Great update! A wonderful victory for the Cossacks! This should be the perfect opportunity for the Swede.
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Johann Fransson rode along the outskirts of Krakow, pondering the invariables of life. Two years ago he was the younger son of a minor noble of Sweden. Once a mercenary like his paternal grandfather, he had returned from his adventuring to heal of a minor wound when his sister, who was a lady in waiting for the daughter of the king, had been informed that her mistress was being married to a Prince of Poland. She would be going as well to continue to serve her charge.
His father and mother let him no that in no uncertain terms that he would be accompanying her as her protector. He knew better than to protest, for his grandfather gave him a glare that boded ill if he dared. Of course, he knew his familial duty, he went to Poland. Within a year his sister had met a nobleman and they had become engaged. His new brother in law had made it abundantly clear that his services would no longer be needed, or wanted.
Now he had a problem. His prospects were rather bleak. Poland was not in the habit of hiring mercenaries. His old company had disbanded and he had now been out of the trade for nearly three years. Almost an eternity in the mercenary trade. He had some money still left over from his adventuring days. He led a sparing life. He didn’t womanize, and although he drank he had made friends with a innkeeper who let him drink whatever he wished in return for his services as a bouncer.
The recent war in the east had found the Lithuanians losing Poltava, Belgorod, and Podolia. The Poles had grabbed Presburg, Carpathia, Ruthenia, and Moldavia. It was only mildly interesting since he had been stuck in the capitol without the opportunity to see any of the action.
He had kept himself in good shape with plenty of riding and weapons training along with a lot of running. His health was excellent, he was very strong, and he wasn’t all that bad looking of a fellow. At six feet in height, with long black hair and piercing grey eyes he got plenty of looks from women, but he hadn’t found any that he truly had any interest in seeing for any length of time.
What to do, what to do? I don’t really want to go back to the life of a mercenary. Going back to Sweden is possible. But why bother? I don’t inherit squat. The Poles, at least those in power, don’t seem to give a damn what happens to me. My own darling sister is so besotted with her soon to be husband that she didn’t seem to care that I am going to be thrown out into the cold.
So be it. I’ve roughed it before. Rolled in a blanket with my saddle for a pillow. I am more than capable of foraging for food. Done it before, and I could do it again. But by GOD I am bored! Court life is so damned stifling that I can’t stand to be there for any true length of time. The rivalries, the feuds, the having to kiss the noble backsides of young idiotic twits with the intelligence of songbirds.
I’m well educated. I have pretty good skills with my blade, and I would like to think I am a superb horseman. In fact I used to train the horses in my old company. Warhorses are difficult to train, and I would like to think I am quite good at it.
So what shall I do? Perhaps I should go exploring? Many of the lands east of here are unknown to me. Oh, I have rough maps, but I know nothing about them. I’ve been all over Germany and parts of northern France. I’ve even as a child traveled to the lands of the Turk with my grandfather in a trading venture.
Don’t much like the Turk, they’re infidels for one. Plus they are insufferably snooty. They think they are lords and masters of the whole world. Their concept of jihad to bring everyone under their rule is ridiculous. Plus Islam, now give me a break. No drinking, multiple wives? Now that is just wrong! If drinking was wrong why would Jesus turn water into wine?
Screw it, I’m not gaining anything here.
With a frown he turned his horse back to his hostel and packed up his meager belongings before attending his sister’s wedding. It was a long drawn out affair. Very pretty in a gaudy way. It was boring as only a long ceremony can be. After the ceremony he kissed his sister goodbye and rode away from Krakow without a backward glance.
Fortunately the wedding was during the late Spring, so it wouldn’t be to bad to travel. The roads would be muddy, but Johann wasn’t planning on taking the roads. Cross country was the way he planned to go. Most of the days were spent riding in the pouring rain which may even the fields incredibly soggy. Doggedly he continued on his quest eastward.
Three weeks later, in late July, he was far to the east, nearly at the border of Poland, if his map was close to accurate, almost at the border of Podolia. Which it probably wasn’t, he hadn’t seen a town or even any human habitation in the last few days. There just wasn’t much out here except seemingly endless steppe land. Grasses at waist height gently swaying in the slight breeze.
It is kind of pretty in a way. The grasses growing rapidly. Within another month I probably won’t be able to see much other than the grass in front of me. Well, it ought to make hunting more of a challenge.
Pats his horseman’s bow lovingly before continuing to pluck one of the three gorse he had shot just a little bit earlier. Soon it would be time to cook the carcass and eat his early evening repast. A tiny stand of trees was off to his right.
As good a place as any.
