>>756323
>>Konstantinos

>>756323
>>Write in

Alexius

>>756323
>Arsenios

>>756323
Konstantinos/Constantine

>>756323
Michael

So where are we from? Crete? Cyprus? The grand city itself? Antioch? Adrianople? Athens?

>>756323
Alexios

>>756369
We shall shortly see, if a decision can be made.

We can just go with Alexios Konstantinos

>>756369
Thessaloniki
The second city of the Empire

>>756380
I'd be happy to go with Constantinos if we spell it with a C rather than a K as latinised

>>756388
Why?

>>756391
Superior Latin spelling mean we are obviously of Old roman descent rather than a Greek pretender

this is of course bullshit and false logic

>>756393
>Greek pretender
Not even the Romans thought like that
Get your head out of your Venetian ass

>>756401
Never ;^)

why do you think I said it was bullshit dumbass?

Your mother, Theochariste, nods gently towards the small Icon of St. Constantine the Great held in your father's hand. The solid, imperious features of the icon are reassuring, and the gently golden paint surrounding his head brings a faint light to the room.

"Constantine, then. Constantine Alexios. May god form him into a strong young man."

Nine days pass, and the baby begins to grow, healthy and hearty. The family goes back to their simple farming life, with your mother, Theochariste, with her simple, agrarian features and clean black hair gently caring for you alongside your sister. Her gentle hands ease you to life in the world, You feel heat and hear a strange, animal noise, which does not subside all day, until you finally descend from the strange creature. You are too young to truly experience the place you have arrived in, as it bustles with people, but the gentle heat of the anatolian sun eases your journey. Your mother stays for a short while with another woman who looks like her, in a townhouse near to the headquarters of the theme. Her husband is a man that smells of ash, and who seems friendly. He taps your head gently with a large finger, and you giggle.

Your hands fumble in the cool air of the stone building, and your new eyes wander vaguely in the light of the great windows. You are handed to a man, who you do not know, but who's simple garb and caring air calms you. The old man takes you gently, and the air fills with song. You become aware of many people, though you know none of them, and your mother is far from you.

You feel a gentle touch on your forehead, and then a brisk splash of cold water.

>You begin to Cry

>You Remain Silent through the Baptism.

>>756405
It's bullshit even on a historical level
Even the Latin Romans considered the Greeks as Romans and as the Roman Empire of the East, as the Roman Empire
The only reason Charlemagne was crowned Roman Emperor by the Patriarch of Rome was because a woman could not have the title of Ceasar/Emperor, which Irene of Athens did

Konstantinos will be used variably with Constantine, depending on the speaker.

>>756416
Yes and?

>>756414
>You remain silent through the baptism, looking at the painting of St. Demetrius of Thessaloniki at the ceiling
>>756422
And that means nobody (especially someone who is raised as a Greek) would consider that the Greeks are merely pretenders to the Roman title

>>756414
>>You Remain Silent through the Baptism

Strange child is strange

File: Michael_of_salonica.jpg (230 KB, 329x590)

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The water does not phase you. Your eyes instead drift to the far off and distant faces above you. You do not know them, but the great mosaics are comforting, resembling no one so much as your father, and the man who smelled of ash. Unbeknownst to you, the old man is looking down at you with pleasant surprise in his eyes. He follows your infant eyes to the ceiling and smiles at what he sees. His cold, but gentle hands cross on your forehead, with a strange smelling liquid on them. It feels warm, and as you are handed to your mother, the singing noise grows louder. The old man talks to her for a moment, and then you begin to leave. You watch the pictures of the men on the walls for a long time, but soon it is over.

You return, to the ashen man, to the strange creature, and then, to home. Your father talks with your mother for only a few moments before he takes hold of you and smiles down into your eyes. He brushes a hand against your scalp, feeling the soft hairs there. You are taken into the courtyard, and you feel the sun is gone. The far off silver circle in the sky looks like one of the things on the roof of the cold building, and the thousands of little dots look like the eyes of the men.

Once the evening ends, you find yourself wrapped in a bundle, falling asleep in your mother's arms, as she gently speaks to your father. You do not know their words, but they speak tersely and with a sad tone.

"My love, one of them must go. It might be little Constans here. We must be ready early."

"Do not speak like that, Alexios, Please, do not talk of sending him off to the themes, he is only a babe, barely passed into this world"

They continue to chatter, but you fall into sleep.

"Sleep peacefully, my little one, with your hair like..."


>"The Archangel" (Red Hair)

>"Constantine" (Blonde hair)

> "The Saint" (Black/Brown hair)

>>756453
>>"The Archangel" (Red Hair)

>"The Archangel" (Red Hair)

>>756453
>Saint

>>756453
>The Saint

>>756453
>"The Archangel" (Red Hair)

>>756453
>>"The Archangel" (Red Hair)
D...does this mean our dad is a cuck

>>756474
It's EXTREMELY rare for someone from Anatolia
But it could happen

File: anavatos-a-byzantine-vill(...).jpg (137 KB, 820x483)

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As you grow and age, your red hair marks you out as an oddity. Many have never seen anyone with hair so akin to St.Michael, but your mother and father cherish it as a sign of god's favour, and you siblings have nothing but love for you as their youngest brother. You spend much of your time now beginning to learn about the world around you. You have learned to speak now, and though your words are slow and unsteady, they are full and cleanly spoken. Your young hands have quickly grown used to the work of a young child, picking beans and herbs in the little garden in the courtyard, and playing with the little stones out on the farm. You often beg your father to let you go off with him to the city, but for now you are consigned to your home village in Anatolia.

The village is a quaint and simple affair, sitting on the verges of the Taurus mountains, too insignificant to be noticed by the raiders, though you are too young to know of them much beyond as enemies for your games. Your family farms grapes for wine, and you often watch the few farmhands help your father and mother gather the grapes from the vines and toss them into barrels. Other farms nearby grow wheat, but most of the land is taken up by the farming of sheep. You have many woolen pieces of clothing, though your favourite is one with the front made from cool white linen, which you wear in a tunic to church.

Father Marcus is the local priest, a man of advanced age who lets you sit close to the altar with your father even though you are so young, and who seems to know everything about everywhere. You ask him about many things, when you have the moments after the Sunday service, and you always look forward to church to hear him talk of the battles in his bible.

There are other families, but you do not know them, with your brother Florentius being your only close friend. You spend hours with him, playing swordfighting and games of throwing stones. He has taught you a few things, that all brothers teach one another, how to tie knots and how to find good fruit in the countryside. You adore him, and his boisterous, brave nature often rubs off on you.

Today, however, he is gone. Father has taken him on a trip to the city, and you have no-one to play with. You wake up and wander downstairs in a sulk, sitting down at the small table in the courtyard and waiting for your breakfast, a wooden bowl full of milk, warmed over the fire. Your mother sees you and places a cool hand on your chin, lifting your head to meet her eyes.

"Oh don't be sad, my little Strategos, just because your troops have gone home."

You cannot help but giggle at your mother's joke, as she gently ruffles your hair.

"Since they're gone, you will have to go and scout on your own. Perhaps look around the village? I hear that father Marcus might know about where they've gone"

You quickly jump up from the table and run to get your boots on, excited to go out and explore on your own.

Cont.
>>756474
No.

Your boots on, your favourite stick in hand, you wander out to face the world. You soon meet your first fellow traveler, as your father's hound, Smbat, an Armenian dog, whimpers lighty to you. He is nearly as tall as you, and his great hounds head is almost at eye level. You place a small hand on his shoulder, and say, in your most commanding voice.

"Come, Smbat. There's a raid we need to find!"

>Where does our intrepid adventurer go first?

>Why, to the bakery, of course. There is a small stall in the village, owned by one of the miller families, who bake bread and sell the extra. You are sure with a little show of your bravery, you could convince them to give you the provisions you need for the campaign!

>To the Church, to see if Father Marcus can tell you about where your Father has gone in the city, or if he has any good stories! He always does. He might even have some of the wine he keeps to water down for you. A good soldier needs a good drink, like your uncle says.

>Down into the scrubbish woods that lead onto the nearby stream. You need to practice your sword skills! The foul trees have come to take your sheep and your socks, and you won't, in the name of the Emperor, let them!

>>756591
>>Why, to the bakery, of course. There is a small stall in the village, owned by one of the miller families, who bake bread and sell the extra. You are sure with a little show of your bravery, you could convince them to give you the provisions you need for the campaign!

>>756591
>To the Church, to see if Father Marcus can tell you about where your Father has gone in the city, or if he has any good stories! He always does. He might even have some of the wine he keeps to water down for you. A good soldier needs a good drink, like your uncle says.

>To the Church, to see if Father Marcus can tell you about where your Father has gone in the city, or if he has any good stories! He always does. He might even have some of the wine he keeps to water down for you. A good soldier needs a good drink, like your uncle says.

File: Gampr_Hamlik_Parsanyan_2.jpg (57 KB, 382x510)

57 KB JPG

>>756591
>>Why, to the bakery, of course.
also:
>armenian dog
>my nickname in high school
This quest is right on the money

File: rye-loaf.jpg (2.24 MB, 2000x1533)

2.24 MB JPG

Brandishing your stick, and with Smbat at your back, you begin to descend from your farm, along the small ramps which descend the hill. You stumble gently on the way down, falling and scraping your hand. You begin to frown, ready to cry out, when Smbat begins to nuzzle you back up to your feet with his great, furry head. Distracted from the pain, you manage to stand up and continue walking, realizing that your blade makes for a fine spear, and a walking stick to help you get down the incline. At the base of the hill, you pause for barely a moment, tipping stones out of your boot before walking along the path to the village. On the way, you make a go of throwing the stick for Smbat, who dutifully returns it to you each time, without even a bark.

The buildings of the village are a collection of stone and plaster, with some having second floors made out of wood and lime alone. You wander down the small street that passes through them all, waving gently to the few people you know, the farrier Artash who works on you father's sword, Thomas, the carpenter's apprentice, who had you gather him a bag full of juniper berries in exchange for a wooden breakfast bowl with a cross on it. He asks where your off to, and when you tell him you plan to get some bread from Anna, the baker, he smiles and hands you a message for her. You didn't know he could write, and try as you might, you can't read.

You arrive at the small stall, the scent of fresh baked bread filling your little red head, and Anna, a young woman with flowing blonde hair, who your father calls the Slav Girl, selling a loaf of rye-bread to a man you do not know. She speaks with half-fluent greek, but she is friendly and gentle, to you at least. She notices you out of the corner of her eye and smiles, gesturing for you to wait a minute for her to finish selling to the man.

He takes his bread and thanks her, dropping a coin into her hand. She places it in a purse on her belt, and wishes him a blessed day. You approach her, and she speaks, in heavily accented greek.

"Hello, little Constans, Has your mother sent you to stoke my ovens?"

She laughs gently, tapping your fiery red hair, and you hold out the message from Thomas

"No, not my mother. I'm on an adventure!"

"You are? Where to?"

"I'm going to fight off the raiders! But first, I've got to deliver this to you. Thomas gave it to me. The little drawings look pretty"

She smirks, blushing lightly, red rising against her pale skin, as she takes the letter and reads it.

