maintain the element of surprise.

'Tomorrow we will reach Mensk. Tomorrow I prove myself as a suitable heir to my father.'

Ignacy's lithe frame stretched left and right.

He quickly bolted out of his cot and exited the tent.

It was still dark outside. The air was still, choking almost.

"Wake everyone up. We need to start mobilizing within the hour."

The night sentry dipped his head once and slowly made way between the bleak tents that composed the Polish camp.
Ignacy's men quickly prepared themselves for the day's march.

The young noble relied heavily on Konrad's instructions and advice, and mainly kept to the forest.

Only after a few hours or marching did the woods begin to dwindle, offering a view of Mensk's outskirts.

Ignacy summoned the captains of each unit and briefly instructed them of what will follow next, and how they will gain the Pagan's attention.

"Adalbert and Alex will both lead their men to harass the populace and burn their property. Our cavalry will likewise try to draw the city's garrison. Once they sally out - we will destroy them, and take control over the unprotected city.
The rest of our men will wait in hiding to further encourage the Lithuanians to meet us on the field."

The gathered all confirmed Ignacy's plan with a nod or a word of encouragement. There was little to debate, considering their means and distance from mainland Poland.

The loud crack of thundering hooves echoed throughout the burning outskirts.

Polish soldiers were burning homesteads and farms, while the cavalry harassed the fleeing populace on their way to the city proper.

It did not take long for the city gates to open- and a stream of pagan warriors rushed out to meet the aggressors- who simply hastened their horses and bolted back towards the Polish forces.

The numerically superior Lithuanian forces amassed into a tide of bleak brown.

Two men, seemingly nobles, took charge of the bigger Lithuanian militia, and formed it according to their battle plan.

Ignacy's humble Infantry formed into a short line and held the higher ground, while his archers drove stakes into the frozen ground to counter the Lithuanian cavalry.

The sun was at its zenith when the pagans advanced.

Ignacy ordered his archers to likewise close the distance and harass their foe.

The subtle breeze was soon joined with the shriek of arrows and the screams of dying men.

Both of the Lithuanian nobles ordered their men to make haste and meet the enemy, while they themselves went to circle around the Polish formation and strike them from the rear.

That is what Ignacy was waiting for.

He ordered his heavy cavalry to charge down the hill and unto the advancing Lithuanians, while his archers took the cover of their stakes and, should the need arise, join the melee.

The polish cavalry tightened their formation and hid uphill- out of view of the enemy infantry, who were largely hidden behind their shields.

"Archers, change target!"

His men bolted for the cover of their stakes while the cavalry took flight.

"For Poland!" He roared and felt the impact of his lance as it met the pagan infantry, who was nearly annihilated from the force of the charge.


Uphill, the Lithuanian cavalry did not make a successful charge, and Ignacy's men largely contained the enemy cavalry.

The polish noble ordered his men to flank the now ensnared enemy nobility and smash them from their rear.



Desperate to protect their commander, the Lithuanian infantry rushed to join the fray.

The Polish archers now charged downhill to face the pagans, while the heavy Lithuanian cavalry began to flee from the battlefield:

Both of their noblemen were now slain.

Ignacy turned his attention to the indecisive infantry and held up his sword.
'No survivors.'


=Winter, 1235=
Twor's men have crossed Poland towards Wroclaw.

He looked down at the rough, leathery skin of his palms.

Digging graves for the brave German garrison was tiresome work- yet he decided to join his men to inspire them further, should he ever need to command them again.

The ranks of his infamous Goatshaggers shrunk down at first- as many of his men were dismissed to their home- many more local militia and noblemen flocked to his banner.

Much to his surprise, neither the Polish crown nor the people forgot about him. The latter actually held him in high regard- and more so now that he secured Wroclaw and drove away the tiny foreign force that held it.

An endless stream of commoners passed his company on their way back to reclaim their homes.

Young and old, the masses were returning to Wroclaw to resettle and work their land.

The sun was at its zenith now, and it lazily surveyed him as he worked.

