This is looking awesome, this will be really interesting to follow ^^ I wonder what happens in EU3 now 
Homelands: Tales of the Anglo-Prussians
- Thread starter Mr. Capiatlist
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bah, keep german, danish, swedish, polish and future irish holdings, gut the rest but make sure they know who's boss
I'd say the Poland move is clever--gives a designated place for a designated heir to learn how to rule. I just hope that all future kings have good relationships with their future heirs.
I am just surprised no one saw it coming. The starting scenario in PEIOU was "Reunion" and speaks of Poland's reuniting with Prussia.
You told us that it would be spoilerific haven't you? So like good readers we just looked over everything technical and promtly forgot about it so that we can enjoy the AAR better.
That was the case with me. No connection to my terrible memory. No sir.
That was the case with me. No connection to my terrible memory. No sir.
Good, that helps with my terrible sense of consistency. I constantly fear violating continuity.
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Seven: Cursed Lands
Part 3
Prelude:
The Polish language, in heavy decline since the XIII Century, died in native use in 1337. The Polish dialect of Prussian, one of the oldest in the Empire, was also dying out, merging with the neighboring Silesian dialect into what is today known as West Prussian. In the mid 1300's there were five or six main dialects of Prussian, depending on the classification of Polish and Silesian. They ranged from Memel Prussian, or City Prussia in the central regions to Volgan Prussian, which was the most 'foreign' of the dialects. Prussian as a language was first regulated in the 1830's as Church Prussian. The other thing that was standardized in the reform was the alphabet, set as a heavily modified Greek. However, in 1914, the language was 'updated' by the First Prussian Congress as People's Prussian, dropping the Greek for Latin, adopting Latin numerals, though maintaining certain symbols that were not found in other European alphabets. The final reform, in 1995, fully Latinized the alphabet, allowing for easier communication on the growing internet. In a 2010 census, when asked about their 'dialect' of Prussian, an overwhelming majority (upwards of 95%) said they did not speak in a local dialect. Only in formerly Prussian territories such as Silesia and California did more than 10% of participants say they spoke a particular dialect of Prussian. Today, even overseas Prussian dialects are more defined by colloquialisms and subtle shifts then the dramatic vocabulary differences and shifts that defined previous dialects. Once a southern Prussian or one from Silesia could not speak intelligibly with a Volgan Prussian, today they are only confused why the strangers from the east call "Fries" "Chips".
Dialects of Prussian in 1350 (reconstructed). Also provided is the word for "Prussia" and the phrase "I am Prussian".
May 3rd, 1338
Gunvald sat at a desk looking at a map of Prussia, with its different political entities sketched out. The whole thing appeared to be a massive mess, with family lands often covering a patchwork of languages, regions and peoples. Many were upset with the plan to divide Poland from Prussia, dubbing it a waste and a pointless division. Gunvald saw it as a good idea, letter the heir learn how to run a country as well as allowing the King to concentrate on a smaller realm. Poland would never stop being a part of Prussia, it would just be a peripheral part. Even so, it was hard convincing the nobles of this, but he could tell the overwhelming majority were supporting his plan. It would mean their freedom, it would mean they would be free to do as they please, and Gunvald knew that meant they would quickly turn on each other. It would probably mean the downfall of Christianity as a whole outside of Prussia, but he couldn't really care. His job was to keep Prussia afloat, and the outlying nations were only wasting money. He wished he could pay for the survival of everyone, but it was becoming very obvious that it was not possible anymore.
It would take more than just war with his father, it would also mean war with each other. People would not willingly give up their lands without compensation, but it would be necessary for Prussia to actually divide itself. The flaws of feudalism began to shine brightly. The King was essentially a slave to the nobles, whether he liked it or not. Gunvald was no more an anarchist than his father, he saw the problems with being led by a mob, no matter how well dressed that mob was. However, forcing his will through the sword was not a position he wished to take up. Best let the dissenters leave than revolt. When Gunvald looked west he saw the same weaknesses, the same cracks in the façade of power, might and unity. The Caliphate was suffering the same growing pains. The Caliphate was probably worse off. If she were to implode it would not result in civil war, but utter chaos as brother fought brother fought brother.
"Is Europe doomed to die as it was born, made up of thousands of tribes?" Gunvald asked aloud.
"It is not ready for unity, my dear," Viba responded, "In a day when the people forget everything that makes them who they are, they will find unity in each other, but I fear for that day."
"You fear for the day when war is no more?"
"I fear for a day when people define their own morality instead of learning it from God. Do you think a Christian and Muslim could ever be neighbors, after so many years of conflict? The Romans and Armenians have been fighting so long that sons never see their fathers. Men are allowed enough time to produce one son before they are handed a spear and sent off to die in the wastes of Asia Minor."
