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Scouse Mouse

Second Lieutenant
48 Badges
Jan 26, 2004
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Sails on the horizon - An England 1453+ AAR - Revived with NA

Part I: The Lion in Winter


200px-HenryVIofEngland.jpg



The clatter of the goblet on the floor woke Henry VI, King of England from his stupor. Blinking rapidly, Henry drew himself up in his chair, drawing a look of interest from one of the hunting dogs lazing in front of the blazing hearth in front of him. When his master did little more than draw his thick bearskin robe tighter around his gaunt frame before settling back into the chair parked in the flickering shadows of the fire, the dogs peaked ears flattened, and the creature went back to warming itself against the chill of the mild midsummer night that blanketed the white tower of London. Cursing silently, Henry licked his tongue along the rough edges of his teeth, bringing moisture back to the parched bridge of his mouth. His head pounded. He had been deep in his cups when Richard, Duke of York and self-appointed Protector of England had left the Castle before nightfall, riding for Dover and ultimately bound for the fortress of Calais, last remaining outpost of the Empire built by Henry’s forebears. His eyes wandered from the fire to the doorway, and he was glad to see that the servants had locked the door to his study, keeping him safe from prying eyes. Since the start of his seizures, he had seen few other members of the Royal Court. His malady none-withstanding, he was content with his isolation. Barons lobbying for privilege and position, Cardinals spinning webs of intrigue behind masks of piety, the noise and clatter of the court held few attractions to a man that had always preferred his own company and council. As his madness has grown, his need for isolation intensified. On the advice of his Confessor, he had even started shunning the attentions of his exasperated wife.

Closing his eyes, Henry willed himself to sleep, but knew that sleep would not come. Shifting his weight and wincing, he opened his eyes and stared deep into the embers of the dying fire, in his black mood seeing there the allegorical fate of his house. The reign of the House of Lancaster was coming to its inevitable end. Cousin Richard’s increasingly unilateral leadership of the realm was evidence of the days to come, a time of civil war and accelerating strife and weakness. The humiliating peace negotiated with France but months before would be a footnote on the end of Henry’s line, when his hale young French wife had more strength and guile than the King of England. His beloved son, Edward, Prince of Wales, still yet a babe argued strongly against his doubts on his house and England, but Henry knew that neither he or his son carried the strength of earlier namesakes, Plantagenet Kings who led their Realms with firm hands and drawn sword, and meted bloody ruin to generations of Welsh, Irish, Scots, French and the heathen Saracen.

But hope still flickered, England might not yet be consigned to a footnote in history. The letter that Richard carried for the eyes of the King of the French might save Henry's crown and ultimately save England. Allied with the Scots to the North, the house of Valois had the Lion caged and declawed. The Hawks amongst the Barons of Henry’s court called for war – but, thankfully, there were but a few hawks left barring Richard of York and Richard Neville, Earl of Warwick – buzzards, however there were aplenty, picking at the carrion of a nation in decline. He cursed that he was fated to be King in such dark times. His eyes drifted to the Fleur-de-lis sitting aside the Lion on the banner above the hearth. He would not war again with France – at least not willingly and of his own volition. Even for the Plantagenets, France had always been a graveyard for English ambition. French Knights were no match for their English counterparts in battle, the vexing issue being that as soon as one French army was soundly defeated, another brood of well-groomed and plate gilded French Princelings were ready to fight. The strength of the realm of England had been worn away like a rock eroded into sand. "No" he muttered to the silent room. No victory could be found on the battlefields of Flanders or at the gates of Paris, at least not until the crowns of the British Isles were once again joined. It was to diplomacy that Henry looked to for hope. Sell Calais to the French King and fill the coffers of England for the challenge ahead, the seduction of the court of James II ~ or, failing that, backing of the Black Douglases. The Scottish must be brought to heel and the strengthening Alliance with the French broken. Raising himself from the chair, Henry raised a shaking hand and pawed at the pile of logs beside the hearth. The fresh fuel crackled on the fire, and as it burst into flame, so did Henry’s spirits….Hope was rekindled.