She kissed his back coldly.

He took in a deep breath before driving his shovel unto the frozen soil, and continued to heave more and more ground until he returned to his earlier pace.

Thuk

He spun around, startled.

A peasant woman was holding her own shovel, and she joined his effort by digging a second grave.

She looked at him with an odd sense of nonchalant, frozen, her lips pursed.

'Is she waiting for my approval?'

"What is your name?"

Twor leaned his frame against the shovel, and analyzed the commoner.

"Eliza," she mirrored his stance and leaned her petite frame against the instrument.

Her torn winter clothes were mud stained, and her features were filthy from travel and labor.

" Tworzymir." He dipped his head respectfully.

He struggled to look away from the woman.

She had a long, cascading red hair, coupled with a pair of dim blue eyes.

They stared at one another for a long moment, and watched as the sun's gradual descent brought their shadows together.
=-----------=
Jurand and Sieciech eyed one another in silence.

Even though they knew one another from child birth, and they were both a part of the ruling family, neither have seen the other in roughly ten years.

"…Which is when we will pull out the counter offensive..."

Jurand ran a hand over his short, strawberry blond hair, and rested his head against the limb.

They've been to Prague for two days now- getting themselves properly educated on Wladyslaw's counter offensive against the Roman empire.

"...Jurand will lead his men to Vienna…" the castellan gestured on the overly detailed map that span from one side to the
other, "While Sieciech will head westward and conquer Magdeburg. Both are scarcely defended but serve the Roman Empire as economic and military centers."

"And why is my father not present?"

The gathered turned to Jurand unanimously. Important nobles, experienced war leaders and advisors from every end of the spectrum appraised the youth.

He challenged them with a stare, before pushing to a stand.

"My lord- Izbor is currently in Krakow- managing the Westward march."

"Mhm," Jurand eyed the map in a short-lasting silence, his finger ran over a chess piece that represented the Polish forces "Away from the front line."

Sieciech couldn't help but grin at the sight.

He admired Jurand's straight forwardness and eagerness to see battle.

"I will be outside. Should anything more exciting than this blubber be brought to the table- send for me."


It felt like a life time ago- that meeting in Prague.

Discussing the tactics employed by the Roman army, the structure of their forces… and worst of all: The Roman nobles whom they might meet on the field.

That is where the discussion cascaded to heraldry and bloodlines. Killing this noble would've pissed off that noble, and taking away this castle would surely cause that noble to rush to reclaim it.

He surveyed the mangled corpse that served as his seat.

The Roman commander- some Heinrich- put up a show of defending Vienna.

His men threw their life away to see him try and escape.

'Too bad' he eased his sword from the man's neck and ran a torn piece of cloth along the blade's length.

'Too bad.'



"Let's go"

Sieciech's raspy voice came out as a whisper, and he helped a maiden up on a horse's back.

To his rear- his closest companions did the same- preparing for the long journey ahead of them.

"Our king can keep this fort to himself," he rasped and leaned to kiss the maiden's outstretched palm "But only if I get to keep you."

The maiden grinned widely, exposing a row of white, straight teeth.

Her voluptuous body bent forward and she kissed the noble's forehead.

"I am sure our king will see your true potential, my love. Not some errant boy for the crown."

Sieciech's lips pursed and he leaned to meet his beloved's lips.

'Perfection'

A series of knicks and knacks erupted from the main gate.

"What-"

"Lord Sieciech."

The noble in question glared at the now forming men that came to block his exit from the castle.

"Princess Katrina."

Vod's gaunt features unveiled as he stepped out of the shadows- crossbow at hand.

"I see that your diplomatic mission ended well, my lady. I am sure the Kievan grand prince would be pleased."

She gasped loudly and sent a frantic stare at Sieciech.

"What is the meaning of this Vod?! I am to escort lady Katrina to the border- as agreed by-"

Vod's crossbow cried as it launched a bolt towards the princess' torso.

She wailed in pain all the way to the marble floor, sobbing and whimpering, her blond hair stained by the spreading crimson.