Unsaddling the horse, he hobbled it before rubbing it down and giving it a small bag of oats to supplement the grass it had been snatching all day. Johann picks up some twigs and a decent supply of deadwood for his fire. He digs a small pit with a good earthern embankment. Placing the twigs at the bottom along with some bits of dry, strawlike grass that was still around from last year he pulled out his flint and steel to strike a spark to start a fire.
After a few expert strokes he has a spark kindling among the dry grass within his twigs. Soon enough he has added a few of the dead wood branches. Quickly gutting the birds he places them on makeshift spits to cook. He took the now empty bag of oats from the horse and places his saddle near the fire for a backrest.
The fire crackled merrily and the gorse was nearly finished cooking. The sun was just a rosy hint on the western horizon. He took a small swig from his wineskin when he heard a tiny snap from the small woodland behind him.
Damn! This could be bad. No point in getting overly excited. If he, she, or they have a bow and want me dead, that is what will happen. I’m caught flat footed. I should have known better, just because an area looks deserted doesn’t mean that it is deserted. Guess I’ll see who it is behind me.
Johann stood up and turned slowly to see half a dozen Cossacks behind him. He knew they were Cossacks as he had seen a few in Krakow two years ago. You just can’t mistake them. He bowed and motioned them to come closer. He thought about trying Lithuanian, but decided to speak to them in Polish. Swedish was probably a language they didn’t know. And he wasn’t anywhere near stupid enough to try Turkish.
“Good Evening. I hope I am not trespassing on your lands? I am just a lone traveler out seeing the world. Can I offer you some gorse? I only have the three. I do have some wine, if you are interested.”
The six conferred amongst themselves in a language he didn’t understand.
I’ve done what I could. If they want to kill me, they probably could. At least they don’t have their bows drawn. Or their swords. Of course I might take two or three of them if they attack, but probably not all six unless they are incompetent. Looking at the worn hilts on their blades I somehow doubt that they are such, and their bows look well cared for, and the fletchings on their bows is in good shape and looks relatively recently applied to the arrows.
Thank God the war is over, and I'm not dressed like a Pole, or Lithuanian. Hopefully they might possibly know I'm Swedish. Well I can dream.
No slovenly warriors these. Not professional soldiers, but warriors. Every bit as good as a professional soldier, by what I can see. Eyes bright with intelligence, their movements sure and smooth. No fear whatsoever, not that they should fear me. What am I going to do, kill all of them? What for? They have offered me no harm as of yet. And again, I doubt I could take all of them.
I have offered them meat and wine. A type of hospitality, if you will. That may be my saving grace. If I remember my history lessons correctly, some cultures believe that being offered food and drink is very hospitable. Plus agreeing to partake of such gives the person guest rights. They must be respected and can not be attacked by the host.
Oh man, if this is their land I just might have insulted them. God, I hope not. Otherwise I’m likely to be dog meat. Maybe they will think I’m polite, and perhaps an idiot. Perhaps they will be kind to a moron. If I’m lucky. I guess I will find out soon enough. Looks like they are done discussing my fate.
His father and mother let him no that in no uncertain terms that he would be accompanying her as her protector. He knew better than to protest, for his grandfather gave him a glare that boded ill if he dared. Of course, he knew his familial duty, he went to Poland. Within a year his sister had met a nobleman and they had become engaged. His new brother in law had made it abundantly clear that his services would no longer be needed, or wanted.
Now he had a problem. His prospects were rather bleak. Poland was not in the habit of hiring mercenaries. His old company had disbanded and he had now been out of the trade for nearly three years. Almost an eternity in the mercenary trade. He had some money still left over from his adventuring days. He led a sparing life. He didn’t womanize, and although he drank he had made friends with a innkeeper who let him drink whatever he wished in return for his services as a bouncer.
The recent war in the east had found the Lithuanians losing Poltava, Belgorod, and Podolia. The Poles had grabbed Presburg, Carpathia, Ruthenia, and Moldavia. It was only mildly interesting since he had been stuck in the capitol without the opportunity to see any of the action.
He had kept himself in good shape with plenty of riding and weapons training along with a lot of running. His health was excellent, he was very strong, and he wasn’t all that bad looking of a fellow. At six feet in height, with long black hair and piercing grey eyes he got plenty of looks from women, but he hadn’t found any that he truly had any interest in seeing for any length of time.
What to do, what to do? I don’t really want to go back to the life of a mercenary. Going back to Sweden is possible. But why bother? I don’t inherit squat. The Poles, at least those in power, don’t seem to give a damn what happens to me. My own darling sister is so besotted with her soon to be husband that she didn’t seem to care that I am going to be thrown out into the cold.
