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[Ophelia]

It has been unseasonably cold for July, the sky steely grey and dark, with a steady drizzle that gave the impression it could go on raining forever. Inside the dim gallery at Neuenburg, only the faces of ancestors stood out as blotches of lighter paint, a procession of German nobles and kings, expresionless and silent. Ophi wrapped herself tighter in her mantle and looked out the window. The late night messenger had ruined the soaked lawn, his horse leaving deep marks where it skid and broke a leg. They had to put the animal down.

 

The message he brought said king Sora was dead, and she couldn't help but feel troubled by the news. Soon, the proud city of Rome would fall and lie in ruins, like Spain before it. She never met the man, and yet her heart was filled with sadness. The old order was crumbling and it wasn't clear yet what would come to replace it. The future was a black hole, the present a nightmare of death and destruction.

 

Have I failed in what I was trying to build? A world of proud, sovereign nations? Or worse, have I somehow contributed to the chain of events that led the world into its current state? Where have I gone wrong? What should I have done differently?

 

Her old friends had grown recluse or distant. Matheus, for whose sake she went to war with France, the first kingdom that fell. Was that the turning point? She hadn't heard from him in years. Saber, her oldest ally and advisor, had become increasingly secretive and hard to approach. King Dooran still wrote, but each of his letters seemed less coherent than the last, some smeared with what looked like blood, and she worried he was slowly descending into insanity. Her other dukes were still there - barely - and she felt like she had failed them too. Destruction or entropy seemed to be the only choices. But did it have to be so?

 

She turned away from the window and walked to a small oaken cupboard at the back of the room. Her hand hesitated as she turned the key. From among the bottles and jars, she picked up a small glass vial and looked at the liquid inside. It was a sickly pale colour. She closed her fingers around it and felt the cold, smooth glass cradled against her palm. Then, with a sigh, she replaced the vial on the shelf, closed the door and turned away.

[Saber]

The king of Burgundy was in retreat for a few years now, it has been a very long time he didn't saw or talk with anyone, most of his Dukes were doing the same from now on, the kingdom of burgundy had fallen into a perpetual state of self-centred than no purpose or objectives could fight with, still only his long time friend, the Duke of Schwyz was still giving him some news reguraly, enough at least to give him a little smile once in a while. Remembering his adventures he had in germany with him made Saber take a look at the widow in Ophelia's far away direction without knowing it, he could look at the snow falling again and again in Bern, it's been years the Burgundians people was always saying Winter is coming. Now it was definitely here. And still at the opposing direction he was looking at, a men with no horse was leaving the dark castle of Bern, the men who gave him this letter with the stamp of the pope on it.

 

*how this one did even came here anyway ?!* thought saber.

 

Thoses same mountains had stopped the french armies so long time before, no one tried again since then. But that little man found a way, mens from St-Peter probably had some maps of Burgundy and this one was undoubtly ressourcefull. Using the candle at his table, he burned the message, he had read it already and it was hard to believe. 

 

-Why would the King of St-Peter be leaving now ? Is this even true ? or is it some plot someone is playing lately ? 

 

Considering than talking to himself was a very bad sign for the future of his house, he started to look at his past instead, his lands of Upper-Lotharingia where he was born, his old friends of germany who had traveled a lot now on their own too, a little thought for his queen, wich he had always supported and liked from the very begining, his friend Périgueux who even with his protection disappeared also, just like this rumor about Sora he just had read, and his last campaign in france where he put two of his more loyal burgundian lords into duke of theses area, and that was the last time people saw him too. 

 

Saber took a pen in his right hand, was it worth it ? Writing a letter to his old friends to know their whereabouts ? Probably not. After all, no matter for how long or how far away he was retired, there was no way they could think he wouldn't come right away to help them if ever they were in real need someday. Also what words in the world could even repair what have been done. The world they were living in was loneliness and boredom, full of forgotten and fallen houses, paranoid neighbors and empty of any hopes for the future. Who would accept to live here anymore ? How look the childrens in the eyes while knowing the legacy we are giving them. An eternal winter had fallen on Locke and getting out of it and see the sun once again could be now the biggest challenge of all time for everyone still alive.

