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Basically 16 years left here ? looking forward how this part ends :cool:
 
Thank you everyone for the support. And fret not, I have an update in the works and it will hopefully be done this weekend.

I hope so...

*points to my brand new pitchfork*
 
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Eight: Family Tree
Part 1


Prelude:
Around the Empire no one side could get the dramatic and final battle that they sought. Outside of Vilnius Butovit's army and Gunvald's army met for the second time after battling to a standstill earlier. The two armies had rearmed themselves and were now larger than before. Butovit commanded some 28,000 troops propped up by levy troops while Gunvald had 23,000 troops, propped up by levy and knights from neighboring territories. Once again the two forces looked about even, so to try to rally his troops Gunvald dressed for battle. He would fight with them for the first time. On the opposite side, Butovit was held out of the battle by his father. Vishly, worried for Butovit's survival, did not want to lose his only heir. Far from an act of compassion, Vishly knew if Butovit died, Gunvald would once again be the legal heir and the war was pointless. This was a fact understood by most of the Fraternalists. However, Butovit was not about to let slaying his brother fall to some nameless peasant, so suited for battle against his father's orders. If anyone was to slay Gunvald, it would be him and only him. So, with the summer sun high over head, the two armies met once again to try to end the war once and for all, and though it would not be the battle to win the war, it did prove an interesting backdrop for the reunion of Gunvald and his younger brother.

August 21st, 1340

The sound of metal on metal rang loudly as Gunvald, clad in a suit of shining silver armor swung his sword clumsily downward at his brother, armored in a dull grey suit. Butovit pushed the blow away and returned with his own. The sword glanced off Gunvald's helmet and caused him to stagger back as he tried to stop his ears from ringing. Butovit let out an audible laugh as he began to walk toward his brother. Soldiers fought around the brothers, but honor compelled them to let the two brothers fight alone. "You are weak, brother!" Butovit called. He raised his sword but fell backwards as Gunvald bashed his shield into his brother's chest.

"I might be weak, but I am no soulless puppet!" he called back. Butovit was on his back, but rolling to his side he was able to avoid Gunvald's clumsy attack.

"You have the military prowess of a little girl, Gunvald. I am going to kill you!" Butovit regained his balance has he stood up and then lunged back at his opponent. Gunvald managed a parry but was not able to use his brother's dropped defenses to his own advantage. Instead he was happy with just not being dead. Butovit took an extra step and turned around, watching his brother for any sign of an attack.

"At least I am free, brother!" Gunvald shouted, "At least I am not some little pawn in father's game!"

"What do you know of father's plans or his love for his family? Just because you could not see them and were unworthy of his attention does not mean we all are!"

"Who are you trying to convince, Butovit? Me or you?" Gunvald stepped forward as the two men closed the distance. They swung wildly for a few seconds, then locked swords and began pushing and pulling, trying to throw the other off balance.

"Don't give me this, Gunvald. We all know you are jealous of father's love for me. We all know you want nothing more than to do his will, an honor he has given to me!"

"Listen to yourself, Butovit. You are a pawn to him, a tiny piece in a big game. He'd sacrifice you without a moment's thought. He'd sacrifice mother without so much as batting an eye. Don't see it Butovit?"

"Shut up."

"Father loves you no more than he love me! You are simply more willing to blindly follow him!"

"Shut up!"

"Stop this fight, Butovit. I don't want to hurt you. But we must end father's reign of madness."

"I said, SHUT UP!" Butovit kicked Gunvald to the ground a swung his sword crazily back and forth. His final swing caught Gunvald under the helmet and tore a gash across his face as it knocked the helmet clean off the man. A tired and panting Butovit stood over his bleeding brother. Gunvald held his hand to the wound and looked at the blood on his hands. The gash ran across his cheek, starting at his jaw line and ending on his nose. "Father loves me, Gunvald. Father loves me more than anything in this world. And when I bring him your head, he'll love me even more. And he'll give me your lands and I shall burn Æstlinn to the ground and I shall personally rape every crying woman in that city."

