What about the usage of passive and plural forms?
'Se'? Borrowed from what language?
What about the usage of passive and plural forms?
'Se'? Borrowed from what language?
Passive voice, if I am understanding you correctly, is a conjugation topic. The plural form of a noun is formed as following:
-k if noun ends with a vowel or -æk if it does not.
-s if noun ends with a vowel or -æs if it does not.
-s if noun ends with a vowel or -æs if it does not, plus the word "kien"
Chapter Nineteen: Hidden Blades
With Dzintis set to inherit the throne of Bohemia, Prussia moved to make the union more official, declaring a permanent alliance between the two nations. The energy and attention required to annex the other state caused some of Prussia's standing with the Roman Empire to slip a bit. Tension on the Crimean Peninsula led to a bit of an estranging that would last throughout Sviendorog's reign as he proved unwilling to end his fifteen years of peace prematurely. Revolts in the far-off corners of the Empire were threatening to bring the Roman Empire to its long-awaited downfall. Constantinople demanded Prussia's help on numerous occasions only to be told that it didn't have the money or man power. And both excuses were half true. Prussia didn't have the money because it was spending it all on improvements and commissions, and it didn't have the man power because its army was often the source of labor for the larger building programs. But Sviendorog thought of himself as a man of his word and he had promised fifteen years of peace, and fifteen years his people would have. But the Saxon nobles were starting to become restless. Their ever increasing numbers and need for more breathing room demanded conquest or some form of compensation.
March 20th, 1191
Memelgrád Castle was host to a party of Saxon nobles from Poland, fed up with the lack of activity in their provinces. They crowded around Sviendorog, demanding that he invest into the infrastructure of their individual provinces or find some other way to compensate them. The King readily ignored their demands, ensuring them of his apathy toward their so-called problems.
"This is an outrage!" stammered one noble, his fist quivered as he pounded the table. His façade of power and influence was crumbling under Sviendorog's uncaring and bored gaze. "You have ruled for ten years now and what good has come out of it?!"
"Plenty good, I just don't share it with those who don't help," Sviendorog gave a half-witted smile.
"We need new lands with which to build our fortunes."
"And you expect me to conquer them for you. That is the problem here, children. I've commanded the Prussian armies time and time again, in wars all over our nation... and I have never seen your faces or your father's faces until this very day," the Kings voice was calm, but forceful. He would play the real cards first, cutting off logic and reason from their arguments, and when they eventually spit out lies and half-truths he would cut them from the conversation. Even a debate, to Sviendorog, was a war.
The Prussian Throne Room
"You do little to gain the friendship and support of the nobles, King."
"I don't bother you; I give you leniency on your taxes; I have yet to call up your men to fight; I have built roads and expanded trade through our territories, which you tariff; I have bolstered our standing with nations around the world so that the border raids have died down. Exactly what more can I do for you? It seems to only be you damned Saxons who have a problem, and I want to know exactly what that problem is."
The Saxon nobles paused and looked amongst themselves, "We want respect. And we want land. And we want rights!"
"That is fine and all, but those are things you must earn. I should sign a law... all lands conquered by the King's troops must either go to the King... or to a low-ranking noble with no lands to his family. Then you might just actually have to help us with some of these wars, huh?" Sviendorog's self-satisfied smile was almost stuck on his face at this point. He watched the nobles worm around for a reason in their heads but they couldn't find one. He had cut them off. "Now, unless you have something intelligent to say, I must request that you leave... now." He folded his hands on his lap and leaned back in his chair.
"Fine, King, we will leave.... this time."
"You might want to watch your tone, noble... you are speaking to your liege, if I were my father you would be dead." On a pad, Sviendorog wrote their names down, of the five four were Leofricsons the last was a de Seagrave, decendents of the first marshal Aethelstan. Looking at the parchment he wrote 'Leofriksun' under its corresponding Saxon version. And tossed it about in his head. That's what it truly boiled down to, two letters.
