Peers of the Realm: A Savegame AAR

Dovahkiing · Aug 10, 2012

A NOTE ON NARRATIVE STYLE:
This AAR's narrative style will be as following:
There will be a dramatis personae that will change overtime as the old die and the young succeed them. (that as you'd expect from an AAR that expects to run for almost 250 years of game time which is quite a lot in reality), and each chapter will be from the point of view of a different member of the dramatis personae (those which are specifically marked as POV characters).
Most of them will be rulers, each of a different realm, but there may be a commoner or two.
Each chapter will be presented in a third-person manner, with only the POV character's thoughts appearing (except for chapter 6)
Each chapter will be titled as such:

Number of chapter
POV character: Name of specific chapter

The table of contents that will be in this post will be sorted according to POV character, thus:
POV CHARACTER
Number by character(overall number): Name of chapter

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
POV:

Lionel II, Earl of Bedford and Essex, a rebel seeking to place King Richard of France on the English throne before his mother Queen Amburga dies ,called Lil' Lionel, of House de Bungay, now exiled having been defeated and captured by Amburga's Royal Army at Colchester

Amburga I, Queen Regnant of England, Queen Mother of France, nicknamed the Just, of House de Beaumont
Gilla-Coulim I, King of All Ireland and liege of Duke Ifor of Gwynedd, a boy of fifteen, of House Ua Brian, pledged to aid the Isle of Man in their struggle for independence from Scotland.
Geoffrey Fitzalan, a knight in the service of King Richard of France, escaped Brittany at the time of the Scottish conquest, former Knight of St. John, joint castellan of Chateau Royal de la Mer, together with Louis de Bourgogne.

ANCILLARY:
William of Tintagel, royal cartographer to Queen Amburga
Ala'i Almansid, Cathar and Spymaster of Bedford
Louis de Bourgogne, formerly heir to the Duchy of Burgundy, disinherited by the Capets, called 'Squeaker', joint castellan of Chateau Royal de la Mer, together with Geoffrey Fitzalan
Sir Domnall the Ulsterman, one of the bodyguard knights of King Gilla-Coulim,
Sir Conall the Wolf, another bodyguard knight of King Gill', called so because of the wolfskin he always wears,
Sir Gilla-Brigte the Horsemaster, so called for being the stablemaster of Gilla-Coulim

TABLE OF CONTENTS
Lionel:
I(1): Pride Comes...
II(5): ...Before the Fall
III(9): Madness Enthroned

Geoffrey:
I(3). Slither
II(7). Squeak in the Night

Amburga:
I(2). Queen of Two Lands, Mother of Two Dead
II(6). Cowellian Justice

Gilla-Coulim (Gill'):
I(4). Diplomat's Mouthful
II(8). Bitter 16
So I decided, since I have a savegame that's been running 110 years into the game (I started in 1099 as the KoJ) and I've really been sucked into this private little alternate history of mine, I decided to go public and make an AAR of it.
I will be playing as the Kingdom of England, (which as you will see is not much of a kingdom or very English), but first let's give you a heads-up on the state of the world:

England:

William Rufus lived to be 87, gaining the nickname 'the Old' and fathering three daughters, the second of which became Queen Geva of England. Geva married a de Beaumont and after she died the crown passed to her son, Robert de Beaumont. Robert fathered three children, two daughters and one son. The son became King Jordan the First after Robert died, but he was murdered at age 20 before having any kids, leaving the kingdom to his half-sister Amburga, who had married the King of France, thus meaning France and England will be united in the next generation, Amburga having given the King of France (I forgot his name) five sons.
Currently, Lionel the Earl of Bedford is at war with Amburga with a deposition CB, his favored heir is King Richard of France, who is her heir anyway...

France:
The King of France is dead, leaving the kingdom to his second son Richard, his older brother having died of a coma.
Richard is facing a number of rebellions in Burgundy, thus meaning he has little time to deal with England which he will inherit when his mother dies.

Scotland:
What a roller coaster ride.
As the KoJ I aided my distant relative (I was a bastard Dunkeld) Mael-Muire of Atholl's son Matad in his war to take the Scottish throne, which due to my cheatingly large merc army he won.
The next seventy years were a back-and-forth Wars of the Roses-style series of civil wars as the descendants of King Duncan (through his only son, a bastard called Uilleiam Mac Uilleaim) tried to reclaim the crown from Matad's son (who was called Reginald and his mother was also his paternal grandmother.... and died at age 14), Matad's brother Matthew who lived to be 65 and conquered Caithness from the Norwegians.
Finally, having played the Duke of Gowrie, Uilleiam's son Edgar, I assassinated Matthew's son Archibald whom Edgar had deposed and lost the throne to again when I was playing someone else, which led to my nephew Uilleiam's getting the throne (actually Edgar had failed and was assassinated himself, but his 17-year-old son Christopher succeeded, only to be murdered and succeeded by the new king).
Playing as Uilleam I conquered Brittany because my cousin Edmund had a weak claim on it, his maternal grandfather being a Duke of Brittany, and because France was and is engaged in various civil wars I pressed Edmund's claim and won, crowning myself King of Brittany.
Then I decided to play as Edmund and declared war for the Scottish throne on my cousin, then leaving Edmund to play as Ireland, but since I had left him with a sizable army he won, leaving a broken hearted Uilleam to die as king of Brittany a few years later, leaving his child son (who had been born while I played as his father, and the game wanted to call him Walter, but because I was on a ASOIAF kick I decided to call him Walder) to become king of one or two counties in Scotland (Edmund having held Brittany since before his bid for the throne), but Edmund was a pretender to Brittany, so it's highly likely he'll start a succession crisis.
Update: I discovered that Edmund had indeed started a succession crisis, and since I was tired of it I had Walder assassinated, and so Scotland is united again)
Ireland:
in 1179 Lochlann, the Duke of Munster, a descendant of Brian Boru himself, succeeded in crowning himself as the first King of All Ireland. Lochlann died sometime in the 1190's, leaving the throne to his baby son Gilla-Colim (who is my latest avatar), narrowly avoiding a passage of the crown to the de Normandies who'd married one of Lochlann's daughters. Playing as Gilla-Colim I've invited somebody with a claim on Gwynedd and conquered the Duchy for him.

