Emperor Raynaud III of Francia, 1238-1247 AD

(Previously on Royal Dispatch.)

Welcome to the dozenth ruler de Thouars of this playthrough. It’s time for Raynaud III, the first full Genius who is unfortunately also Gluttonous, Obese, Wrathful, and Irritable. But he’s also Gregarious! Mainly though he is, in medieval terms, an absolute unit.

In awe at the size of the lad etc. Empress Guilaumette can barely get into the frame behind him. No shame but this situation is a whole death spiral of health penalties from weight and stress. Let’s view the lineage comparison.

Time will tell if the Raynaud du jour will sprout an imperial beard to match his ancestors. If he lives that long.

Trying to mitigate the seemingly inevitable spate of succession rebellions, I pack the council with my strongest vassals. It does little to placate them, as most of their opinions are still negative (I bribed the archbishop, and my wife).

Remember my dear unwed and quite young sister Judith? My wise father saved her unattached status for my imperial usage, and she’ll be a perfect match for the nine-year-old Prince Bohemond, son of my chancellor, King Ancel. That will lock Ancel up in an alliance and prevent him from gettin’ factional on me.

With that in motion, I’d really like to launch the Lose Weight decision, but that will cause me enough stress to have a mental break due to my gluttonous nature. So instead I host a feast, which will improve vassal opinion—and will also reduce my stress level due to my gluttonous nature. I focus another bribe and a Sway scheme on my next strongest vassal—Queen Claudia Karling-Acqui of Burgundy—who also happens to be my spymaster. Never want your main spy mad at you.

My son and heir Raynaud comes of age. Regrettably there are no suitable geniuses to marry him to, so I settle for the slightly older Agnes Chatenois-Luxembourg because she has the Amazonian physical trait (which becomes Herculean in males). If they can produce a perfect genius physical specimens, that will be cool.

The mighty feast goes off without a hitch, and now that I’m blissed out on mutton I’m relaxed enough to actually take the Lose Weight decision without having a breakdown about it. We’ll see how the medieval slimfast works out.

Several factions are simmering away against me, but none is quite powerful enough to start accumulating momentum toward issuing an ultimatum. That could change in a heartbeat if one or two strong vassals get involved, so I’m being very careful and circumspect for awhile, not starting any wars, not rocking any boats. The longer I rule without incident, the more general opinion improves, and the more chill my vassals become (in theory).

One of the charming things about having tons of vassals is losing track of all their various rights and contracts. For you see, each vassal has an actual set of terms by which they agree to swear fealty, and these are inheritable. Some of my English vassals have council rights in their contracts, which means they can force themselves onto my imperial council. Very annoying! Thus, the 16-year-old Countess Godgifu Adolfdohtor Slesvig of Leicestershire forces her own appointment to my council as marshal. She’s pretty tough actually, so I don’t mind that really.

What I mind is that my former marshal, Duke Centule Benavides of València, now hates my guts for “firing” him, and he was one of the strong vassals I was trying to placate.

Now that guy is tough. He’s not going to take this well, I fear. And then yet another lowly English count also forces himself onto my council through his own stupid contract, aggravating yet another of the strong vassals I actually care about. Have to get my lawyers to take a look at all this paperwork.

I don’t feel quite secure enough to embark on foreign wars just yet, with an Independence faction hovering just below the strength threshold to start making threats. The strongest member of that faction is Queen Bourgogne Vaudemont of Lotharingia, so I launch a Befriend scheme to make her my pal (which disallows her from joining factions against me). She rapidly succumbs to my skillful blandishments, so I repeat the plan with that grumpy ol’ cuss Duke Centule.

My son and heir Raynaud 4 has his first child—a daughter, Cécile. She’s Amazonian like her mom, but only managed to inherit the Quick trait (rather than Genius) from her dad. We’ll see how the rest of their brood pans out.