"Time changes everything, Viba, it has changed me and it has changed so much so recently. Rome and Armenia will regret their war, and when they have a common enemy, they will unite or they will fall."
"I doubt something so terrifying even exists."
"It does... people. People are that terrifying. What do you think holds Prussia together? Love? Respect? Understanding? It is fear... fear of my father... fear of his wrath, his hatred..."
"There is no empire so terrifying as to unite the Romans and Armenians."
"That might be true, but they might mistake one that is as being weaker, and by the time they realize their mistake it will be too late. Or it might be too weak to defeat them united, but divided they are easy prey. Either way, they will regret their foolish war."
"Do you think the same thing about our war?"
"In a sense, yes. But in many ways it is unavoidable, and completely necessary. We may regret it, we may not. It might be the best thing to happen to Prussia... but regardless it will define us forever. The Empire is too big. There is no question. We cannot continue to rule over so many unwilling to be ruled and expect to survive."
"Do you think we can win?"
"Yes, I do think we can win. But it will not be easy. As I said, we might regret it."
"And if we lose?"
"I don't know... no one will let me think about it."
Viba was silent, she was one of those people, she thought about it. She was so caught up in overthrowing Vishly that she forgot many people didn't care, or didn't think it would work. Was failure an option? Could there be a Prussia under Butovit? "What would you do?"
"Me? I don't have to think about that," Gunvald laughed.
"Why is that?"
"Because if this fails my father will execute me. So it is not an issue for me."The black humor did not fall easily on Viba.
"How can you joke about that?"
"Who said I was joking, it just won't do me or anyone else any good if I worry about it."
Chapter Thirty Seven: Cursed Lands
Part 3
Prelude:
The Polish language, in heavy decline since the XIII Century, died in native use in 1337. The Polish dialect of Prussian, one of the oldest in the Empire, was also dying out, merging with the neighboring Silesian dialect into what is today known as West Prussian. In the mid 1300's there were five or six main dialects of Prussian, depending on the classification of Polish and Silesian. They ranged from Memel Prussian, or City Prussia in the central regions to Volgan Prussian, which was the most 'foreign' of the dialects. Prussian as a language was first regulated in the 1830's as Church Prussian. The other thing that was standardized in the reform was the alphabet, set as a heavily modified Greek. However, in 1914, the language was 'updated' by the First Prussian Congress as People's Prussian, dropping the Greek for Latin, adopting Latin numerals, though maintaining certain symbols that were not found in other European alphabets. The final reform, in 1995, fully Latinized the alphabet, allowing for easier communication on the growing internet. In a 2010 census, when asked about their 'dialect' of Prussian, an overwhelming majority (upwards of 95%) said they did not speak in a local dialect. Only in formerly Prussian territories such as Silesia and California did more than 10% of participants say they spoke a particular dialect of Prussian. Today, even overseas Prussian dialects are more defined by colloquialisms and subtle shifts then the dramatic vocabulary differences and shifts that defined previous dialects. Once a southern Prussian or one from Silesia could not speak intelligibly with a Volgan Prussian, today they are only confused why the strangers from the east call "Fries" "Chips".
Dialects of Prussian in 1350 (reconstructed). Also provided is the word for "Prussia" and the phrase "I am Prussian".
May 3rd, 1338
Gunvald sat at a desk looking at a map of Prussia, with its different political entities sketched out. The whole thing appeared to be a massive mess, with family lands often covering a patchwork of languages, regions and peoples. Many were upset with the plan to divide Poland from Prussia, dubbing it a waste and a pointless division. Gunvald saw it as a good idea, letter the heir learn how to run a country as well as allowing the King to concentrate on a smaller realm. Poland would never stop being a part of Prussia, it would just be a peripheral part. Even so, it was hard convincing the nobles of this, but he could tell the overwhelming majority were supporting his plan. It would mean their freedom, it would mean they would be free to do as they please, and Gunvald knew that meant they would quickly turn on each other. It would probably mean the downfall of Christianity as a whole outside of Prussia, but he couldn't really care. His job was to keep Prussia afloat, and the outlying nations were only wasting money. He wished he could pay for the survival of everyone, but it was becoming very obvious that it was not possible anymore.
