Whooooooooooooooooo final chapter! Then we can start cracking the whip about Bastions updates >
Homelands: Tales of the Anglo-Prussians
- Thread starter Mr. Capiatlist
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So; the Final chapters have come; now Bastions shall be starting soon. Wait, just to clear things up, due to the Izavorichs ruling England, wouldnt the English have some Russian names and perhaps speak in Russian Accents?
Bastion starting at the start of a new year... how fitting !
You sure have made it so Prussia doesn't roll over everything in PEIOU
I'm just wondering who is that last guy in the chapter ? someone i've missed ? or a new character joining the mellee in these dreaded times...
You sure have made it so Prussia doesn't roll over everything in PEIOU
I'm just wondering who is that last guy in the chapter ? someone i've missed ? or a new character joining the mellee in these dreaded times...
<___<Whooooooooooooooooo final chapter! Then we can start cracking the whip about Bastions updates >
Yup. Crackin the whip is right.
The Russians who ruled England Anglo-fied rather quickly and there were very few of them. By the time Homelands ends they are all English, there are several new Williams, so no, sorry.
The guy in the prison cell next to Gunvald is as of now unknown. Can't spoil the surprise.Bastion starting at the start of a new year... how fitting !
You sure have made it so Prussia doesn't roll over everything in PEIOU
I'm just wondering who is that last guy in the chapter ? someone i've missed ? or a new character joining the mellee in these dreaded times...
(Now I need to think of a surprise)
Thus to the lords of bloodshed.
They all die, one by one, but the pain and memory of vengeance remains behind.
Death is just a feeling, hatred is eternal.
They all die, one by one, but the pain and memory of vengeance remains behind.
Death is just a feeling, hatred is eternal.
Sorry I have missed most of the show! I have a lot of reading to do...
So the first chapter (book) of this impressive AAR is coming to a close. I say, I am very excited to see what happens in EU3.
So the first chapter (book) of this impressive AAR is coming to a close. I say, I am very excited to see what happens in EU3.
And now the ball is in Doyvát's court.
Welcome back! You have missed quite a lot. Good luck catching up.
Somehow methink this song fits the mood of the last update... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oyYOUrnSP80
Sad is it not?
Sad is it not?
Thanks! I think I will need it. <_<Welcome back! You have missed quite a lot. Good luck catching up.
I just red the two final updates and I have to wonder if Vishly really is mad enough to risk destroying Prussia just to have his revenge. The person in the dungeon is propably just a mad old man.
Can't wait for Bastions!
Can't wait for Bastions!
Welcome back! You have missed quite a lot. Good luck catching up.
Thanks! I think I will need it. <_<
No need for "luck" to read this AAR, whatever the catching up to do remains... this AAR is pure pleasure.
I'll take the opportunity to say that this is my favorite AAR ever, any games considered. Good job, Mr Capitalist... keep up the great work.
I actually really like that, I am going to have to look them up later.
Its a doozy.
I cannot wait for Bastions either. Though getting through the prelude updates will be a challenge. T__T
And I'll take this opportunity to be rather delighted. Everyone's constant support through reading a voting is amazing, but the support I get from my few die-hard fans (Gilles and Gabriel amongst the top) as well as my RL friends (such as Mike) has been very inspirational and I am very lucky to have everyone's support.
No need for "luck" to read this AAR, whatever the catching up to do remains... this AAR is pure pleasure.
I'll take the opportunity to say that this is my favorite AAR ever, any games considered. Good job, Mr Capitalist... keep up the great work.
With that said, I hope that the end of Homelands and Bastions does not disappoint.