"Those are letters, good little Constans. Thank you! Perhaps you'd like some provisions for your little campaign?"

You nod vehemently, glad to see her smiling though you do not understand why, and she offers you a chunk of fresh cooked bread. You wolf it down, and hold out a little bit for Smbat, who laps it up quickly.

"Run along now, little Khagan"

You do not know what a Khagan is, but you like the word, and you do as she says, running along further into the village.

Cont.

The sun is still young in the sky, and you know that Father Marcus will have been up before dawn. Now you're in the village, there are plenty of things to do.

>Do you continue to the church?

>Try to find some new friends?

>Find your uncle Manuel and talk to him about where your father has gone? (He doesn't tell very good stories, but he tells ones you know more about, like how to tell which berries are ripe on the trees)

>Try to find out more about Thomas' work at the carpenters?

>Write in?

>Try to find some new friends?

>>756685
>>Continue to the church
Seems most interesting

>>756685
>>Try to find some new friends?

>>756685
>Continue to the church

Rolled 1 (1d2)

You guys are consistent at draws.

1= Church
2= Friends

Did we ever learn what time period we're in? This has to be earlier since we're in the Taurus mountains which is in southern Anatolia and the Byzantines held that part for a awhile until the later days of their empire.

File: 28_big.jpg (70 KB, 700x486)

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With the bread warm in your stomach, you begin to walk towards the church. The imposing structure, built of sandstone is the largest building in the village, in fact the largest building you've ever seen, composed of a long main room, an under-croft, a small dormitory for Father Marcus, and a small garden courtyard. As you approach the church, you begin to grow tired, ready for a few hours of listening to stories. The great wooden door is light, ashen grey, with a brass doorknob, and it swings open on gently creaking hinges. You step down into the church, the cool air like a welcoming blanket.

Before you, four wooden pews fill the space of the church, along with a pair of intricately carved wooden crosses. The Altar is made of black stone, with a lectern resting on it. Behind the lectern stands the strong old figure of father Marcus, his shoulders still solid and squared. He sees you enter and speaks, in his loud, authoritative, but gentle tone.

"Ahh! A Soldier? An Archangel? In my church? In God's House? My goodness, you bring with you heaven's hounds, and the flaming blades with which Michael fights the heathens? Please, dear Archangel, set down your blade and call your hound to heel."

You grin and toss down your stick just outside the door. Smbat follows behind you, lieing down on the floor at Marcus' feet. The old man scratches the dog's head, and the hound settles down in silence. You walk in, and take a seat on the front pew, smiling up at the bearded old man.

"I see you now more truly, oh Soldier of God, perhaps an old man such as me could appease you by answering whatever questions you may have of me? Oh, dear me, you must be hungry, and weary from your travels. Come with me."

You smile ever more widely as you rise to follow him, your boots gently tapping on the cold, clean stone. The light in here twinkles gently through glass and onto mosaic tiles, and the saints seem to come alive in the gentle morning light. The air is heavy as you follow the old man's heavy footfalls down into the undercroft. He is solidly built, his torso almost a square, with thick limbs that seem closer to a warrior than a priest. His long, grey-black beard is elegantly trimmed, and he carries himself with a noble goodness, his long, white vestments trailing behind him.

You scamper down the stairs and into the cool undercroft. The small barrels down here contain a thousand mad little treats, and the air hangs with the smells of bubbling equipment. The priest is said to be a doctor too, making little potions and medicines to help heal the sick in this little laboratory that you are so graciously allowed to visit. He pulls a small, comfortable stool out from under a table and holds it out to you. You sit down on the comfortable, padded seat, and he falls back into a chair with many cushions.

"My dear me, my joints fail me in my old age. Perhaps a young man so strong as yourself could find it in his constitution to find an old priest some breakfast."

Cont.

You stand, and start to root through the small boxes and shelves of the priest's little laboratory. You find many unexplainable things, spices that smell like burning sands, strange roots and unguents of maddening colours. You see glass tools bubbling and find little boxes filled with crystals and honey, alongside many mystifying things you have no knowledge of. You eventually find a small box in which the priest stores his provisions. Three loaves of heavy bread, a hollowed and dried gourd filled with milk, and two very valuable glasses.

You take the food and drink in the box to the old man, and he asks you to fill one, up to the depth of your finger, with wine, drawn from the barrels he stores down here. He then tells you to fill the rest with water from a strange contraption on his desk, one which you have never seen before. The water steams, as if boiled, as you pour it, mouth agape in surprise. You fill his glass with slightly more wine, but still diluted, and then hand him his glass and sit down. You know to take small sips of your wine, because you will be here a while. You quietly eat your bread, and the priest begins to tell you a story, a story about St. Michael.

You love these stories, as he relays to you tales of the saint, taken from a silver bound book which he treasures, and he speaks of how the red haired saint fought off demons and monsters. You love to hear of bravery and battle, and the great story weaves it's way to more recent wars.

Tales of Imperial Conquest flow from the priest like wine from a cask, and he tells you a tale of the wars against the Persians, fought by Herakleios.

"Hercules?!" You say, mishearing him, but he laughs.

"No, no young one, not Herakles, Herakleios, Emperor in the eyes of God! He fought the Persians for many decades, even once putting to flight an army of a hundred thousand with only ten thousand men, to sack one of the heathen temples called Ganzac. They say, while within, he saw a statue of their heathen king come to life, and fought it, even in that holiest place of the old fire pagans, and he won!"

You grin, amazed, and the old man goes on to tell tales of Herakleios, reading from a book written by a man called George of Pisidia about how the Emperor once fought a Persian Giant.

Late in the day, as the Priest gets into the spirits of his tales, and you find yourself confused. He pauses a moment, and you ask him the question you have had all day.

"Father, what is a Persian?"

He sighs.

"Once, a long time ago, Rome ruled all the way to Egypt. The Persians ruled an Empire, like our own, to the East. They were heathens, but they were civilized, like us. They fought us for centuries, and many men found glorious service to Christ in those wars. Once the Arabs came, we survived, Persia did not.

>>756789
Arab Raiders have been mentioned, so that puts you after 630, so have the Themes, so likely a while after that. You also know the Emperor's name, if you look back.

He seems to wait for more questions now, his eyes gently melancholy, as if he missed the old enemy. You do not understand, but know that now is the time to ask questions.


>Where is my Father?
>How did you become a Priest?
>How old are you?
>Who is the Emperor now?
>Will you teach me letters, father?
>Write in?

>>756856
>>Where is my Father?
>>Will you teach me letters, father?

>>756856
>>Will you teach me letters, father?
>How old are you?

>>756853
So we are either at the beginning of the 9th centiry or somewhere in the 10th century.

>>756856
>Will you teach me letters, father?
>How did you become a Priest?

>>756885
If we're in the 9th century then that means that the empire controls Anatolia not including the southeast, Greece and parts of southern Italy.

You ask your questions in a flurry, and the priest, in his wisdom, begins to speak

"Dear boy, your father is a soldier of the Themes, a warrior who has defended us from the Arabs all of his life. He has been summoned up by the Emperor Nikephorous to do his duty, because an Arab army has come close to the mountains."

At this news, you are enthusiastic, and then dismayed. Enthusiastic first that your father was going to fight the heathens, and then dismayed that he may be gone for a long while. Father Marcus misenterprets your dismay, and speaks to comfort you.

"Do not worry, dear child, your father will be safe. God will not claim him, he is a wise man and a good soldier"

You gasp. Your father could die?! This was the first moment of your life when you became quite aware of death. Your father could die and you would not see him again. You began to gently bawl, before the priest gently took your hand, speaking directly and with authority to you.

"God will protect your father, if you ask him. The arabs are strong, but they are heathens. God will not let them claim your father, not if he is as good as he is."

This comforts you, and your cry calms to a gentle whimper.

"As to your other questions, my brave Archangel, I am 84 years old this June. I was born during the reign of Leo the Third. I am an ancient man, dear child, compared to most. If I should last long enough to give you an education letters, I shall certainly do it. You must first do one thing for me."

"What, father?"

"Recite for me a Psalm. I will call you up next sunday. Here"

He takes a moment to write out a long set of letters, and hands it to you.

"Ask your mother to teach you to read it, and learn it. I am sure you will bring many a smile to the village when you sing it on Sunday. Go on, be off with you. Let this old priest get to his work"

You rise and leave the church, Smbat in toe. The sun is begining to fad on the horizon, and you must be home soon.

Which route will you take?

>Quick, through the village?
>Slower, out on an adventure into the forest, where you might pick some fruits from the trees first. Your mother always appreciates wildflowers you pick, and you might get something nice with your food.
The year is 803, in the spring.

>>756856
>Where is my Father?
>Will you teach me letters, father?
>How old are you?

>>756926
>Slower, out on an adventure into the forest, where you might pick some fruits from the trees first. Your mother always appreciates wildflowers you pick, and you might get something nice with your food.
Gonna get them good boy points

>>756926
>Slower, out on an adventure into the forest, where you might pick some fruits from the trees first. Your mother always appreciates wildflowers you pick, and you might get something nice with your food.

but be sure to watch the sun, don't stay out too late!

>>756926
803 huh. Guess its time to crush the bulgarians before basil and then the abbasids.
>Slower, out on an adventure into the forest, where you might pick some fruits from the trees first. Your mother always appreciates wildflowers you pick, and you might get something nice with your food.

>>756926
>>Slower, out on an adventure into the forest, where you might pick some fruits from the trees first. Your mother always appreciates wildflowers you pick, and you might get something nice with your food.

>Slower, out on an adventure into the forest, where you might pick some fruits from the trees first. Your mother always appreciates wildflowers you pick, and you might get something nice with your food.

>>756959
>>756937
>>756936
You decide to go on an adventure, reassured by the great figure of Smbat, and by your great and mighty blade. You know the route through the woods, and you head down the small path from the church back, around to the stream and to home. You walk for a while, and the village begins to fade away behind you, the noises of bustling life replaced by the insects chirping and the flow of the stream. You pick a few nice looking wildflowers, with stark red and purple petals,putting them in a leaf bundle.

A few more minutes of walking and you pass by the small grove of hazelnut trees. You spend a few minutes gathering up the small nuts for roasting, throwing the rotten ones into the stream and watching them splash. You take a moment to drink the cool, fresh spring water, and enjoy the sensation of it washing down through your throat. You are about to turn and stand, hearing Smbat bark behind you, when a hazelnut slams into the back of your head and you keel over forward, drenching your clothes in the cold water.

You quickly jump up and turn around, beginning to cry as the water soaks through your clothing to your skin a group of two other boys, children you do not know, stand on the path, holding more hazelnuts to throw, laughing at you. Smbat barks ever more loud, and you find yourself clutching your stick.

One of them shouts at you

"Late home, little devil?"

The other laughs and says

"We were just trying to put you out"

The other boys are older than you, bigger too, and their laughter only swells as you walk back to the path.

>What do you do? (Please roll a 1d20 to determine the success of whatever you attempt)

Rolled 7 (1d20)

>>756975
Beat them up with your stick.