"Do something! Do something!"

Vod casually loaded the machinery, and his company of crossbowmen stepped forward.

Sieciech recognized each of the men that he commanded just a day ago.

"Death to traitors."

[Alwyn]

Good chapter! I like the contrast between the cheering of the Eagles and the worrying report by Konrad about Aliminias and his brother Vysvaldas. Your well-chosen images and your vivid reporting of what happened make battles in your AAR dramatic and easy to follow. It sounds like Poland's commanders are adept at using all of their military forces - from proud knights to humble archers - to maximum effect. I'm intrigued by the encounter between Eliza and Tworzymir.

[HuliganFish]

Hello everyone
First of all- I apologize for my lack of activity (both in the thread and in ths forum). Work had me run around the country for the past three weeks or so.

Second of all- You must've noticed by now that my AAR is rifled with historical inaccuraty. Being as accurate as possible is not where I aim, sadly, and I figured it's better if I mentioned it.

While I might be able to continue in the following day or two, I would feel a lot better if I posted this tidbit of progression now (rather than possibly in a week from now?)

Chapter three: The king in White
=Winter, 1236=

Wladyslaw hoisted another tankard, and the royal guests happily joined with a cup of their own.

"..F-for Victory!"

Huzzah!

"Prosperity!"

Huzzah!

The polish king grinned before lifting the tankard again, rousing the gathered into one last cheer:

"And Pagan blood!"

Huzzah!

He drank deeply and ran a palm along his mouth, and the men and women around him eagerly mimicked their king.

To his side, Przeclawa smiled politely to her guests and sipped from a modest cup.

"All is well, my lady?"

Adam's gaunt features twisted ever so slightly towards Prze, whom steeled her features.

"All is fine Adam. And yourself?"

He was about to open his mouth, but the troubadour's instruments begun to sing and wail in an orgy of rhythm and lyrics, claps, and the sound of drunk feet tapping the marble floor.

Wladyslaw placed his hand around Prze's hip and lead her in a frenzied dance, while she followed suit.

More and more of the guests joined the couple. The shy youth found the courage to invite one another for a dance, while the nobles who already found their love years ago contributed to the rhythm with loud claps.

Twor embraced Eliza quietly.

Were it not for some minor issues on the road, the two would've been here two hours ago, right on time for the victory celebrations.

"Are you sure you want to be here?"

Eliza's voice was mature, stoic and deep. She observed Twor and patiently awaited his answer.

"No," He hummed, and exhaled a cloud of white to the cold night air "But he is my king. And without his permission, we cannot marry."

Eliza's head came to rest against his chest.

He needed just another moment to steel himself.

Just another moment of preparation before meeting with his brother.

The man he hasn't seen for who knows how long, but hated for a lot longer.

"Tworzymir?"

A woman's voice called from behind them, and the noble slowly turned around.

"It's really you!"

Helena cried happily and ascended the stairs towards the couple, her palm sealed in another man's hand.

Eliza subtly departed from Twor, and allowed the two siblings to embrace one another.

"An honor," The man by Helena's side dipped his head, and Tworzymir hastily shook the offered hand.

"Stephen, Helena" Twor took a step back to gently introduce Eliza forward, "This is Eliza. We've met after the battle of Wroclaw and have been together since."

Both Helena and Stephen arced a brow, but while the man offered a polite, reserved smile, Helena quickly came to embrace her brother's beloved.

"Does Wladyslaw know?"

"That's one reason for us being here." He admitted coyly and studied Stephen further.

"King Stephen- I believe we own you both an apology and our gratitude. Were you to abandon our alliance..."

Stephen's grin remained largely the same, although his eyes sparkled with true amusement.

"Let us not talk of politics tonight, Tworzymir. We're here to enjoy ourselves."

The noble nodded once, and stepped forward to present himself to the guardsman, who nodded quickly and opened the door.

"Tell my men they can come if they wish. A man by the name of Radovid should be down the stairs."

The manor's door opened slowly, and the subtle hiss of the cold wind gathered some of the guest's attention.