So be it. I’ve roughed it before. Rolled in a blanket with my saddle for a pillow. I am more than capable of foraging for food. Done it before, and I could do it again. But by GOD I am bored! Court life is so damned stifling that I can’t stand to be there for any true length of time. The rivalries, the feuds, the having to kiss the noble backsides of young idiotic twits with the intelligence of songbirds.
I’m well educated. I have pretty good skills with my blade, and I would like to think I am a superb horseman. In fact I used to train the horses in my old company. Warhorses are difficult to train, and I would like to think I am quite good at it.
So what shall I do? Perhaps I should go exploring? Many of the lands east of here are unknown to me. Oh, I have rough maps, but I know nothing about them. I’ve been all over Germany and parts of northern France. I’ve even as a child traveled to the lands of the Turk with my grandfather in a trading venture.
Don’t much like the Turk, they’re infidels for one. Plus they are insufferably snooty. They think they are lords and masters of the whole world. Their concept of jihad to bring everyone under their rule is ridiculous. Plus Islam, now give me a break. No drinking, multiple wives? Now that is just wrong! If drinking was wrong why would Jesus turn water into wine?
Screw it, I’m not gaining anything here.
With a frown he turned his horse back to his hostel and packed up his meager belongings before attending his sister’s wedding. It was a long drawn out affair. Very pretty in a gaudy way. It was boring as only a long ceremony can be. After the ceremony he kissed his sister goodbye and rode away from Krakow without a backward glance.
Fortunately the wedding was during the late Spring, so it wouldn’t be to bad to travel. The roads would be muddy, but Johann wasn’t planning on taking the roads. Cross country was the way he planned to go. Most of the days were spent riding in the pouring rain which may even the fields incredibly soggy. Doggedly he continued on his quest eastward.
Three weeks later, in late July, he was far to the east, nearly at the border of Poland, if his map was close to accurate, almost at the border of Podolia. Which it probably wasn’t, he hadn’t seen a town or even any human habitation in the last few days. There just wasn’t much out here except seemingly endless steppe land. Grasses at waist height gently swaying in the slight breeze.
It is kind of pretty in a way. The grasses growing rapidly. Within another month I probably won’t be able to see much other than the grass in front of me. Well, it ought to make hunting more of a challenge.
Pats his horseman’s bow lovingly before continuing to pluck one of the three gorse he had shot just a little bit earlier. Soon it would be time to cook the carcass and eat his early evening repast. A tiny stand of trees was off to his right.
As good a place as any.
Unsaddling the horse, he hobbled it before rubbing it down and giving it a small bag of oats to supplement the grass it had been snatching all day. Johann picks up some twigs and a decent supply of deadwood for his fire. He digs a small pit with a good earthern embankment. Placing the twigs at the bottom along with some bits of dry, strawlike grass that was still around from last year he pulled out his flint and steel to strike a spark to start a fire.
After a few expert strokes he has a spark kindling among the dry grass within his twigs. Soon enough he has added a few of the dead wood branches. Quickly gutting the birds he places them on makeshift spits to cook. He took the now empty bag of oats from the horse and places his saddle near the fire for a backrest.
The fire crackled merrily and the gorse was nearly finished cooking. The sun was just a rosy hint on the western horizon. He took a small swig from his wineskin when he heard a tiny snap from the small woodland behind him.
Damn! This could be bad. No point in getting overly excited. If he, she, or they have a bow and want me dead, that is what will happen. I’m caught flat footed. I should have known better, just because an area looks deserted doesn’t mean that it is deserted. Guess I’ll see who it is behind me.
Johann stood up and turned slowly to see half a dozen Cossacks behind him. He knew they were Cossacks as he had seen a few in Krakow two years ago. You just can’t mistake them. He bowed and motioned them to come closer. He thought about trying Lithuanian, but decided to speak to them in Polish. Swedish was probably a language they didn’t know. And he wasn’t anywhere near stupid enough to try Turkish.
“Good Evening. I hope I am not trespassing on your lands? I am just a lone traveler out seeing the world. Can I offer you some gorse? I only have the three. I do have some wine, if you are interested.”
The six conferred amongst themselves in a language he didn’t understand.
I’ve done what I could. If they want to kill me, they probably could. At least they don’t have their bows drawn. Or their swords. Of course I might take two or three of them if they attack, but probably not all six unless they are incompetent. Looking at the worn hilts on their blades I somehow doubt that they are such, and their bows look well cared for, and the fletchings on their bows is in good shape and looks relatively recently applied to the arrows.
Thank God the war is over, and I'm not dressed like a Pole, or Lithuanian. Hopefully they might possibly know I'm Swedish. Well I can dream.
