Your head is still trying to come to terms with what your uncles told you. That your family is all a part of this strange organization, that these templars have been at war with assassins for longer than anyone can remember, that these assassins are the ones who continually attacked your family when you were a child and tried to kidnap or kill you. How this organization It's a lot, and thankfully Uncle Juan gives you the time you need to go through it in your head, at least until you first arrive in Verona. "Alright nipote, I'm going to gather up some of my retainers for our journey, it will be a long trek and whether we go through the Empire or France I fear well face no end of trouble on our own. Why don't you go see Isabel, huh? It's been many years since she's seen her little cousin, and I bet she could help you get some clothes rich enough to not make you stand out. We should be setting out in a week, so feel free to take your time, just not too much. I'll take your horse and luggage, so just enjoy yourself." And with that the cyclops rides towards Castel San Pietro, leaving you to wander this strange venetian city.
Ravenna is great, its your home and where you grew up, but the venetians certainly know how to make a beautiful city, and they have, or rather had, the coin to make their cities lavish. Even while it still bears some scars from the war, it is something beautiful. You wander the city for a good few hours, just taking in the sights, some greater then others, some not there at all. even now, these visions you see plague your sight, symbols or creatures that you know cannot be there but infect your mind. You do your best to ignore them and block them out, but it seems the local vagabonds noticed your discomfort. You were walking down the streets and alleys, making distance between yourself and the visions, when a trio of men, around your own age, perhaps a little older, dressed in finery and with blades at their hips began to encircle you.
Their leader, sharp faced with a spattering of freckles, is the first to talk "Well friends it would seem yet another foreign Stolto has found himself prancing around our home as if he owned the place. Do you think that just because that dead emperor put that Borgian Bastardo in charge makes you welcome? It's insulting, to ourselves and every mercenary and militia man who died." One of his friends, stocky and bearded chimes in, this act of theirs scripted and practiced from his tone, his words not quite natural or his own. "Now just how can this man make up for his transgressions? I see a coin pouch, that sword on his hip is certainly a thing to see, or maybe we take the fancy clothes off his back, get some coin for pawning them and the fun of humiliating him as well?" The leader cuts back in from there. "I believe all we needs is his coinpouch, might as well leave the bastard some bit of his pride, show we're more gentlemanly than he and his kind are." From the hand at the hilt of his sword, a milanese falchion from the looks of it, that's obviously the que where he expects you to hand it over.
You give them all a look over, your sight pointing out weakness or opportunity. The large one, despite his size, is the least comfortable here, his hand crushing the grip on his blade. The leader appears calm but his nerves are getting to him, worried you might draw your blade. The quiet one, tall and wiry, is the most comfortable among them, his grip on his sword professional and ready to draw, possibly a former soldier or mercenary, the biggest threat. A plan starts to form in your head, so you enact it. You let out a defeated sigh and pull your coin pouch off your belt, and make sure its tied closed. The leader starts to move towards you, hand outstretched to take the pouch. Instead of giving it to the loaf you throw it as hard as you can into the face of the tall one, and are proud to hear a wet crunch as it impacts his nose. You draw Chrysaor in a flash, grabbing the leaders outstretched hand before he can pull it back and pull his face right into the pommel of your sword. A slice to the leg is all it takes to send him to the ground after that. The portly one, just now actually managing to draw his blade, charges you, a dodge to the side leaves him tripping over the body of his leader. The soldier finally recovers from the coin to the face and draws his own sword, from the looks of it a hunting sword, and advances towards you, blade ready. You instead grab the dropped falchion and fling it in his direction. Swords obviously aren't made for throwing, at least none that you are aware of, but a thrown sharp piece of metal is still enough to be a distraction for you to rush to his side and stomp down at his knee, forcing him to drop where it is much easier to place your blade at his neck, where he quickly drops his blade in surrender.