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>756975
Sic em smbat

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>756975
Run?

Rolled 2 (1d20)

>>756975
Use the stick to threaten them into leaving you alone, and hope to God that they aren't important children.

>>756990
>>756987
>>757000
>>756985

You refuse to be bullied. You know how all the men in the stories would respond to being bullied, and it was certainly not by running. You raise your stick and rush at them, meeting only a hail of hazelnuts, as they pelt you with projectiles. The impacts sting, and your wet clothes hang heavy on your frame, despite your best efforts. Smbat simply stands and barks, not trained to attack children. You reach them and trying to swing your stick at one of them.

Then, you are on the floor, clutching your stomach, the imprint of a boot firmly pressed into your skin. The pain is horrible, and you begin to wail and cry. You lie there for a while, crying into the dirt, as salt wells up in your throat from your tears. Eventually Smbat manages to lick your face long enough to make you stand, and you hold onto him as you walk back towards home, bruised and battered, with your stick snapped on the ground, though your bundle of wildflowers remains clean.

The hill climb is immensely painful, as you limp your way through the darkness. The sun has faded past the horizon, and the faint embers of light are your only guide as you return home. Your mother sees you in the doorway, and begins to gently tell you off for having been gone too long, before she sees your limp and the cuts on your chin, and rushes out to comfort you.

After a meal of rich bread and watered wine to take the pain away, she washes your face with vinegar, which stings immensely. Your stomach seems to settle, thankfully, and your mother think it is safe for you to go to bed, after you've told her what the boys looked like. Smbat sleeps by your bedside all night, and you fall asleep with one hand on his shaggy coat.

>How do you spend the next week or so? Remember you have to learn the Psalm if you want Father Marcus to teach you to read and write.

test my lads

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>756975
Beat them up with your stick.
make sure to take out the leader. The other one will flee.

>Learn the Psalm as best you can
>Half Learn the Psalm and do something else
>Half Learn it and Train with your stick in case the bullies come back
>Half Learn and try to teach Smbat to follow your orders
>Half Learn and try to (Write in)
> Don't learn it and spend all of the week doing (Write in)

>Learn the Psalm as best you can

>>757075
Learn the psalm as good as we can. Also train our stick-wielding, if time allows it. This shit ain't gonna happen again.

>>757075
>Half Learn and try to teach Smbat to follow your orders
Cmon Smbat don't be useless next time

>>757081
>Learn the Psalm as best you can

We'll have time for the stick after, we have to impress Father Marcus so he'll teach us our letters.

>>757089
If we train the dog to attack children for us he'll be killed and we'll be punished.

>>757128
Nah. We're just going to teach the dog to attack hostile targets for us, human or not. Also I doubt that they have a animal control or laws regarding animal behavior in 9th century Greece.

>>757081
>Learn the Psalm as best you can
If we wanna get anywhere in life, we need to read and write.

You first ask your mother to read you the Psalm, and she spends several of her free hours teaching you it. It is a long passage about the strength of god and how he will help you. You do not understand all of it, but you learn the words, and you begin to learn what each of the words is, so you can sing it by heart. Your mother often remarks about your singing voice, how beautiful it is, how angelic you sound when you sing the psalm. With the rest of your time each day, you resolve to train yourself to be greater, to be better at fighting, and to train Smbat.

You figure out a way to do all of these things in one. You throw a stick for Smbat, who runs all the way to catch it, while you attempt to beat him to it, which you never quite manage, but which certainly proves to make you a better runners. Soon you have made a game of throwing the stick off the hillside and running as fast as you can down to the bottom.

This has the added effect of getting you more used to fall into the dust and rocks, until the grazes don't hurt much any more. By Friday, you are much close to Smbat, with the hound having learned to follow you, and to go where you point. You also have the brilliant idea of fighting with the stick that you throw for the Dog, so that he will at least go to whoever you hit with it.

You add another factor to this game on Saturday, that each time you throw the stick, you will sing as much of the Psalm as you can before getting hold of the stick to throw again. By Sunday morning, you are thoroughly tired, and you have the Psalm embedded in your memory. You dress in your best linen and wool shirt, wash yourself with the well water, and have the Psalm ready to sing when you arrive among the bulk of people.

Marcus, old as he is, still manages to rise to greet every single villager. You notice that Thomas and Anna sit together now, and they smile gently to you as you take your seat at the front. Marcus remains stood, and as soon as everyone is sat, he begins to passionately recite one of his stories from the bible, the tale of David and Goliath, one of your favorite tales. You think for a moment that he looks at you as he describes David smiting Goliath down, but you are not sure.

As the service concludes, Marcus calls to you, and you rise, very nervous, before walking up to the lectern to sing. You are not tall enough, and so Marcus pulls over a stool for you to stand on.

>Roll a d20 to determine your skill at singing

>>757081
>Learn the Psalm as best you can

Rolled 6 (1d20)

>>757171
Sing for your God, boy!

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>757171

Rolled 18 (1d20)

>>757171
Here we go!

>>757215
Nice

>>757215

You stand atop the stool, with the village waiting for the likely underwhelming song. Many others would be nervous in your situation, but you are ready, in fact, you are absolutely ready. You take a deep breath, and begin to sing. Your voice is high, and it softly reverberates between the walls and windows. You see many look at you amazed at the beauty of your singing, despite your youth. Your mother smiles warmly, with perhaps a tear in her eye, and you feel yourself further spurred on to sing with more emotion.

"Ascribe to the LORD, O sons of the mighty,
Ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.

Ascribe to the LORD the glory due to His name;
Worship the LORD in holy array."

Your words rise with energy, and the crowd sits transfixed as you progress through the rest of the Psalm, swelling with pride. You continue on singing for what seems like forever, your voice ringing out with angelic clarity, until you come to the end of the Psalm.

The LORD sat as King at the flood;
Yes, the LORD sits as King forever.

The LORD will give strength to His people;
The LORD will bless His people with peace."

Though you do not fully understand the message of the Psalm, those of the audience who's family have gone off to fight and die against arab raiders see the beauty in it, and several of the mothers in the pews begin to gently cry. Once you finish, the congregation stomps their feet loudly to congratulate you, and you hear your uncle Manuel cheering for you.

Father Marcus rises and speaks to dismiss the congregation.

"We have been blessed with this beautiful song from this boy with hair like the Archangel Michael, The battles to come will surely go in our favour, for surely we must be the chosen children of god"

To hear him speak so highly of you makes you blush deeply, and you revel in your success, as your mother gently ruffles your hair. On the way out, Uncle Manuel, with his great black beard, also pats your head, and you return home with the hardships of the last few days melting away. In the following few days, Manuel comes to visit you, bringing with him a wicker basket of gifts from the village to congratulate you, with fresh rye bread from Anna, a stylus and pad from Father Marcus, a long, nicely made walking stick carved by Thomas that Manuel coyly says could "Really do some damage", and Manuel's old leather helmet from the Themes. It is a tad big for you, but you wear it nonetheless.

>>757271
Awwww. Cute.

Arab raping and pillaging when?

>>757283
Soon. Not too soon though, we're probably only 5 or 6.

>>757283
>>757294
>Not pillaging and kidnapping other 5 year olds
Get a load of this heathen

Months pass, and your father does not return. Manuel begins to stay at the house longer, and your mother is less and less talkative, spending more time at prayer with the small icon of Constantine which inspired your name. After a year has passed, you become suspicious, and you finally decide to breach the issue with your Uncle Manuel, at age seven. Manuel has slept nowhere but the cellar since your father left, in his own room. He has managed the business, and as you gain more control of your reason, you begin to wonder what has happened to him. One morning you descend the ladder into the sandy basement, the smell of wine hands in the air.

"Uncle?"

Your uncle responds through his thick black bear, pulling his coat on over an undershirt

"Yes, Mighty Constantine?"

"Is my father dead?"

"No, no, good heavens, no! Do not say things like that"

This confuses you, initially into thinking he is lieing, before you are intrigued.

"Then where is he? And my Brother?"

"He is in the Capital. Last year a man named Bardanes Tourkos tried to bring down the Emperor, and he ordered all of the Themes to follow him to the Capital to siege it. Your father went with them, but once Bardanes surrendered, your Father was left in the Capital. He doesn't want to call us away to go with him, but he says he's been put in charge of a few of the troops in the Emperor's presence, forgiven for being part of Bardanes rebellion"

>How do you feel about this?

>Enthusiastic?
>Angry?
>Sad?
>Interested?
>Write in

DISCLAIMER: Bardanes is pronounced Vardan.

>>757357
>Interested?
At least Father isn't dead, but we should press Manuel for more information.

>>757357
Seconding
>>757369

Interested

>>757357
>Interested?

>>757357
>Enthusiastic?

>>757376
>>757377
>>757372
>>757369

"The Capital? Is he rich? Will he live there? What about my Brother? Will he come back? Can I visit them?"

"I am sorry to say it, but I only know the answer to one of those questions, and that is that he's not rich. He's just an officer, not a Strategos or a Tourmach. He's been talking a lot about you in letters, about me making sure you are safe. I understand you're learning your letters with Father Marcus, and I told him so in the last letter. He's very proud of you, you know. He calls you "My Young Archangel". I am sure he will either send for you, or return to you soon. Perhaps when you';re older. When you're ten you can accompany him as an aide, so perhaps then"

Manuel does not speak softly, his words stark and solid, and you are not at all sure how to feel. You will be ten in three whole years, it seems so long to wait, knowing that your father is waiting in the far off, gleaming Capital, with the Emperor is almost torment. As you have grown older, you have likewise grown stronger, and with your carved staff you make a much more formidable target. What do you plan to do with these three years, asides from learning your letters? Provided, of course, you even want to go west to find your father, or if you want to join him at all?

>Perhaps you will devote yourself to studying in the church?
>Maybe you devote yourself to growing stronger, being more skilled with a weapon. Manuel might even help to train you.
>Will you try to act on your knowledge sooner?
>Will you try to learn the trade of being a squire for your father or brother while you can, how to deal with horses and equipment?
>Try to get into some other trade? You could attempt to join the Farrier's work to learn that trade, or join Thomas as an apprentice and learn carpentry. You could simply throw yourself into managing the family estate
>Write in? (The World is opening up, slowly, and in these three years you have an opportunity to prepare for whatever you do as an Apprentice or a Squire, or whatever else you want to do. The Sandbox is slowly filling)

>>757441
>>Perhaps you will devote yourself to studying in the church?
>>Maybe you devote yourself to growing stronger, being more skilled with a weapon. Manuel might even help to train you.
Spit our time between these. A smart soldier is a good one.

>>757455
this

>>757455
seconding, and also adding
>spend time in the woods with Smbat, learning the ways of nature and training him
There are more than one ways to be a smart soldier

I hate to say it lads, but I am unfortunately in need of sleep. I hope you have all enjoyed my very first attempt at an actual Quest, and that you'll all be here and ready to go tomorrow morning.

>>757357
>interested

This is a good one!

>>757476
That's true. How old is Smbat anyway?