No slovenly warriors these. Not professional soldiers, but warriors. Every bit as good as a professional soldier, by what I can see. Eyes bright with intelligence, their movements sure and smooth. No fear whatsoever, not that they should fear me. What am I going to do, kill all of them? What for? They have offered me no harm as of yet. And again, I doubt I could take all of them.
I have offered them meat and wine. A type of hospitality, if you will. That may be my saving grace. If I remember my history lessons correctly, some cultures believe that being offered food and drink is very hospitable. Plus agreeing to partake of such gives the person guest rights. They must be respected and can not be attacked by the host.
Oh man, if this is their land I just might have insulted them. God, I hope not. Otherwise I’m likely to be dog meat. Maybe they will think I’m polite, and perhaps an idiot. Perhaps they will be kind to a moron. If I’m lucky. I guess I will find out soon enough. Looks like they are done discussing my fate.
Petro Shinkarenko and his comrades in arms, Perevernykruchenko, Nepeypivo, Pidkova, Soloveyko and old Panas were returning from patrol back to their camp in Podolia. The sun was well on its way down, when they spotted a fire and a suspicious looking man near it. Sneaking up on him was a task not worthy of bragging about it - the man was so concerned with the food that he did not notice the Cossacks until it was too late.
He was dressed like a Lyah, and yet a Pole he was not. Old Ostap recognized him as a Shved, but none of the Cossacks knew Swedish. Luckily, the man started to talk in Polish - a language so close to Russian (OT: Ukrainians called themselves Russians or Ruthenians, the name Ukrainians was given by outsiders) that there was no need for interpreters. Ruthenian used to be an official language of Lithuania, but lately Polish influence corrupted the Duchy.
- Good Evening. I hope I am not trespassing on your lands? I am just a lone traveler out seeing the world. Can I offer you some gorse? I only have the three. I do have some wine, if you are interested, - said the man.
His accent was so horrible, it made Cossacks smile.
- Could I ask you your name, lytzar'? - asked Petro.
- Johann Fransson, - replied Johann Fransson, if he was not lying. Of course, if he was, he would not be Johann Fransson and noe one would be able to call Johann Fransson a liar.
Cossacks gave him their names.
- Look, Perevernykruchenko, what a funny name: Fransson, - laughed Nepeypivo.
- Pardon, my friends, Johann, - apologized Petro, trying to hide a smile, - did you mention wine, by the way?
Cossacks drank some of the Swede's wine. Some grimaced, old Panas spat it out.
- We have to teach him how to drink gorilka, - and Pidkova tried to explain Johann the meaning of the word.
In his turn, Johann tried to explain that Swedes do have something like it or they would not be able to survive his country's colder-than-hell-kind-of-winters. Pidkova nodded and expressed his sorrow that they can't drink neither drink now - Cossacks drank only in camps and tried to keep away from gorilka when on patrols or at war.
Meanwhile, Petro was checking out Swede's equipment. The blade seemed of a good, if not excellent quality, but a bow, in the hands of a Swede, not a Tatar, was suprising. Shinkarenko sighed - it confirmed his suspiciouns that Western Europe was seriously lagging behind Eastern in technology - his pistol, decorated with gold, was a fine piece of a weaponry. Not always reliable weaponry, but at times it could mean a difference between life and death.
- So, Panas, - asked Petro after trying some meat and finding it quite good, - what the hell are we supposed to do with this German? (Russians often called all non-Slavic European nations by this name). Kill him we shall not - he seems to be a fine lad, polite and noble, and talking funny is not a crime yet.
- The steppe is free for everyone, - agreed Panas, - as long as they don't try to take from us.
- I don't worry about him causing trouble. But he may find himself in trouble instead. And Turks and Tatars will not let him go that easy.
- Let him ride with us, - intervened Soloveyko, who's been eyeing Johann's belt, where he suspected to find some gold. - I may even trade him my spare pistol...
Petro turned to the Swede.
- How about it, pan Johann, would you like to join us, the fine marksmen of the lowland Zaporozhian Host, on a journey to our camp? The pay's low, only what you can take from a Turk, the risk is high, the glory - everlasting. Our life is simple, there's plenty of gorilka, but sorry, no women, unless you leave and find yourself one outside the camp. So, what say you?
He was dressed like a Lyah, and yet a Pole he was not. Old Ostap recognized him as a Shved, but none of the Cossacks knew Swedish. Luckily, the man started to talk in Polish - a language so close to Russian (OT: Ukrainians called themselves Russians or Ruthenians, the name Ukrainians was given by outsiders) that there was no need for interpreters. Ruthenian used to be an official language of Lithuania, but lately Polish influence corrupted the Duchy.
