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

Under the azure skies of the Epirotian countryside, eight Sicilian horsemen rode as scouts, their horses gracefully navigating the undulating terrain. Amidst the rhythmic hoofbeats, the riders engaged in a casual conversation about the spoils they had acquired during the recent sack of Arta.

One of the older riders, his grizzled features bearing the marks of countless campaigns, spoke up. "I've already decided what to do with my share of the loot. Every last bit of it goes to my family," he declared, a sense of responsibility evident in his weathered voice. "I'm too old for the revelries and the delights of squandering wealth. It's time to think about providing for those waiting back home."

His comrades nodded in understanding, acknowledging the wisdom that came with age and experience.

Contact with the enemy