>>757490
No worries dude, I'm just about to head to sleep myself. This is pretty fun, keep it up!

>>757455
this

>>757501
He's a year older than you.

>>757490
You are doing Theo works OP!

>>757519
Ah, cool. Thanks OP.

>>757490
Excited to see the quest continue! can you give us a ballpark time for ur return OP?

>>757532
Give me about nine or ten hours

>>757567
It might be a good idea to make a pastebin or character sheet to keep track if stuff like characters.

>>756975
children are dick, we should kill them!

>>757455
This

>>757490
This has been a great quest so far, thanks for running OP!

>>757441
>>Maybe you devote yourself to growing stronger, being more skilled with a weapon. Manuel might even help to train you.
>Will you try to learn the trade of being a squire for your father or brother while you can, how to deal with horses and equipment?

Nice quest

>>757441
>Perhaps you will devote yourself to studying in the church?

>Will you try to learn the trade of being a squire for your father or brother while you can, how to deal with horses and equipment?

We must keep ourselves doubly busy... And in the church, we must ask Father Marcus for the tales of ancient emperor. Constantin perhaps, or Justinian! That shall be our calling and purpose in life; to rise as Justinian did and dream as he did, of a united Rome, of a restored empire. Of peace by wisdom, by steady hand and by the sword. We shall learn our trade well and learn our letters likewise, for there is much wisdom to be found in the histories of Alexandros, of Ceasar, of Socrates, of Tacitus, of Livy, of architects and philosophers and mathematicians, of doctors and generals... So much to learn and so many ways to apply it for the good of all God's children!

>>758061
>We must keep ourselves doubly busy... And in the church, we must ask Father Marcus for the tales of ancient emperor. Constantin perhaps, or Justinian! That shall be our calling and purpose in life; to rise as Justinian did and dream as he did, of a united Rome, of a restored empire. Of peace by wisdom, by steady hand and by the sword. We shall learn our trade well and learn our letters likewise, for there is much wisdom to be found in the histories of Alexandros, of Ceasar, of Socrates, of Tacitus, of Livy, of architects and philosophers and mathematicians, of doctors and generals... So much to learn and so many ways to apply it for the good of all God's children!

I like how you think, but as we're pretty low in the social strata having a strong sword arm will go a long way in raising us up.

Granted yes, being well learned and skilled in administration and diplomacy is very important, winning glory with our own hands will help tremendously in bringing us to the attention of those on high up and the rewards they can bestow.

squire/training or church/training would probably be the most optimal route for us to take.

>>757441
Let's go with squire training.

>>757441
Prestor Konstantine

>>757441
>Perhaps you will devote yourself to studying in the church?

Prestor Konstantine

I hope we treat women like dirt in the future

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>>757441
>Will you try to learn the trade of being a squire for your father or brother while you can, how to deal with horses and equipment?

Feels good childhood quest is comfy.

>>757441
>Perhaps you will devote yourself to studying in the church?
With our background this is only natural.

I got to say, historical fiction is my favorite type of quest. Eagerly awaiting its continuation!

803, so when do we retake antioch?

>>759423
When we instigate an Orthodox crusade

Good Morning!

I get the sense that we want to spend our days both in church and training to be more skilled as a squire.

I am correct in thinking this?

>>759444
works for me

>>759444
Morning!

That works, hopefully we can get some combat training in as well.

>>759444
I'd prefer just squiring, but will compromise.

>>759444
Prefer the church more but yeah that works

2/3rds church 1/3rd Training maybe?

We will end up being in the Basileus personal guard, maybe even be the one to kill Krum.

>>759457
It would be better for a child to exercise his brain in this formativa years, we can focus on combat when we get to Constantinople.

>>759461
>implying we know this

>>759461
His mind, virtue and diligence. There is a reason why young boys were taught how to be a squire first and a knight second. First we serve as a page, readying our master's horse and armour and serving dutifully. THEN we learn of war and of weapons. Learning humility and patience shall serve us well in life, far more than just learning how to swing a sword.

And all the while, we hone our mind.

There is much the ancients can teach us, whether they be from Rome, or Greece or Egypt or far-off Cathay. Even the Arabs must be doing SOMETHING right to challenge the heirs of Rome!

>>759462
We have the mark of Michael on our head and were silent through our baptism; I think it is safe to say we are no ordinary child. If nothing else, we have the ability (due to being a quest character) to instinctively plan ahead and coolly analyse any situation from multiple angles before reaching a course of action.

>>759462
Well father and brother are in the capital so and I bet he would like to show his little son that can read and write.

>>759463
>implying that while we can we necessarily should

I likely do think in character, but that's just me

qt kievan rus girl when?

>>759476
When we rape and pillage Rus and rape her

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cant wait for the despair and suffering

>>759478
No raping or pillaging. That only turns the population against us.

>>759479
tfw we reverse the course of human history by leading armies to crush the Abbasids and cement peace for the next hundred years after we re-take Alexandria and North Africa.

And after that, we'll take a pretty blonde Rus girl as our wife, solidifying Byzantine hold over the Black Sea and look at re-taking Carthage and the Eastern Mediterranean. Our name will be remembered in glory! Sixth of the name of Constantine, anointed by God and second to bear the title Corrector Totius Orientis!

By our strength and moreover by our wisdom, shall the Byzantine Empire continue in glory for the next five centuries and in so doing, change the world.

>>759485
id rather we sold our boypucci to haron al rashid desu

>>759485
>No raping or pillaging. That only turns the population against us.

But anon they are heathens and pagans!

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5.04 MB JPG

You ask Manuel to teach you how to be a squire. At first he protests that he does not know, never having been one, but gradually he relents, and your training can begin. The first step Manuel takes is to teach you how to run on open ground, while carrying heavy equipment. He makes you wear his old armour, felt and plates of metal, which weighs heavy on you, along with a pack containing steadily increasing weights of equipment, and telling you to run along the more rugged paths of the village. As the months pass you grow more able to traverse the rough, rocky terrain of Anatolia, and once you can do that, Manuel begins to teach you to pick the right fruits and berries, telling you when certain trees flower and fruit.

He is a solid, direct and authoritative leader, instructing you and disciplining you when you go wrong. You are taught not to drop your pack, not to drop your weapon, always to run when you cannot fight, and only to fight when you can win. Manuel teaches you all you need to know of the wildernesses of the Taurus mountains. You learn to climb small cliff faces, how to use a rope to ascend steep heights, how to swim even. Once you are nine years old, Manuel begins to teach you how life in the Themes is. He takes you on long, multiple day hikes away from the house, where you learn to survive in the wilderness, how to set up a camp, and, on a particularly grueling day, how to dig a trench.

Smbat stays with you throughout these years, following you on hikes, swimming alongside you. He licks your wounds and barks to alert you when Manuel attempts to ambush you on one of the frequent faux-hunts, though the dog is beginning to grow old as you reach your tenth year.

All the while, you have been learning more of the church. Father Marcus teaches you letters and numbers by teaching you to read the bible, along with the histories of the saints. You start and end every day reading these ancient tomes, and eventually you learn to copy them out, over and over, until you can finally understand how the words are written and what they mean. Father Marcus grows older and older, and you spend more of your free time from training helping him.

You begin to tell him, and many others, your own stories. You take sections from the Hagiographies, St. Demetrias, St. John, St. Peter, all manner of fantastic tales. Father Marcus enjoys your stories so much that, on your ninth birthday, he gives to you a book of your own. It is a strange, hard to read tome, bound in thick red leather. It's pages seem to flow into one another. It was written by a man you have never heard of, called Prokopios.

You try your best to read this book, but you prove only able to skim through it's pages. The names of Belisarios, Justinian and Theodora are in your mind now, but you cannot truly know their exploits without the Father's help. Once you have learned to read decently, and to write, the Father teaches you your numbers too, with Manuel's help.


Cont.

>>759491
>how to dig a trench
Eh? Well I guess for a camp, the Romans knew what they were doing.

But this is exactly the education we need. Not just how to swing a sword, but how to be a good soldier too. There is more to battle than swordplay and more to leading than brilliance. We must know how to be a common soldier and how to march and dig and work as they do, if they are to love and respect us.

It's a few centuries early for Machiavelli, but the principals are still sound.

And oh my god YES. THIS is the kind of education we need in the arts and sciences and history. Those three names more than any must be paramount in our mind as heroes who's example to follow.

>>759491
>procopius book
>on theodora

thank god he cant read very well yet, i wouldnt want him turning into a degenerate

>>759499
>Not wanting to be a degenerate warrior priest
>not wanting liberate the Slav and Arab from their Hesthen gods and return them to the love of christ

>>759499>>759501


some excerpt

>>In Procopius' account, Theodora made a name for herself with her portrayal of Leda and the Swan, where she stripped off her clothes as far as the law allowed, lying on her back while some attendants scattered barley on her groin and then some geese picked up the barley with their bills. She also supposedly entertained forty lovers in one night and, 'though she made full use of three orifices, she often found fault with Nature, complaining that Nature had not made the holes in her nipples larger so that she could devise another variety of intercourse there.'

>She never succumbed to these transports; for she often went to a supper at which each one paid his share, with ten or more young men, in the full vigour of their age and practised in debauchery, and would pass the whole night with all of them. When they were all exhausted, she would go to their servants, thirty in number, it may be, and fornicate with each one of them; and yet not even so did she quench her lust. Once she went to the house of some great man, and while the guests were drinking pulled up her clothes on the edge of the couch and did not blush to exhibit her wantonness without reserve. Though she received the male in three orifices she nevertheless complained of Nature for not having made the passage of her breasts wider, that she might contrive a new form of coition in that part of her person also.

>She frequently became pregnant, but as she employed all known remedies without delay, she promptly procured abortion. Often, even on the stage, she stripped before the eyes of all the people, and stood naked in their midst, wearing only a girdle about her private parts and groin; not because she had any modesty about showing that also to the people, but because no one was allowed to go on the stage without a girdle about those parts. In this attitude she would throw herself down on the floor, and lie on her back. Slaves, whose duty it was, would then pour grains of barley upon her girdle, which trained geese would then pick up with their beaks one by one and eat. She did not blush or rise up, but appeared to glory in this performance; for she was not only without shame, but especially fond of encouraging others to be shameless, and often would strip naked in the midst of the actors, and swing herself backwards and forwards, explaining to those who had already enjoyed her and those who had

During all of these years you are relatively untouched by the violence of the world. You hear tales from Manuel of a great invasion into Anatolia by the Arabs, but your isolated little village is, as it always seems to be, untouched. New people arrive in the aftermath, refugees. Father Marcus accommodates them in the church for a short while, and you manage to convince them to tell you tales of the Arabs. One of these men is old, a theme soldier in his youth who had tried to fight to save his home, but had lost to the might of the Arabs. He tells you, in graphic detail, how his home was burned, how the livestock that had been his livelihood were lead away, and his sons, both, taken as slaves.

He weeps as he tells you the tale, and you simply stand there, in the cold silence of the church, before a weeping old man, attempting to console him with a gently sung Psalm. Your soothing songs often bring hope in miserable times, and as you grow older you can put more power into your words, until you are almost speaking like father Marcus at his services while you sing of God's strength.