"If this is the best that you venetians had to offer than it is a miracle you have not been conquered yet. Take your friend there to a doctor while you can so his leg can be treated, and remember what happened here the next time some fool idea gets lodged in whatever parody of a mind you have." You remove the blade from the soldiers neck and shove him away before moving towards the coin pouch, keeping an eye on the venetians, then begin your trek towards uncles castle. You make sure to travel the main streets from there, now wishing to have anymore unwelcome surprises from the populace. As you walk your mind starts to drift towards what you remember of Juans family. He was married younger than father, and has quite a few more kids, and even grandkids now from on of the twins. Isabel, his third child, was about 3 years older than you and always acted like the wise older sibling the few times you had seen her, though her wisdom was often in question to you. Still, she was always pleasant to be around and managed to make even the most boring of days at least somewhat fun.
It takes some time to find her once you finally reach the castle, leaving you to ask the servants where she could be, leaving you following a twisted trail to find her not even in the castle but on her way towards the arena, which was being used for a performance. You find her on the street just about to enter the arena so you need to chase her down to get her attention before she enters. "Isabel! Isabel, please stop, it's your cousin! I really don't want to track you through the arena so please stop!" she manages to notice you just before she enters, and stops and waves while you jog over. "Little Lupo! It's been so long since I saw you, how have you been?" she's says as she grabs you and pulls you into a hug before dragging you with her into the arena. "I've been well Isabel. Me and your father are to head north to oversee a meeting between the French and English kings, he said you could help to look the part of someone who belongs there, apparently my armor isn't enough." Isabel looks almost offended you even thought to wear the armor, and she soon confirms those feelings. "Of course you cant wear armor there, do you want to look like any random mercenary or do you want to look equal to kings? Once this performance is done I'm dragging you to my tailor, signore Vigo, you'll love him. He'll get you something in cloth of gold fitted in no time, I promise."
True to her word after the performance, which was a rather dreadful morality play from the church, she dragged you to this Vigo who had you measured and choose the type of clothes you'd want, a more simple black and gold brocade doublet with matching everything, as demanded by your cousin. You secretly asked that it also be made to survive being worn under at least a cuirass, you'd feel naked without at least some protection and the cuirass you….borrowed from your father is certainly fine enough to be worn openly and help paint you as someone more knightly. From there your cousin drags you, sometimes literally, through the streets of Verona to every little place she's come to enjoy after her fathers take over. this is how much of the week plays out, before finally your outfit is done and your uncle is ready to go. You and his retainers, a mixture of guards and advisors that are members of these templars as he tells you, begin your journey going up the alpine mountains of the Swiss then through the Burgundian lands of the H.R.E.. You notice the effects of this "Reformation" movement even through the small villages you pass through, the churches now seeing more visitors, not for absolution but for debate and demands for change from many burghers and even a few knightly individuals. Once you enter France though it becomes a much less active presence, not for the lack of a spread into France, but for the armored boot that stamped down on it. Pope Gabriel has declared it a heresy that must be eradicated before it corrupts the people of France, and has let loose an inquisition of his own upon it. According to uncle and his letters with the leaders of the French templars, the king is supported by both the Avignon church and assassins, but despite the assassins attempts to infiltrate the church and reign them in, the pope is too zealous to accept anything less than catholic dominance anywhere. He suspects they may even assassinate the pope if they cannot control him. "This is what the assassins truly are, rats skulking in the shadows, ready to kill even those that should be their allies if they don't fit their views of the world. Even though I don't agree with their pope, to kill him would cause nothing but further chaos though I imagine they see that as a boon for them." The journey in France is far less pleasant then that of the H.R.E., not for anything that happens, but for the unnerving feeling of being watched. Uncle told you that it had been a French assassin that gave you your scar, and that they are more than happy to finish what they started, so your head is on a swivel the entire time, leaving you ill rested.