 

But who would dare take up such trial ? Definitely not him. And what could be the solutions left ? Saber had no idea. 

[Vicerious]

It was cold in his tent, and Vicerious had looked for a long moment at the silent generals gathered before rising from his seat at the head of the table and giving them a grim nod, signalling the withdraw of Cartinthian troops from Spain. "It is finished for now, let us withdraw from theses accursed shores." For the last handful of years a bitter campaign had raged in the far-off country for the stability of the borders between Italia, Spain and England. The death of the great leader of St Peters had signaled the beginning of the end to that bloody campaign and the dreams of freeing Spain and securing the border territories to keep Italy in Italian hands had died along with him.

 

The march to reach the conflict in Spain had been long, his cavalry had been weary after months of constant movement but they had fought hard, taking a handful of coastal capitals, breaching walls and crushing their way through the enemy's forces rapidly and relentlessly. Then the unthinkable had happened, a stray arrow had reportedly taken down the King of St Peter's during the siege of Lerida. When their steadfast and rebellious leader failing to return the troops of house Sora had slowly scattered. Faced with the slowly advancing horde and numbers in his own camp having dwindled due to the supply lines being cut the choice he made had been a clear one. His troops would withdraw, to spare further losses.

 

As the marching began once more - this time back home - Vicerious wondered what would come in the future for the eastern European Region. Would any other leader rise to stand against the threat of the English? Or would all nations instead succumb alone like Spain, and France before her. The cost of keeping so many soldiers paid and fed had affected his own lands at home, the people there needing to work overtime to ensure the soldiers hadn't starved, and he had to look to them. His heart heavy he'd raised the banner and aimed it for his holdings in Hungary and Germany. As column upon column of cavalry rode past him he sighed from astride his mount, his heart heavier than it had been in a long time as his mind wandered to the luscious fields of Zagreb and he wondered if returning to the life of a simple landowner wouldn't be so bad.

 

The Kingdom of Croatia was currently devastated by their own king's absence, many of the Dukes and Counts had become complacent, with many families fading away into oblivion. His Germanian holdings still lay beneath a competent ruler, but even things in the south of that large country had grown silent of late with the fading of the great Families of Klagenfurt, Kufstein and Pflaum. Once active and vocal Counts beneath his leadership they too had grown silent like so many others. Was it a reflection on himself for too much complacency in earlier years? Should he have started his own campaign of bloodshed? Perhaps such a crusade would have prevented these darker times - for surely some wars were more fair, just or even righteous than others ... were they not?

 

His fist clenched tighter around the hilt of his sword as he slowly eased it from its scabbard, flicking his finger slowly along the blade, ignoring the trickle of blood as his skin pressed too hard against the razor's edge. There was surely someone to blame, someone at the very center of this whole chaotic descent. His eyes turned towards the overcast sky as scanning for advice from the sky - perhaps an answer lay there beyond the dark clouds for him as to whether the swords should be lain down, whether he should stand aside as a leader, or whether the story had maybe just begun and history herself still had many battles to write.

 

But the last fear on his mind, as he urged his horse back towards the front of the company to begin the homeward journey, was that the skies would remain silent and offer no answer or salvation to the people Cartinthie.

[Gilles]

Broken. Disappointed. Sitting on his horse, bended, Gilles is going home. The battle of Lerida was hard. The army defeated after the death of King Sora. Carinthie withdraws. After a campaign of years the "Liberation Army" is on its way home. Spain has fallen eventually. Gilles reflects on the impact of his actions, his betrayal against the King of England, the false king. He has never recognized the English as his Lord. They have invaded Spain and defeated it. They are the oppressors, strangers with different customs and other ideas for the sole purpose to suppress the Spaniards. And what still to come ...