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Nine: By the Blade
Part 2
Prelude:
Despite Doyvát's best efforts, the Fraternal resistance in Estonia slowly died, leaving Gunvald's son and wife alone in an increasingly cruel world. Without Gunvald to lead them, most of the nobles put down their arms and surrendered. Vishly was able to quickly defeat Doyvát's shrunken army and occupy Estonia. Gunvald's lands were stripped from him by Vishly and distributed amongst loyal courtiers. However, Vishly himself was the victim of one last attack, a lone assassin managed to get close to the King and was able to leave Vishly wounded but barely alive. The King, now blind in one eye and bedridden, searched for people to punish. Meanwhile, Doyvát headed south, toward the Carpathians, surrounded by only a handful of the most loyal knights. There Viba and Doyvát made their residence in the Principality of Galich in the far south of the country. Once there, Doyvát quickly separated from his mother, wishing to protect her from Vishly. Viba was left in a small nunnery, under the care of the sisters there. Doyvát took to a life of a rebel, quickly building a reputation for himself under the pseudonym melnálaof or "Black Count". He painted his armor and shield black, removing any mark of nobility from his attire.
February 3rd, 1350
Doyvát led his horse by its reigns through a patch of thick wood. Just beyond a brush line, snow piling up around it, was his modest home. It was more dirt than wood, but it had room to keep his stuff and it was dry on the inside and that was all that mattered. He led his horse into a small stable nearby and then, hefting his hunt over his shoulder, entered his small abode. It was only a few rabbits, but it would do for now. Inside, he removed his outer layer and put the rabbits on a table and began to clean then up using a knife he had been given by the Knights of Estonia. As he threw chunks of meat into a pot he looked at his armor, dull grey; on his shield the blue lions were barely visible under a thin coat of black out. He sighed. This is the life he chose to live, a life of exile. The snow had forced him to give up his patrols for at least a few days. He knew he could not let a little bit of weather prevent him from doing what he had to do to fight Vishly.
After eating a bit he pulled out a messenger's bag from his own sack and began to leaf threw Vishly's mail to the southern governors. Many of the Counts and Dukes of the region had fled, leaving the region to be governed by appointed bureaucrats. One however remained, Jánis áv Moldáó. A notably handsome man in his younger years, Jánis bucked tradition by aging gracefully, his grey hair complimenting his features and making him appear as the commanding grandfather, a figure of authority, but a righteous authority. He was just what Vishly needed to keep the south in line. The Duke of Moldavia moved his capital to Morcárgrád to protect his assets, one of which was Elfwynn Jánistog, his youngest daughter. Jánis was of Prussian and German stock, his wife a Roman who reflected strongly of Circassian origins.
One letter in particular was interesting, Vishly was confirming that in two weeks time he'd be attending a ball in Morcárgrád. Doyvát surmised that Vishly was searching for an heir or a woman with whom to legitimately sire a new heir. The exiled Prince knew that he would have to go and at least see his grandfather. He looked around his hovel and saw a trunk, he stood up and opened it, seeing old articles of clothing from his days in Æstlinn. He picked up one, given to him by his father. "Yes," he said aloud. "I shall gaze upon the face of my enemy, and maybe he shall see in me the same determination that he saw in my father."
Doyvát took his shirt off and examined the Fraternal Brand on his right chest. He had taken it when he entered service with the Knights of Estonia. The outlines of three lions with the words "By the Grace of God: Long Live the Brothers!" written below it. It had been painful, but he looked at it lovingly know that the Knights were gone. Under the third lion was the number 1476, which meant he was the 1476th Knight. A more recent one, intended to assist in his identification, was at the base of his right arm, just above the elbow. "The Black Count".
February 17th, 1350
Kristján Klaudijssun twiddled nervously with his moustache as he bowed at the feet of the King of the Prussians. The King, once an imposing figure, was only able to meekly raise his hand in acceptance. But looking at his face, Kristján could see a great deal of furry and pain remained. His right eye, the only one left focused on Kristján, the King's mind quickly scurrying. "Halt," he made out meekly, "I have seen you before, have I not? You look familiar."
"I know not my liege, for this is the first time I have had the honor to stand before you," Kristján said.
"Your father than?"
"Possibly, but you must forgive me, as my father was only a merchant."
"Then go."
