It's a fine day in the mid-9th century. Charles the Bald, king of West Francia, isn't happy. His grandfather Charlemagne made an empire, his dad Louis managed to keep it together - but now it's all falling apart. His oldest brother Lothar, that twat, inherited the empire. So Charles and his two other brothers (well, half-brothers, really - they all have the same mum, except for Charles) had to struggle a bit to get their bit of the empire.
It all seemed to work out in the end. Lothar got the title, Pippin got Aquitaine, Louis got East Francia, and Charles got West Francia. But nobody said it was going to be like this.
First, the Bretons wanted independence, the right to run their own lives etc etc. Well, kings don't usually give away bits of their land for free, and Charles wasn't about to. But then the Breton leader Nominoë started getting nasty. Giving him some limited power to grease him didn't help; he started grabbing land and winning battles over the Franks. So Charles had to appoint him Duke.
Then, the Bretons decided that Nominoë's son Erispoë should be king. King of the Bretons. Charles had hoped that bribing Erispoë's foster brother Salamon with land would make the Bretons fight among themselves, but the result so far is that Salamon just wants - that's right - more power.
Then the Normans arrived. Oh, barbarian invaders are mostly the same - they make a lot of noise at your borders, you beat them with overwhelming force and do nasty things to their leaders' corpses, they go away. But the Normans didn't stop at the borders. They just sailed straight up the rivers in their low boats and sacked and pillaged. And then they just... took Paris. Cost a hell of a lot of gold to buy it back.
Charles the Bald isn't happy.
In fact, Charles the Bald is superf***ed.