It would take more than just war with his father, it would also mean war with each other. People would not willingly give up their lands without compensation, but it would be necessary for Prussia to actually divide itself. The flaws of feudalism began to shine brightly. The King was essentially a slave to the nobles, whether he liked it or not. Gunvald was no more an anarchist than his father, he saw the problems with being led by a mob, no matter how well dressed that mob was. However, forcing his will through the sword was not a position he wished to take up. Best let the dissenters leave than revolt. When Gunvald looked west he saw the same weaknesses, the same cracks in the façade of power, might and unity. The Caliphate was suffering the same growing pains. The Caliphate was probably worse off. If she were to implode it would not result in civil war, but utter chaos as brother fought brother fought brother.
"Is Europe doomed to die as it was born, made up of thousands of tribes?" Gunvald asked aloud.
"It is not ready for unity, my dear," Viba responded, "In a day when the people forget everything that makes them who they are, they will find unity in each other, but I fear for that day."
"You fear for the day when war is no more?"
"I fear for a day when people define their own morality instead of learning it from God. Do you think a Christian and Muslim could ever be neighbors, after so many years of conflict? The Romans and Armenians have been fighting so long that sons never see their fathers. Men are allowed enough time to produce one son before they are handed a spear and sent off to die in the wastes of Asia Minor."
"Time changes everything, Viba, it has changed me and it has changed so much so recently. Rome and Armenia will regret their war, and when they have a common enemy, they will unite or they will fall."
"I doubt something so terrifying even exists."
"It does... people. People are that terrifying. What do you think holds Prussia together? Love? Respect? Understanding? It is fear... fear of my father... fear of his wrath, his hatred..."
"There is no empire so terrifying as to unite the Romans and Armenians."
"That might be true, but they might mistake one that is as being weaker, and by the time they realize their mistake it will be too late. Or it might be too weak to defeat them united, but divided they are easy prey. Either way, they will regret their foolish war."
"Do you think the same thing about our war?"
"In a sense, yes. But in many ways it is unavoidable, and completely necessary. We may regret it, we may not. It might be the best thing to happen to Prussia... but regardless it will define us forever. The Empire is too big. There is no question. We cannot continue to rule over so many unwilling to be ruled and expect to survive."
"Do you think we can win?"
"Yes, I do think we can win. But it will not be easy. As I said, we might regret it."
"And if we lose?"
"I don't know... no one will let me think about it."
Viba was silent, she was one of those people, she thought about it. She was so caught up in overthrowing Vishly that she forgot many people didn't care, or didn't think it would work. Was failure an option? Could there be a Prussia under Butovit? "What would you do?"
"Me? I don't have to think about that," Gunvald laughed.
"Why is that?"
"Because if this fails my father will execute me. So it is not an issue for me."The black humor did not fall easily on Viba.
"How can you joke about that?"
"Who said I was joking, it just won't do me or anyone else any good if I worry about it."
Haha, death is eternal, life lasts only for a moment.
Silence always prevails.
Denn alles was entsteht ist wert dass es zugrunde geht!
Silence always prevails.
Denn alles was entsteht ist wert dass es zugrunde geht!
Very deep, probably a bit too deep for this AAR.
Whatever, I demand an update.
It is weekend after all!
I am trying to get to it, it might be a weekend for you, but the week never ends for me.
Wow. I actually thought that prussian (dialects) only existed in the central region. Has anyone ever told you that this AAR is a linguist's delight?
Good to see Gunvald stand strong.
Good to see Gunvald stand strong.
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Seven: Cursed Lands
Part 4
Prelude:
Prussia's dominance in Finland was soon under contest. The native tribes in the north began a region-wide revolt against Prussian rule, similar to those in 1180, almost 160 years previous. And as before, the City of the North, Ziemelængrád, was under siege. The timing and location was nothing if not inopportune for Duke Gunvald, who was in the stages of planning a rebellion against his father only a few short miles across the Gulf of Finland in Æstlinn. King Vishly reacted harshly, sending over 13,000 soldiers into the northern lands. He was not set with simply subjugating the native Finnish pagans, he would only settle for their utter defeat. Soldiers were often offered "the land of any man they slay" or more likely we offered the lands that their particular unit helped take. Finnish men were especially at risk. After the brief war, all Finnish men were forced to move northward away from the Prussian south, a region that was ever expanding. Many Prussian soldiers took home Finnish women and girls for themselves or for their sons. To the King, the only answer was the extermination of the Finnish race. Still, even with so much land opened up to the Prussian people, few Prussians moved to the northern lands, and those that did stuck to southern coastal towns along the Gulf of Finland. It was these settlements that would eventually define the line between Finland and Prussia.
August 7th, 1339
Vishly's control over Memelgrád was quickly dissolving. Of course, he himself wasn't anywhere near the city. He left at the first signs that a mysterious plague that had arrived in the city only a month before. Few other cities were affected, so the King found refuge in the old capital, Mariengrád. But with the court in disarray from the move, the rebel forces were preparing for their attack, the timing was perfect.