"I am sorry for the confusion, my lord." Kristján bowed deeply. Righting himself he fumbled more with his moustache and rubbed his newly shaved scalp. He disappeared into the crowd, soon making his way toward the Princess of Moldavia, Elfwynn. She sat upright and above many of her suitors. She watched uninterested as Kristján worked his way up to her. Extending his hand, he beckoned for hers. She granted it and he gave it a small kiss.
"Kristján Klaudijssun," he said with a bow, holding onto her hand still. "Recently returned from the wars."
"O," was her only initial response, "Were you a military commander in the Kings Army?"
"A commander of sorts, yes. I was in many of the engagements with the Army of Memelgrád."
The Princess seemed to smile. "You do not bear the scars of battle."
"A good warrior should not bear any scars, for he leaves them... not absorbs them. Unfortunately conditions at the front often made any wound a fatal one, so that is why so few return bearing scars."
"And how am I to be certain you did not just hide in your tent the whole time."
"Because I am a man of my word, m'lady, and I would never lie," Kristján said, "Unless you asked me to."
The Princess laughed at his comment, putting down her goblet. "You are a rather strange man to walk up her and think to win my attention."
"Ah, but did I not succeed?" he asked with a sly smile on his face. His remark was taken favorably. She laughed and withdrew her hand from his.
"You know, I should really have you sent out for that remark, but I will admit you are right. It is not often that I am in the company of outstanding military commanders such as yourself. Will you walk with me?" she asked.
"I would, m'lady." Elfwynn stepped down and accepted Kristján's help, and soon walked side by side with him across the ballroom floor.
"You must tell me, what were the Fraternals like?"
"They are rather interesting," he began, "Very different than you might have been told. I found them to be honorable, obsessed with the well being of their whole group. They are willing to die rather than shame themselves. It was inspirational, though you might find them to be stupid."
"I do. They follow outdated ideals, chasing grails and dragons, hermits really," she said.
"But they fought for what they believed, twice even. Some still do."
"The Black Count, you mean?"
"Yes," Kristján said.
"A thief and a murderer, nothing more."
"And nothing less," Kristján said. Elfwynn didn't seem to pick up what the man meant, but assumed he was agreeing with her. "I met the Black Count before he blackened his crest."
"Was he an ugly brute?"
"No," Kristján said, "He was a beautiful youth, with dark curly locks and a clean face. He tried to rally the men after Gunvald was captured, but they took him for a fool and denied him. So he vowed to continue the struggle anyway he could."
"Is that what you think?" she asked.
"It is."
"What did you father do, Kristján?"
"He was a merchant."
"Then you are lucky that you managed to beat the Count, for if he was victorious he'd want you dead before he'd see you as a military commander. Could you imagine, never being able to move up through the ranks?" By now the two had departed from the party, and Kristján saw that they were alone. Elfwynn shut a door behind them and the candle light let Kristján see a bed and a fireplace at the far end. "Could you light the fire, Kristján?"
"Yes, m'lady." Kristján left her side and walked across the room, lowering himself and arranging the wood. Then with a flint and tinder rained sparks down on some kindling. When the fire was going he stood up and turned around, finding Elfwynn in a state of undress. "M'lady, this is most inappropriate..."
Looking at him slyly she groped her own breasts and then moved her hands through her hair, leaving nothing to cover herself. She moved slowly over to Kristján, who did nothing to resist, and began to unbutton his shirt. Removing it she lowered her self, but when she looked up she saw the words "By the Grace of God: Long Live the Brothers!" and three lions. She mouthed the word, "melnálaof" and Doyvát nodded slowly.
"I knew him very well, for he is I and I would never stop the son of a merchant from proving himself to be a commander or even King, for my father was raised a merchant as well. You know little of the Black Count." She didn't shutter as he put a hand under her chin and brought her lips to his.
March 1st, 1350
"You are going to die here, Duke of Estonia," the mad man said. Gunvald rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore him. "If the guards don't come to lop your head off, the rats and the bugs will eat you alive. Can you not feel them watching you, just waiting for a sign of weakness?" Again Gunvald just shook his head and tried not to say anything.