It makes you furious to hear tales of the Arabs doing such things as they do on their great raids. Your heart burns to see the refugees who flee to your little village, and a part of you feels guilty that you have not had to suffer even slightly from these attacks. You feel as if you are strong enough, that you would rather fight off the Arabs yourself, young as you are, rather than allowing old men to suffer at their hands.

Around your Ninth birthday, you hear from Manuel that the Emperor has violated a truce with the Arabs, and that they have come back to raid again. You beg him to let you go to be with the themes, at least as a messenger, but he refuses, not wanting to put you in such danger. He instead offers you an opportunity. He needs to purchase a pair of horses, and he offers to allow you to travel with him to the ranch where he intends to purchase them.

It will be a grueling journey across Anatolia, and you will have to walk all the way there. You will, however, be allowed to ride back, and Manuel will teach you to care for the horses.

Father Marcus offers another opportunity, for you to accompany him, old as he is, to a gathering of priests in Amorium. He says that there will be a great number of bishops in attendance, noting, in a miserable tone, that the council is to raise funds for the ransom of the bishops captured by the Arabs

>Who shall you go with?

>Manuel, to learn to care for horses, and to trek across Anatolia?
>Father Marcus, to the Church Gathering in Amorium (The Headquarters of the Theme)
>You could try to force your Uncle to allow you to join the Theme as a squire for a short while, just during the campaign. You could earn some money, and combat experience. It would be a very dangerous experience.

>Or (Write in?)

>>759502
Dear god, NOT THE SECRET HISTORY!

He's only nine.

>>759502
Hot I like a powerful A nyphomaniac, but then again I adored Crusader quest and abstinent priest or a degenerate rapist would be a nice change

>>759508
>Father Marcus, to the Church Gathering in Amorium (The Headquarters of the Theme)
I hope these bishops do not have a fondness for little boys. Father Marcus keep us safe.

>>759508
>Manuel, to learn to care for horses, and to trek across Anatolia?

lets do the traveller route. another soldier/warrior is boring

>>759508
>>Father Marcus, to the Church Gathering in Amorium (The Headquarters of the Theme)

The church calls and we answer

>>759508
Manuel

>>759508
>Manuel, to learn to care for horses, and to trek across Anatolia?
Let's be cowboys.

>>759508
>Manuel, to learn to care for horses, and to trek across Anatolia?
We need to learn to deal with horses, while going for the Church, we might learn some things in that council, I doubt it will be much

>>759541
>>759530
>>759529
>>759520

On a brisk morning, early in the spring of 808, you awaken from your bed of wool and straw, and rise to stretch. The house no longer smells of lime and clay, it has settled, now the smells of food and earth fill the air. Your small bedroom, that you are supposed to share with your brother, is relatively unadorned, but it is home. This will be the first time you leave it for more than a week, and you make sure you have everything you need before you leave for breakfast. You fill a pack with spare clothes, a cloak, all of your woolen socks, an extra waterskein and your small wooden bowl, carved by Thomas. You would have asked him for a new one, but he has been busy of late. He is married now, to Anna, and their wedding took place only a few weeks ago.

You stretch for a moment and call out for Smbat. The old dog walks towards you and nuzzles up against your leg as you pat him. You only have one thing left to pack.

>A Small Coinpurse containing the money you have made in the last few years by gathering plants and herbs for father Marcus?
>Your Small leather bound bible, gifted to you on your eighty birthday?
>The Small painted Icon of Constantine that watched over your birth?
> The Felt-Leather helmet Manuel gifted you when you were but a child?
>Some other Possession that you have earned in the last few years? (Anything you think you could have afforded or found. I'll tell you if it's reasonable.)

>>759508
>Manuel, to learn to care for horses, and to trek across Anatolia?

Practical skills and family before potential church connections.

>>759552
>Your Small leather bound bible, gifted to you on your eighty birthday?

Also don't ducking forget our "walking stick"

>>759552
>Your Small leather bound bible, gifted to you on your eighty birthday?

Ο Θεός είναι μαζί μας.

>>759560
>Ο Θεός είναι μαζί μας.
As forever He shall be.

>>759552
>>Your Small leather bound bible, gifted to you on your eighth birthday?

>>759552
If you go a-rangin' you got to have your bible.

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2.34 MB PNG

>>759558
>>759560
>>759573
You take your small bible and flick through it for a moment, the feeling of the softly bound pages is reassuring, before you stop on a page, simply to see where you have landed. You pause for moment, and read the passage out, in rhythmic and flowing Greek

"Not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope."

You smile to yourself as you realize the small passage comes from Romans. You place the small bible, with it's impossible intricate script, into your pack, wrapped in a leather package to keep it from getting wet in the rains, should they come. You head out into the courtyard and feel the sun gently shining down on you through the light, pale clouds of the morning. You call out good morning to your mother, and then to Manuel, before going to the kitchen and finding yourself the first one awake.

You set to work filling a small pot with milk to heat over the fire, taking a few wooden bowls out for breakfast. You take a small loaf of bread, wrapped in sacking, and place it into your pack, knowing tha you'll not have much chance to eat anything but travelers biscuit while you're on the trek.

Manuel soon awakens, and you pour out warm milk for both of you, before sitting at the table, before the icon of Mary that your mother keeps in the kitchen. You both pray for a moment for luck on your journey, making sure to offer special praise to Saint Christopher for luck on your travels. You drink down the gently warmed milk and feel yourself grow warm, ready for the day.

"You ready for our journey, Constans?"

You are still referred to as Constans (Little Constantine) by many, and you are beginning to grow annoyed with the name, feeling that you are certainly not so little any longer, but you bear it.

"Yes, Uncle, If you have my staff to give back"

Your uncle took the walking staff a while ago to make some modifications to it, though he did not tell you what they were.

"Of course."

He sets a bundle of cloth onto the table, and you excitedly taking it, unwrapping it from the cloth. What you reveal is your staff, made longer to fit your growing height, with one major alteration. A small mace-head has been attached to the tip of the staff, making it into a real weapon.

"We are setting out into the countryside. I have heard that the Arabs are on the warpath once more, so we must go well armed."

He taps the sword on his belt. You know, from many of his stories, that it is a cavalry sabre, one he used when he fought in Constantine the Sixth's campaigns, before the Empress Irene, before you.

"We must be off soon to make time. Your mother is still sleeping, I do not think she likes to see you go. We may stay a while if you wish to say goodbye"

>Will you leave without saying Goodbye, to save the sadness of parting?
>Will you go to say goodbye to your mother for the journey?

>>759604
>Will you go to say goodbye to your mother for the journey?
We cannot leave without Mother's love and good wishes on our travels.

>>759604
>Will you go to say goodbye to your mother for the journey?
If there's a chance these are our last words to her, better make it count

>>759604
>that it is a cavalry sabre
A cavalry sabre, in the 9th century, in the middle of Anatolia, worn by a Greek?

may I see it?

>>759604
>>Will you go to say goodbye to your mother for the journey?

>>759604
>Will you go to say goodbye to your mother for the journey?

>>759604
>Will you go to say goodbye to your mother for the journey?

Tell our mother we'll be fine. No big deal, we'll be back before she knows it.

fingers crossed

>>759489
And they may yet be turned to the cross. Do not hate the heathen and the pagan, but rather, seek to understand them. Through understanding, we shall reach peace and through peace, convert them to the true faith and allow pilgrims access to the holy places in their domain.

Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan. Though his people were the enemies of the traveller, he stopped and offered succor.

>>759502
...Hot. Gotta love a girl who isn't ashamed of her sexuality AND has a brilliant head on her shoulders!

>>759520
A soldier to start with, but a strategos we shall yet be and mayhaps even higher; a king beneath the Emperor and beneath the king of kings, the Lord God.

But for now, travel shall broaden the mind and prepare us for adulthood.

>>759604
>Will you go to say goodbye to your mother for the journey?
Ever remember piety. Honour thy mother and father. We'll be back before she knows it and she will be glad of the re-assurance. Show a brave and glad face to her and bring her no trouble.

Also, Constantine the Sixth? ...Which one will we be again?

>>759610
A Byzantine Paramerion sword.

>>759619
Goddamit no I am not being another Wilhelm of Koblenz

Enough of being a heathen lover those who turn their back on Christ deserve the horrors of devilry

I understand where you're coming from I simply disagree

>>759619
We would be Constantine the Seventh.

Irene Blinded her son, Constantine the Sixth, and then he mysteriously dissapeared.

>>759626
I'm with this anon.

Our compassion should be spared for the righteous, not those that persecute them.

>>759627
That would be if we were to become Emperor. I do not say we should dream to usurp our liege who rules by the grace of God. If such should be our fate, then by all means accept it as God's will, but until then, dream only to rise in station under the Emperor.

>>759626
What of those who have not heard of Christ? Are they also damned? Do they not deserve a chance to grasp salvation? How many of the Arab's people have heard word of God to have a chance to accept it?

And if they SHOULD reject it, that is between them and the almighty. No nation can make war forever, so regardless, we should fight only when it can ensure a lasting and prosperous peace. Therein lies wisdom. Even Alexander, who never lost a battle, failed to build an empire, for he knew not of peace.

But I do not say that we should be weak and bow before the heathen armies.

You go up to your mother's bedside, smiling with enthusiasm and energy. You needn't put on a brave face, you have no fear. Your mothers bedroom, the room in which you were born, is quiet as you enter, and your mother awakens at the sound of you. She looks to you, her son, about to travel off into the world for the first time, and tears form in her eyes. She calls you closer and embraces you, before speaking in a sobbing, but sweet and gentle voice.

"Promise me, Constantine, that you will be safe and you will return to me."

"I Promise, Mother. I will bring you a gift from our travels."

"Go, go, I cannot bear to watch you leave"

You turn, sad to have to leave her, and walk down the stairs, taking hold of your staff and following Manuel out into the world. The sun grows warmer and warmer as you descend the sandy pathways that you have known all of your life, down into the village. Smbat follows you all the way, and both you and Manuel know that you must save your conversation for the road. He pauses in the village to buy bread and supplies from Anna, and to collect the money for the Horses from his home in a pouch.

You have a final chance to say your goodbyes, or make some requests, or to do whatever else it is that you must do before embarking on your Journey

>What shall you do?
>Wait and ready yourself to go?
>Say Goodbye to Father Marcus and be at prayer for a few moments.
>Ask after some other friend, perhaps to say goodbye to Thomas and Anna, or simply to gather your own supplies.
>Write in?

>>759627
Irene was an evil bitch, although if her marriage with Charlemagne happened, I can only imagine what would have been.

>>759633
>Say Goodbye to Father Marcus and be at payer for a few moments.

>>759633
>Ask after some other friend, perhaps to say goodbye to Thomas and Anna, or simply to gather your own supplies.

>>759634
There would be a lot less Germans and Slavs in the world.

>>759633
>Say Goodbye to Father Marcus and be at prayer for a few moments

We don't know how much time our old teacher has left in this world

>>759633
>>Say Goodbye to Father Marcus and be at prayer for a few moments

>>759636
>There would be a lot less Germans and Slavs in the world.