Outside the five nobles convened in a distant part of the castle, reserved for guests. Outside their door stood a royal guard, one of Sviendorog's men. So they spoke in Saxon, trying to keep him unaware.
"This is an abomination!" Eadwig de Seagrave said he turned and looked at the other four. They were all very unsure of what to do next. "That man is making a mockery of Prussian history! Will you four do anything to defend your heritage?"
"Eadwig, we must tread lightly! Sviendorog is a code within a code. Schemes within schemes, blades within blades. Who knows what he is planning... Right now the executioner's blade is getting sharpened for our necks for all we know!"
"If we could cause pandemonium, we could take Poland as our own..." one younger Saxon said.
"What do you mean, Albert?" Eadwid said.
"I mean, let us say the King becomes... incapacitated... his son, Meinekinus is a day away in the Principality... plus the boy is a stuttering coward... Prussia will inevitably fall into a civil war. Amongst the five of us we control most of Poland... definitely enough to be recognized as King, especially if we go to the German's for support," Albert said.
"And what then?" Eadwig asked.
"We can rebuild Poland's noble republic... we can elect a King from amongst the five of us." All five men grew silent. The leaned into the table and spoke quietly as their voices had started to get louder.
"Is there any dissent to this solution?" Eadwig asked, he glanced around, "because we need no traitors in our cause... or those of weak drive." Everyone nodded.
"Okay then... shall we elect a King?" Albert asked.
"I believe so, we will want to be more prepared than the Prussians," Eadwig responded
"Well, it was your idea, Eadwig... you should be King then," said one of the more silent Leofricsons. Everyone around the table nodded and so it was. Eadwig was leader of the conspiracy and titular King of Poland.
"Now then, we need to a member of our own guard... a trusted man, for we shall have to kill a King!"
Yummy ! things are getting quite nice
Me wants more !!!
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Please let the scheme be unfolded! Please make it so that Sviendorog institutes a despotic monarchy. Please! I hate it when bad things happen.
Chapter Nineteen: Hidden Blades
Saxon resentment of Prussian rule stemmed from the very exiling of Aelle Leofricson. As a driving force it would last well into the fourteenth century. It was a feud of pride, of legitimacy of proto-nationalism. The Prussian people felt a connection to their Saxon heritage, one of adventure and strength at arms; but their connection to the Baltic and to the lifestyle and heritage of the pagan Letts, Liths and Old Prussians was also strong. For many Prussians where they came from as a culture did not matter so much as the culture itself. For them it is easy to forget that they are part Saxon and part Baltic. But for the increasingly diluted Saxon nobility the Prussian culture was something to be feared. In the thirteenth century the 'pure' Saxons were no more than a third or fourth Saxon. Intermarriage with Russians, Poles, Prussians, Letts, Liths, Ruthenians, Circassians, Danes and Normans had ended any dream of a truly Saxons race within Prussia. What they did maintain was the language and, to a lesser, hidden extent, Catholicism. Despite all of this they refused to admit that they were being ruled by a foreign culture. The poor excuses to convince themselves that the ruling family was Saxon were growing weaker and weaker with each year. King Sviendorog did not recognize himself as any part Saxon, referring to himself solely as Prussian. He was, however, actually more Greek than Prussian, being born from a Half-Saxon, Half-Prussian father and a pure Greek mother.
March 24th, 1191
This dinner was a festive one, as Meinekinus had returned from the Principality to speak with his father. His guard brought enough venison and mutton from the forests and farms to feed the castle. Eadwig and Albert sat dazed at the coincidence, but their assassin was already out on his mission, dressed as a catholic monk disguised as a servant. Even if the deed would fail, it would be the Catholics that would be blamed, not the nobles. But now it was time for the five conspirators to make leave, hastily, back to Poland to await their chance to revolt.
At the feast Sviendorog and Meinekinus talked amongst themselves as the others enjoyed wine and mead as well as many fine dishes. Sabe stood behind Sviendorog, slightly to the right as he often did, not really listening to the King's conversation.