Wales:
Gwynedd is in the throes of a struggle between the Earl of Gwynedd, a Aberffraw called Alwyn (actually I'm not sure if he's a Aberffraw or Mathrafal) and the Duke of Gwynedd (the claimant I invited's nephew or something) over Ifor's (the duke who also inherited a county in Ireland I gave to his predecessor so he'd be my vassals after I conquered Gwynedd) attempt to revoke the county of Gwynedd.

The southern half (i.e. Deheubarth) is technically under English dominion, having been under the control of a Norman dynasty (in fact this is historical, Deheubarth being controlled by a Norman at the beginning of the game), but their duke is currently fighting an independence war against Queen Amburga.

Spain:
Most of Spain has been conquered by Catholics, but it is by no means united. The French kings (who I forgot to mention are of the de Vermandois dynasty, their ancestor having deposed the Capets who I think are still dukes somewhere, this happened pretty early in the game) have conquered Barcelona and its environs, the Kingdoms of Castille and Leon are pretty much the same as the beginning of the game, but two crusades left the Kings of Jerusalem with the crowns of Portugal and Andalusia (actually, every time the KoJ is controlled by the AI its king automatically makes Portugal his primary title, I have no idea why, so that's the de Bolougne's primary title).
There are still a few pockets of Muslim resistance, but they have not much power.

North Africa:
The west, i.e. our Morocco, is controlled by the Sultan of Mauretania, who as you'd expect is not happy over losing all (or almost, I don't remember) of his Iberian territory.
To the east, in Algeria and all the lands directly south of Sicily, the de Hautevilles of Sicily rule as kings, having successfully colonized it in a series of holy wars.
Cyreneica is ruled by Portugal's de Boulougnes, whose second king (the bastard Dunkeld, son of King Godefroy the First and Bethoc Dunkeld) whom I'd named Basty-in-Jerusalem, died conquering it having previously reduced the Fatimids to Sinai and Nubia, and crowning himself King of Egypt.

The Holy Land and Arabia:
A second Crusade in the early years of the twelfth century (that I call the Celtic Crusade because all those who joined it were Welshmen, Irishmen, and Bretons, except for my Jerusalemites) was launched against the Emirate of Damascus's lands in the de jure KoJ, giving me all of Transjordan. I had previously conquered Damascus itself, and I had expanded north to Lebanon. Badouin lost Edessa to a holy war around the same time, but through his wife Duchess Ardai the de Boulognes took over Armenia Minor, which was also lost later to Rum, which I reconquered.

The Arabian emirates are doing well, blocking my attempts to conquer Medina (well, attrition certainly helped.)

Byzantium and Asia Minor:
Byzantium is holding still. It has lost half of Asia Minor to the Sultan of Rum, Byzantion to the KoJ's fabricated claim (which I won on May 29th in the real world, the 559th anniversary of the fall of Constantinople to the Ottomans), and Thrace to a de Hauteville inheritance.

Civil war has only broken out seriously once, when a child named Artemios was deposed by a Duke of Edessa who was also a Kommenos, which is ironic because the usurper was Artemios's tutor, and Artemios was allowed to retain lands and his life even though the usurper had him at his court the whole time.

So enjoy, and be sure to check back regularly, you never know, perhaps your favorite character has just been rewarded with a new chapter...

tnick0225 · Aug 10, 2012

Already sounds like an interesting world.

Dovahkiing · Aug 12, 2012

One

Lionel:
Pride Comes...

He trudged through the snow, cursing all the way. He had never liked snow. His grandfather had succumbed to a cold while comatose in bed, and he intended not to meet that fate. Why did God curse the land with that white blanket of death?
There came no celestial answer, and on earth Lionel, whom men had called Lil' Lionel even after his grandfather died, to his eternal shame, continued to walk through the snow.
He had finally arrived at the house where the meeting was to be held when night began to settle over the Middlesex countryside. He opened the door after great difficulty in budging the frost from it, and walked into the scarcely-heated hearthroom.
They greeted him with varying degrees of welcome, and the council table soon filled up with bored fingers drumming. Besides him there were four other men in the room: the council of the independent (temporarily) Earldom of Bedford.

An eclectic group, to be sure. They sat two men to a side of the table, with the Earl at the head.
First from left was Thomas, Bishop of Waltham.

Thomas was not what you would consider an ecclesiastical success. He was fifty-one years old, wrinkly, and not pleased with his lot in life.
At the battle of Tottenham he had been wounded, but this ensured he would stay loyal to Lionel, as he was quite bitter towards Amburga and the de Beaumont dynasty in general. You see, thirty years ago, as a young preacher, he was traveling through a land belonging to King Robert, when he was accused of raping a nun. The matter came all the way to the king as lord of the village, and Robert sentenced him to being forbidden from staying at any ecclesiastical building, such as a priory, cathedral, church, nunnery or monastery. Eventually, when Robert's son Jordan came of age and began his (short) rule he pardoned Thomas who was lucky enough to be in London at the time, and later Thomas was appointed bishop of Waltham and then Chancellor of Bedford, but the wound never healed, not the physical one, not the emotional one.

To Thomas's side sat Walter, the Marshal. Walter had been elected Mayor of Maldon a few years ago. earlier, and due to a mixture of his (relatively for a martial-skill deprived realm) high skill at leading troops and his (probably unfounded) claim to be a descendant of the legendary Byrhtnoth who was famous for fighting (and losing) the Battle of Maldon nearby, was appointed Marshal.

He was not all a bad person. He was brave even if not a tactical genius, he was never lazy, but on the other hand he did not desire what was other people's, and was content in his lot, unlike Thomas. There were rumors, however....

At the other side, first from right sat Lionel.

Not our Earl Lionel, but another, the Bishop of St. Albans. Now, it is not very clear to anybody, today and probably even then, how Lionel became Steward, Bishop of St. Albans, or any kind of important man.
It was no secret among the people of Essex that Lionel was a sot. Drunk frequently, some said daily, accused regularly of all kinds of carnal sin, and it is likely that a good proportion of those were true. He took his pleasures often over his duties, and was angered when he was not served as he asked.
Why did he become important? Well, it is likely that the de Bungay dynasty had always liked the name Lionel, and as a Lionel himself the Earl was disposed to favor him, and who knows? Maybe the Earl liked to take his pleasures with his namesake...