"Listen to yourself!"

"No, you listen to me!" Butovit staggered toward his brother, drunk with rage, "This will be my Kingdom, brother. It will be my Kingdom, and it will be my son's and his son's and his son's for all eternity. You will be forgotten, you will be lost to the passing of time. And your rebellion will die right here, laying on the ground and covered in mud. It will die with you!"

Just as Butovit began to swing his sword the battle raging around them changed direction. They were no longer isolated in a small pocket, instead Gunvald's troops surged forward as their cavalry finally broke Butovit's lines. Butovit stopped mid swing and began to flee with his soldiers, looking for a horse to ride on. Gunvald, dazed and confused, got back on his feet and tried to steady himself. Using a broken lance as a crutch he hobbled back toward his camp, fighting off the effects of blood loss. Along the way some knights recognized him and picked him up just as he fell over unconscious.

August 23rd, 1340

Gunvald woke with a groggy feeling in his head. His entire body was sore and he had a hard time remembering the last few days. He found himself in his own tent, the blankets and pillows of his bed piled high to keep him warm. A few people sat around in the tent mumbling in low voices. Many were priests. "By the divine, he's alive!" one said as he looked over at the Duke. The mood suddenly bettered and an apothecary came over and put his hand on the Duke's forehead.

"What happened? Did we win?" Gunvald asked.

"The battle is ours, but it was still not what we needed to end this. But we are closer," answered a commander. "There is still much to be done, though I fear that the real killing blow is out of our league."

"What do you mean?"

"Butovit retreated into Memelgrád. There is no way we can siege Memelgrád, not with the walls and fortresses that your father has erected."

"So it was for nought?"

"Well, it was good for morale. Hopefully we can start getting good news out of south. Maybe we'll be home by the beginning of next year."

Gunvald put his head down and tried to get some rest.

Vilnius.jpg

The Battle of Vilnius, as painted in the early XVII Century.
 
You get more with a kind word and a pitchfork than with just the kind word :D

And it was really worth it... once again a great update :)
 
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Eight: Family Tree
Part 2


Prelude:
Four years since the start of the Second Fraternal War, no clear victor was emerging. Even the victory outside of Vilnius amounted to very little as a second Monarchist Army, from Mariengrád, headed north to liberate Riga. This forced Gunvald to end his offensive and pull the Army of Estonia back north to head off this threat to his territory. Around the Empire, cat and mouse games were played between opposing armies. In the far south the Azowians were the only ones maintaining peace. Concerned more with protecting their lands from Georgian and Armenian raiders, the flirted with both sides, dead set on protecting their own lands and not any one side of the war. From the perspective of the devout and the poor, it was the end of the world. So many men called up to fight left fields fallow, cities quiet, shops empty, and wives lonely. While Gunvald tried to balance recruitment, Vishly had the advantage of already having a professional army on call. So while Memelgrád called up over 30,000 soldiers with no issue, Æstlinn had riots following its first 10,000. Duke Gunvald tried to ensure his people that they would be compensated and Æstlinn would not become some forgotten city once he was King, but the people were seeking actions, not words, and it took no small amount of force to end the riots in his hometown.

December 14th, 1344

From his balcony in Memelgrád cathedral, Patriarch Nikoljás Ándrussun watched snowflakes glide peacefully down to the ground. In front of his was a paper listing his reasons and thoughts before he took the next step in his life. His flock was in utter ruin, the people he loved snatched up and thrown into a giant grain mill. Attendance steadily dropped as more and more men were called up to serve. Soon women stopped attending so they could care for their homes... alone with their grief. What kind of world was this? What kind of God would let so many perish for the rights of a few? How selfish could those few be? He finished his note with a line blaming Vishly for the whole debacle, declaring him the Antichrist and a selfish servant of Satan. Then he folded the letter and sealed it with his signet. Once that was done he removed his gown and cap, folded them neatly and placed them on his bed. There was a knock at his door, but he had committed to this, so he didn't respond. Stepping out onto his balcony clad only in what god graced him he stared down into the dark abyss that the snow fell into. And with a deep breath he jumped off the balcony.