"So, I've heard many tails from the principality, I assume you found everything to your liking."
"Yes, father. It is quite comfortable. But it is also rather large, I cannot seem to find a use for much of the palace," Meinekinus smiled, as he normally did, and laughed at his own naivety.
"Well, it was built by Eadbert under Aethelweard, both had considerable egos, especially Eadbert. It is likely you shall never find a use for much of the palace," Sviendorog admitted, sipping from his goblet. "I shall have to join you there, the Eadbert's forest is said to be filled with deer so large that they stand taller than a house!"
"I have yet to see one that big, father, but you can never be sure."
"Very true, very true." Sviendorog turned around and called for more mead from a servant. This sudden action gained the attention of Sabe who looked at the coming servant.
In a flash a knife was drawn and with a cry of "Death, Tyrant!" the servant lunged at Sviendorog. The King stood up, pushing his son back and making room for Sabe. The tall Prussian grabbed the arm of the would-be assassin tackled the small man. In seconds the room was filled with confusion and panic. A woman screamed and many of the men moved across to help Sabe restrain the man.
"Don't kill him!" Sviendorog shouted, "We need to know who did this!" A sickening crack signaled the breaking of the assassin's arm. The man blacked out in pain and everyone backed off him so Sviendorog could see the man who tried to kill him.
"He's a Catholic!" shouted one voice.
"Burn them! Burn them all, the traitors!" shouted another.
"Shut up, shut up!" Sviendorog shouted, "I doubt very much that the Catholics are behind this. No revolts? No tension in the realm... the Catholics are the least of our worries now. This man knows who sent him, and we will find out who." The room quieted, the only sound was Sabe's heaving breath.
The guard looked at his arm where a shallow scratch ran from his elbow up two or three inches. He smiled and looked at Sviendorog, "You owe me a pint for this."
Several other guards entered the room, "Sir, we could not find any trace of the five men you warned us about. They left earlier today."
"Fine, take this man to the dungeon. Take care of his arm, I need him awake later. We are going to find out who did this." Sviendorog left the room with the assassin's body.
Sabe turned to Meinekinus, "I would head back to the Principality, take heavy guard, talk to no one on the way there. Stop for nothing. Ride hard." The small man nodded and left with his guard. Sabe cleaned the wound with alcohol and using a shred of the assassin's disguise covered the cut and followed after his King.
Deep in the bowels of the castle Sabe found Sviendorog over the slowly recovering form of the assassin.
"You think those five did this, my lord?" Sabe asked.
"I am pretty certain of it. There was no reason for all five to skip out at once. Plus a servant suggested she heard them discussing foul play."
"Is she not certain?"
"She said they were speaking Saxon, and she could only understand a little bit from what she learned in court."
"Well, 'King' and 'Kill' and honestly I don't need much more convincing."
"So why are we bothering with this guy?"
"What would you do to the guy who tried to kill you?" Sviendorog smiled, he was not one for black humor but he found it strangely appropriate now. Sabe laughed, enough to stir the assassin.
Great! I ask for an update, tell what I want - and before I know it - There's an update waiting for me! Very nice.
I wonder what methods are to be used. Drowning?
Strange. He ought to have several companions.
Great updates! I can't catch up to your speed! Great to see Svindorog getting out of it, love the character.
he reminds me of anther character I had, I was playing as a Greek Principality, Samos, and eventually I created the King of Jerusalem, and the last king of the Kingdom, Erik Dragonblood, was a person with 22 intrigue, it somehow reminds me of him.
I forget most character's scores... I just remember most had an intrigue of at least 8... I never had one with an extremely high intrigue scores (which is best for those massive Empires) but I did have a few with military scores above 15, and Gunvald had a diplomacy of 23... I eventually got another Gunvald with a steward score of 21, awesome.