"So did you enjoy the roast beef?" Gunvald asked.
"The wha?"
"The roast beef the guards brought down for dinner," the Duke lied.
"I... uh... yes!"
"O really? Wasn't it just delicious? Juicy and tender?"
"Uh... O... yeah..." The man across the hall licked his lips and his mouth watered.
"O, and the fancy rub they used? Probably from Italy or even Carthage! Amazing."
"I don't believe you!" The man said, suddenly changing his stance. "You are a liar!"
"You just said you had some!" Gunvald said innocently. "How dare you call me a liar!"
"You didn't have any either!"
"I never said I had any, I just asked if you enjoyed yours! I could have sworn one of us got some..."
"Well I didn't and you are a liar!"
"One of us did... and if it wasn't you it must have been..." Gunvald pretended to gasp, "They must really like me here!" He could hear the other man growling.
"Liar, Liar, Liar! Why are you doing this to me?"
"Doing what? You're only confusing yourself!"
"Bah! Evil Duke of Estonia! I am not going to talk to an evil liar!" The man quieted down with a "humpf" and Gunvald was able to enjoy some silence.
Chapter Thirty Nine: By the Blade
Part 2
Prelude:
Despite Doyvát's best efforts, the Fraternal resistance in Estonia slowly died, leaving Gunvald's son and wife alone in an increasingly cruel world. Without Gunvald to lead them, most of the nobles put down their arms and surrendered. Vishly was able to quickly defeat Doyvát's shrunken army and occupy Estonia. Gunvald's lands were stripped from him by Vishly and distributed amongst loyal courtiers. However, Vishly himself was the victim of one last attack, a lone assassin managed to get close to the King and was able to leave Vishly wounded but barely alive. The King, now blind in one eye and bedridden, searched for people to punish. Meanwhile, Doyvát headed south, toward the Carpathians, surrounded by only a handful of the most loyal knights. There Viba and Doyvát made their residence in the Principality of Galich in the far south of the country. Once there, Doyvát quickly separated from his mother, wishing to protect her from Vishly. Viba was left in a small nunnery, under the care of the sisters there. Doyvát took to a life of a rebel, quickly building a reputation for himself under the pseudonym melnálaof or "Black Count". He painted his armor and shield black, removing any mark of nobility from his attire.
February 3rd, 1350
Doyvát led his horse by its reigns through a patch of thick wood. Just beyond a brush line, snow piling up around it, was his modest home. It was more dirt than wood, but it had room to keep his stuff and it was dry on the inside and that was all that mattered. He led his horse into a small stable nearby and then, hefting his hunt over his shoulder, entered his small abode. It was only a few rabbits, but it would do for now. Inside, he removed his outer layer and put the rabbits on a table and began to clean then up using a knife he had been given by the Knights of Estonia. As he threw chunks of meat into a pot he looked at his armor, dull grey; on his shield the blue lions were barely visible under a thin coat of black out. He sighed. This is the life he chose to live, a life of exile. The snow had forced him to give up his patrols for at least a few days. He knew he could not let a little bit of weather prevent him from doing what he had to do to fight Vishly.
After eating a bit he pulled out a messenger's bag from his own sack and began to leaf threw Vishly's mail to the southern governors. Many of the Counts and Dukes of the region had fled, leaving the region to be governed by appointed bureaucrats. One however remained, Jánis áv Moldáó. A notably handsome man in his younger years, Jánis bucked tradition by aging gracefully, his grey hair complimenting his features and making him appear as the commanding grandfather, a figure of authority, but a righteous authority. He was just what Vishly needed to keep the south in line. The Duke of Moldavia moved his capital to Morcárgrád to protect his assets, one of which was Elfwynn Jánistog, his youngest daughter. Jánis was of Prussian and German stock, his wife a Roman who reflected strongly of Circassian origins.