The next morning the nuns and monks were kept inside while soldiers and priests cleaned up the mess and looked into potential murders. The word of the Patriarch's death was spreading like wild fire in the capital, and it would soon explode into neighboring villages and cities that were less than a day's ride away. The King was nowhere to be found. People had seen the Patriarch letter, and the word was spreading too, like a cancer in the capital. Vishly was quick to point out it was a forgery. That the Patriarch was forced to write it and then strip naked and was thrown out of his room. He blamed Fraternalists and especially his son. Despite the fact that the Army of Estonia had not been anywhere near Memelgrád in the last year. Paranoia was the drug of choice in war-time Memelgrád. Even so, some held out that the Patriarch's word were his own and true. The coals of revolution had been lit and now smoldered gently under Vishly's feet. Few asked the King anything, they were afraid of questioning him. Did he know what had really happened?

Since it was winter, the Armies of Memelgrád and Mariengrád were on stand-by, their commanders home with their families. Butovit was no different. He sat idly by as his father schemed and plotted the death of Gunvald. His mother, Ziedás, was as mad and cruel as ever. She didn't speak to Vishly anymore, the two acted as the split halves of a tortured mind. Vishly was crazed and energetic, Ziedás was cruel and slow. Neither of them said anything to Butovit, who sat there, feeling like an idiot. Eventually he realized he wasn't even wanted in the room, got up, and left. Was Gunvald right? Was he nothing but a pawn to his father? Could his father even love anymore?

"Butovit!" called Vilhelms. Vilhelms was younger than both Butovit and the late Doyvát, but old enough to command an regiment, and a fierce warrior for his age. "Butovit, has father said anything about my plan?"

"What plan?" Butovit asked honestly.

"Dammit, he didn't?! I put a lot of work into that plan!"

"What was the plan, Vilhelms?"

"We should attack Estonia now, while the Army of Estonia is allowed to return home. It'll be called up before spring, but Estonia is completely defenseless now!"

"You forget that snow kills more men then steel ever will, but I agree, father should give you a bit more attention." Butovit patted Vilhelms on the back.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Where did your spirit go? Why are you not pleading to command the hosts into Estonia so you can kill Gunvald this very minute?"

Butovit was silent, Vilhelms' question was an earnest one. "I don't know," Butovit cracked. His eyes quivered as he tried not to cry. He took a deep breath and puffed out his chest, "The chance will come, I know it."

But it was fruitless, Vilhelms saw through the lie, "What does father say in those meetings you have with him?"

"Nothing..." Butovit said, "I sit there for an hour or so being ignored... I don't say a single word, and father and mother don't say a single word. If I try to say something, father clears his throat and drowns me out." Butovit forced a half smile, its corners fighting against the gravity of the situation, against the pent up anger with Butovit.

"What are you going to do about it, Butovit?" Vilhelms asked.

Butovit looked over his brother's face. It was looking at a the face of a rat. Through Vilhelms' black eyes shown hatred, envy, conniving, and a feral intelligence. This was not an ally, Butovit thought. You cannot be honest with him, and you've probably already said too much. "Nothing, I shall do nothing because that is my place. You should do the same." The force in Butovit's voice returned. Hopefully his brother would receive that and keep his mouth shut. But he would watch Vilhelms' actions.

"I shall do just that, brother." There was a strange emphasis on the word 'brother.' A flash of glee spread across Vilhelms' face and died as quickly as it came.