- Good Evening. I hope I am not trespassing on your lands? I am just a lone traveler out seeing the world. Can I offer you some gorse? I only have the three. I do have some wine, if you are interested, - said the man.
His accent was so horrible, it made Cossacks smile.
- Could I ask you your name, lytzar'? - asked Petro.
- Johann Fransson, - replied Johann Fransson, if he was not lying. Of course, if he was, he would not be Johann Fransson and noe one would be able to call Johann Fransson a liar.
Cossacks gave him their names.
- Look, Perevernykruchenko, what a funny name: Fransson, - laughed Nepeypivo.
- Pardon, my friends, Johann, - apologized Petro, trying to hide a smile, - did you mention wine, by the way?
Cossacks drank some of the Swede's wine. Some grimaced, old Panas spat it out.
- We have to teach him how to drink gorilka, - and Pidkova tried to explain Johann the meaning of the word.
In his turn, Johann tried to explain that Swedes do have something like it or they would not be able to survive his country's colder-than-hell-kind-of-winters. Pidkova nodded and expressed his sorrow that they can't drink neither drink now - Cossacks drank only in camps and tried to keep away from gorilka when on patrols or at war.
Meanwhile, Petro was checking out Swede's equipment. The blade seemed of a good, if not excellent quality, but a bow, in the hands of a Swede, not a Tatar, was suprising. Shinkarenko sighed - it confirmed his suspiciouns that Western Europe was seriously lagging behind Eastern in technology - his pistol, decorated with gold, was a fine piece of a weaponry. Not always reliable weaponry, but at times it could mean a difference between life and death.
- So, Panas, - asked Petro after trying some meat and finding it quite good, - what the hell are we supposed to do with this German? (Russians often called all non-Slavic European nations by this name). Kill him we shall not - he seems to be a fine lad, polite and noble, and talking funny is not a crime yet.
- The steppe is free for everyone, - agreed Panas, - as long as they don't try to take from us.
- I don't worry about him causing trouble. But he may find himself in trouble instead. And Turks and Tatars will not let him go that easy.
- Let him ride with us, - intervened Soloveyko, who's been eyeing Johann's belt, where he suspected to find some gold. - I may even trade him my spare pistol...
Petro turned to the Swede.
- How about it, pan Johann, would you like to join us, the fine marksmen of the lowland Zaporozhian Host, on a journey to our camp? The pay's low, only what you can take from a Turk, the risk is high, the glory - everlasting. Our life is simple, there's plenty of gorilka, but sorry, no women, unless you leave and find yourself one outside the camp. So, what say you?
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Great job, Amric 
I enjoyed it a lot, especially you thinking about picking a fight with six Cossacks at once. Don't worry though, they like you and if the fight had to be fought, they'd fight one by one, like true lytzari that they are.
Anyway, we just have to keep you in small campaigns until 1550's when you can witness the creation of Sich and things might speed up a little. I will try to start couple of "safe" wars, to help the story
Again, great job, and let me know if you have time this weekend for mp?
I enjoyed it a lot, especially you thinking about picking a fight with six Cossacks at once. Don't worry though, they like you and if the fight had to be fought, they'd fight one by one, like true lytzari that they are.Anyway, we just have to keep you in small campaigns until 1550's when you can witness the creation of Sich and things might speed up a little. I will try to start couple of "safe" wars, to help the story
Again, great job, and let me know if you have time this weekend for mp?
"Petro, I would be honored to ride with you," Johann smiled.
Well I am not to be killed. Most excellent! This could be fun. No women, oh well. It's hardship I can endure. I have before on campaign, the lord knows.
"By the way, we do have guns and such, but gunpowder can be expensive," Johann explained," Whereas I can make my own arrows. I used to have a pistol, but I got rid of it. I had a friend lose a hand to one of those things."
He stretched," It probably wouldn't hurt if I could learn your language as well. It sounds like Russian, but I only speak a smattering of that."
Petro nodded thoughtfully," It is a good idea. Let us start right now."
I'm having a lot of fun with this....I see why collaboration can be so much fun....
Well I am not to be killed. Most excellent! This could be fun. No women, oh well. It's hardship I can endure. I have before on campaign, the lord knows.
"By the way, we do have guns and such, but gunpowder can be expensive," Johann explained," Whereas I can make my own arrows. I used to have a pistol, but I got rid of it. I had a friend lose a hand to one of those things."
He stretched," It probably wouldn't hurt if I could learn your language as well. It sounds like Russian, but I only speak a smattering of that."
Petro nodded thoughtfully," It is a good idea. Let us start right now."
I'm having a lot of fun with this....I see why collaboration can be so much fun....