When you finally arrive in Calais, in Balinghem, that tension starts to ease, only to be replaced by the anxiety of being surrounded by the vast amount of lords and nobles of England and France, each and everyone bedecked in gold. Gold cloth, jewelry, gilded swords, gilded barding, gilded tents, if one were to gaze upon this valley from a distance one would assume a sea of gold had sprung from the earth. You had thought Isabel to be overstepping in the outfit but now you feel you might look out of place for not being more golden. Ships fill the sea inbetween the French and English coast, large and proud, some even bearing the marks of the docks of Ravenna, one could walk between the two lands from the sheer amount of wood and sail between the two if they had the drive. Juan shakes you from the sight, even more unbelievable with the visions you see throughout of similarly golden beasts and men, and tells you "Help the retinue with setting up tents, we will be settled next to some fellow templars from France and England, look for the red crosses to know who is our ally. I'm to meet with some fellow members of the order that have come from the Netherlands. Once we're both done I intend to meet with the kings of both lands and I want you there with me, though only speak when spoken to, they are kings after all." and off he rides for the northern part of the camps. You and his retinue eventually find some tents with the red cross hidden in their patterns, the tents belonging to one John Davenport, a British low noble. A flash of their signet rings to him and his retinue is all it takes to let him know that you were allies. With that settled you set up your tents and await your uncles return.
Its around two hours later and one hour into a game of cards with davenport that your uncle returns. "Lupo, go change into the clothes Isabel got you, then well be off to meet the kings. Signore Davenport, my thanks for allowing us to neighbor you for the coming weeks." Davenports Italian isn't the greatest, but a quick word with a translator and his thanks is returned while you and your uncle go to your separate tents. White velvet shirt, gold and black doublet on top, White breeches with yet more black and gold slops over top, reaching down past the knee and panneled. High quality and high reaching boots cover the breeches, leaving nothing more then the slops visible to the eye. One of the retainers helps you to make sure it all looks right, and as soon as he's gone you put on the cuirass of your father, blackened metal with gold eagles upon its chest, waist, and at the shoulders. Looking at yourself in a bronze mirror you believe you look quite nice. When Juan sees you you don't think he's quite as pleased. "Fine, wear the armor, just remember what I said, only speak when spoken to, understood?" "I understand uncle, now let's go meet them before the sun goes down."
The two of you first go towards king henrys "palace", nearly 12,000 square yards of brick foundation sectioned into four blocks surrounding a central courtyard with 30 ft high walls of cloth on timber frames, painted to look like brick and the top continues the illusion, the slanting roof painted to resemble slats of lead. Large Expanses of glass are placed in the canvas walls, giving free view of all the surrounding valley. The entrances each have masoned archways with towers at their edges, all of which were carved with images of ancient princes such as alexander and Hercules and filled in with gold. If nothing else king henry certainly prepared every piece of extravagance he could to impress all visitors, and it was working. Two fountains of red wine are in the "courtyard" of this palace, and the wine does flow. Golden ornaments and decoration cover every inch of the palace, and a choir sings every hour to the delight of its hearers. Once inside you believe yourself to see more of your hallucinations when you spot two golden creatures, monkeys you believe, chaotically running about, only to see everyone else react to them, and one even have his hat stolen by them to the amusement of all, especially the king.
After some waiting the kings servants finally allow you and your uncle to approach. Thanks are given for the invitation to speak, and Juan tries to get some words in regarding henrys hopes for the meeting between himself and Francis, as well as to somewhat subtly speak about templar matters, but it seems you've caught his attention. "Who's this to come into my palace armored in such fine steel?" following your uncles command to speak only when spoken to. "I am Lupo Borgia-Romana King henry, son of Valentino Borgia-Romana of Romagna, it is an honor and a privilege to meet you." "Ah stuff the honor and privilege. Is that armor for more than show or did you think it paired well with your clothes?" "Its real as can be sir, I felt more comfortable with some armor on than in naught more than golden silk." "Do you mean to say your something of a warrior, a knight?" there's some tension in the air at his words, the rest of the nobility still make their small talk but you can feel their eyes looking your direction. "I've no knighthood sir, but I consider myself a warrior and honorable man all the same." Henry looks at you, looks into you, for an uncomfortable moment, before breaking into laughter. "Then we'll do something about that. Take part in the coming tournaments and should ye do well I'll see if I can get you invitation to the order of the golden fleece. If you manage to make it far enough I might just have to fight you myself, so prepare yourself well friend." With the mood lightened Juan is finally able to get some words in with the king, and soon the two of you are off for your tents.