"I am watching you, little boy," Butovit said, his fear stoking the flames of his anger, "Don't try anything stupid... like sending the Army of Memelgrád out to freeze to death in the snow." There, a square hit. Vilhelms sneered at his older brother and turned and walked away. Butovit remained planted where he stood. He folded his arms and watched his brother walk away. He had gotten himself into hot water, Vilhelms was a weasel of a man, and it didn't matter how many corpses he had to walk over to get what he wanted. Vilhelms was just like himself. Butovit thought about that for a minute, but shook those thoughts away.
 
An excellent update. I'm curious to see how Prussia develops as a result of this.
Time will tell. ;)

They will all die.
But someone will die as the last one.
Ah, time makes fools of us all... and eventually dust.


I am kind of in the mood to finish Homelands so I can warm up Bastions. Don't be surprised if I start updating twice a week in rapid succession. I enjoyed writing that last update.
 
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Eight: Family Tree
Part 3


Prelude:
The war dragged on. The Fraternalists made a few gains, the Monarchists made a few gains. But all the time the Army of Estonia, supported by the Army of Finland and the Army of New Mordvia, was able to keep pressure on Memelgrád, never sieging the city, but always sitting a few miles away. But Gunvald knew they could not hold out forever. The Army of Finland was especially weak, its soldiers only partially loyal to Gunvald's cause, worried more about freeing Finland. The Army of New Mordvia was small, but well equipped, but disease was taking its toll. Information from the other fronts was rare, and even more rarely was it good news. The war was to be won here, in the Baltic, all the more fitting for the Baltic Nation. At the front, Gunvald was joined by a new commander, the young and brave Doyvát, the Prince of Estonia. The father and son team were ready to push back Vishly's army once and for all when disaster fell. Vishly order Butovit to attack the coastal region of Kurs, north of Memelgrád. The region was mostly defended by the Army of Finland as well as two western detachments of the Army of Estonia under the command of a senior ranking commander. Numbering only 10,000, the Fraternalists were utterly crushed by a Monarchist force numbering well into the 30,000s.

1345.png

The Estonian-Russian Front in 1345.

August 21st, 1345

The Army of Estonia was marching double time from the interior of Lithuania. They were racing north and west to try to cut Butovit's army off from Riga. Kurs was already lost, the surviving regiments of the Western Army of Estonia reattached with the main body while any surviving Finns scattered amongst the native people, slowly working their way back home. It was all going according to Vishly's plan to strike deep into Estonia and hopefully remove Gunvald from the war. Ending the Estonian resistance was key to ending the war. Butovit, however, remained unsure. His father's attacks were becoming more and more brazen, but also less and less thought out. The plans carried the tell-tale signs of Vilhelms' work. The Prince of Prussia flared his nostrils at the thought of his brother trying to usurp him. If it wouldn't be so obvious, he'd have Vilhelms killed, draped across his father's dining table to drive the point home. Vilhelms was replaceable, he was not. He would follow his father's orders, but only for as long as he needed. Deep inside his hate boiled. Was this really to be his life?

"I am not a pawn," Butovit muttered. Few around him heard anything, they went about their jobs of organizing the men. He knew Gunvald would try to cut him off from Riga, so he decided not to go for Riga. He would show his father who was the real military mastermind. He would break with orders and sack Lithuania. And then as Gunvald rushed back to defend Lithuania, he would head north to Riga. Completely bypassing his brother and leaving the Army of Estonia tired and unable to battle. He would prove to his father his right and ability to rule. He was the master of the battle field.

The city of Memelgrád was starting to take on the grey nature of its inhabitants. Some joked that it looked more and more like Mariengrád, a city long associated with mourning. The people shuffled with no direction, grabbing what little food they could afford and returning home. Vishly's troops were constantly searching for traitors and spies, often rounding up innocent by-standers found in the wrong place at the wrong time. Justice had little to do with the system, they functioned off quotas. Vishly knew there were spies, there had to be, or he would have already won the war. So his capital paid the price. The city walls locked at night, keeping spies out and the people in. No post was allowed in or out of the city unless it bore the mark of the King. The punishment for carrying a letter out of Memelgrád was death for the messenger, the writer and the recipient. "My city is an island," Vishly said to his advisors upon their protests. Many of those to die from the letter laws were innocent monks and nuns, simply trying to coordinate church workings.