I tried it before, but it's hard with a lot of people. Three to five is good, when one to three - perfect. At least, for me
Good job, but enough for today, I have to get some sleep
Good job, but enough for today, I have to get some sleep
Understandable. I don't plan on being too much on this...it is your AAR, just little moments, kind of like you've done in my AAR. Seems to be a good mix.
I agree with the mixture of collaboration. Should we keep it just between LordLeto, me, and you?
I agree with the mixture of collaboration. Should we keep it just between LordLeto, me, and you?
I'm curious to find out what happens to herr Fransson... A Swedish gun-slinging 16th century soldier of fortune fighting with Cossaks? This just got be good.
I'm enjoying this AAR, and I don't often read a lot of them due to the heavy roleplaying. This level of roleplaying seems nice though, and the style of writing seems pretty lighthearted Don't get too serious, it just wouldn't be very Cossack-y
lol I like, will keep reading.
Don't get too serious, it just wouldn't be very Cossack-ylol I like, will keep reading.
Sounds good, I would leave a blank spot for Commandante
I think you mixed up your aar and mine, LordLeto hasn't been here in a long time.Commandante, adventures are going to continue after this post. Get ready as Johann will have to face vicious Tatars for the first time in his life.
Rhodz, when Cossack sings, his soul cries - Did you ever hear that saying?
I will try to make it lighthearted as possible, if it doesn't have humor, you're right, it is not about Cossacks.
Nalivayko- You may have a point...okay, Commandante is a good choice. And your right. I got our AAR's confused...
- Will he ever wake up? - Petro was clearly loosing his patience.
- Rassol! (liquid one may find in a jar with pickles - Russian favorite for the hangover).
Johann rose up as if from the dead. Luckily, there were no pregnant women around - his scary looks could have made caused them to lose a child.
- You turning into a Cossack, - Petro did not sound too happy. - How much gorilka was it? Stop, don't answer that, I can see you hurt when you're thinking.
- What is the rush? - mumbled the Swede. - It is not our turn to patrol until Friday.
Panas, who just entered the lightly build Ukrainian house with hay on the roof, grinned and kicked up some dust, dancing with unusual for his age vigour.
- To arms, my brother. Those infidel dogs, the Tatars, rebelled against the Sultan.
- And how it is our business? - Johann's hands were searching for a bottle. Not finding it, he went back to conversation.
- It isn't. But after they took Bakchi-Sarai, they decided to head for Azov.
- I take it, it's not a good thing?
Petro smiled and looked at dancing Panas.
- It depends how you look at it.
OT: Amric, rebels moved on Azov from Crimea. We are going to wait it out in Lugansk and move to besiege the city. Turks will then take back Crimea, while Tatars are besieging Kerch. It's all yours now
- Rassol! (liquid one may find in a jar with pickles - Russian favorite for the hangover).
Johann rose up as if from the dead. Luckily, there were no pregnant women around - his scary looks could have made caused them to lose a child.
- You turning into a Cossack, - Petro did not sound too happy. - How much gorilka was it? Stop, don't answer that, I can see you hurt when you're thinking.
- What is the rush? - mumbled the Swede. - It is not our turn to patrol until Friday.
Panas, who just entered the lightly build Ukrainian house with hay on the roof, grinned and kicked up some dust, dancing with unusual for his age vigour.
- To arms, my brother. Those infidel dogs, the Tatars, rebelled against the Sultan.
- And how it is our business? - Johann's hands were searching for a bottle. Not finding it, he went back to conversation.
- It isn't. But after they took Bakchi-Sarai, they decided to head for Azov.
- I take it, it's not a good thing?
Petro smiled and looked at dancing Panas.
- It depends how you look at it.
OT: Amric, rebels moved on Azov from Crimea. We are going to wait it out in Lugansk and move to besiege the city. Turks will then take back Crimea, while Tatars are besieging Kerch. It's all yours now
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Lucifer (Chernobog, Satan, etc) was not happy. King Zapolya was a good tool in his hands - a dangerous weapon, one might say. The King was said and Hungary, which Lucifer has made his home for the last two decades, was no more. However, more troubling was the determination with which St. Elias and St. Yuri defended their favorites on Earth. Luckily, St. Elias did not seem to excited about the outcome of the last war. St.Yuri got all the glory, while Perun... no, St.Elias seemed to be forgotten. One could profit from a situation like this. Rod willing... or unwilling, Chernobog would triumph over Rod's chosen people.