One letter in particular was interesting, Vishly was confirming that in two weeks time he'd be attending a ball in Morcárgrád. Doyvát surmised that Vishly was searching for an heir or a woman with whom to legitimately sire a new heir. The exiled Prince knew that he would have to go and at least see his grandfather. He looked around his hovel and saw a trunk, he stood up and opened it, seeing old articles of clothing from his days in Æstlinn. He picked up one, given to him by his father. "Yes," he said aloud. "I shall gaze upon the face of my enemy, and maybe he shall see in me the same determination that he saw in my father."
Doyvát took his shirt off and examined the Fraternal Brand on his right chest. He had taken it when he entered service with the Knights of Estonia. The outlines of three lions with the words "By the Grace of God: Long Live the Brothers!" written below it. It had been painful, but he looked at it lovingly know that the Knights were gone. Under the third lion was the number 1476, which meant he was the 1476th Knight. A more recent one, intended to assist in his identification, was at the base of his right arm, just above the elbow. "The Black Count".
February 17th, 1350
Kristján Klaudijssun twiddled nervously with his moustache as he bowed at the feet of the King of the Prussians. The King, once an imposing figure, was only able to meekly raise his hand in acceptance. But looking at his face, Kristján could see a great deal of furry and pain remained. His right eye, the only one left focused on Kristján, the King's mind quickly scurrying. "Halt," he made out meekly, "I have seen you before, have I not? You look familiar."
"I know not my liege, for this is the first time I have had the honor to stand before you," Kristján said.
"Your father than?"
"Possibly, but you must forgive me, as my father was only a merchant."
"Then go."
"I am sorry for the confusion, my lord." Kristján bowed deeply. Righting himself he fumbled more with his moustache and rubbed his newly shaved scalp. He disappeared into the crowd, soon making his way toward the Princess of Moldavia, Elfwynn. She sat upright and above many of her suitors. She watched uninterested as Kristján worked his way up to her. Extending his hand, he beckoned for hers. She granted it and he gave it a small kiss.
"Kristján Klaudijssun," he said with a bow, holding onto her hand still. "Recently returned from the wars."
"O," was her only initial response, "Were you a military commander in the Kings Army?"
"A commander of sorts, yes. I was in many of the engagements with the Army of Memelgrád."
The Princess seemed to smile. "You do not bear the scars of battle."
"A good warrior should not bear any scars, for he leaves them... not absorbs them. Unfortunately conditions at the front often made any wound a fatal one, so that is why so few return bearing scars."
"And how am I to be certain you did not just hide in your tent the whole time."
"Because I am a man of my word, m'lady, and I would never lie," Kristján said, "Unless you asked me to."
The Princess laughed at his comment, putting down her goblet. "You are a rather strange man to walk up her and think to win my attention."
"Ah, but did I not succeed?" he asked with a sly smile on his face. His remark was taken favorably. She laughed and withdrew her hand from his.
"You know, I should really have you sent out for that remark, but I will admit you are right. It is not often that I am in the company of outstanding military commanders such as yourself. Will you walk with me?" she asked.
"I would, m'lady." Elfwynn stepped down and accepted Kristján's help, and soon walked side by side with him across the ballroom floor.
"You must tell me, what were the Fraternals like?"
"They are rather interesting," he began, "Very different than you might have been told. I found them to be honorable, obsessed with the well being of their whole group. They are willing to die rather than shame themselves. It was inspirational, though you might find them to be stupid."
"I do. They follow outdated ideals, chasing grails and dragons, hermits really," she said.
"But they fought for what they believed, twice even. Some still do."
"The Black Count, you mean?"
"Yes," Kristján said.
"A thief and a murderer, nothing more."
"And nothing less," Kristján said. Elfwynn didn't seem to pick up what the man meant, but assumed he was agreeing with her. "I met the Black Count before he blackened his crest."
"Was he an ugly brute?"
"No," Kristján said, "He was a beautiful youth, with dark curly locks and a clean face. He tried to rally the men after Gunvald was captured, but they took him for a fool and denied him. So he vowed to continue the struggle anyway he could."
"Is that what you think?" she asked.
"It is."