Chapter Nineteen: Hidden Blades
Sviendorog's inquisition against treasonous Saxons carried the air of medical precision. It was not the random horror that would sweep across Europe during witch hunts, nor was it the elimination of the tallest poppies. With the help of the Guard and his personal guard, Sviendorog was able to name, locate and eliminate the exact perpetrators. In all there were nine: the five from the capital assassination, three followers in Poland and surprisingly one in the Ruthenia region. In 1192 the last one, Eadwig de Seagrave, was found hiding in Azov under an assumed identity. Sviendorog's handling of the problem kept it from getting out of hand. Had he gone on a genocidal rampage, or even just a wild head-hunt, noble sympathy would have quickly turned against him. Instead very few nobles knew anything was happening at all. And like a cancer from the body, Prussia was left healthier than before. The removal of noble families left vacancies more than happily assumed by other, more loyal, families. One of the families to make the most out of the opened positions were the de Normandies (usually referred to by their "Prussian" name 'Dormandy').
February 17th, 1192
The floor was slick with blood. Sviendorog was quickly dispatching the nine traitors under the watchful eye of the patriarch. Each man was given one last chance to ask god for forgiveness, be given his last rights, and then privately put to death. Among the witnesses was Hugh de Normandie, known more commonly as Hyg, who had been a member of the party that had found and captured Eadwig. Only Eadwig remained and he sat quiet on a small bench next to the man he had tried to depose. The patriarch placed a calm, friendly hand on his shoulder and in a quiet voice asked, "My son, is there anything you want to say before you go?" He smiled and tried to be as humble as possible.
Eadwig spat a chunk of phlegm on the old man, and seemingly done smiled wickedly. The patriarch was saddened as he cleaned his face, Eadwig was a young man, and could have done his Kingdom good. Sviendorog stepped forward with a piece of parchment, "Eadwig de Seagrave, you have been tried and found guilty of conspiracy to commit regicide, conspiracy to commit treason, conspiracy to start a civil war, conspiracy to undo the sacred vow of liege and vassal, conspiracy against the Rights of Nobles, the highest law in our land. Each of these crimes is punishable by death. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"That you the son of the bastard child of pagans."
"Very well. With my right as King of these lands, a power invested unto me by God and by the Rights of Nobles, I condemn thee to death by beheading." And with that a gaunt man stepped out from behind Hyg, face hidden by a black mask.
Jokingly Hyg pushed two coins into the executioner's hands, "If it takes you three tries to kill him there is a few more coins were that came from." The patriarch turned to Hyg with a scowl, but could not work up the compassion to say anything. Eadwig looked worried when the man took the two coins and put them in a small purse. He was more worried when he realized he didn't have any coin to make sure it was done right.
Sviendorog picked Eadwig up and made sure he stood straight and tall. "Go out with dignity, boy." The two walked over to the chopping block, a grove cleanly left from the last eight uses. The blood was still liquid, and yet to become pungent. The executioner took his time cleaning off the block and the ground around it. He adjusted it slightly so that Eadwig comfortably reached it and therefore would not squirm. He then turned to his axe which he began to sharpen. Eadwig was starting to get impatient.
"What is wrong little Saxon? Bored?" Hyg called. He laughed, making many of the people in the room turn and look at him. Sviendorog sighed, quietly, but turned his gaze back to Eadwig.
"Eadwig, before it is done... what did I do to you?"
The traitor didn't respond, only sat there quietly. Sviendorog frowned, he had hoped for a straight answer... even a dodge answer. He wanted to hear remorse in Eadwig's voice so that he could tell himself everything was okay and that no one lost in the end. But it wouldn't be. The executioner put down the whet stone and walked over to the block, looking at Sviendorog he got the confirmation he needed. He raised the axe on high and let it fall.
Eadwig's head neatly fell on the ground below his neck. Blood poured from the stump and drenched the head, but no one really moved. It was over, but there was no real victory. Hyg gave a sign of dejection, a simple "huh" before turning to leave. People filed out after him, leaving the executioner, the patriarch and Sviendorog alone.