There would be no dashcam videos. What a loss to the world.

>>759633
>Say Goodbye to Father Marcus and be at prayer for a few moments.

>>759633
>Say Goodbye to Father Marcus and be at prayer for a few moments.
>Ask after some other friend, perhaps to say goodbye to Thomas and Anna, or simply to gather your own supplies.
We can say goodbye to Thomas and Anna quickly as we buy bread and then stop by the church on the way out.

>>759632
>What of those who have not heard of Christ? Are they also damned? Do they not deserve a chance to grasp salvation?

They deserve the chance to learn it but if they reject it they are beyond saving and must be put to the sword lest they tempt good god fearing men with their devil worshipping

>How many of the Arab's people have heard word of God to have a chance to accept it?

Many though they accept a false prophet, again when the time comes they should embrace it and feel his love or face the sword and chain as is the emperors mandate

Let us not ignore that the Arab is a foe not to be trifled with as even the emperor must be cautious with them

>>759647
Your faith does you credit.

Be cautious it does not become blind zealotry.

Do I need to speak of the fate of Hypatia? Murdered by a mob acting in 'the name of God'? Although truly their zealotry only served the power play of Bishop Cyril.

What was the standard equipment for a theme soldier during the 9th century?

>>759669
I think we might be past the era of standardised equipment for citizen-soldiers... Aren't the Themes supposed to equip themselves, or be equipped by their commander or something?

>>759670
If I remember correctly it's the strategos job to equip his soldiers.
But I'm not sure what the would that equipament be sword and armour certainly, the rest idon't know.

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>>759669
Probably something like this

>>759633
>>Say Goodbye to Father Marcus and be at prayer for a few moments.
>>Ask after some other friend, perhaps to say goodbye to Thomas and Anna, or simply to gather your own supplies.

Marcus is most important, he may not survive the trip to the council and back, we need to seem him.

>>759676
Most likely spears. They're simple to make, simple to use and a well-drilled group with spears is a formidable adversary for infantry and cavalry alike.

Other than that, maces, lamellar or scale armour, or else chain mail is the order of the day, as >>759678 indicates. We're not exactly talking cataphractoi here, but as the heirs of Rome, the Byzantines knew well how to best use heavy infantry.

Other units would use bows or crossbows, or take the role of the elite heavy cavalry that would later come to dominate in Europe. Honestly, in terms of soldiers, the Byzantines had it fairly good against the Arabs. The issue was that their empire was too divided and weakened by internal fighting and their generals were often appointed politically, rather than meritocratically, allowing the more mobile Arabs to flow around their forces and crush them. If used right however, there is VERY little that can stand up to the discipline and advanced equipment of a Byzantine force.

>>759678
It can see some traces of the late empire, but nothing like the legion during Augustus or Trajan.

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>>759691
The Byzantine army is nothing like the Early imperial army that fought in places like the hills of Britain or forests of Germany. Although it is somewhat reminiscent of the later imperial army during the 4th and 5th century.

>>759690
Honestly, I'd go a full coat of maille over lamellar. Lamellar of this period only offered solid protection to the torso, while maille was often sleeved and protected the upper leg as well.

>>759706
That's going to be expensive. How about we take what we're given and like it, until we get an officer's pay and cut of any loot. Then we can look at something like a coat of maille or scale and maybe a solid breastplate too? Oh and a helmet with a plume; can't forget that!

Basically, once we're large and in charge, or at the very least NOT A CHILD, we could take advantage of our red hair. Dress flashy and inspirational, like Michael come to earth, with armour of bright steel and flashing bronze. What Christian soldier would NOT be inspired to fight harder by such a sight?

>>759710
>"As if he was archangel Michael descent from Heaven to help the people of God fight against the mohammedians!"

Account of roman soldier from the 9th century.

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You head towards the church, pushing the door open as you have done so many times. Father Marcus sits, as he always does, in his chair behind the Altar. As he sees you come in, he tries to rise, pulling himself up by the Altar. He smiles, in the same way he always has, and says, in his authoritative tone.

"An Archangel? Dear me, have you come personally to shepherd me to the Lord's side?"

"No, simply to say goodbye"

He sighs and walks over to you, leaning onto a cane, but still smiling. He reaches a gnarled old hand into his pocket and draws out a silver ring.

"My Son, in all but blood, I do not know if I shall see you again in this life. I think that I shall not return from this meeting of the Church, instead that I shall go to the Capital, and die in the Hagia Sophia, where, a great many years ago, I found my calling. Before you go, dear Archangel, take this. May it remind you of me, and may it guide me to you once we are both in Heaven, so that I might find you even if my aging eyes should fail."

You put on your very bravest face as he hands you the simple silver ring. Examining it in your hand it seems to be nothing more than a ring, of fine silver, with the mark of the Chi Rho engraved upon it. You fit it around your ring finger and smile to the Priest. He returns to his seat and gestures for you to sit in the Pew. You take a seat on the cold wood and close your eyes, wrapped in a cloak of silent air.

You feel a warmth grow in your heart as you pray, and you softly look up to the ceiling to observe the mosaic of Saint Demetrius. You rise to your feet, without looking at the priest behind you, and walk out, the ring warm to the touch.

You set out with Manuel, down a path which you have never before traveled. You spend three or four hours descending the mountainside, walking down steep goat's paths and trails which lead only to steeper paths. You gradually descend the mountainous plateau on which the village sits, the land growing less and less green, as the trees descend to poor scrub-land. You see small herds of cattle in the far off distance of the Anatolian Plateau.

The sun beats down ever more brightly across the vast half-grassland, and as you stand, slightly elevated, you look across the landscape and see the solid, angular network of roads, The roads are almost deserted as you wander down onto the cobbles, asides from the occasional rider. You note, with alarm, that many of the riders seem to be in military uniform, and they seem to be in a hurry.

Manuel is concerned by the passing of soldiers, saying to you, as you both trek along the hot cobblestones.

"Soldiers in such a rush usually means a raid. If they're on the big roads, they must be trying to get in to one of the cities, perhaps Loulon to find the Tourmach. Might be best to get off the road, if you can manage the Trek, The Arabs will come on the Road if they're coming."

>What do you say?
>Stay on the Road, it's faster
>Get off the Road, it's safer.
>Something Else?

>>759710
Not bearing on our back A Bronze cross that the Soldiers of Christ can flock to

We crusader

>>759720
>>Get off the Road, it's safer.

A-Arabs?

>>759720
>Get off the Road, it's safer
Follow Manuel's advice, he knows better than us the dangers of the road.

>>759720
>Stay on the Road, it's faster
If it comes to it, two can hide well from a marching column and travellers on foot don't make good loot if outriders spot us. Unless... Do the Arabs kill simply for sport?

Regardless, we stay on the road until there is danger. We'll make better time and if the Arabs come, then we can hide.

Pitch this idea to Manuel and see if he agrees with our assessment. If he does, go with it, but if not, listen to his experience. Part of wisdom is knowing when you don't know as much as an expert.

>>759721
Cross is a good idea, but what about the WINGS OF AN ARCHANGEL?

We Hussar now? About 8 centuries early and in the wrong place, but still!

>>759720
>Get off the Road, it's safer.

>>759720
I'm with uncle in this one ,it will be safer to stay off the road.

>>759727
THEN THE WINGED HUSSARS ARRIVED!

https://youtu.be/75zmIj_4LFQ
COMING DOWN THE MOUNTAINSIDE
>>759721
>>759723
I can't help but enjoy the immediate shift from

We Crusader

to

A-Arabs?

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>>759740
Well we have to lose our boyish innocence first from a narrative perspective before we begin the story arc towards crusader

Arabs are scary bedtime story monsters to us right now

>>759727
Hussar wings I can dig though I'm not sure how they'd fit with a sashimono type cross on our back as well

Pic related

>>759740
Also

>Sabaton

My nigga of highest tastes

>>759727

You think for a moment before speaking out

"Surely the Arabs wouldn't just kill us on the Road?"

Manuel Laughs, before speaking, in a grim, experienced tone

"You're right, they wouldn't kill us. They'd have us in chains, likely torture us, keep us as slaves, or just burn us alive for sport. It's a horrible fate, but that's what they do. Demons, like the scourges of God for our sins."

You are thoroughly shaken by his words, and you both quickly descend from the road, out into the Wilderness, following a small stream as it flows across the Landscape. After a short while, the road fades behind you, and you can see nothing but the great expanse of hills, as you hop over the stream to find ground you can navigate.

Brambles and Briars are a constant irritant, and you find yourself slipping once or twice on the slickened stones. You force yourself on, not wanting to be near the Arab raid you think is so imminent. By the time you have finally calmed and realized your own Cowardice, Manuel has decided that the time has come to sleep. You both clear a small patch of land of briars, stacking them up on the sides of the small flat area of your camp, between the hillsides and the stream.

Manuel lights a small fire, and you both take a while to gather bowls full of water, with which you fill a small pot. Manuel takes a chunk of soldier's biscuit from his pack, the rough, grainy food being crushed up and mixed into the water to make a watery gruel. You give him some of your bread, and drink your gruel quickly, fast enough not to taste it.

You curl up in a blanket by the fireside. Smbat acting as an insulator against the harsh night winds. As the stars rise above in the sky, by the light of the moon you spot smoke in the distance. Manuel lies asleep, and you see the column of smoke become more intense.

>What, if anything, do you do before going to sleep?

>>759748
Say our prayers and pray for Father Marcus's safe travels and returns and if that is beyond gods design that he is laid to rest peacefully

>>759748
>>759753
This.

>>759753
Seconded

>>759753
Amending this to include a prayer for safety for those in our village since I didn't quite process that that smoke could actually be our home

>>759748
>Stamp down the fire and curl closer to Samuel
That smoke might as well be a beacon to marauding Arabs. We need to make sure it doesn't give away our position. We can make up the heat difference by sleeping close with our uncle and dog. Luckily Smbat will make a watch hound even while he's asleep, thanks to his nose, so we needn't set a watch.

>>759753
Oh and say our prayers too. Saint Michael, Saint George and Saint Demetrius watch over this soldier and save him from the depredations of the enemy.

It's not cowardice. It's prudence. We are a child, a dog and a single man; we're no match for an Arab raiding party, so our only intelligent course of action is to hide ourselves and put our faith in Heaven.

>>759762
>It's not cowardice. It's prudence. We are a child, a dog and a single man; we're no match for an Arab raiding party, so our only intelligent course of action is to hide ourselves and put our faith in Heaven

We don't know this yet we're a child we still believe that one man can be invincible in the face of a thousand infidels

>>759764
Wrong, our Uncle specifically taught us to run if we couldn't take a fight to fight another day in a post above.

>>759768
Again my point is that these lessons aren't quite tempered by the harshness of reality just yet

You lie back against the rocky ground, the sound of the babbling stream close at hand, and stare up at the far off stars, like the eyes of saints. It is a half moon now, and the stars are more visible than they are for most of the year, in a great band across the sky. You speak quietly to yourself, wrapped in your sheepskin blanket, asking quietly for god to ease the passing of Father Marcus to Amorium, and then to do the same for his final journey.