August 21st, 1977

"So, you coming back any time soon?" she asked. Bendiks looked up from his coffee and smiled. It was the waitress from last night. "You guys were... different."

"Different?" he asked, laughing to try to mask a slight streak of disappointment. "Just different? That music is getting really popular in California, you know. Red Music they call it. I learned from the best," he bragged.

"It was different, which is good," she responded. He took his empty plate and put it in a bin with some other dirty dishes. "So, are you a student here?"

"Me, no..." he said, his face turned bright red. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I study history. I... I want to be a teacher," she said. "You know, I never got your name last night. You'd think as the lead singer I'd know your name."

Bendiks chuckled, "Bendiks Tomssun, and you?"

"Isabel Kaljutog. So when were you in California? It is so hard to get permits to go out of the country these days. Especially to the West. I've been dying to get to the Netherlands or France."

"I... uh... left back in seventy four, got back a few months ago. I didn't exactly go with a permit."

Isabel's eyes opened wide, she leaned in close, "How did you get out then?"

"Trade secret," he said in a low voice. She smiled, that was good, the last thing he needed was the police at his door. "What are you doing later tonight?" he asked, trying to act suave.

"Well, classes haven't started yet, I guess nothing." The ball was passed expertly back into Bendiks court. "Hang on, let me punch out." She walked away toward the rear of the café and came back a few minutes later with a jacket and a her purse. "You guys cleared the place out last night, which was nice."

She was very blunt, but there was no point in lying. Californian Rock just hadn't gotten to Europe yet, but some people seemed to like it and it was only a matter of time. "It is the curse of being ahead of the curve," he said. "Where do you want to go?"

"I was thinking we could head anywhere but here, I've already been here long enough." Isabel held her hand out for Bendiks to help her up, which he did. The headed out of the café, a rundown state-owned establishment meant to give college kids something to do on their free nights. The sun had long set behind the Memelgrád skyline, casting long shadows down the streets. People shuffled quietly along the sides of the streets, sometimes pausing to peer into shop windows to see what the government had for sale this week. Bendiks and Isabel walked side by side, going around a pack of children playing with a long forlorn football. They kicked it back and forth, every time it wouldn't so much as roll as make a "plop" and stay where it landed.

Passing a news station, a talking head on an old black-and-white TV appeared, "Our Roman comrades have successfully repelled fascists troops outside Athens, marking an end to the five month siege which started shortly after the city was recaptured by our victorious soldiers last winter. Fascist groups in the People's Republic of Rome maintain bases in the southern reaches of the nation as well as across the many islands that make up the nation. President Gavrill Dimas says that the PRR will continue to fight fascism wherever it appears."

At a small stand, Bendiks paid a few ángits for a little bit of icecream, which he shared with Isabel. They found a spot in the middle of the town, under the statue of Vilis Stefanssun. As the sun set completely behind a row of housing Isabel started getting nervous. "What is wrong?" Bendiks asked, almost laughing.

"We need to get home... now," she said. She motioned discretely at a group of soldiers who rounded the corner into the mall. She stood up and grabbed Bendiks' hand, pulling him upright. The two began to walk away, carrying their empty cartons.

"Hey! You two!" a voice called across the way. Isabel froze in place, jerking Bendiks back, her grip tightening with fear. "What are you two still doing out?" The soldiers came up to the frozen pair and surrounded them.

"Walking home," Isabel said, "We were watching the news stand and lost track of time." She hoped the lie would work, but it was unlikely.

The lead soldier circled around, patting down Isabel but not Bendiks. He eventually walked in front of the lanky man and putting his billy club under Bendiks' chin paused before saying "You need a haircut, comrade." The soldiers left, headed down another street. Isabel and Bendiks hurried in the opposite direction. That had been too close.