A wave of murmuring and muffled conversations hit the manor, and soon, all of the gathered turned to look at the newly arrived.

"Brother! S-sister!"

Wladyslaw's deep voice boomed from the room's center, and men and women stood aside as their king made way for the entry.

"Helena!" he leaned to hug his sister for a long moment and kissed her cheek. He took a step back to appraise the king of Hungary- who did not bother with a luxurious outfit, and thus stood out from the rest of the people.

"Stephen, my friend! I hope the road treated you well?"

The king offered a humble dip of his head in affirmation, and shook Wladyslaw's offered hand firmly.

"We had no trouble, Wladyslaw. The men you provided as escort guarded us dutifully."

Wladyslaw beamed and, to Twor's surprise, embraced his brother tightly.

A burning urge guided him to return the gesture of brotherly love.

"You haven't changed at all, my king," Tworzymir uttered as he took another glance at the noble before him.

A strong, defined jaw, with a marvelous moustache and a modest beard- both in a shade of now greying black. His blue eyes sparkled with joy and intelligence.

"And this is…?"

Twor's features stiffened, and he quickly introduced Eliza, who offered a bow.

Helena and Stephen watched in silence. Even the troubadour's fingers seemed to have ceased their mad pace.

"How on earth did you secure such a fine lady, brother?!" Wladyslaw's palm hit his sibling's shoulder and shook it firmly, and the king of Poland embraced Eliza.

The tension that grasped the hall seemed to have passed- and men and women both helped themselves to more drink and food.

The king of Hungary and his wife slowly entered the hall, and much to the king's delight- the kitchen's staff bothered to include Hungarian cuisine.

"So, Eliza" Wladyslaw opened, "to which baron do I have to beg for your marriage to happen?"

Eliza eyed her king in a long moment of silence, while he jokingly listed a few minor houses within his realm.

"…Bogoriowie? Or might you be a Piast I am not yet aware of? We breed like rabbits!"

"I am a commoner, my lord. Before they were put to the sword by the Roman occupiers of Wroclaw, my parents had operated a tailoring shop."

Wladyslaw's eyes narrowed dangerously, and he examined Eliza's features.

"Then I give you my blessing," he finally said, although without the previous mirth that coated his words "And I order you to return to Wroclaw once the celebrations are done."

Tworzymir dipped his head once and watched his brother's departure.

"He took it well."

"Mrhm" He hummed, unconvinced, before stepping forward into the hall with his new betrothed.

[Seven of Spades]

Do not worry about historical accuracy, we understand here that the events of the game never follow the steps of European history, and worry even less about your pace, just look at me, I finished my story after a year and a half since I stopped writing the first time and I lost the savegame file alongside the game itself.

Just write until your heart its content, nevermind the pace, just keep up the good work.

We'll be reading.

[Caillagh de Bodemloze]

Seven of Spades is right, HuliganFish - historical accuracy is completely optional here. And whatever pace suits you is fine. It is good to have you back, though, and of course we'd be very happy to see you posting elsewhere in the Writers' Study as well as here.

I enjoyed Chapter 3. I like the way the different characters interact, and the way Wladyslaw obviously feels he's been just a bit too enthusiastic about Eliza to get away with changing his mind after he discovers she's a commoner. It seemed to me that the incident might not be over just yet, though, with Wladyslaw narrowing his eyes and giving abrupt orders about Wroclaw...

[HuliganFish]

Following the failed Roman invasion, the Holy Roman empire sustained a chain of losses against its enemies to the south and to the west.

With the majority of its forces dead on Polish soil, and his hubs of trade and prosperity lost to the Polish forces, the Roman Emperor could only watch as his empire began to cramble.


In the North, the Teuton's sustained defeat after defeat in the hands of the now reinforced Polish forces- Climaxing in a stinging loss of both their capital and their Grandmaster.



Moved by the increesing loss of life, Pope Euginius of Venice sought to end the violence and needless slaughter of Christians.