If the group seated at the table at the night of January 1st, 1207 was eclectic, the Oriental looking man sitting at Bishop Lionel's side was uniquely unique.

How did he get to Bedford of all places?
Ala'i always said that all was in the hands of God, but many believed he longed to say 'Allah' rather than 'God'.
But that would be unfair to the man. Although he was never seen at the church of Waltham where all the important men of the earldom worshipped, he was not a Muslim. He may have come from the lands most associated with Islam, but his family had been Christian for a hundred years, ever since Ala'i's great-grandfather had been caught up in the tides of the wars between the Emir of Damascus and the Christian King of Jerusalem, enlisted in the Damascene army, and was forcibly converted to Christ after Damascus surrendered following the fall of Banyas. Ala'i being the third generation of his family to have been raised as a Christian, he was devout as any Englishman. The trouble was, he was a different kind of devout.

Ala'i had once been a baron in the lands of the de Boulognes of Jerusalem, but after his liege rebelled and was defeated, Ala'i, like his great-grandfather was caught up in the tides and paid the price.

His survival of the fall of his castle to King Godfrey's troops was legend among all the people who stayed up late at the tavern, and when the rumors of his deceitful escape came to the ear of Humphrey, father of Earl Lionel, he was hired as master of spies.
Ala'i had brought a wife with him to England, and a son, called Abdul-Hamid.

Aside from the name Abdul-Hamid had nothing Levantine about him. He had been brought up by a Catholic Englishwoman, and in a few months, when he came of age, he would marry a daughter of a prominent merchant.
But the father was still a Cathar, and that would reflect darkly on his descendants forever...

The council began.
"Does anyone have any news I do not know of?" came the call from the head of the table.
Walter, eager to please, said enthusiastically: "Lord, our men say they could assault London at any time you please! If it falls, we have all the riches brought by the Thames!"
Lionel shook his head.
"Not happening. Our men do not even number fourteen hundred, and they outnumber the fighting men defending the city by only a hundred. London is not unfortified, and with the advantage of defenses they will easily defeat us."
They went through the motions of economic reports, that a drunken Lionel of St. Albans slurred through a haze of wine and beer, and before long they all slept.
And some say that Christ and His Angels slept as well.

Dovahkiing · Aug 12, 2012

Two
Amburga:
Queen of Two Realms, Mother of Two Dead

She looked out the window, and saw only despair.
Silently, she berated God for her agony.
I am queen of two lands, she thought, but two of my sons are dead.
"And after these things came to pass, God tested Abraham. And he told him: Take your son, your only son, whom you loved, and sacrifice him on one of the mountains".
I must be better than Abraham, she thought, for not only have I sacrificed two sons, but I have also lost a husband.
And quite soon I shall be dead too.
Would it be quick and painless like falling asleep? Would she suffer greatly as old age came to claim her? Or would she never know what killed her, a swift dagger in the night?
Or perhaps, worst of all, she would be taken and led out to be shamed in front of her people.

But she could not give in to those visions of doom; she had a realm to protect.
I have served them for twenty years as their queen,and they have repaid me with treachery time and again.
"French-loving whore!" they had shouted at her, "Traitor to your blood!" her mother told her.
Fat lot of good it did them.
She could visit the results; A duke or two, another earl rotting in prison for betraying her.

But the thoughts took her again, and she flashed back to that happy day in the palace...
She had been in pain. Much pain. But it was ended now.
Once the man next to her was a stranger, that she had never met. Once their marriage was one of convenience, to forge an alliance. But now it was something more; It was a union of love.
And that love had just been manifested in the little bundle she held.
"He looks just like you!" she told the men next to her.
"Let's call him Humbert."
The man she loved replied with endless affection:"Humbert FitzHumbert. The next King of France."

Her mind returned to England, and the present. That memory had brought up another one, which she did not care to recall. But it took control of her mind that was weary of grief and despair...

She is sitting at her desk, writing a letter to Duke Hugh of Deheubarth. "You must show your subordination to me," she wrote, "else I shall do to you as I did to Gloucester."
The earl of Gloucester had been yet another in an endless succession of rebellious vassals who had tired of her rule and tried to instate her son prematurely. Gloucester did not enjoy his stay in the Oubliette...
Then the thunder arrived. Not from the heavens, but from the ground. A rider came in to Westminster Palace. Or rather, the steward did, bearing the rider's message.

Finding her in the study, the steward gave her the parchment without words. She unrolled it and began to read.
"I regret to inform you," it opened, and suddenly a torrent of moisture appeared, waiting to be released, "that your son, Humbert FitzHumbert, King of France and my lord, has died while comatose in his bed. His brother, your third son, Richard FitzHumbert, is to be crowned three weeks from today, on the thirteenth of May, the year of Our Lord 1199. He cordially requests you attend, and expresses his infinite grief at his brother's death.
In mourning for my lord and participating in your grief, Duke Hamelin of Burgundy, of House Capet." The torrent was released.

It was her third bereavement. First, her second son Henri had been killed by a drunk in a tavern. Then her husband died comatose. And now Humbert went the way of his father so far before his time? She could not bear it.

Sanity?
What was the meaning of the word?
Amburga would have forgotten if not for Richard's periodic letters. This very New Year's day she received one:
"To our revered mother, Amburga, First of Her Name, Queen Regnant of England and Queen Mother of France, We bid you much success and God's blessing.

What is this rumor our men bring from your land? Some presumptuous earl has declared us the king of England and says you are deposed? We wish to assure you, mother, that we did not know of this in advance and do not presume to take over your kingdom before our time! We also assure you that no aid will be given to the rebels, and if you ask for aid from us we will gladly give it to you.

How is Raimbaut, our youngest brother? Is he doing well in Ireland? We have sent to the King of that land for news, but no response has been forthcoming.
How are things in France? Quite fine, we assure you. The Scots are not causing any trouble from Brittany which they have unjustly stolen.
We have crushed the rebellions in Burgundy and are well on our way to destroy the Almoravid infidels of Iberia, and we wish to thank you for the troops you have provided for this holy mission.

Wishing you well,
Richard FitzHumbert, Second of His Name, King of France and Duke of Barcelona."

The letter helped her mentally but it did not do what she wished.
It didn't free Westminster from the rebel occupation.
It didn't bring Duke Hugh to publicly submit to her authority.