"Well, you dealt with the problem in a very responsible manner, my lord," the old patriarch said.
"I hope so," Sviendorog said, sadly. He and the patriarch followed behind everyone else headed back to the surface. Outside Hyg and the other easterners had already mounted and were headed off. Meinekinus was waiting for his father, sitting atop a horse
"Father, I assume everything is alright?" he asked.
"Yes, son, let us go." Sviendorog mounted a second horse held by Meinekinus and from atop his saddle told the patriarch, "Send my business to the Principality."
"I will my lord. Please try to relax during your time off. You can use it, and we don't need you going crazy on us."
Sviendorog smiled and then nodded, "I guess not." His horse began to move forward under his command and he turned to look back at the castle. Over the last few months it had become almost a dark, scary place to him. Full of danger and hatred. He was glad to be leaving it for a while, let all the bad memories sink away into the past. He could use a few days off to just try to not be King for a while.
"I have made a room for you, I think you shall find it more than sufficient."
"You made it yourself? Isn't that what your servants are for?"
"That is what they keep telling me, but I don't really believe them."
"Ha! You must get used to them. Running a Kingdom is not something to be done alone."
"Yes, but I find that I am more than capable at cooking and cleaning."
The two men rode hard out of the capital city, their collective guards close behind. The ride out of the big city was easy, and when they were a few miles out and entering the depths of the forest Sviendorog stopped to take a deep breath. There was a small lake, and he suggested to go swimming. Things were already looking better for him, he had time to be himself.
To add something to my former list of the coolness of a modification for MEIOU with this worlds politics.
- Leading the cold blooded Norman cossacks to glory on the steppes!
Brittania: A Saga of Albion - Hiatus
† AwAARds †
WritAAR of the Week 11/23/09
Character WritAAR of the Week 03/08/10
Favourite CK History Book AAR 07/06/2010 and 01/02/2011
The last time probably.
They shall be an interesting group, especially because in EUIII they have an independent Host in the Azov region. I'll try to make sure they make it to the modern age.
Which reminds me, I am debating whether I shall actually continue this through Vicky (depending on a lot of things) or if I shall do as I plan to do with the 20th century and just follow my own creative path. I kind of already have plans for the modern times and I don't really know if I want the games conflicting with that. I need EUIII for the colonization, but as we know colonies have a tendency to not break away in EUIII or Vicky and that is kind of important for the story. So expect the story to deviate more from game play in the next book.
Of course if Vicky II comes out I might not have a choice but port this over.
Chapter Nineteen: Hidden Blades
An upheaval in 1193 led to the almost complete collapse of the Islamic Dominion of France under the pressure of the Crusading Christians. Only a few broken and separated territories remained. In Italy the Muslims were chased to the southernmost tips of the boot and were completely expelled from Sicily. In front of the advancing wall of fury were tens of thousands of native converts to Islam, forced to flee for their lives. In France, especially, Islam had proven attractive as rule under Toledo seemed permanent. So when it crumbled people fled to the few places still under the Caliph's control. This meant Toulouse. But as people crowded into the small region, they were forced out by the local Emirs and Sheiks, who feared plague. On the move again this refugees made it across the sea to old Carthage. There they settled en masse, quickly out numbering the plague and war diminished Arab population. They were known to Christians as "Pied Noir" or black feet, in reference to their dirt-blackened or sometimes gangrenous feet. To their own kind they were known as Carthaginians for the location of their main settlements. But within three years of defeat, a new wave of Muslim troops from North Africa came up, winning back much of France, including Paris. In Italy a new breed of troops showed up on the horizon. Shiite troops from Egypt and Persia quickly conquered Sicily and Naples within ten years. Their kingdom there would be a bastion of stability in an Italy wracked by war.