In his Bull, Euginius not only called for the European monarchs to stay their hand from violence, but also attacked the Polish crown for massacaring the devout Teutons and taking advantage of their on-going war with the Pagans.

Following Euginius' decree, a wave of unrest ebbed in Poland. Small sects of pious citizens gathered into cults and militant bands bent on harassing the men of the Crown and local militia, or simply to spread more unrest among the people.

The most prominent of these being Wiez Ognia, who spread into smaller cells across the Polish realm.

They have seriously injured or outright killed few militiamen, and left no trace once they withrew into the safety of the slums.

Heeding the pope's call for justice - and perhaps moving under the guise of righteousness and zeal - the combined forces of France and Venice have began to mobolize their forces towards Polish soil.


Cold and harsh winds wail from morn to sunset.
It is clear, that regardless of who emerges victorious from these hard times,
Winter will reign supreme,
And look down upon all from his white throne.

=Winter, 1237=

The door to Wladyslaw's chamber burst open.

Armed men and servants hurried into his bed room in a maelstorm of anxiousness and fear.

The king of Poland's back was ravaged- torn open by a multitude of knife wounds.

His face was unnaturally sunk into a bloodied pillow, and his fingers clutched weakly at an equally red sheet.

The king's royal blood formed a murky pool just under the bed.

Przeclawa was no where to be seen.

A man ran to Wladyslaw's side and knelt.

Others joined him, while the rest stood back, frozen, unmoving.

"W-who-"

Shaking hands retrieved a stained paper just by the King's side.

The burning tower of Wiez Ognia's cult was nearly undecipherable under the thick layer of blood.

=-----------=
Just days ago, Stanimir's force rode hard against the biting cold wind.

Despite the importance of their mission, Stanimir couldn't help but notice the relative calm that dominated the pass towards the besieged Vienna.

His force was a small company, swollen with peasant crossbowmen from Prague and roughly four units of wealthy merchants who sought to make a name for themselves on the battlefield.

And now they were gazing down upon the professional Venetian force, led by a prominent, battle tested noble and his much younger son.

The wind wailed and carried an unnatural chill down his spine.

A grim line of torn Roman banners answered the eerie song and joined in a mute dance, which gave the massive tent they were decorating an inviting aura.

'Trophies', the thought jolted in his mind, and his attention moved to the approaching horseman.

"Milord- Jurand's forces are just on the other side. They began to mobilize towards the Venetians."

"Good job," the noble inched his head stiffly in a token of gratitude, "Now join your unit. We'll be mobilizing shortly".

Stanimir knew Jurand as an impatient commander. From chasing away armed outlaws to favoring a direct, violent plan in the war council. Luckily- he knew how to back his desire for combat with the appropriate tactic.

Below, the Venetians seemed visibly unprepared for the two approaching forces: Their commanders and captains exchanged orders quickly an inefficiently, and the armed men under their command had to shift their formation several times.

Stanimir ran his gauntlet along the mane of his horse, Nilko, and cleared it of any flake that stubbornly stuck to the cascading white hair.

Behind him- his men eagerly waited to meet with the enemy, and put an early end to the so called 'Marchio di Fulmini', the Lightning March, adopted by the Venetian and French forces when they overwhelmed the Roman forces- with an absurd success.

A chill wind swept through his somewhat levitated position, and Stanimir felt an odd urge to leave the battlefield.

He was so unlike Jurand in so many aspects, that he was surprised to hear he was elected to lead the reinforcements.

A man coughed, followed by a choir of shifting boots.

'They want a speech.'

Nilko answered his master's command and turned towards the gathered men and removed his helmet, pausing only momentarily to appraise the snow that nestled itself in its depth.

Calm eyes set upon his force. A nameless band of thrill seekers, family men and business owners. Some shuddered in the cold, and others bit their blue lips.

"Today," he spoke silently, and he was forced to repeat himself to vanquish the wind.

"Today, we kill a legend."

He summoned his blade from its nest with a faint hiss, and pointed the virgin edge towards the confused forces below.
His lips parted once as he felt the need to add more, but decided against it. There is no point in calling the men below anything but what they are- soldiers, serving their lord, willfully or not.