But most of all, it didn't bring either Humbert or Henri back. But no letter could do that.
She called the marshal in.
"Yes, my queen?" he asked credulously, as if he did not believe she would send for him.
No, I am not a weak woman and I certainly do not need a marshal to defeat my foes. I can beat them off with kisses! she wanted to tell him sarcastically.
But sarcasm never helped.
Instead, she said: "Are all of my vassal's levies raised?"

Trying to sound authoritative, he said: "No, my queen. In fact, apart from the Duke of Norfolk, we do not have any levies raised."
"I suppose you know what I am going to ask of you." she said offhand.
He did. "I will send out the riders today. But where do you wish them to gather?"
There was a map of England, made by William of Tintagel, the royal cartographer, on the desk of the study, and a dagger beneath it. She took out the dagger and stuck it in a very certain point on the map.
"Here." she said with an air of certainty, and indicated the place the dagger was stuck through.
The dagger did not obscure or rip the name of the place she intended.
Colchester, capital of Essex, and second city of the Earldom of Bedford.

Dovahkiing · Aug 13, 2012

Three
Geoffrey:
Slither

He was pushing forty, but forty didn't push back.
Not yet, at any rate.
Really, he thought, where do the years go?

Maybe Grandmaster Malcolm had kept them in the treasury.
He didn't wish to return to that period of his life; It wasn't like it was too painful, it was simply not dead yet.
They can't get me now, but there's always the chance...
He was being such a weakling. He was at court, and just because the king was away didn't mean all the guards were gone.

Well, most of them were. It seemed to Geoffrey Fitzalan that there was a pit in the Barcelonan March that sucked men of fighting age into it and didn't ever regurgitate them back.
At least the English are our allies.
What a redundant thought. England had always been a presence across the foggy waters, even five miles off the Breton coast where Geoffrey had grown up.
The Mists of Avalon he thought. He had always liked the heroic poems of Arthur and his Knights of the Half-Table, perhaps that was what had drawn him to become a knight.

But maybe it was inevitable. The military was just about the only career a bastard could rise high in; Well, there was the church, but who wanted to be chaste or poor?
Or obedient, he whispered in his mind, or perhaps that was the snake.

He had never liked snakes.
Maybe it had begun the day he had woken up on his straw mattress in the barracks at Kerak. He had been only twenty-one then, a stripling. That was when Herbert had snuck in silently and pretended to stab him.
The first word Geoffrey spoke, or rather screamed was "SNAKE!"
Surprisingly, the other new recruits had liked that nickname, and from then on, Herbert de Bordeaux, master of recruits at Kerak des Chevaliers, the Castle of Knights of the Hospitaller Fighting Order of St. John, was known as 'the Snake'.

Ach, the good old days...
He caught himself thinking in German again; He had picked up the phrase from a German knight, Frederich von Weimar, a descendant of the long-past Von Weimars of that same county, who had been sent to Kerak as a liaison from the newly-established Teutonic Order.

Frederich would tell him: "It's never comfortable being a knight anywhere. Either you're like me and freezing in a drafty castle in the pagan swamps of Lithuania, or like you, being baked through your armor in this desert. If it was up to me, we should have just left both to the heathens...
Except Spain. I was in the crusade you know. They promised me in the Hospitaller chapel that I would get a piece of land in Andalusia for taking it away from the infidel, plus a forgiveness of my sins. I had too many of those...
Damn cheating Godfrey, your liege's father, he declared: "It's mine. My men have fought the most here, so the crown belongs to me and no one else!"
That's why I never joined your order or ever trusted a Scotsman. Especially one with a Frankish name...
The snake never slithered away from Geoffrey's mind. He was always whispering, in that tyrannical but sneaky voice: "You are worthless. You know nothing. You are a liability to those who harbor you.

But snakes are not invincible, not even those of the mind, and Geoffrey had learned to cut off its legs, and now it had to crawl to control him.

A loud, unbelievably annoying voice emanated from somebody in the room. After a few seconds, Geoffrey Fitzalan, who was known as 'Bastard FitzNo-one', because of his father's disgrace, established the identity of the speaker: Louis de Bourgogne, known as 'Squeaker'.
The voice said: "FitzNo-one, come here immediately!"
So the worthless has spoken, so must I obey. Fitzalan thought sarcastically.
Louis was always most eager to call him by his disparaging nickname.

Ambling over to the small 'man', Geoffrey fixed him with a give-me-strength look, but Louis was not intimidated. Louis spoke again, and for a moment Geoffrey would have thought a mouse was in the hall, had he not known Squeaker for five years now.
"Bastard," he said, "this here's a writ from the king. To cut through all the high-and-mighty shit, it says: 'Geoffrey Fitzalan and Louis de Bourgogne, formerly heir to the Duchy of Burgundy, you are to jointly administer the king's castle at..."

"The king's castle at where?" Geoffrey demanded impatiently enough to explode.
"Why should I tell you now? It's a surprise!" responded the mousy-sounding voice.
He added, "All you need to know is that you'll like it....
Better than hell!"

Dovahkiing · Aug 13, 2012

Four
Gilla-Coulim:
Diplomat's Mouthful

"You really must shorten that name of yours!"
That simple sentence had followed him from the crib, and likely to the grave, like a trobadour's song that sticks in your head.
The rest did not echo so much, but he remembered it nevertheless: "Those diplomats, Welshmen, Englishmen, our Scottish kinsmen. They wil be short of breath pronouncing your name, and then they will not have any to waste on you! Do you expect Wulfstan Stablehand from some Sussex village to pronounce 'Gilla-Coulim' and still be able to talk?"
It was his name. And worse of all, it was his own mother speaking.
Not that she was still around to drone in his head anymore. She had never liked his father.
But that father was King, and that was the only thing about Gilla-Coulim that his mother respected.

Gill' was how she would write his name.
She was no true Irishwoman, his father said.
Gill' liked to think that he was born to be something more than a pampered wad of fat sitting around in a palace all day. That perhaps he had been born to be king for a reason.
The bells were chiming; It was a Sunday. "Time for church!" he heard.
But all that exited his mouth was, "No."
The courtier announcing their eccelestical duty gaped at him.
"But Your Majesty must be shown to be a pious ruler who obeys God! What will they think if their king believes he is too high and mighty to worship with the common people?"
The latter was a fallacious claim. No "common people" were admitted to Christ Church when the King attended Sunday service. But the point was taken.
"I'm not yet of age, you persumptous servant! What could Jesus want from me?"
The courtier, Evan, yes the Scottish import Gill' remembered, did not respond. He scuttled away from the room, away from the exit leading to the church.