I form a solid friendship with Duke Centule based on our shared love of carousing, and the Independence faction duly disbands. Time to get back to painting England the color of France. I dispatch my archbishop to begin fabricating claims in Wales, then turn my attention to some of the outstanding de jure lands that are rightfully mine as King of England. First up is the petty kingdom of Ulster, which holds two of my counties in the duchy of York.

Ulster is allied with the independent duchy of Man/Mann (not sure why the extra ‘n’ appears or disappears, must be due to ruler culture), though together their armies are but a fraction the size of my own. They obligingly attack me directly right out of the gate, allowing me to cut their forces down to a third of their former already paltry size. I lay in sieges across the north of England. My wife Guillaumette gives birth to our third son, Aymar. Somehow I missed the fact that she was pregnant? Hmmmmm.

The Ulsterian forces mount a sad counterattack that only serves to get their petty king captured, ending the war in my favor. Jolly good.

A couple niche events come up, and in both cases I manage to overcome all advantage and hit the worst results in spite of the odds. First, the King of Jerusalem arranges a meeting between our mutual heirs. I use my diplomatic skills to insure a positive outcome, with only a 16% chance of failure. And I fail! Then I attend a feast thrown by my formerly restive vassal King Wordcel (ok Ancel) of West Francia, where I have a 10% chance of gaining the Drunkard trait. Well guess what! A drunken glutton. That’s what I am now. Fortunately so is Wordcel, so we get on famously.

Might as well take out my frustrations on the duke of Man(n) for opposing me in the recent Ulster war, since Man holds three counties in my English de jure duchy of Lancaster. Ulster comes to Man’s defense, pointlessly.

I’m in the process of taking these rubes apart when it appears that Queen Ida, the wife of my drunk big boi friend King Ancel, has taken a shine to me.

She’s also a drunkard and glutton like me! And both she and her husband are adulterers, so pretty much this is a swinging situation I guess. Who am I to say no! A tumble it is!

Guess that went well! The game warns me that asking her to stay might make me seem clingy, so I choose the “Indeed, you better hurry” option.

Damn. Can’t figure these ladies out. Well I do know war at least, and the war for Lancaster goes down with the usual flawless execution. I’m handing out a lot of English titles to members of the extended Thouars clan, and I’m starting to notice a very unfortunate side effect of our fecund family. Apparently the majority of Thouars people like marrying other Thouars people, as it’s very difficult to find potential Thouars nobles who aren’t already married to other Thouars. That does not bode well for our genetic legacy.

Speaking of genetics!

I guess Queen Ida got something more after all. Sure hope the consequences of my actions don’t come back to haunt me in any way!!

The recent wars have put a dent in my treasury, so I decide to cool it for awhile to build back funds. Of course, turns out I’m not the only one doing some bed-jumping, as the wife of my heir also has a side piece.

I mean, I clearly don’t have a moral leg to stand on here. Unfortunate for young Raynaud, but I’ll let these kids sort it out. I launch a quick war to take the two-county independent duchy of Gwent as a way of beginning my incursion into Wales.

That done, I turn myself to the last major piece of outstanding de jure English territory: the petty kingdom of Bryneich in the north. Prince Urien II ab Arod Cerdicing-Medcaut is weak after a recent war, though he has a bunch of allies. None of them amount to much, and all are pretty far. Bring it I says.

My 14-year-old daughter Guillaumette comes down with typhus, which has a pretty low survival rate.

For once I go with “drastic measures,” and it actually comes through with a near-cure, even without any disfigurement, amputations, and/or lunacy! Medical science marches on.

My son and heir Raynaud, apparently having made up with his adulterous wife Agnes, gives birth to their first son, also Raynud. He’s merely got the Robust trait, with no smartness at all. Pity. And also, given Agnes’ track record of infidelity, makes one wonder.

England is looking pretty French these days.

All that’s left is one isolated county controlled by the petty kingdom of Mann in the north, and a weird quirk of inheritance that put an eastern county under the control of Jerusalem. That one will be tricky to recover. Best to let my local vassal sort it out.

Next: The sun surprisingly rises on the British Empire.