However, much of this remained unknown to Vishly, who hide himself away in the old and neglected palaces of the Grey City. He found himself right at home, though. The old spiked towers, the stone greyed and darkened from the harsh seawater, a sticky and mildewy smell permeated the entire building. Here, he thought, was a building that could reflect my true intent upon my enemies. So while Ziedás complained about the conditions, and Butovit simply sat around nodding to his mother's every declaration, Vishly journeyed around the palace. "Is there any more wretched a building in the entire empire?" he asked a guard.
"I would dare say no," the guard answered. Vishly nodded in confirmation of his suspicion. When the time came, this castle would become a prison, the largest in the Empire. Here he could hold those anarchic Fraternalists while they waited for execution.
"I believe that after this is all over, I shall turn this building into a prison, expand it a bit and dig a moat. It shall be a most impressive structure and it shall certainly grow my image the true power in this country," Vishly told the guard, who only nodded, what else was he to do? "Imagine, soon these halls will be filled with cries and sobs for mercy, and none shall be given. Their cries only silences when they realize they are to die here, or their head his the soft earth."
Vishly motioned for them to continue their walk around the castle. He headed into the courtyard, finding it completely overgrown with the plants that once made it beautiful so many years ago. This was the most use the palace had gotten since Æthelweard used it as his capital. He made his way in, despite the heat and the buzzing insects that flew from flower to flower. So over grown was the courtyard, that eventually Vishly found some parts completely impenetrable. He recalled his childhood, the love he had for the thrill of the chase, hiding in overgrowth like this here. So he entered, despite the warnings of the soldiers. Pushing as far as he could into the brush, he was disappointed to find very little. A few benches, a still bubbling fountain that probably supported much of this plant life, like a mountain spring. Finding nothing, Vishly turned back and exited the brush several feet from where he entered.
"Sir, let us get you inside, we do not need you getting hurt. Who knows what lives in there," the soldier said, trying to get the point across. Vishly scowled at him and motioned for him to remove his helmet. Once it was off, the King slapped him across the face, knocking him to the side and leaving a bright red print.
"Did I ask for your opinion? Did I ask for your patronizing? Kill him men! Bring me his head!" The other soldiers glanced around at each other, before descending on their friend. Vishly stood and watched as they cut the man's head off, leaving the body to flop to the side. Once he had the head in hand, Vishly threw it into the brush, knocking down flower and bees as it gracefully disappeared into the green. "Don't ever fucking repeat what he just did? Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir!" the guards answered. Vishly took a deep breath, his day was ruined. He stormed out of the courtyard, leaving it behind as he did some many things in his life. A fleeting moment, forever behind him, unattached to any of the others. A string of non sequiturs.
Meanwhile, in Æstlinn, Gunvald inspected his most loyal knights. All told, there were about five thousand of them in his realm alone. Plus his levy and corps of trained soldiers, he had a formidable fighting force. Many of his allies joined him to watch a short parade and drilling. They were still uncertain about trained soldiers, but after their defeat and on Gunvald's insistence, it was a tolerated evil for the time being.
"Cavalry is still King of the battlefield," Gunvald was told by one onlooker. Gunvald's Knights of Estonia were some of the best trained and best equipped in Europe. "Without nobles on the field, war is a dirty and petty thing. Knights bring grace and civility."
"These are not the knights of old, friend," Gunvald replied. "They are killers, just like any other soldier. They will give no quarter for they shall receive none. Few are nobles, as there are few noble-bloods in Estonia. They are the sons of farmers, of merchants, of street women... they are my people and they fight for me... and for that I can only offer them the best training so they might live to see tomorrow."
"I don't understand why you are to be our chosen leader, you embody few of the Fraternalist ideals, Duke Gunvald."
"I am your chosen leader because I am the true heir of King Vishly, and I use that status to my advantage, to push my own agenda... I will freely admit it. But as we have a common enemy, it is only natural we become allies. I am no Fraternalist, but I am no supporter of the rabble or of my father. I see clearly the path I must take, and it will be done as I say."
"And when you capture your father?"
"When I capture King Vishly I shall behead him as a traitor, and I shall take his throne and right his wrongs, and bring Prussia out of the dark and into the light."
"Why is it you always referred to your father as if he were a stranger?"
"My father is dead, Vishly was never a father to me."