"Go, pray for my forgivness!" Gill' wanted to shout after him.

But then he remembered; it was the day he was to receive the delegation from the Isle of Man.
He sullenly walked through the halls of Ath Cilath palace, feeling the chill through the walls.
New Year's Day, he recalled, it's always cold somehow on this day.

His 'trainer' caught him on the way.
A broad-shouldered man of about forty-five, Dafydd ap Rhys was brought to the King three years ago after the conquest of Gwynedd, in order to 'make sure' that Gill' grew up 'manly and strong', in the words of the late, and unofficially unmissed by Gill', Duke Gill-na-em of Ulster, Chancellor of the Realm.
And Mother thought I had a long and hard-to-pronounce name..
The Ulster man had died a year ago, and his son was far more agreeable.
In the meantime, Dafydd interrogated the fifteen-year-old king.
"Where are you going, young rascal?"
Defiantly, and with more than a bit of bluster Gill' replied: "I'm supposed to recieve a delegation from the Isle of Man in the diplomatic guestroom. Now get out of my way, you foreign oaf!"
Dafydd nearly exploded with rage: "You will go back to your sleeping room NOW, do you hear! I will take care of your brother-in-law or whoever put you up to this nonsense!"
Pushing him out of the way, Gill' continued.
The Welshman continued to pontificate behind him, but he was no longer intelligible.

Finally he reached his destination. He opened the door to reveal a rather old and decrepit hall, a bequest from the old independent Dukes of Leinster. Paint would soon start to peel; the room was seventy-five years old.

Near a table at the other end of the hall a group of strangers sat around.
The delegation.

Gill' donned his crown, and walked over with what he called the 'regal' poise.
He adressed them: "Greetings, honorable neighbors of my kingdom! To what do I owe your visit?"
"To your overzealous diplomats" somebody muttered. Gill' pretended not to hear.
One of the men, a stiff-looking young man with a Norse cast to his face, said: "My name is Harald Bolt. I am distantly related to the Earl of our home island, and since he deems me a skilled negotiator he sent me here. We wish to discuss.." he coughed, "the seperation of our island from the tyrant King Edmund of Scotland."

"And this concerns me why?" Gill' responded, assuming an air of puzzeldnes.

Harald responded: "It is well known that the Isle of Man has always been populated by many of your people. Indeed, it has been used for invasions of your land in the past. Our earl, the great Sigurd of House Bolt, wishes to pledge his allegiance to you instead of our harsh master, the usurper Edmund of Scotland, descended from a bastard and behaves like one as well." Some laughter echoed throughout the room.

"And what is your price?" asked Gill' warily.
"Only that you aid us in our struggle to throw off the Scottish yoke, and protect us as our liege."

"Fair enough. But there is a price for my protection as well."
"And what is that?"

No one was ever able why the quite dead corpse of Dafydd ap Rhys, 'advisor' to the king, showed up in the Ath Cilath gutter four days later.

Dovahkiing · Aug 14, 2012

Five
Lionel:
...Before the Fall
Hellfire and damnation.

was his only wish at the time . Though that was his probable ultimate reward, at the least it would warm him up
The winter had not receded with the coming of March, and the cold metal of his breastplate did not help in the least. Nor did sitting around in a drafty castle in Essex, waiting to die.

How had he ever thought that he could challenge the might of Amburga, Queen of Two Lands, as she so pompously acclaimed herself? Was it the legacy of his father, Earl Humphrey, who had always told him:"You can't just think you are worthy to be an earl because I was and my father before me and his father too. You have to earn your position. And in this case, by defiance."
Humphrey didn't do much in his life except for that, he reflected.
Well, that and leaving me with this war that I cannot win, and haunting me from beyond the grave.
He could still hear his father's last words, as his life ran out on the way to Westminster, spoken between final gasps:
"You.. are.. no...."
And the rest he took to his grave.

Soon, the long-desired fire came. But it wasn't the fires of hell he had wished for; just a small foretaste.
Flaming stones.
The stones had been wrapped around with a cloth, then the cloth was set fire to, and the stone was fired from a catapult.
The forward wall erupted in flames.

A man screamed in the distance. Behind his position on the second wall he heard a mother scream: "Food! We want food! Food for the road! To hell!"
Clearly she was mad. He ran over and slapped her. She shouted at him: "You have struck a prophet of God! He will judge you for having deprived all those people of livelihoods by not surrendering!" She ran off, shouting something unintelligible about the wrath of the LORD.

A harried-looking man ran over to him. He identified him as Ala'i Almansid, Master of Spies. Having been cooped up in Colchester for all these weeks he had been unable to make contact with his agent in London, and so he had been assigned to keep order.
A hare-brained decision, as it turned out from the former baron's report.

He pointed to the castle square. More fire was coming from there, but not as strong as the fire on the walls. Ala'i spoke in a manner more like to shouting: "My lord! They are burning the castle from within! They claim that we are all fated to die because you are harboring a 'heretic', and so are trying to kill both of us!"
. Lionel saw what his Cathar spymaster meant when he looked in the same direction as him. A crowd of peasants, lead, seemingly, by the crazed woman from before, was holding torches and running after him.

They screamed at the top of their starved lungs: "Kill the heretic! Kill the heretic-lover too!"
They ran. They almost got Ala'i when he was up against the second back wall for a moment, but he slipped under them and managed to escape.
But then there was no escape, and halfway between the second and first gates he was caught. Then a debate raged among the hotheads.
One, a scruffy boy who had begun to shave at a untimely age, he recognized as Peter Fisher, a coward who had deserted after they were defeated by the Royal Army at Waltham, said: "Kill him now! He forced me and my family into his army like we was slaves! Kill him!"
Another was a bit cooler about it. He was John, bailiff of Colchester, and he said: " He is a traitor to the realm, and thus we must give him to those he betrayed. For the reward, of course." A small brawl erupted between them, ending with John standing over Peter with a knife, just as Lionel was beginning an escape. He knew that wasn't going to happen. They led him to the front gate, and shouted: "We have the traitor! Just leave us in peace, and you'll have him!"