The next day comes and with it the time to meet the French king. Before your arrival Juan pulls you aside and tells you "We are not here for mere pleasantries this time. While I speak with the King I need you to keep an eye out for anyone that resembles an assassin. Look for missing fingers, hidden blades poking out of their sleeves, or anyone too interested in our talks." His palace is more real, though the English one cannot be denied its splendor, an hours ride from the field. It is much the mirror image of the English encampments, gold and gild abound for all to see. Entrance to the palace takes quite some time before you are welcomed inside, and once in you are led directly to his majesty. Once again a mirror image of the English, there is much talking and festivity with Francis as the centerpiece. "Your Majesty, Duke Borgia of Verona and his nephew Lupo Borgia-Romana are here to meet you." at least that's what you believe the courtier said, your French isn't perfect. "Ah, the remaining Borgias of Romagna. It's been some time since I and your brother and I spoke, I can only hope that my grasp of your language has improved in that time. Come, sit so we may talk more comfortably." You admit, you feel much less comfortable here with the French, you can already imagine that some assassins are among the kings retinue. Your sight seems to paint everyone here as an enemy, though that hopefully is just your nerves rather than truth. Your uncle and the king talk at length about all kinds of topics, from religion to trade to horses while your eyes remain observing the crowd.
[84]
And then you see him. The man who attacked your home. Dressed as some sort of noble or advisor when all he is is a snake. You try to keep yourself from going tense, but the king is perceptive. "Sir Lupo, are you alright? You seem to have something on your mind." He says, a kind smile on his face, a false smile. You pull yourself together and say the first thing on your mind to try and deflect the question. "I am fine King Francis, though worried for my health. I had planned to enter the tournaments but now, having seen your knights and soldiers, I find myself growing nervous, and it is too late to pull my name from the contenders without losing face." A chuckle escapes from the king before he says "Don't sell yourself short now, I'm certain that you have quite some skill as well, and that armor of yours looks to be of sound quality as well, so I'm certain you will do fine." The king returns to his conversation with your uncle, and when you return to looking around, The assassin is nowhere to be found. The two of you soon leave the king and find yourself on the trail back to the valley. "So, did you catch any assassins there Lupo?" uncle says, and you can't help but scan your surroundings before responding. "The man who attacked me, scarred me, he was there, dressed as a noble. I don't know if there were any others but he disappeared after I spoke with the king." A quick curse escapes your uncle before he says "Gautier de Carnellion. He's one of the best in the French brotherhood. If he's here that can't mean anything good. Good job on finding him, he's a slippery Bastardo at the best of times. Ill let the other templars know, spread the message. When we've returned ill have two of my guards moved to your protection, and I wont hear any complaints, understand?"
The next few days are tense, constantly watching over your shoulder, waiting for the kings to finish their business so you can get to the tournament then leave. You spend much of your time training with davenport, both of you planning to take part in the tournament. You admit, your skills at horse back nor with a lance are the greatest, but you hope you can make up for it with your swordsmanship. Eventually their talks are done, the results of which you will only know once everything's over and done with, but with the end of talks comes the tournaments. First is to be the joust, charging each other with lances to either dehorse the opponent or break your lance upon them. Second is to be wrestling, to force your opponent to the ground or force them to yield. Lastly, what you are most excited for, is the melee, an all out fight between every combatant, each armed and armored with their own equipment.
[69]
You do much better than you would have thought in the Jousts, making it halfway through the listings, before finally facing off against Sir Davenport. The two of you saw all of each others techniques, your strategies, and ability during your training, so there will be no tricks to who wins, merely skill and luck. The first pass results in him striking you in the shoulderplate before skidding off, a point for him. the second pass you graze his helmet, granting yourself a point in return. A few near misses are all that come of the next few passes, but eventually you manage a clean hit on his shoulderplate, giving yourself the lead. A lead quickly lost as he once again hits your shoulder for a clean hit. It all comes down to whoever gets the next blow. No matter who wins though, the two of you have certainly given the crowd a show, as cheers and trophies are thrown into the arena. The two of you guide your horses back to the ends of the field, and lock eyes, waiting for the horn to blow. As soon as it's sounded you both spur on your horses, kicking up dirt as you quickly approach each other, each wanting victory. Alas, your lance is just a touch too low and too far too the side, and his is right on target. His lance crack against your shoulderplate, breaking in half and sending shards of wood everywhere, a decisive victory for him. you ride your horse over to the end of the field and toss your lance aside before turning back to where Davenport is celebrating and clap him on the back in congratulations. The loss may sting, but his victory was well earned. It doesn't hurt either the attention your joust garnered from the more fair amongst the crowd.