The company men exchanged confused looks and neither cheered.



Jurand's force was nearing the Venetian's vanguard, and Stanimir lofted a palm to call his own company forward.

A dramatic shift in the Venetian formation took place immediately as Stanimir joined the filed: The superb enemy cavalry joined ranks into a large, thick line of steel, flanked by their lighter cavalry.

The rest of their forces held a defensive position- with the archers driving stakes into the frozen soil towards Jurand's direction.

'They want to overwhelm the weaker force'

"Crossbowmen," his palm rose and he turned to survey the men "Entwine with our Infantry. Hide your Instruments until I order otherwise. I want every men on our company to look uncertain- shudder, cough, look for a way out of the battlefield."

His men seemed visibly surprised, but several nodded in silent affirmation, and raced to spread the order to their unit.

The Venetian cavalry slowly shortened the distance, with their General barking orders to his left and to the right. By his side- if to judge by the ornamental heavy armor- rode his son and his personal bodyguards.

What started as a slow advance quickly turned into a gallop towards the Polish line.

The wind struck the advancing horsemen's front, setting their banners into a full display: The golden Lion of Saint mark gracefully danced on a field of red, followed by an entourage of animals, cups, crosses and arms, all in a chaotic display of shapes and colors.

"Crossbowmen- middle unit." He ordered calmly and his men ran past the thin formation of infantry. The wooden instruments protested faintly as they were loaded, and soon enough- all of his Crossbowmen stood and unleashed a volley unto the unprepared Cavalry.

Horses and men cried as the grim torrent of bolts pierced through armor and cut through sinew. Beasts fell on their masters, and the wails of the wounded did not stop when another volley collided with the Elite' of the Venetian force.

The snow continued to fall, oblivious to the massacre below.

The mounted commander ordered his force onwards, and their mad charge, now fueled with rage and confusion drove them through a third volley. Their numbers have grown significantly thin, and the third barrage claimed the life of their commander.

"Infantry- rise shields! Cavalry, take the left flank and prepare to encircle the fleeing enemy!"
He did not know what drove their enemy to continue. Either pride or burning vengeance had the men hoist their lances and charge into the Polish ranks.

Crossbows sang their deadly song, and spears greeted the advancing line of flesh and steel.



The battle was over.

Stanimir personally counted sixteen dead on his side, while Jurand's forces lost forty-one men- with their commander included.

The Venetians lost roughly eight-hundred men.

Stanimir inspected the dead noble in silence.

His sword arm was all crimson- despite dying from several arrow wounds to the chest. Dry blood oozed from his mouth down to his neck, and arrow shafts still protruded from his chest.

'He died in battle. Like he always wanted to.'

Jurand's pale blue eyes stared at the heavens accusingly, as if demanding to live. He was too young to die, and too talented to throw his life away so carelessly.

Stanimir knelt and shut the noble's eyes, muttering a short verse.

"Lepsze imię dobre niźli bogactwa hojne."

A good name is the best of all treasures.

=-----------=


He was never close to the king.

Yet now, he was requested to don the Polish crown, seeing as he was the heir to the throne for some absurd reason.

Grand duke Izbor let out a grandiose sigh.

His daughter, Brodiszlawa, just left his study to prepare for tomorrow's journey.

'She took this lightly'

He opened an old, crambled piece of paper that sat on his table.

A copy he made of a now old proposition, that was only now forming flesh and bone.

Now that the Roman empire has fallen to its knees - cut down and hacked to pieces by its ambitious neighbors, Izbor saw fit to offer his once bitter enemies an alliance - to combine their forces and drive back the relentless western armies.

Of course, this gave him both the ability to preserve the Roman empire as a buffer zone to his West, to claim former Roman territory under the guise of a zealous ally, and, should the tide of battle turn for the defenders, a jusitifed reason to push further into hostile soil.

More importantly: This would stabalize his relations with the Teuton order and challenge pope Euginius' decree against his realm and rule.