He remembered that those were the terms of a peace 'negotiation' that was carried literally at sword point. But the sword had dulled; just like a candle's light. And so the 'negotiator' had perished. But the queen's men agreed. John Bailiff opened the gate, and led him out. Out to the tender mercies of Amburga, whom men called 'the Just' because she did not execute rebels.
So she can have more fun torturing them.

On the way to the enemy commander's tent, a flaming stone fell too near them. John jumped out of the way, and out of his pocket a piece of parchment fell out.
It read: make sure the 'justification' for the riot is religious; The peasants can sometimes exhibit loyalty out of fear to their lord. But more loyalty the will have to the Lord.

Under the words he noticed something; a signature.
"Amburga de Beaumont, Queen of England and France."

Next on Peers of the Realm:
Amburga's justice is blind indeed, as Lionel will find out, to his misery. But to what? And will the fortunes of the de Bungay dynasty end like so many other rebellious lords?

Find out next time on Peers of the Realm!

Dovahkiing · Aug 14, 2012

Six
Amburga:
Cowellian Justice[/
She had a dream about Humbert again.
She was poring over her paperwork, tireless in the work of government. Lionel was dead, having stabbed himself through the heart unexplainedly. Suddenly someone knocked on the door. Her bodyguard peered through the keyhole, and opened the creaking 11th century door.
It was her husband.
She was beside herself with joy. She ran over to him and kissed him full on the lips. She was too overcome with joy to ask any questions. Everything was all right.
Until you wake up and everything is suddenly wrong.
She was too old for tears, but they would have come nevertheless had there not been a knock on her bedroom door.
Maybe Humbert really is alive? she entertained a hope she knew was foolish.
But at least it wasn't bad news.
A messenger boy, who didn't look like he needed to shave yet, was identified by the insignia on his tunic as belonging to Duchess Busilla of Kent.
Ignoring the fact that Busilla had betrayed her on more than one occasion, she asked him with a hopeful smile playing on her wrinkled face: "What is it?"
"My Queen, the Marshal wishes to inform you of a catch he made while hunting recently."
She would have been puzzled if not for the war. "Catch made while hunting" meant an important prisoner.
"Have Roland bring him to the throne room." she said, losing a bit but not all of her hope.

A trial was quickly rigged up in the throne room: Judges hastiliy brought in, a table and chair for the defendant.
He could enjoy that small comfort in his last hours, at least.
She was not comfortable sitting on the throne; She usually preferred to avoid the throneroom when she could. But in this case, the throne represented something that had to be shown as triumphant: The power of the crown, that Lionel de Bungay, the Earl of Bedford, had betrayed.
And he could not be forgiven.
They were all settled, and the royal bailiff called for order.
"Let the traitor be brought in!"
As if on cue, and indeed they had been picked years ago by Amburga's father for being loyal supporters of the de Beaumont regime, they shouted:" Hang the traitor! Give his head to the queen!"
But the bailiff had only one master: the blind mistress that is Justice.
He shouted, somewhat wearily from all the 'traitor's trials' as the queen liked to call them: "SILENCE!".
And he got it , if only after an indignant murmur.
His hands were cuffed with chains,

but he showed no fear on his face.

Amburga spoke, in a high and superior voice as she had always been taught:" There is no need for agonizing following of my grandfather's legal proceedings. Now, traitor, do you have any true and rightful explanation why I should not punish you for your fell deed?"

He looked up at the woman who claimed to be his rightful liege with a mixture of defiance and hate: "Only that which issues forth from the mouths of all the innocents you killed by proxy, for no better reason than to sate your lust for revenge. Only that which silently speak the people of Waltham, Colchester, and those you will surely slay in Bedford. Only that of those poor peasants who were massacared in the thousands in your war to bring Rennes back under your yoke only to sate your imperial cravings.
ONLY THE BLOOD OF YOUR BROTHER JORDAN CALLING OUT LIKE ABEL FOR JUSTICE! There you are, take it or leave it. But a better reason? You will not find it."
She wasn't supposed to exhibit shock or any such emotion, but it took almost all of her regal control to mask the shock she felt at the rebel's words. She spoke, quietly, almost a whisper, to the baillif who stood by her side: "To the docks."
He had not done this before to this type of accused, but he knew it well enough.

He proclaimed to the judges sitting attentively to the left of the throne: "Your services will not be needed, but Her Majesty wishes that you and all the world will hear her verdict." Now he turned to Lionel, still catching his breath from his angry defence. "You, I will not speak your cursed name." he spat. "You will not be executed, or confined to the dungeon, but instead you will be subjected to a punishment worse than either."

He paused, for maximum effect. "You, your wife, child son, will be exiled permanently from all the realms controlled at this time or any in the future, by the Queen Amburga or her heirs. Neither you nor your heirs will ever be allowed to return, on pain of death. We already have the little supplies you will need on the journey to wherever you choose, Denmark, Norway, or the Holy Roman Empire, or perhaps Scotland. Your wench you call a wife and brat you call a son will meet you at Southwark.

Additionally, the tale of your treachery and punishment will be told by royal messengers in every city, town, and village throughout the realm, especially the counties of Bedford and Essex, which will be returned to royal jurisdiction. Now begone!"

The jailers came for him, no mercy or sympathy on their faces, and soon he was gone.
Justice is indeed blind, Lionel thought, to the plight of man.

And if you stood on the shores north of the Thames estuary that night, you might have heard a murmur over the crashing of the waves:

"Forgive me... father..."

Next on Peers of the Realm:
Geoffrey begins his joint administration of King Richard of France's undisclosed castle along with Squeaker the disinherited Burgundian.
And the snake has just begun his plots...

Dovahkiing · Aug 15, 2012

Seven
Geoffrey:
Squeak in the Night

Desolation. That was the only word that Geoffrey Fitzalan, bastard son of a Breton knight whose name was erased from the record due to his betrayal of the king (OOC: The father's name was NOT Alan, it was just a generic last name Geoffrey chose when he left home), could think of as he and Louis de Bourgogne, formerly heir to Burgundy, now a courtier nicknamed 'Squeaker' approached the castle of Chateau Royal de la Mer, off the coast of Marseille. Riding into the city, the smell of sea and fish invaded his nostrils, and it was not a peaceful takeover.
The city was not a pleasant place at all. The fish stalls crowded the streets, more than one vagrant tried to push them off their horses, shouting: "We want no king's men! The king's men tyrannize us from the castle! We want no king's men!"