 

The horse trudges over and the army trudges over after him. Or better the little part of the army that is still alive. The rear lines look increasingly anxious looking back to see if the enemy is chasing. They are too tired, too far decimated and morale is too low. Gilles thinks of the past; lands and a thriving economy, happy people and fishing boats. All this is gone forever. There are dark times ahead, even darker than they were the last years of war already. He is only a Lord with at the height some provinces, but he is currently only the poor Lord of Taragone. One city with surrounding fields and a few fishing boats in the port. Soon also that will disappear. The King of England will take its claims to the city. He himself will have to pay. There's a cold shiver through his spine as he thinks to the scaffold, the executioner and the sharp sword with which his head will be separated of his hull.

 

Should he flee? In the war, he was granted a title by his ally Carinthie. Viscount of Wien he is in writing. He has never seen Wien. It's situated somewhere on the other side of the Alps to a large river. No coastline, no sea. The sea he holds so dear. A large part of his family has already left for those far away places. He remained with his wife, but his family here is almost extinct. Sibling, uncles, aunts, and cousins all death by disease and war. And the children have all died before they mature. It makes no sense to stay here.

 

Fleeing is not what he wants, but he cannot stay either. The oppressor is a madman. He has seen the man once, but that one time was enough. The whole attitude of the man radiates aggressiveness, a ferocious appearance. And his eyes; deep, black pools of hate with only the fire of madness. In those eyes is no room for a soul. Again a shiver through his spine.

 

In the distance he sees the walls and towers of the city, Taragone, at this moment still his home, but for how long?

[Ophelia]

She woke up after a night of restless sleep, with images from her dream still vivid in her mind. A much younger Saber leaning over a much younger Ophi, pointing out something on a map that lay spread out on the table in front of them. "We could even cut them off here," he was saying. "Isolate them."

 

And perhaps they should have. Would he still be willing to do what they failed to do then? Was this their common debt to the world, still binding them together? And would he still remember that night?

 

Rumours said he hardly ever left his castle at Bern anymore. Living like a hermit in the shadow of the high mountains. And yet...

 

She sat at her desk, took a sheet of paper that bore the royal insignia of Germany, and started to write. "I find little joy in putting this request before you, and there is no doubt in my mind you will find little joy in reading it. But with luck, we both will find the strength to do what needs to be done. Winter is almost upon us..."

 

Half an hour later, a trustworthy messenger could be seen leaving the gates of Neuenburg, headed south towards the kingdom of Burgundy.

[dooran25]

Rome 1205

 

The Great War Horse Demon Stalker adorned in the finest Armor, gold and Gems stood very still as the Great King Dooran surveyed his surroundings in the once great city of Rome. To his front,  stood the great castle of St Peter.  Dooran wonder to himself how such a great castle was surround by such ruble and waste. The castle itself, adorned in enough gold to match that of Demon Stalker. But the rest of this once great city and the surrounding lands were made of stick, mud and cheap lumber. It was no surprise to  Dooran that the armies of The Demon Lord Sora fell so quickly. The  christian armies of England, France and Spain. had the one True god's strength and blessings to make it thus far.

 

 

But even as Dooran dismounted his fine war horse. He wondered how did the others miss it. He himself almost missed it. The writings and tapestries clearly on the wall.   

 

PPax, Relax & Tampax At Saint-Pierre.

Not a Pope anymore,

just the new ressurgence of the Old Daemons.

Get away from me if you want your soul safe.

Don't get too close, it's dark inside, my eyes is where the Daemon hides.

Here is the St Peter Anthem: 

 

The Great Queen Ophelia missed it. As did the Verona the King of Italy. None could blame King Saber for not seeing it. Far up in his  mountains. maybe it was the Demons who unknowingly put him there. If it wasn't for the watchful eyes of one cardinal. The world would surely be doom.