"He is a good man, caring, decent and pious. He's committed no sin but to drink wine perhaps too much on feast days, but he has never done anything wrong on those days. If I could ask you one thing, Lord in Heaven, please let him be happy. Also, please make sure my father and brother are safe, I have tried to be as good as I can for them, and please make my Mother happy once again, she has ben sad for a long while. Thank you, for all of the world. Sleep Well, to you and all the saints."

With your prayer finished, you close your eyes and wait to sleep. You are awoken early in the morning, as the whispers of sunlight drift across the clouded sky. The earth feels cold, and the embers of the fire have gone dark. You gradually rise to wakefulness, and to your alarm you hear the sounds of hooves trampling across the ground.

You wake Manuel, and whisper frantically to him that you can hear hooves. He takes a moment to wake up, but once he notices, he grabs hold of you and dives into the patch of briars, covering you with his blanket and trying his utmost to lie low in the dark plants, to conceal you both from anyone on the hillside above.

The Briars hurt, even as Manuel hurriedly whispers for you to be silent and not to move. You hear the hooves get closer, and closer, before ceasing. A tense few moments pass, before you hear far off voices in a language you do not know. Then, much to your relief, the hooves resume, growing quieter as the nauseous, clouded sun rises.

As soon as Manuel is sure they are gone, he tells you, with a remarkable authority, to pack your blanket away and follow him down along the stream, and to be silent. You quickly pack, and begin to scamper down along the silent stream, splashes of cold water waking you, along with the bitingly brisk air.

The dirt is slick with water and wet leaves, and many times you feel yourself slipping.

>How well do you keep your footing? (Roll a 1d20)

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>759794

You felt like a Coward for running scared. I'm not saying that was justified or made sense, do remember you are nine years old, who's major role model in life has been a priest telling stories of brave warriors and your Uncle who tells real stories of his time in the Themes.

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>759794
>Feet, don't fail us now.

Rolled 9 (1d20)

>>759794
Please help us Saint of walking, whoever that is.

>>759804
Fair enough.

>>759811
Saint Nicholas I think?

Rolled 10 (1d20)

>>759794
Oh no. Ohhh no, come on, curse of /tg/ dice don't haunt us now!

>>759811
That'd be Saint Christopher I think? The patron of travellers.

Seriously, Christianity, especially Orthodox Christianity, has so many damn saints. It's amazing they get any work done, with all the feast days!

>>759819
Saints for every Occasion. Literally, every Occasion.

>>759823
When we have the chance, we need to study Latin as well as our native Greek and Arabic too. Frankish if we want to go further afield, would also be useful. We actually live at the tail end of Charlemagne's reign.

And when we have cash (further off, I know, but still...) apart from equipping soldiers and financing our lifestyle and family/household, we also need to patronise artists, philosophers, architects and mathematicians. A legacy is not just won by the sword.

But for now, survival and once that's done, languages.

>>759843
Id honestly don't want to be a strategios even in all but name something more along the lines of a sword saint or wandering Saint with a band of armed and armoured followers fighting the holy fight where it is needed

But yeah being a patron of the Latin arts sounds good

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You manage to remain upright, running along the stream behind Manuel and keeping decent pace despite the water kicked up by the streams, and by noon, the sun has risen high enough in the sky that the day begins to grow warm. With warmth covering your skin, you begin to calm, and the breathless flight from the horsemen in the hills seems to become less necessary. You know they could not have followed you, they never even knew you were there. You and Manuel think it will be safer to simply follow the stream, until it meets a larger stream that flows all the way to Thebasa. From there, Manuel says it will be another week and a half trek to Iconium. The ride back will only take half a week, if you can go by the roads.

You nod, quietly, and Manuel teaches you the names of the local herbs as you walk. He teaches you how to crush up the grasses with water into porridge, and how to store that porridge in a trip of balled up cloth for long enough to eat it while you walk. You gradually become associated with the simple ways to survive in the countryside, and you become more comfortable with your staff.

A day later Manuel decides to take you hunting. You divert off the shepherd's trail you have been following along the stream onto a small patch of wind blasted hillside. He asks you if you'd like to catch a rabbit of your own to kill, or just let him do it?

>Will you hunt and kill a rabbit? (If so, roll 1d20)

Rolled 15 (1d20)

>>759879
Sure

Rolled 1 (1d20)

>>759879
sure

Rolled 4 (1d20)

>>759879
>Hunt a rabbit
Better that we learn about death now. Taking a life is sometimes needful, to defend ourself or others, or to feed ourself in this case, but it is not something to be done idly.

>>759885
Never roll again. Like.... Ever.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>759879
Yeah, we should give it a try.

Rolled 14 (1d20)

>>759879
Yeah hunt the rabbit, surely this isn't the first time we've killed an animal

>>759885
Oh fuck you anon just fuck you

>>759890
NAT 20

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>>759902
Hey, someone's gotta cover up these 1's.

>>759890
>>759882

You are absolutely ready to hunt yourself a meal that isn't primarily composed of gruel, fruit or travelers biscuit. You set to work, largely on your own, blocking up the entrances to a rabbit warren with stones, very quietly sealing the Rabbits inside. You left only two tunnels in and out. You told Manuel to throw Smbat's stick down into one of the holes, causing the Dug to rush at it, barking at the very top of his lungs, and terrifying the Rabbits, all of whom were then funneled out past you, allowing you to kill four of them, on your own.

You feel some sympathy for them, but by god's will you had hunted them, and by god's will they were to be eaten to strengthen his children. You take them to Manuel, who has only killed one, and he is amazed, calling you the heir of Saint Eustace. He teaches you then how to deal with the carcasses. Despite them being your very first actual kills, besides fish, you are remarkably skilled in cleaning out their organs and skinning them. By the time the sun descends in the sky, you have one for each of you, roasting over the open flame.

On this night, the air is warm, and the pair of you talk for hours, until the fire begins to die. He tells you tales of great Arab raids, of how he had once traveled with the Empress Irene in the Balkans, how his father had served with your namesake, Konstantinos the Fifth. He told you never to believe what the monks said about that Emperor, that he was a great man and a skilled General who won many victories, but who was slandered after his death by Irene, who is said to have blinded her son.

Manuel, for the first time, that night, refers to you by the name of Constantine, not Constans. You are, at least to him, not just little Constantine. Not any longer.

The next morning you awaken well rested, and Manuel asks you what you wish to learn from him next, as you ready yourselves to march.

>You are being given free reign to ask questions of the veteran soldier Manuel
>What do you ask?

>>759913
Causing the Dog*

>>759913
>ask him about his first kill

>>759913
Ask him about Constantine V

>>759913
>"Uncle Manuel... What is a battle like? I mean really? Am I a coward for being frightened of dying?"
Time to ask the important questions.

>>759913
Ask him about his childhood.

>>759953
I'll second this

>>759953
This

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>>759920
As you walk along the trail by the stream with Manuel in front, the two of you talk. You first ask him what it was like for him, growing up.

You eventually ask him about the first time he killed something. He responds in his typical, gently friendly but grim voice, as he treads forward along the rocky banks of the stream.

"The first animal I killed was a rabbit, just like yours. Shot it with a sling bolt. I didn't know what to do with it so I ended up throwing it to my father's dogs. A waste of good food. At least you were smart enough to eat yours. If you mean the first man, well, it's a longer story.

When I was fourteen, our family was moved from the no man's land between the Arabs and the Empire to the village. In exchange for our plot of land, my father, your grandfather agreed to give both me and your father to the Themes. We both served as squires and aids at first, but one spring, there was a raid. The man I was serving, a soldier named Clodius, was attacked on the road while delivering a message. I remember I was angry, I remember crying, I'd served with Clodius for years and he was just killed where he stood. I remember the Arab laughing, and I remember pulling his sword out of his scabbard, barely a man, and slashing the Arab to bits. By the time I got up to run on with the message, the bastard was nothing but a pile of scraps and bone. "

At this point in his story, he is shaking, with rage, with sadness, you do not know, but soon he speaks again.

"That's how you kill, Constantine, with anger. You see something and your mind fogs up, and then, you're on them, hacking and slashing and bludgeoning them until they stop moving."

His voice is sombre, and once he finishes talking, you say nothing for a long while, simply walking forward, thinking over what your uncle had said. Feeling a pang of guilt rise in you after hearing of his bravery, you gently ask him another question.

"Uncle Manuel, what is it like to fight a battle? I've read about it, but, what's it like really?"

A few moments after asking, you quietly whimper out another question.

"If I am scared does that make me a Coward?"

He does not respond for a while, and you fear you will learn nothing more, before he speaks, in the tone you are used to.

"A battle is a fearful thing, Constantine. You see the enemy in the distance and your stomach knots. You can only think of death, of lieing on the ground, bleeding a choking. When they draw close, you can hardly breathe, but as the warcry goes up, something changes, you lose yourself in the rush of it all. You hack and slash and bludgeon until there is nothing left. By the time the battle has truly started, you cannot feel fear. You cannot feel anything but numb, to feel would be too much, too much pain.

You are no Coward for being scared. To be scared makes you brave, because you are willing to think of what the battle will be."

Cont.

Much time passes again as you walk that day before you dare ask another question. This time your curiosity leads you to ask about what it was like when he was a child.

"When we left the mountains, it was because the Arabs were raiding. The Emperors drew us out and put us to work where it was safe. I only half remember our village in the mountains. We burned it so the Arabs couldn't settle it. When we got to the Anatolicon, we were nothing. Paupers, without land or money, all we had was ourselves, and we were strong, hardy, mountain men. My Father went off to serve in europe, and he came back from the Capital a Tourmach. He won for the family a chunk of land in the village, your father's farm. He sent me off to fight first, while your father stayed home to steward.

They all thought I'd make my money in the Army, but there's no money in defense.I can only eat now because of the bonuses paid by the Emperors. When Constantine the Sixth arrived we were paid, and he tried to take us to war with the Bulgars, but he lost. Many died, and soldiers were in short supply. I found work which paid well, and that's how I got to live in a house down the road from my Brother's farm, with naught but whatever I could salvage from the field for company. It's a shame, but I wouldn't change it. I've seen things most never do. I've been in the Hagia Sophia, watched a volley from Horse Archers. I've seen every land from Syria to Dyrachium, it's a shame I haven't yet seen Italy. Perhaps when you're a rich Strategos you can see your old Uncle visit Ravenna and Rome."

He laughs, his own hearty, veteran's laugh. His great beard turns more grey by the day, and you suddenly realize that Manuel, as much as he drinks and laughs, is an old man.

>Is there anything else you wish to do on the journey to Iconium?

>>759989
Ask him to help you train with a sword.

>>759997
*spear

>>759997
>>760016
Why not both? Though I favour the spear to be honest.

>>760018
Well, does he have a sword? I wouldn't mind training with it. But if we have to choose one or we won't be able to be skilled enough in either, Spear absolutely.