And finally, the docks. A boat was readied for them, and after a half an hour or so they reached their destination.
The island off the bay of Marseille was usually hidden by fogs to viewers from the mainland, which was a double-edged sword due to the inability of the castle's rulers to look at the mainland.
Chateau Royal de la Mer was built by King Richard's grandfather, King Louis, who had conquered Barcelona from the Moors but feared an invasion from the sea might be launched by them or perhaps the Kingdom of Jerusalem, which all knew to be excessively aggressive, and had recently conquered the Balearic Islands.

Louis was known to be paranoid.
The castle was not especially impressive, nor was it especially comfortable, as Geoffrey would find out to his regret. It was supposed to be able to contain a large number of troops to defend from an invasion from the sea, but was not intended to keep them comfortable for long.
There was no one else inside besides him and Squeaker. Bewildered, they set out to explore their new domain. The castle had two lower towers and one main tower, used for observation.

Heading up the stairs to the observation tower Geoffrey saw a small scroll, and unrolled it, hoping for it to be some kind of instruction.
His hope was fulfilled. Apparently it was a letter from the previous administrator of the castle, and indeed by effect of the city of Marseille:
"To the joint castellans of Chateau Royal de la Mer, Geoffrey Fitzalan and Louis de Bourgogne, from your predecessor Duke Hamelin of Burgundy, greetings in the name of our lord, King Richard the Second of His Name. You are assigned to this important post due to your famous administration skills. . Geoffrey paused. Was this a joke or an insult to their fighting skills? You are to dispense the King's justice and manage his taxes while you are assigned here. Additionally, if an enemy of the realm invades France through the sea in your area, you are to organize the defense and hold the castle plus the city for the king. God bless your efforts, and take care: YOU ARE NOT TO GO TO MARSEILLE BOTH AT THE SAME TIME. YOU MUST LEAVE THE CASTLE MANNED AT ALL TIMES! Christ watch over you all.

Why were they not allowed to go to Marseille both at the same time? It smelled of not being authorized by the king, who was fighting the Mohammedans in Castellon. But the letter was boring enough, and there was a warm bed in the tower...

At night, the snake came again.
You are a coward, bastard. You left the order because you were afraid to fight. Afraid to fight for Christ and for your grandmaster. You think you have the moral high ground, but all you have is timidity.
You are worth nothing. The order is better off without you.
Tossing and turning, a disturbed Geoffrey had trouble sleeping.
But all his effort was for nothing.
A squeak was heard through the night.

Dovahkiing · Aug 16, 2012

Eight
Gilla-Coulim:
Bitter 16

The day was here, and no one could care less. What worse punishment could men give to a poor boy such as he.
What worse for the realm than the king's birthday go unnoticed?
February had arrived in the island Kingdom of Ireland, but its newly-adult ruler could not exult in his newfound maturity or find consolation in the small comfort that winter had only two or three months left. The snow upon the ground, the thatched roofs of the poor, and his own palace drove away any thought of warmth or sun.

And no one had even mentioned that he was now an adult. Would Gilla-na-em's son let him do something for a change except for sitting around the palace and pretending to be polite?
All in the hand of God, the priest says, but God seems to ignore Ireland.

But there was one silver lining in the stormy, frostbitten heavens of his mind: His word was law.
Or so the law was. Gill' had heard of the legal system in England, in which the law extended beyond the king's whim, but his father had always dismissed it as weakness on part of the de Beaumont dynasty.
Of them the elder Ua Brian, Lochlann, would say:" The crown they got through the soft means of marriage, and it has made them soft in turn. Whereas I, I earned my kingdom in blood. Never forget that. If you are seen to be weak, both the people and foreigners will think us all weak. Always remember.
Never a mention of all the poor serfs who paid with their lives for Lochlann's conquests. But who cared? That was their destiny in life, to toil and die for their lord, wasn't it?
Only the weak deal in absolutes.

If no one remembered his birthday, others remembered far less pleasant things, and they gave Gill' a painful reminder of his duty.
While looking out the painted window depicting the decapitation of John the Baptist, someone tapped his shoulder.
Startled, Gill' turned around to face an unpleasantly familiar face: Harald Bolt.
"What is it?" Gill' asked in a voice weary of diplomacy, forgetting the affront to his person.
Unfazed, the Isle of Manian replied: "It is time."
"For you to depart? God knows you've been sucking my blood for too long."
Ignoring the feeble joke, Harald said: "No. The time has come for us to begin. The horrid work of war is about to start."

"So you want me to send my troops over?"
Harald directed him to another window, unpainted. Pointing in the direction of the harbor, he said: "No, it is you who will need our troops. Come with me, I will show you."
The young king and the diplomat ran in an undignified manner out of the palace, towards the sea. On a hill overlooking the harbor, Harald pointed:" See. They are here, and you knew not of their coming."
Gill' was about to ask him who they were until he saw the sails.
A forest of wood appeared in the horizon, and within minutes he could see their flags moving furiously in the wind:

Oh Lord, what a way to ruin my birthday.

He began to berate the smirking diplomat: "How did they know that we were supporting you? Have you even declared your independence? Did you tell them? But why, we are your allies!"
But Harald did not answer.

Running with the speed of fear back into the palace courtyard, he began to shout hysterically: "We're being invaded! The treacherous Scots are attacking us! Marshal, Marshal, gather troops! They're attacking! Death is coming for all of us!"
And the ignored monarch was no longer ignored.

Within the hour things had gotten more extreme.
On the one end of the harbor, a patchwork force of hastily-assembled knights and armed courtiers, sailors impressed into duty, and various bystanders deemed to be able for combat was already engaged in ranged fire on the Scottish invaders. But the enemy had not yet appeared on the beach, and from their position along the docks the Irish soldiers could only fire and hope to Christ to guide their arrows. But piety was not enough for the defenders of a watchtower near the western edge of the beach. Muffled shouts and screams emanated from the poor beleaguered Irishmen's throats , and soon enough the Lion of Alba was flown from its top.
Gill' ordered an advance, and the men ran towards the beach where the waves crashed, bringing boats bearing the Caledonian marauders to their destination.