The Infinite War between 1180 and 1202
October 14th, 1196
Sviendorog sat in a secure room with a large map of western Europe displayed before him. A representative from Italy had arrived requesting, almost begging, for Prussian intervention. The Pope had offered to work with Orthodoxy on ending the schism if they would commit troops to protecting the recent gains that had been made. But Prussia was suspicious, as was the Roman Empire, who had rejected the Italians and deterred them to Prussia. The island of Sicily had recently been attacked by a new army, the army of the bastard son of the Sultan of Sultans, Caliph of Egypt. There he planned to form a purely Shiite nation under the faithful and gain the glory his father refused to grant him.
"I cannot help you, I doubt very much the Pope will ever live up to his bargain, and there is no point in sacrificing my soldiers for land that will never benefit us. Every inch we would have gained would have been given to some self-important Catholic 'Crusader' and then lost again in a few years."
"We defend our lands with great honor and might!"
"But that hasn't been getting anything done. It has been over one hundred years that the Italian states have been at war with the Muslims. You had a few gains here and there, but you are going to lose it all! And what's funnier, is all of Catholicism is fighting this war against only a handful of Muslim nations! The Turks haven't joined yet. Only one Egyptian noble and his bodyguard have joined while the rest of the nation sits idly by."
"God will protect his own, we shall prevail over this greater evil!"
"Protect you? Then why are you constantly losing? Why is nearly half of Italy fallow and dry? God does protect his own, but his own is us. Prussia and the Roman Empire have seen nothing but expansion and increases in our treasury these last hundred years!"
The Italians seemed defeated. There was a question that lingered in the minds of most Catholics. If they were truly the righteous why are they losing so much? Splinter groups were beginning to form, especially farthest away from Rome in Scandinavia and Germany. The single most devastating stage to Catholicism was yet to come, but for now the Italians were sure that their lost in Sicily was only a minor set-back.
"I must decline, representative. Maybe you could contact the Edessans, they seem like they might be able to win this war. Or even Hungary," Sviendorog said. He brought his hand up to his face and then rested his head on his arm, showing he had grown weary of this conversation.
"One day, Prussian, one day Islam will unite against Prussia, and then what? Then what? Your descendents will wish that you had joined us."
"I doubt it, and even if Islam does, it too has its divisions. It is not a single unified conspiracy against Christianity like you try to pretend."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because unlike you I actually have to deal with the Muslims, and like us they have their languages, their groups, their different beliefs. Now, if you don't mind, I have real work to attend to."
Sabe appeared to make sure the point had gotten across. He folded his arms, "Sir, it is time to go. You are keeping his majesty from more important business." The guard pointed one hand toward the door and placed the other gently on the Italian's back. Ironically the next messenger came from Sicily, a representative looking for recognition in trade. Sviendorog duly agreed, allowing their ships access Mocærgrád on the Black Sea for a small annual fee. Done with his day's work, the King smiled and left throne room.
In a small courtyard, behind the main castle and well within the walls of the palace was a small project Sviendorog had been working on. He enjoyed the chance to get out and get dirty. It was a small boat that he planned to take into the shallow lakes in the Baltic region. Far from sea worthy it was his eventual plan to build a larger one, probably with help from local carpenters. But this one was his and his alone. It was almost twenty feet long and was completely open. It was something Meinekinus had re-taught him: the good of doing it yourself.
Sabe joined his King, smiling his approval of the design. "She shall sail to Atlantis and back, sir."
"I doubt it," Sviendorog said, "But the next one will."
"I've heard rumors that the Norse have found and colonized a land far to the west. Some merchants were telling it as some strange new addition to their sagas." The guard laughed and Sviendorog joined after a brief pause. Sabe slowed and then wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling.
"Well, that is rich. We shall see where that leads them. Maybe we can send the Pope there so he'll stop demanding our obedience with every alternate breath."
"If only we could, my lord. It would be much quieter around here."
Dear Lord, you are planning to send the Catholics to America?
You evil genius!!!
And back they shall come with nukes during the 20th century, to reclaim their lost continent?´
Would be quite cool to have Pope in the Americas.