Chapter Thirty Seven: Cursed Lands
Part 4
Prelude:
Prussia's dominance in Finland was soon under contest. The native tribes in the north began a region-wide revolt against Prussian rule, similar to those in 1180, almost 160 years previous. And as before, the City of the North, Ziemelængrád, was under siege. The timing and location was nothing if not inopportune for Duke Gunvald, who was in the stages of planning a rebellion against his father only a few short miles across the Gulf of Finland in Æstlinn. King Vishly reacted harshly, sending over 13,000 soldiers into the northern lands. He was not set with simply subjugating the native Finnish pagans, he would only settle for their utter defeat. Soldiers were often offered "the land of any man they slay" or more likely we offered the lands that their particular unit helped take. Finnish men were especially at risk. After the brief war, all Finnish men were forced to move northward away from the Prussian south, a region that was ever expanding. Many Prussian soldiers took home Finnish women and girls for themselves or for their sons. To the King, the only answer was the extermination of the Finnish race. Still, even with so much land opened up to the Prussian people, few Prussians moved to the northern lands, and those that did stuck to southern coastal towns along the Gulf of Finland. It was these settlements that would eventually define the line between Finland and Prussia.
August 7th, 1339
Vishly's control over Memelgrád was quickly dissolving. Of course, he himself wasn't anywhere near the city. He left at the first signs that a mysterious plague that had arrived in the city only a month before. Few other cities were affected, so the King found refuge in the old capital, Mariengrád. But with the court in disarray from the move, the rebel forces were preparing for their attack, the timing was perfect.
However, much of this remained unknown to Vishly, who hide himself away in the old and neglected palaces of the Grey City. He found himself right at home, though. The old spiked towers, the stone greyed and darkened from the harsh seawater, a sticky and mildewy smell permeated the entire building. Here, he thought, was a building that could reflect my true intent upon my enemies. So while Ziedás complained about the conditions, and Butovit simply sat around nodding to his mother's every declaration, Vishly journeyed around the palace. "Is there any more wretched a building in the entire empire?" he asked a guard.
"I would dare say no," the guard answered. Vishly nodded in confirmation of his suspicion. When the time came, this castle would become a prison, the largest in the Empire. Here he could hold those anarchic Fraternalists while they waited for execution.
"I believe that after this is all over, I shall turn this building into a prison, expand it a bit and dig a moat. It shall be a most impressive structure and it shall certainly grow my image the true power in this country," Vishly told the guard, who only nodded, what else was he to do? "Imagine, soon these halls will be filled with cries and sobs for mercy, and none shall be given. Their cries only silences when they realize they are to die here, or their head his the soft earth."
Vishly motioned for them to continue their walk around the castle. He headed into the courtyard, finding it completely overgrown with the plants that once made it beautiful so many years ago. This was the most use the palace had gotten since Æthelweard used it as his capital. He made his way in, despite the heat and the buzzing insects that flew from flower to flower. So over grown was the courtyard, that eventually Vishly found some parts completely impenetrable. He recalled his childhood, the love he had for the thrill of the chase, hiding in overgrowth like this here. So he entered, despite the warnings of the soldiers. Pushing as far as he could into the brush, he was disappointed to find very little. A few benches, a still bubbling fountain that probably supported much of this plant life, like a mountain spring. Finding nothing, Vishly turned back and exited the brush several feet from where he entered.
"Sir, let us get you inside, we do not need you getting hurt. Who knows what lives in there," the soldier said, trying to get the point across. Vishly scowled at him and motioned for him to remove his helmet. Once it was off, the King slapped him across the face, knocking him to the side and leaving a bright red print.
"Did I ask for your opinion? Did I ask for your patronizing? Kill him men! Bring me his head!" The other soldiers glanced around at each other, before descending on their friend. Vishly stood and watched as they cut the man's head off, leaving the body to flop to the side. Once he had the head in hand, Vishly threw it into the brush, knocking down flower and bees as it gracefully disappeared into the green. "Don't ever fucking repeat what he just did? Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir!" the guards answered. Vishly took a deep breath, his day was ruined. He stormed out of the courtyard, leaving it behind as he did some many things in his life. A fleeting moment, forever behind him, unattached to any of the others. A string of non sequiturs.
Meanwhile, in Æstlinn, Gunvald inspected his most loyal knights. All told, there were about five thousand of them in his realm alone. Plus his levy and corps of trained soldiers, he had a formidable fighting force. Many of his allies joined him to watch a short parade and drilling. They were still uncertain about trained soldiers, but after their defeat and on Gunvald's insistence, it was a tolerated evil for the time being.
"Cavalry is still King of the battlefield," Gunvald was told by one onlooker. Gunvald's Knights of Estonia were some of the best trained and best equipped in Europe. "Without nobles on the field, war is a dirty and petty thing. Knights bring grace and civility."
