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

As the echoes of laughter and the clinking of tankards subsided, Marco's expression shifted from mirthful camaraderie to solemn determination. The jovial atmosphere in the tavern tempered as he raised his hand, signaling for the band to settle.

"Listen up, lads," Marco began, his voice cutting through the lingering revelry. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his face, emphasizing the gravity of his words. "Our time for celebration is short. We strike tonight."

A hush fell over the band as each member met Marco's gaze, their eyes reflecting the steely resolve that defined their profession. The jovial banter gave way to a focused energy, and the air in the room became charged with anticipation.

"We've trained for this, and we know our marks," Marco continued, his words measured and purposeful. "The despot's army won't know what hit them. Swift, precise, and silent We make our move when the night is darkest."

Sabotage(1)