"What did you father do, Kristján?"
"He was a merchant."
"Then you are lucky that you managed to beat the Count, for if he was victorious he'd want you dead before he'd see you as a military commander. Could you imagine, never being able to move up through the ranks?" By now the two had departed from the party, and Kristján saw that they were alone. Elfwynn shut a door behind them and the candle light let Kristján see a bed and a fireplace at the far end. "Could you light the fire, Kristján?"
"Yes, m'lady." Kristján left her side and walked across the room, lowering himself and arranging the wood. Then with a flint and tinder rained sparks down on some kindling. When the fire was going he stood up and turned around, finding Elfwynn in a state of undress. "M'lady, this is most inappropriate..."
Looking at him slyly she groped her own breasts and then moved her hands through her hair, leaving nothing to cover herself. She moved slowly over to Kristján, who did nothing to resist, and began to unbutton his shirt. Removing it she lowered her self, but when she looked up she saw the words "By the Grace of God: Long Live the Brothers!" and three lions. She mouthed the word, "melnálaof" and Doyvát nodded slowly.
"I knew him very well, for he is I and I would never stop the son of a merchant from proving himself to be a commander or even King, for my father was raised a merchant as well. You know little of the Black Count." She didn't shutter as he put a hand under her chin and brought her lips to his.
March 1st, 1350
"You are going to die here, Duke of Estonia," the mad man said. Gunvald rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore him. "If the guards don't come to lop your head off, the rats and the bugs will eat you alive. Can you not feel them watching you, just waiting for a sign of weakness?" Again Gunvald just shook his head and tried not to say anything.
"So did you enjoy the roast beef?" Gunvald asked.
"The wha?"
"The roast beef the guards brought down for dinner," the Duke lied.
"I... uh... yes!"
"O really? Wasn't it just delicious? Juicy and tender?"
"Uh... O... yeah..." The man across the hall licked his lips and his mouth watered.
"O, and the fancy rub they used? Probably from Italy or even Carthage! Amazing."
"I don't believe you!" The man said, suddenly changing his stance. "You are a liar!"
"You just said you had some!" Gunvald said innocently. "How dare you call me a liar!"
"You didn't have any either!"
"I never said I had any, I just asked if you enjoyed yours! I could have sworn one of us got some..."
"Well I didn't and you are a liar!"
"One of us did... and if it wasn't you it must have been..." Gunvald pretended to gasp, "They must really like me here!" He could hear the other man growling.
"Liar, Liar, Liar! Why are you doing this to me?"
"Doing what? You're only confusing yourself!"
"Bah! Evil Duke of Estonia! I am not going to talk to an evil liar!" The man quieted down with a "humpf" and Gunvald was able to enjoy some silence.
Well, the quality of your updates and your follow-up of our posts and remarks strongly justifies the support
It sure doesn't ! I'm just dying to know who that pesky bugger annoying good prince Gunvald is !
Lets see, Doyvat fathered his grandfathers latest child?
He is the father of his uncle-to-be?
He is the father of his uncle-to-be?
You know you are a redneck if.....
btw Enewald, I like you title. Suits you well, even though we are idealogical enemies.
btw Enewald, I like you title. Suits you well, even though we are idealogical enemies.
Well, the quality of your updates and your follow-up of our posts and remarks strongly justifies the support
It sure doesn't ! I'm just dying to know who that pesky bugger annoying good prince Gunvald is !
Oh ! and by the way,
Happy Birthday, Youngling !
... from your Gallic cousin
Why thank you Gilles, it has been a good day. Though one with very little writing.
Lets see, Doyvat fathered his grandfathers latest child?
He is the father of his uncle-to-be?
Maybe, not sure yet...
You know you are a redneck if.....
btw Enewald, I like you title. Suits you well, even though we are idealogical enemies.
Nothing like a little anarchy to bring about order.
Go The Black Count!
Bring down the terror from within, and restore Prussia to glory and honour!
Bring down the terror from within, and restore Prussia to glory and honour!