"These are not the knights of old, friend," Gunvald replied. "They are killers, just like any other soldier. They will give no quarter for they shall receive none. Few are nobles, as there are few noble-bloods in Estonia. They are the sons of farmers, of merchants, of street women... they are my people and they fight for me... and for that I can only offer them the best training so they might live to see tomorrow."
"I don't understand why you are to be our chosen leader, you embody few of the Fraternalist ideals, Duke Gunvald."
"I am your chosen leader because I am the true heir of King Vishly, and I use that status to my advantage, to push my own agenda... I will freely admit it. But as we have a common enemy, it is only natural we become allies. I am no Fraternalist, but I am no supporter of the rabble or of my father. I see clearly the path I must take, and it will be done as I say."
"And when you capture your father?"
"When I capture King Vishly I shall behead him as a traitor, and I shall take his throne and right his wrongs, and bring Prussia out of the dark and into the light."
"Why is it you always referred to your father as if he were a stranger?"
"My father is dead, Vishly was never a father to me."
I am glad to hear that someone enjoys the linguistics other than me. I might have to do a few more lessons.
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Seven: Cursed Lands
Part 5
Prelude:
Gunvald's time line came to an end. With Vishly busy moving his capital back to Memelgrád following the plague's retreat from the city, the Fratneralists launched their second civil war. Forces from the north to the south mobilized against the King, and it was quickly obvious that the war was going to be just as long as grueling as the last war. The Fraternalists, once again with a numerical advantage, once again lacked the training and professionalism of the monarchist forces. But this time their numerical advantage was slightly greater, bolstered by the support of the Azowians and Gunvald's duchy as well as Russian and Finnish territories. The Azowians, who are staunch monarchists themselves, sided with Gunvald understanding that he would remain an absolute monarch. They hatred for Vishly was the same one shared by many people and their support was invaluable to the fledgling Fraternalists. Organization, then, was the big decider. The Fraternal forces in the last war fought their own wars, leading to them being easy to divide and conquer. Once again, this was proving true, only this time Vishly was also caught off guard. However, this advantage would not last forever. Once the royal troops were called up, it would only be a matter of time before they were organized enough to go on the offensive. Gunvald knew he needed a decisive battle to try to end the war before it even began.
Prussia in 1340.
June 1st, 1340
Outside of a small trading city on the Vilna River, Gunvald watched from afar as his own army, numbering over 20,000, marched against his brother's army of 18,000. Even from such a great distance he could hear the marching and the shouts of the commanders. He did not feel confident that this would give him the victory he required to end it once and for all. His brother's troops were only from the city of Memelgrád, a small percentage of his father's army. Even a crushing victory would do very little to his father, but it would inspire his me and his allies. That is what he needed now. He needed to inspire his men, he needed to crush any lingering thought that this war would fail. Thoughts shared by the men as well as their leaders. Down below the battle began, the cries of battle echoed all around, but Gunvald turned and walked back to his tent. The generals and commanders we all gone, leaving him practically alone, only his personal guard stood nearby. But they remained silent and unattached.
As night fell, the armies separated, heading to their respective camps. Gunvald watched as soldiers picked up the bodies of their fallen comrades, others cared their barely alive friends on their backs, shuffling away from the battle. The general lead the army back to its camp, off the river and the main beaten paths of the area. "How did we do, general?" Gunvald asked apprehensively.
"Well enough to be allowed back for a round two tomorrow."
"So there was no victor?" Gunvald asked.
"The fact that we are still here is a victory in and of itself," the general answered his voice like stone, cool and unwavering. Gunvald could not deduce what the general meant by that.
"How many did we lose?" the Duke asked, trying to get a more definite answer.
"One to two thousand? Mostly injuries... probably three or four hundred dead. I assume we've inflicted about the same. You must remember, Vishly's soldiers have long trained for this moment, ours have had only brief instruction. But don't fret, battle toughens men up quickly, and they fared much better than a levy would have. You were right in training them."
"What do we do now?"
"We let the men rest, wake up early, and fight again tomorrow. I am sorry, but such things rarely finish after one bout, especially with troops this fresh."
"I was hoping for a crushing victory, but I guess I've set my goals a bit high."
"That you have, my liege. But do not worry, we shall continue the fight. The war was not to be won or lost on this single battle. Take it as you will."
Gunvald nodded sternly, he tried to act as if this was not all new for his men, but his general knew of his military inexperience, both in command and in fighting. He was much like Vishly in that aspect.
"What if my father sends more soldiers? Memelgrád is only a few days march away, are we going to wait for him?"
