Allevatore_dicapre

In a usurped kingdom , amid a war-torn and  blood-soaked Italy, Conradin's battleground is set. To reclaim his birthright the crown of Sicily,  he must tread a path paved with blood, learning that he must do whatever it takes to ascend the throne.




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In the year 1266, the tale of Conradin, the last scion of an ancient imperial dynasty, unfolds. His once-great kingdom, Sicily, has been ruthlessly usurped first by his own uncle and now rests in the hands of the cunning French Count Charles. Through a treacherous plot involving the Pope, Charles managed to oust the Hohenstaufen from the Kingdom of Sicily and crowned himself as its king.

In the East, powers such as the Despotate of Epirus are keenly observing the instability in Sicily, poised to seize any advantage that may arise from the chaos. Meanwhile, the small Italian communes are caught in the political crossfire, aligning themselves with one side of the conflict or the other based on the prevailing political party in power and their vested interests. These shifting allegiances turn the Italian peninsula into a powder keg, where all-out war seems inevitable.

As the shadows of history close in around Conradin, the world watches with bated breath. Will he emerge triumphant, his name forever etched in the annals of Sicilian glory as the rightful king who defied insurmountable odds, toppling both the Pope and the usurper? Or will he, in his valiant struggle, become a tragic figure, a symbol of lost opportunities and shattered dreams? The future of Sicily hangs in the balance, and Conradin's destiny remains uncertain, poised on the precipice of history.

The return of the fallen king

' Was it enough?' wondered Count Bernarnt as he stood there watching for any reaction from the king. 'Does he have any intention of saving his cousins at all?' Count Bernart pondered, his eyes fixed on the king, questioning whether his action would prove sufficient to save their skin.

His eyes locked on Conradin, trying to discern any hint of mercy or compassion in the ruler's gaze. His thoughts raced, contemplating whether his actions would actually stir any reaction out of the boy.

For the French leaders gathered in the keep, the silence that followed seemed to stretch into an eternity. Every second was fraught with tension, and the weight of their fate bore down upon them like an insurmountable burden.

Finally, after a nerve-wracking pause that felt like hours but had only been moments, the king's voice broke the silence, sending a shiver down Count Bernarnt's spine.

Negotations (2)