Luckily, and surprisingly enough, Brodiszlawa accepted his order without protest.

On the contrary- she wanted to be sent off. The idea of marrying the crown's heir almost made her yelp with excitement.

He rifled through what remained of his paperwork, untill a recent battle report caught his eye.

'The battle of Vienna'

'Our combined forces assulted the Venetian force that besieged Vienna, striking them from both sides.

Despite the superior Venetian forces, our men, under the command of your son, may god grant him eternal peace...'


Izbor's hands shook violently as he read through the letter describing the battle.

Plough the dead king, his son lay dead and he didn't even know of it untill now!

He felt his eyes moisten, his heart beat faster and faster.

His bowels turned and he felt the trace of cold sweat as it ran down his neck.

"Ju-Jur.." The king of Poland violently vomited over his desk and closed his eyes

.=-----------=




Twor clasped Eliza's palm, and both of them turned to look at the clergyman.

He was somewhat fat, with a visible double chin and a bloated stomach.

The gathered - a big portion of the Goatshaggers, nobles, men of the court, and whomever saw fit to join the ceremony, all watched the robed man in anticipation.

"You may kiss the bride!"

The royal couple joined in a passionate kiss, and the crowd cheered loudly.

A heap of white and red flowers slowly began to pile by the feet.

Twor withrew from Eliza only to survey his new wife.

"God, am I the luckiest man.."

"You and your formalities," she leaned against his chest and he embraced her further in.

"A-"

A shriek echoed from the adjacent chamber, followed by the sound of footsteps and wailing men.

Twor leaped infront of Eliza, shooting a stare to Radovid, who was already on his way to collect their arms, with a small detachment of Shaggers by his back.

A powerful, dominating voice commanded some unseen men to proceed.

Some of the manor's staff ran into the main hall, where the ceremony was conducted, their uniforms stained in bleak crimson.

"We're under attack!"

Armed men poured into the room. Most carried blunt, primitive weapons, while a few sported a spear or a sword.

Their features were cowled, and further concealed behind a plain wooden mask of a grim faced man.

"What is the meaning of this?!" the clergy man huffed, his fingers clenched around the holy tome in his grasp.

"Tworzymir Piast- you are found guilty by the Lord and his servant in flesh, Pope Euginius, as a servant of the Devil. You will no longer spill the blood of Christians! You, and all men in this chamber, are condemned!"

A row of masked men approached the Polish noble, who stared at them grimly. The rest of the intruders began to spread in rows towards the rest of the guests.

Schthink

A bolt lodged itself into one of the intruders, followed by Radovid and a small detachment of armed men.

The masked men seemed visibly surprised, but pursued onwards, clubs and swords at hand.

Several of the guests were cornered and gutted, while a small number still pushed towards Twor.

Radovid hacked through several intruders and joined Twor's side, offering him a sword.

"Men! Push forward! Protect the unarmed!"

He blocked an overhead swipe from his left and spun to his side, deflecting another blow aimed to his mid section.

Only once he spied Eliza being escorted to safety- albeit against her will- did he fully commit himself into fighting the masked men-Injuring more than a few, and slaughtering those that did not flee.


Twenty.

Twor counted twenty men, mostly peasants and clergymen. Twenty men who tried to assasinate him and his wife in their wedding ceremony.

He recognized the man who spoke as they entered: Pawel Bovaski, a copperless noble that recently sold his land to support his family.

None of the men held any belongings bar a piece of cloth resembeling a burning tower.

[Alwyn]

Nicely done! I'm intrigued by the formation of Wiez Ognia (and similar groups), it looks like the formation of this group had already had deadly consequences. I particularly enjoyed the moment when the general ordered his infantry to "look uncertain- shudder, cough, look for a way out of the battlefield", to the surprise of his men - that sounds like a general who knows how to fool the enemy!

[Iosif Stalin]

This is a great story. I haven't read the latest updates yet, but I gave you a rep for the one I just read (June 18). You really bring it to life. I'll definitely be keeping an eye on this AAR.