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>>759997

As you come closer and closer to Iconium, you judge it safe to go back onto the roads, much to the relief of your aching feet. Manuel seems similarly relieved, and you both chat more often as you walk. It dawns on you that you've certainly spent more time in your childhood with Manuel than with your absent father. You see the old, bearded veteran with a new affection as you come to be a day or so from Iconium. As the penultimate day of the first leg of your journey dawns, you as Manuel to tutor you in the use of the sword, which he is glad to do. For the rest of the day, he lets you carry his Paramerion sabre. You first learn to clean the blade with a cloth, and then to maintain it's edge with the whetstone Manuel carries with him, before spending your final evening on the road as a pedestrian learning the basics of stance, and how to hold the blade.

You fall into a deep sleep on your final night, awakening early the next morning to rain, thundering down onto you. You and Manuel both quickly pack your bags and begin, rather briskly, the final leg of your journey to the grand city of Iconium. You walk all day through the driving rain, before arriving at nightfall at a city with sealed gates. Iconium is a walled city, resting atop a small hillside , with both of the gates closed. On the walls stand guards in chainmail.

Manuel approaches and you hear a shouted conversation, and Manuel gradually grows more and more enraged, before returning to you with a look of desperation on his face.

"They won't let me in. There's a raid coming over the border, just past Loulon, and they've heard it's coming this way. They think we're spies."

>What do you do?
>Try to run to somewhere and hide during the rainstorm?
>Attempt to Convince them you aren't a spy? (Roll a d20 to determine success)
>Write in?

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>760037
>>Attempt to Convince them you aren't a spy? (Roll a d20 to determine success)
Here we go!

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>760037
>Attempt to Convince them you aren't a spy

Rolled 3 (1d20)

>>760037
>Attempt to Convince them you aren't a spy? (Roll a d20 to determine success)
Please sir, don't leave us out here with the arabs

Rolled 13 (1d20)

>>760046
>>Attempt to Convince them you aren't a spy? (Roll a d20 to determine success)
Singe a hymn or something, I doubt spies would know that

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>760037
>Attempt to Convince them you aren't a spy?
Yo, can we just take >>760046 roll? That seems like a good roll to take.

>>760046

You tell Manuel your plan, and the pair of you approach the gate once again. The guard has gone inside to dry off, and you begin to put your plan in motion. You start to sing, in the most powerful voice you can muster. Your voice resounds through the driving rain, and as you begin to sing the praises of god the rain seems to grow almost quieter. Your voice rings out over the walls, soon joined by the louder, deeper voice of Manuel. As your voices collide and rise up into the clouded sky, the guard wanders out onto the wall, to listen to you. He pays close attention, scrutinizing your song for inaccuracies, in case you are just trying to quote a book you do not know.

As you call out for the strength and goodwill of god, the driving rain begins to slow in it's fall, and the thunder becomes silent rather than ringing out across the sky. The lightning seems less common, and the rain seems warmer. It may just be the song forcing you to focus on shouting out your words as best you may, but you feel yourself inflamed with energy. Eventually the guard cannot let you suffer outside of the gate any longer, and rushes down to open a small side door through the gate.

You and Manuel enter in, and the Guard is almost amazed at you. As you both wander into town, to the small inn Manuel had arranged to stay in, Manuel quietly says to you, in the deserted, muddy street.

"That was amazing. We could be dead in the mud if not for you. God blessed Alexios to give him you. They didn't even make us pay the trade duties. We'll stay in Iconium until the raid passes, come, get inside."

As you arrive at the small stone inn, Manuel opens the door. He has a brief talk with a man you do not know named Bahram, who's curled and knotted beard you find strange, and who speaks with an accent you cannot place, before you are escorted to follow him up a set of stone stairs into a small room. Two beds sit inside, with furs for blankets, along with a table, two chairs and a pair of candles on the table. You drop your pack at the base of your bed and fall down, feeling your muscles and bones relax after the long, long trek.

>You could simply fall asleep?
>You could try to talk to Bahram?
>You could attempt to find someone else to talk to in the Inn?
>You could try to sell the five rabbit pelts you caught in the wilderness to Bahram
>You could ask Manuel a question?
>Or Write In?

>>760094
>>You could try to talk to Bahram
find out where he's from and ask for some stories

>>760094
>You could attempt to find someone else to talk to in the Inn?
>You could try to sell the five rabbit pelts you caught in the wilderness to Bahram
Combination of these two, and also:
>You could ask Manuel a question?
Who is this man?

>>760108
I'll second the "Who is this man"

>>760094
>You could ask Manuel a question?
Who's this Barham guy anyway? Where's he from? How does Manuel know him?
>You could try to sell the five rabbit pelts you caught in the wilderness to Bahram

Also, holy crap, our voice. It starts with songs, but we need to study rhetoric and get a grasp for public speaking, because at this rate, our voice will be our most useful asset!

You find yourself intrigued by the strange man and his strange accent, and you ask Manuel about him, as he cleans his beard in the cistern. He talks gently as he washes his beard, trying his best not to end up drenching the flooring with water.

"Bahram's an old friend of mine, from the Themes. He's an easterner, doesn't speak Greek that well, Persian by birth."

You find yourself amazed to encounter a Persian, having thus far only heard tales of them in the story books of Father Marcus. You always found them ubiquitous characters, as the Persians featured both in the history books and the bible.

"His father fought the Arabs in Armenia, and he moved south when the Syrians were brought north. He's a christian, of course, good and friendly to visitors. Once he settled down he founded this inn here. He's always got a room for me. Go talk to him, I'm sure he'd like you. Take the pelts, he's always looking for more blankets."

You take the bundle of furs down with you as you boldly explore the inn. Now that you have more chance to look, you see that the place is floored with wood and a good number of fascinatingly interesting woven carpets. There is a small bar to serve drinks and food, and a good number of tables and chairs sit around the room, for guests, all of whom have decided to desert the place for now.

You go up to the bar to search for Bahram, but find yourself facing instead a girl, perhaps a year older than you, with the same dark olive complexion as Bahram, with black hair, different from your mothers, darker, like charcoal. The girl looks at you with curious green eyes, and you smile at her.

"Hello"

She waves to you, and speaks with a welcoming voice.

"I'm Parvenah, what's your name? Are you the man with the beard's son? How long are you going to stay here? Are you a soldier?"

As she asks the final question looks fascinated. You are much taller than her, and your mountainous lifestyle has made you strong and solid to look at, even in your youth, the idea that she thinks you could be a soldier makes you swell with pride.

>How do you answer Parvenah? Do you ask her anything?

Hello?

>>760190
>Yes, he's my Uncle.
>I don't know.
>Not yet, but my the grace of god I'll do my part to combat the Arab when I'm older.

>>760229
This seems about right. also ask her if she likes to sing

>>760190
>I'm Constantine, it's lovely to meet you.
Even as an innocent kid, we'll be an inadvertent charmer
>Manuel's my uncle. He used to be a soldier, but not anymore
>I will be though! Some day, God willing, I'll be even greater then Belisarios!

>Are you Persian? I've never seen someone like you before!
>Have you ever been there? What's it like?

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>>760242
She smiles warmly as you talk. You have always had a gently musical voice, and as you talk now you sound as gentle, kind and pleasant as you ever do. As you introduce yourself, she listens intently, and she pays diligent attention as you describe Manuel. When you mention Belisarios, she perks up slightly, much to your surprise.

"Belisarios? He fought Kavadh, didn't he?"

You are amazed to find someone else of your age with a knowledge of Belisarios, and from her words you guess she must be able to read, perhaps from the same books as you, if not a Persian version. You question her with the same curious tone she had used.

"Yes, I am a Persian, like my Father, and his fathers. There aren't many of us here. I've never been there though, Father tells me stories about Darius and Xerxes, and my Grandfather's books have lots of stories too. Are you hungry? I didn't finish my dinner and there's plenty left"

She comes out from behind the bar holding a pair of wooden plates, one with a hunk of bread and some goat meat, along with some boiled vegetables, and the other with two thin layers of bread on it. She walks over to a small hearth, where a gentle fire is burning, and sits in a chair. She taps another chair by the fire for you to sit.

>Do you want to share a meal with Parvenah, or go off in search of Bahram?

>>760292
>>Do you want to share a meal with Parvenah, or go off in search of Bahram?
Share the meal. This girl sounds cute.

>>760292
>Eat with her
Persian waifu quest is a go

>>760292
>Eat with her
Persian females are pure

>>760292
>Eat with her
Her dad will come and find us eventually. In the meantime, we can talk about history and what the future holds for both of us. We're children and at least one of us dreams big. Let's find out if she does too!

I also want to see how she views the world, as a Persian Christian.

>>760305
You know, the Byzantine Emperor also kept concubines... Just saying that we don't have to stick to one waifu, on the off chance we find more than one with the potential to be our Theodora.

I mean if the Emperor can get away with it, clearly God must be okay with it, riiiight?

You walk over to sit with her, a smile on your face. She cuts out several small portions of her meal and places them onto half of one of the flatbreads, before taking the rest and setting it down on the first plate, for you.

"Father's always taught me that a guest deserves a full meal, and if you're to grow to be a warrior you'll need a lot of good meals."

She holds out the plate to you and you take it. You offer to say the prayer, and she nods. You pray for a moment in your most flowing greek, proud of your on eloquence as she smiles at you. The goat meat is delicious, as it pulls apart in your mouth, the vegetables are crunchy and very fresh, even the bread is special, tasting of strange spices. You soon realize that the large flat chunks of bread a not just flatbread, but a strange sort of batter cakes, tasting a little like a more savoury, more chewy type of bread.

You haven't eaten a real meal in a long while, and you wolf down your meal, growing embarrassed for a moment before you realise that she has eaten just as fast as you have, though much more delicately.

Once you are both finished she serves out two cups of warmed milk, with sweet berries in each, and you both continue to talk in the firelight. She speaks to you first, asking you a question.

"Constantine is an Emperor's name. And a saint's name. Are you a Prince? You talk like one"

She laughs gently as she makes her compliment to you, and you force yourself not to blush as you reply,

"I don't think so, but If that's why you gave me that really nice food, then I'd happily be"

You talk as quickly as you can think of what to say, finding it hard to talk in the situation you've found yourself in. You don't know enough about Persians to complement her back based on her own people, and you think it'd sound strange to compare her to Theodora or the other Empresses, especially considering what some of your books say about the Empresses, though Father Marucs doesn't like you reading out those part for practice.

"I do want to grow up to be great, Like Constantine, I hope I'll be as good a warrior as he was. I know that one day I'll help fight the Arabs, even if I never get to be Basileus"

She looks interested,

"The Persians sometimes had real Empresses, who were in charge of everything. Two of them, even. Not cruel old women like father says Irene was, but good, noble Empresses."

Her eyes seem to sparkle as she speaks these words, as if she's dreaming of days she has only read of, a feeling you know yourself intimately, as you daydream of Justinian and Constantine in the far off distant past.

"Father always says I'll end up marrying someone great, and I hope he's right."

You both smile at one another, finishing your drinks of fruit-milk.

Cont.