[91]
The wrestling is a far less elegant event, but still exciting. Thankfully your strength and skill isn't only in the manner of swords, as you find yourself much more of a scrapper than your fellow nobles, tossing a great many to the ground or making them surrender from a grab. A few times your opponents come close to dropping you but you manage to stick through it right up until your one of the last four competitors. You find yourself face to face with a giant of a man, standing a good head and shoulders over you, and you are no dwarf yourself. This man, Henri le Massif, proves to be tougher than old oak, and hurts a lot more than one. You do your best, trying to slip around him to try and pull out his leg, but he barely budges, and instead grabs you, hooks under your shoulder, and throws you around and down to the ground. The air was knocked out of you and you spend a moment or two just getting your bearings before you find yourself being picked up by the giant and given far too rough of a pat on the back while he said something you didn't quite catch in French and helped lead you off the platform, finding you a seat.
[100]
Finally, finally comes the melee, what you were most excited for. A chaotic all out fight between every knight and noble in the land, aside from those who were injured or retired in the preceding competitions. You don your armor, center among it the cuirass, while much of the rest of it is plate made to work around the cuirass. Gauntlets to fit with the Vambraces, couter and rerebrace to fir the pauldrons. Fauld and tasset to protect your waist and fitted underneath the cuirass, cuisses and poelyn to protect the thighs and knees. Sabatons made to work with the greaves. Gorget and helm complete the armor, though its obvious which parts are new. The helmet has a plume of gold and black thread, to match with the rest of the armor. Given how thoroughly you are armored you have no need for a shield, letting you focus entirely on your sword play, and leaving your hand free should you need to grab or punch someone. You march out to the field, surrounded by similarly armed and armored nobility, where soon everyone is arranged, waiting for the horn to blow. You see davenport off on the other side of the field staring down Henri le Massif the poor guy, and the kings are placed into opposite corners from each other, while you are trapped in the center, enemies on all sides. It matters little though as the horn is blown and your senses come alive. You fight like a man possessed by the fury of angels, barely a scratch laid upon you as you forced a large space to be made around you. what knights were nearby tried to work together, but it was for naught, their weapons unable to harm you. One even swung an axe directly at your chest, only for the blade to crack in two against your armor. At last you are left with a single opponent, a knight of no name and no heraldry that you can see. Their lasting to the final two is no flook as you learn as you and him duel. His sword is just as fast, if not faster, than your own, and what strikes you do land do as little damage as his do to you. More and more violent moves are used to try and gain the advantage, techniques that could cause real lasting damage, until finally something breaks. The knights sword snaps at the base, a foot of steel left, after a strike lands. Taking this opportunity you charge him, tackling him to the ground as you begin to bash away at his helmet with the basket of your sword, though he also tries to stab into you with the broken tip of his sword. Eventually though he tosses aside the blade and raises his hands, yielding. A cheer erupts from the crowd and you stagger your way up and forward so that you might take in the moment. Your reward for your victory, delivered by the lady of Calais, is a circlet of gold, seven stars engraved along its length. You're almost greedy enough to wish you had the others as well, the circlet for the joust and for wrestling, each inscribed with different markings, but you'll be satisfied for now.
The celebrations are far too short for your liking, but it is the end of this event. You spend what times is left meeting those who wish to congratulate you on your victory. Henry gives you a letter, detailing where to go if you wish to formally be inducted into the golden fleece, davenport congratulates you for your victory and damns himself for not reaching the end of the jousts, and more importantly, you catch the eyes of many beautiful woman, the greatest hope for any man. Sadly the fun does end as Juan drags you back to Italy, and from there home to Ravenna. The only thing that you do find yourself wondering about is who you faced at the end of the tourney. No one quite knows who he was as he went under the name "The knight of Montenegro" and its unlikely they were actually from Montenegro, a recently split away territory of Serbia, the journey was long enough from Italy so you can't imagine someone coming all that way on their own. Whoever they were you would like to meet them.
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