 

Dooran Strode into the great room and ascended the throne of St Peter.  He turned to face his entourage, He waited patiently for them to settle.  All wondrous Generals, Dukes, Duches and Cardinals in their own rights. Dooran knew they were all curious, wondering what was next.  On to Croatia or Poland perhaps. Maybe we ride home and fix our broken lands.

 

 

Only tomorrow knows what happens next.

[Gilles]

One glorious act. Only one. No, I won't give up. It has come to the Lords attention that an army of infantrymen was in the neighbourhood. Abductors they call themselves. The Taragone family has always been rich from trades. Now is a good time to start spending money. Not long after the mercenaries marched through the gates of the city.

 

One last strike. Gilles send his armies out to take back Lerida that was fallen in the last battle. Maybe he can reach the armies of Carinthie or Pradoluengo. Maybe other free Spanish cities will join. He has no idea what the current status in Spain is. He has heard the one that calls himself King of Spain, the false king, joined hands with England. The world is doomed.

 

He knows that this last act will probably cause his dead and will force Taragone to surrender. But he has to try. There is a price on his head and every vassal of England is looking for him. No way he will get out of Spain. He will die here in the lands he was born. But he won't go down without a fight.

 

Sitting in his chair he takes some paper and starts to write letters he will send out to his allies and his family far away.

[Bekah]

How long had she been away from her beloved France?  Bekah can hardly remember now as day after day the armies march across lands.  She is sure that she has made bitter and lifelong enemies along this march, but she has made friends too.  She has been called warmonger and defiler, seen the hate in the eyes of some as she has ridden through their lands, mostly lands already conquered by other Lords.  War is never pretty and she feels as though she has seen too much of it.  Worse than this, to her at least, is the knowledge that her lands, left so far behind her, are suffering due to her lack of hands-on governance.  Growth in those towns is slowed and the people whisper as they wonder if their absent Lady will ever return to lead them.  Bekah herself has no idea when she will return, all she hears on the wind is 'soon', and again, 'soon'.

 

A loud shout goes up in part of the siege camp near the gates of Vale.  Bekah is curious what it is and rides over to see what the commotion is.  It is not those trapped in the walls attempting to sally forth or a breach to allow her troops access.  None of those things to give her cheer, no.  Instead it is a small matter but one she watches while trying to hide her amusement.  It appears that one of her men  has come across a pig that must have been left outside as the people of Vale had fled behind the walls.  Her men are all professional soldiers, trained to fight, paid well and fed at her own expense, they are none of them farmers.  And so, watching these men chasing, falling and being bested by a pig is as diverting as it is funny.  Bekah knows that as Duchess she should call over her Generals and tell them to put a stop to this but she doesn't.  In fact, when she sees them approaching to to do just that, she raises her hand to halt them.  These men have marched faithfully with her for years now, they have buried their dead along the road and they have welcomed in the replacements like old comrades.  They deserve a little diversion and she is inclined to let them.  Hoots from the walls behind her tell her that they are providing entertainment for their rivals too.  Sometimes, even in war, people on opposite side of the fence can forget rivalries for a moment and laugh together.  This is one of those times.

[Ophelia]

No reply had come from the south, only a chilly wind that blew in the first snowflakes. And now this news. Saber has given up his kingdom and retired to a monastery somewhere in France. The Duke of Schwyz was to be the new king of Burgundy.

 

She could feel mad that he left her alone here in the cold, but that wasn't really what she was feeling in her heart. Like so many times before, she found herself admiring the man. The courage it took to break free. The intelligence and consideration with which he sorted out his heritage. This was so very much like Saber, this was why she always loved him and why she now missed her friend painfully. And there was a little envy too. If only she could do what he did. Retire without plunging the world further into chaos. Too many people depended on her to be there, and she saw no way out for herself.

 

With a half-sad smile she looked wistfully towards the west, in the direction of France. He was somewhere there, far far away.

 

Fare well, my friend. I wish we could meet again some day. I wish you would at least remember me in the long nights of winter. I surely will remember you.