"No, if the scouts and spies in Memelgrád say they are seeing soldiers headed our way, we are going to make one last attack, hopefully break this army, and then retreat northward to defendthe Duchy."
"And are you certain Riga will fall quickly?"
"Nothing is certain in war, Duke. We can only try to tip things in our favor. However, Riga is not the fortress it once was, and it is not the King's favorite possession so it has succumb to the weight of the years. I do not fear Riga too much, it shall fall soon and pose no threat to the heart of your Duchy."
"I should learn to stop worrying," Gunvald said, his face showing subtle signs of shame. "I must admit this contest is definitely exciting. It has gotten my blood moving."
"Maybe it is only a matter of time before we send you into battle with those guards of yours! Who knows, you might be a knight and you've been hiding it all this time!"
"Haha! That would be the day."
"You'd be surprised, my lord. Now... If you don't mind, I am going to retire for the night."
"Goodnight, general," Gunvald replied, stepping out of the way and letter the older man pass. The thought crossed his mind. And image of himself clad in shining armor. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the thought, but it persisted in his sleep. It was a great battle with many slain. Doyvat was a hero... but his father dragged away in chains.
Duke Gunvald woke with a fright in the wee hours of the day. Outside, the army was already roused and putting on their armor. The sun had not yet crept over the hill tops, but instead crowned them in an orange halo. The Duke shook his head trying to forget the images he had seen. His son slept soundly in Æstlinn, but he was becoming a young man, in five years he would be ready to head out into battle. Would the war still be going on in five years? Would either of them be alive in five years? Gunvald put on a robe and stood at the flap into his tent watching the men line up and leave, many still weary from the previous day. The few that saw him saluted, there were smiles amongst the men. Were they happy to be fighting? Were they happy to have something to fight for? The question prevented Gunvald from returning to sleep. Why, he wondered, does a soldier smile?
End Chapter Thirty Seven
Chapter Thirty Seven: Cursed Lands
Part 5
Prelude:
Gunvald's time line came to an end. With Vishly busy moving his capital back to Memelgrád following the plague's retreat from the city, the Fratneralists launched their second civil war. Forces from the north to the south mobilized against the King, and it was quickly obvious that the war was going to be just as long as grueling as the last war. The Fraternalists, once again with a numerical advantage, once again lacked the training and professionalism of the monarchist forces. But this time their numerical advantage was slightly greater, bolstered by the support of the Azowians and Gunvald's duchy as well as Russian and Finnish territories. The Azowians, who are staunch monarchists themselves, sided with Gunvald understanding that he would remain an absolute monarch. They hatred for Vishly was the same one shared by many people and their support was invaluable to the fledgling Fraternalists. Organization, then, was the big decider. The Fraternal forces in the last war fought their own wars, leading to them being easy to divide and conquer. Once again, this was proving true, only this time Vishly was also caught off guard. However, this advantage would not last forever. Once the royal troops were called up, it would only be a matter of time before they were organized enough to go on the offensive. Gunvald knew he needed a decisive battle to try to end the war before it even began.
Prussia in 1340.
June 1st, 1340
Outside of a small trading city on the Vilna River, Gunvald watched from afar as his own army, numbering over 20,000, marched against his brother's army of 18,000. Even from such a great distance he could hear the marching and the shouts of the commanders. He did not feel confident that this would give him the victory he required to end it once and for all. His brother's troops were only from the city of Memelgrád, a small percentage of his father's army. Even a crushing victory would do very little to his father, but it would inspire his me and his allies. That is what he needed now. He needed to inspire his men, he needed to crush any lingering thought that this war would fail. Thoughts shared by the men as well as their leaders. Down below the battle began, the cries of battle echoed all around, but Gunvald turned and walked back to his tent. The generals and commanders we all gone, leaving him practically alone, only his personal guard stood nearby. But they remained silent and unattached.
As night fell, the armies separated, heading to their respective camps. Gunvald watched as soldiers picked up the bodies of their fallen comrades, others cared their barely alive friends on their backs, shuffling away from the battle. The general lead the army back to its camp, off the river and the main beaten paths of the area. "How did we do, general?" Gunvald asked apprehensively.
"Well enough to be allowed back for a round two tomorrow."
"So there was no victor?" Gunvald asked.
"The fact that we are still here is a victory in and of itself," the general answered his voice like stone, cool and unwavering. Gunvald could not deduce what the general meant by that.
"How many did we lose?" the Duke asked, trying to get a more definite answer.
"One to two thousand? Mostly injuries... probably three or four hundred dead. I assume we've inflicted about the same. You must remember, Vishly's soldiers have long trained for this moment, ours have had only brief instruction. But don't fret, battle toughens men up quickly, and they fared much better than a levy would have. You were right in training them."