And so, he left Buda, and left Earth, not seen by anyone. For a brief moment he considered tempering with Leta, River of Time and fighting this war again (unknow to himself, he did try to temper with Time, attempting to delete the last two decades from history. Fortunately, Rod abandoned the World Tree and fixed things before changes imprinted themselves in history and became undoable. Then he erased Chernobog's memory about this accident), but in the last moment decided against it.
There were still kings and countries he could corrupt. Muscowy, being Orthodox, was out of his reach, but Catholics were Satan's without a doubt. He ruled them through his representative of Earth - and the seat of his power was in Rome, that Babylon of the modern time. And so, Lucifer chose Poland and Lithuania as his next tools. They would be harder to control - but with time his patience would bear fruits.
And so Satan appeared in Krakow and as a result of his visit King Zygmunt I was finally able to supress a nobles' revolt in Lithuania and once again unite two countries under his rule.
Meanwhile, angry St. Elias took his refuge in Muscowy, where he fought against Lucifer (Loki, Hades, etc) in Sweden and Poland. The Czar was a puppet in his hands and so would be Cossacks - if they decided to support Czar against Swedes and Poles. But Holy Mother was watching over Zaporozhians and their honor prevented them from attacking Polish King, who's done so much to punish their offender - King Zapolya.
And so, he left Buda, and left Earth, not seen by anyone. For a brief moment he considered tempering with Leta, River of Time and fighting this war again (unknow to himself, he did try to temper with Time, attempting to delete the last two decades from history. Fortunately, Rod abandoned the World Tree and fixed things before changes imprinted themselves in history and became undoable. Then he erased Chernobog's memory about this accident), but in the last moment decided against it.
There were still kings and countries he could corrupt. Muscowy, being Orthodox, was out of his reach, but Catholics were Satan's without a doubt. He ruled them through his representative of Earth - and the seat of his power was in Rome, that Babylon of the modern time. And so, Lucifer chose Poland and Lithuania as his next tools. They would be harder to control - but with time his patience would bear fruits.
And so Satan appeared in Krakow and as a result of his visit King Zygmunt I was finally able to supress a nobles' revolt in Lithuania and once again unite two countries under his rule.
Meanwhile, angry St. Elias took his refuge in Muscowy, where he fought against Lucifer (Loki, Hades, etc) in Sweden and Poland. The Czar was a puppet in his hands and so would be Cossacks - if they decided to support Czar against Swedes and Poles. But Holy Mother was watching over Zaporozhians and their honor prevented them from attacking Polish King, who's done so much to punish their offender - King Zapolya.
Looking at the map, Johann winced and shook his head. Bad idea. He groaned.
This is bad. Very bad. Stupid Tatars. Now the Turk is aroused and will move lots of troops up here. Hm, how to take advantage of this? Oh my aching head! Less gorilka, must remember to drink less of that stuff! It's like firewine, but the aftereffects are worse!
Think, man! Think! Will have to get Azov back. That is a given. Won't be that difficult with these guys. Tough men, all of them. But can I think of a way to turn this into an advantage for the Cossacks to spit in the eye of the Turk?
Munching on some slightly stale bread and drinking a great deal of water he continued to study the map. The others look at him in some surprise.
"You understand the situation, then?" Petro inquired softly.
"Oh yeah, I understand," Johann looked at the still dancing Panas," If you have to go take a leak, would you go do it already? You're distracting me. I'm trying to think, and after all the drinking last night it hurts. A lot!"
Panas laughed, but quit dancing. Johann smiled weakly and nodded his thanks. Carefully.
"What I'm trying to figure out," Johann continued," is how to turn this rebellion to our, well, your advantage."
"Is easy," Pidkova chuckled," We go take Azov back from the Tatars."
Johann accepted a cup of Rassol gingerly and taking a quick gulp, shuddering," That's just awful. I don't know why I punish myself with this."
"Because it works," Petro replied with a sardonic grin.
"Pidkova," Johann said," Getting Azov back is the easy thing. I'm thinking about how we can turn the fortunate rebellion against the Sultan to our advantage."
Petro nodded thoughtfully," Panas, do you know if they will be able to declare their independence from the Turk?"
Panas shook his head," I have no idea. Why do you care?"
"Because," Johann spoke quickly," If they manage to declare independence from the Turk we have a golden opportunity."
"How do you figure?" Panas asked.
"They will still be at war with the Turk. We just might be able to snatch a province from them. Perhaps Kerch, which would give the Cossacks another port."
"Bah, who cares for ports and ships?" Panas laughed," We are Cossacks! We ride! We do not sail!"
"Well you might not, but other countries do," Johann explained," Trade is good. Trade is worth ducats. More ducats means the ability to buy more weapons to slap down the infidel Turk, or more Tatars."
Panas stopped laughing," I hadn't thought of that."