Arrows are useless when the enemy is at your throat, and so the rain of death ended, only to be replaced by a sea of gleaming steel and a torrent of metallic sounds. Gill' had been trained from youth in the arts of defense, and when unattended by his knights he was quite capable of self-preservation. And more than that, as one unfortunate spearman learned a lesson he would not live to forget. Sir Domnall the Ulsterman brought down three Scottish archers, Sir Conall the Wolf impaled a highlander on his sword and placed his head on his trademark wolfskin, and Sir Gilla-Brigte the Horsemaster trampled four Scottish under his horse's hooves. There was something unnatural in the movement of the armies as the Scots were pushed back into the surf over their dead comrade's bodies, and the waves acquired a red coloring as the dying staggered into the water before exhaling their last breath.

"Seize the watchtower! Get some ships and capture them! Go, go, go!" shouted Sir Gilla-Brigte as he rode towards one barge. Gill' could taste triumph in the air mingled with the salt of the sea and the blood of dead men.
Then came the rider. Like War himself, he rode bringing destruction in the form of tidings.
"Sir," he said with the voice of a frightened child refusing to believe there is no monster under his bed, "the palace is burning!"

Turning around he got a glimpse of his burning residence, before the arrow whizzed by. Falling to the ground, he rose to watch as a shout pierced the Ath Cilath air.
Harald Bolt, emissary of war and blood, fell dead.
And from his cold hands the winds of war blew a letter...

Dovahkiing · Aug 17, 2012

Nine
Lionel:
Madness Enthroned

The spray mussed up his hair far too damn often. If only that was Lionel's biggest problem. But as the winds blew him, his wife and former countess, and infant son, north, past Lincoln, past Durham, past York, the traditional landing port for Norse invaders of England.
Now that would be a good idea, he thought as an easterly wind blew them towards the shore, giving him a glimpse of the spire of Yorkminster Cathedral before pushing them north again, landing and proclaiming the county mine again.
He could picture the imaginary scene at York harbor in his head:
"I am Lionel FitzHumphrey, lawful earl of Bedford and Essex, here to reclaim my lands!" he proclaimed in a pompous voice.
But the stevedores only laughed at him, and shouted mockingly, "You and what army?"
And Lionel produced his baby son, and shouted :"This army!" as he ran at them, clutching his flailing baby.

The dream of strange blond men holding African babies receded, and was replaced by more endless blue.
Suddenly, his wife handed over the baby to him, and then he felt something wet and slimy on his face.

Lionel Jr. was seasick, a far cry from the fierce WARRIOR BABY flailing at his father's enemies.
But the world was even sicker, as Lionel would find out...

**********************************************
The wind was finally with them. After a week of northerly winds they had finally reached a port. A helpful sailor told them in gratitude for their scarce coins: "This is Perth."
Lionel's eyes light up at the mention of the city. This was a frequent royal residence, being the location of the Stone of Scone, used in the coronations of the Kings of Scotland. Maybe King Edmund would help them regain the earldom he had lost?
Asking around for the royal palace, he eventually found it not far from Scone Abbey. A guard stopped him and his family at the door.
"What do you want here?" he asked, in a gruff tone that indicated he needed no more business.
"I am Lionel, the rightful Earl of Bedford and Essex, in England. I have come to petition the King of Glory for help in regaining it from the evil usurper Amburga."
He had laughed uproariously when, dressed in commoner's clothes and covertly patronizing a tavern in Colchester, a traveler from Scotland said that his king had proclaimed that all must address him as the 'King of Glory', a title used for God in Pslam 24, but now it was something that must be considered seriously. Had he been a priest he would have sermonized against the Scottish king for such arrogance, but he was in no position to do so now.

Now, the guard replied: "He is, indeed in the palace, but The King of Glory has demanded that no stranger enter with weapons or unescorted. So turn in your weapons, and I will lead you in to his Radiant Presence." Lionel turned in his knife, and followed the heavily-armed man into the labyrinthine halls of the Palace of Scone.
*************************************
Edmund, King of Scotland and of Brittany, Duke of The Isles, Earl of Gowrie, cut a rather mean figure in the eyes of Lionel.
Dressed in imperial purple, it failed to enhance the appearance of a short, dark-haired man with scars that did not seem to be inflicted by the enemy...

The man who would be Emperor of the Celts addressed him, with an air of self-importantness: "How dare you approach the blinding magnificence of the King of Glory?!"
Lionel did not know that he did this to every visitor, even his own wife. "I.. I.. I did not intend to insult or lay hands on your Gloriness!" he cringed.

"But you are here," Edmund said, "what is your lowdown petition to my highness?"

Lionel said, regaining some measure of manliness, "I have come to request your majestic aid in reclaiming what your whore of a rival, Queen Amburga of England stole from me. All I did was try to replace her with a competent king, and she threw me out of England and stole my lands of Bedford and Essex! I implore you, if you truly are a King of Glory, do justice and prove your majesticness to all the world!"

The so-called 'king of glory' looked thoughtful. If there was one truly human moment in his life it was this.
Then he began to speak, booming as he always thought a truly great king spoke: "Well, I have decided to hel...".
In mid sentence he saw Lionel tapping on the floor waiting for an answer. Then he began again, this time in a royal rant:"NO, I WILL NOT AID YOUR CRYBABY PETITION! YOU HAVE SHOWN IMPATIENCE TO THE GREAT KING OF GLORY! THROW HIM INTO THE GUTTER!"

And as he was thrown out of a palace for the second time in two weeks, he thought he saw Edmund take out a knife....

Dovahkiing · Aug 17, 2012

Say hello to a new regular section on Peers of the Realm, who will appear after each update. Readers, welcome Scotland's very own Emo Edmund, fresh from the bloodstained Emo Cave of Scone!

(Picture NOT by me)
No time to write him, next time on Peers of the Realm!

Dovahkiing · Sep 10, 2012

anybody want this back? (i've lost the savefile but maybe i'd just continue from my imagination)

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Peers of the Realm: A Savegame AAR

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls

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Watcher on the Walls