"What do we do now?"
"We let the men rest, wake up early, and fight again tomorrow. I am sorry, but such things rarely finish after one bout, especially with troops this fresh."
"I was hoping for a crushing victory, but I guess I've set my goals a bit high."
"That you have, my liege. But do not worry, we shall continue the fight. The war was not to be won or lost on this single battle. Take it as you will."
Gunvald nodded sternly, he tried to act as if this was not all new for his men, but his general knew of his military inexperience, both in command and in fighting. He was much like Vishly in that aspect.
"What if my father sends more soldiers? Memelgrád is only a few days march away, are we going to wait for him?"
"No, if the scouts and spies in Memelgrád say they are seeing soldiers headed our way, we are going to make one last attack, hopefully break this army, and then retreat northward to defendthe Duchy."
"And are you certain Riga will fall quickly?"
"Nothing is certain in war, Duke. We can only try to tip things in our favor. However, Riga is not the fortress it once was, and it is not the King's favorite possession so it has succumb to the weight of the years. I do not fear Riga too much, it shall fall soon and pose no threat to the heart of your Duchy."
"I should learn to stop worrying," Gunvald said, his face showing subtle signs of shame. "I must admit this contest is definitely exciting. It has gotten my blood moving."
"Maybe it is only a matter of time before we send you into battle with those guards of yours! Who knows, you might be a knight and you've been hiding it all this time!"
"Haha! That would be the day."
"You'd be surprised, my lord. Now... If you don't mind, I am going to retire for the night."
"Goodnight, general," Gunvald replied, stepping out of the way and letter the older man pass. The thought crossed his mind. And image of himself clad in shining armor. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the thought, but it persisted in his sleep. It was a great battle with many slain. Doyvat was a hero... but his father dragged away in chains.
Duke Gunvald woke with a fright in the wee hours of the day. Outside, the army was already roused and putting on their armor. The sun had not yet crept over the hill tops, but instead crowned them in an orange halo. The Duke shook his head trying to forget the images he had seen. His son slept soundly in Æstlinn, but he was becoming a young man, in five years he would be ready to head out into battle. Would the war still be going on in five years? Would either of them be alive in five years? Gunvald put on a robe and stood at the flap into his tent watching the men line up and leave, many still weary from the previous day. The few that saw him saluted, there were smiles amongst the men. Were they happy to be fighting? Were they happy to have something to fight for? The question prevented Gunvald from returning to sleep. Why, he wondered, does a soldier smile?
End Chapter Thirty Seven
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It would be wiser to cut a edge between Vishly and his henchmen.
If I were Vishly, I would be too scared to give anyone an command of an army that has more than 2 men.
Everyone away from the City might be plotting, or use the army against Vishly...
If I were Vishly, I would be too scared to give anyone an command of an army that has more than 2 men.
Everyone away from the City might be plotting, or use the army against Vishly...
I've just completed the story so far, and I must congradulate you! This is far and beyond my favorite AAR, probably because I have heavy Prussian and light Nordic/Saxon lineage. Subscribed! Please keep up the good work.
I also read a post in which you said you were a home brewer - so am I. I'm actually starting my own version of the Sierra Nevada Stout tomorrow. When it's done I'll raise a toast to the glory of Prussia!
I also read a post in which you said you were a home brewer - so am I. I'm actually starting my own version of the Sierra Nevada Stout tomorrow. When it's done I'll raise a toast to the glory of Prussia!
Thank you! Kind words are always an inspiration. Currently I have no brew going... actually it has been a while since I have had one going. I need to rebuild my brew-fridge, which costs money.I've just completed the story so far, and I must congradulate you! This is far and beyond my favorite AAR, probably because I have heavy Prussian and light Nordic/Saxon lineage. Subscribed! Please keep up the good work.
I also read a post in which you said you were a home brewer - so am I. I'm actually starting my own version of the Sierra Nevada Stout tomorrow. When it's done I'll raise a toast to the glory of Prussia!
Also, good news for fans of the AAR, bad news for my check book: I quit work! Haha! Mostly it is due to stress and homework, so don't expect me to turn it all into writing time, but I do have more time now. Only need to get through this weekend... and maybe the next... Argh...
Sad to hear about your job o
Very nice AAR, as usual
Small question, by the way : approximately in which year does the game shift to EU ?
oVery nice AAR, as usual
Small question, by the way : approximately in which year does the game shift to EU ?
Sad to hear about your job
Very nice AAR, as usual
Small question, by the way : approximately in which year does the game shift to EU ?
Thanks, 1356 is the last year covered in Homelands.