Petro sighed," Enough chattering like women. Panas, do we actually have orders?"
This is bad. Very bad. Stupid Tatars. Now the Turk is aroused and will move lots of troops up here. Hm, how to take advantage of this? Oh my aching head! Less gorilka, must remember to drink less of that stuff! It's like firewine, but the aftereffects are worse!
Think, man! Think! Will have to get Azov back. That is a given. Won't be that difficult with these guys. Tough men, all of them. But can I think of a way to turn this into an advantage for the Cossacks to spit in the eye of the Turk?
Munching on some slightly stale bread and drinking a great deal of water he continued to study the map. The others look at him in some surprise.
"You understand the situation, then?" Petro inquired softly.
"Oh yeah, I understand," Johann looked at the still dancing Panas," If you have to go take a leak, would you go do it already? You're distracting me. I'm trying to think, and after all the drinking last night it hurts. A lot!"
Panas laughed, but quit dancing. Johann smiled weakly and nodded his thanks. Carefully.
"What I'm trying to figure out," Johann continued," is how to turn this rebellion to our, well, your advantage."
"Is easy," Pidkova chuckled," We go take Azov back from the Tatars."
Johann accepted a cup of Rassol gingerly and taking a quick gulp, shuddering," That's just awful. I don't know why I punish myself with this."
"Because it works," Petro replied with a sardonic grin.
"Pidkova," Johann said," Getting Azov back is the easy thing. I'm thinking about how we can turn the fortunate rebellion against the Sultan to our advantage."
Petro nodded thoughtfully," Panas, do you know if they will be able to declare their independence from the Turk?"
Panas shook his head," I have no idea. Why do you care?"
"Because," Johann spoke quickly," If they manage to declare independence from the Turk we have a golden opportunity."
"How do you figure?" Panas asked.
"They will still be at war with the Turk. We just might be able to snatch a province from them. Perhaps Kerch, which would give the Cossacks another port."
"Bah, who cares for ports and ships?" Panas laughed," We are Cossacks! We ride! We do not sail!"
"Well you might not, but other countries do," Johann explained," Trade is good. Trade is worth ducats. More ducats means the ability to buy more weapons to slap down the infidel Turk, or more Tatars."
Panas stopped laughing," I hadn't thought of that."
Petro sighed," Enough chattering like women. Panas, do we actually have orders?"
Nalivayko, can't play anything this weekend. My wife has it all planned out for me, and since it is my birthday on Sunday...well I'm sure you can understand. Plus, again, I have to finish my AAR before I can do MP as I need the latest patches first.
Nice, you are reading my mind Although there will be a little twist, but let me go and watch fireworks first.
I would have problems too if I played this weeked. Have to finish yet another corporate site before I go to my another job on Monday. We'll think up a day though later.
Thanks, and a very nice post!
Although there will be a little twist, but let me go and watch fireworks first. I would have problems too if I played this weeked. Have to finish yet another corporate site before I go to my another job on Monday. We'll think up a day though later.
Thanks, and a very nice post!
Thank you. I do have a couple of questions....what the hell year is it anyway? And two, I had an idea for a scene where Johann uses his bow at night to take out Tatar sentries over a period of a few nights as a scarey tactic against them...however I am getting the impression that the Cossacks aren't into that sort of thing...Give me an idea....
And two, I had an idea for a scene where Johann uses his bow at night to take out Tatar sentries over a period of a few nights as a scarey tactic against them...however I am getting the impression that the Cossacks aren't into that sort of thing...Give me an idea....
All kinds of war ruses are accepted Year is 1541, Tatar army has just destroyed two smaller Turkish armies and took Azov. We do have a fleet of 5 warships and 5 galleys and our army is 5,000 foot and 2,000 horse (and yes, there were foot Cossacks )
Tatar army is marching on Kerch, we are moving on Azov. The rest is up to you
P.S. I will wait until after the sentry accident to add more material. Don't worry, once we are done with Tatars, there'll be plenty to write about
Year is 1541, Tatar army has just destroyed two smaller Turkish armies and took Azov. We do have a fleet of 5 warships and 5 galleys and our army is 5,000 foot and 2,000 horse (and yes, there were foot Cossacks )Tatar army is marching on Kerch, we are moving on Azov. The rest is up to you
P.S. I will wait until after the sentry accident to add more material. Don't worry, once we are done with Tatars, there'll be plenty to write about
It's up to me? You mean you want me to write the battle sequence? Hm, we aren't taking the entire Cossack host are we?
Nevermind...Somehow missed the last part of your post...Weird night tonight....
Nevermind...Somehow missed the last part of your post...Weird night tonight....