160px-Armoiries_Angleterre_1422.png
 
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Well, a very good start introducing this character and general situation.

My only advice at this point is don't kill yourself to make daily updates if you would, say, rather play the game! :)
 
Really nice portrait :)
Let's hope the king will live long enough to diplomatically resolve the situation with France. Old age wisdom usually bear good fruits.
 
Scouse Mouse: ...The fresh fuel crackled on the fire, and as it burst into flame, so did Henry’s spirits….Hope was rekindled.

excellent start ! ! :D

. i'm in ! ! :cool:
 
Very interesting and good start. You present the King and his troubles well and I sure think this is going to be an interesting story. Good start, looking forward to more :)
 
Part II: The Pact with the Devil

Richard of York rode into the night, his bodyguard and herald now lengths behind. The horse panted in ragged gasps below him, steam rising off its flanks. Six horses he had ridden into the ground on the ride south to Dover, another two had been ridden lame since his arrival in Calais in the early hours of the 20th of August. This one would have to take him as far as his quarry. ‘Madness!’ he muttered to himself, and not for the first time. The quest that his cousin had given him was a fools errand. After leading the armies of England in a vain rearguard action over the last few years, to be asked to return in a less than agreeable fashion to the fields of Flanders was not to his liking. “A Pox on him and his French bitch of a wife!” he spat, swerving the tiring horse around an overturned cart left to rot on the road. They had been picking through the countryside for several hours now, avoiding the few disinterested Burgundian patrols they encountered on the long ride south. He looked to his left and right. The narrow roads heading south out of Calais were as they were when he was at war, but the signs of battle and destruction were fading. Farmers had started returning, he noted signs of life in hamlets they had passed that had been put to the torch scant months before, by the English or French his memory did not recall. As so often with war, the recollection of the act outlived the memory of the perpetrator.

Gripping the reins tightly, he pulled in the horse to let his company catch up and to stop the horse dying beneath him. Trying to find words of comfort for the beast, and failing, his mind returned to the contents of the saddle-bag, as it had so often done so in the last few hours. Henry VI of England, his half-mad liege-lord, had sent him on a mission of diplomacy, no doubt at the insistence of the Queen, who the fool had sacrificed half of his French domain to marry just on word of her beauty. The effeminate fool. He would see the cur whipped and hung if this mission he had been sent on ended with disaster. He knew that his own face and honor were at stake. If he were King, ten thousand men would be marching down this road to place the head of the French king on a Pike. Perhaps he would get the chance once this folly was ended.

The arrival of his heralds horse breaking his revelry, he squinted through the murky twilight of approaching morning before him, to the troops billeted further down the road. Signaled ahead, his herald pressed on, waving the banner of the King of England and the flag of Parlay. Richard sat upright and rigid in the saddle. With teeth clenched, he waited.

He wasn’t to wait very long. Out of the camp across the gentle valley came the French. A banner of a golden fish on a red field fluttered in the wind. He didn’t recognize the house. He absent-mindedly played with his gauntlets while he awaited the noble and his herald to approach. He suspected that this meeting was to be a painful one and he wasn’t to be disappointed.

“What do we have here, has the King of England come to pay his respects?”, the officer chided, drawing his horse up in front of Richard and lifting a visor to display a face that was as mocking as his words. Richard bridled but managed to control his temper. “Where is your King? I have an offer for him from my Liege” Richard replied curtly, as the French Lord circled his horse and inspected the party in front of him. The man chuckled. “Perhaps you haven’t heard my Lord, but French Kings no longer appear under summons of the King of England. In these times, maybe the opposite is appropriate, no?”. Richards sword hand flexed and hesitated, and then re-gripped the rein. “My Lord the King of England has a missive that your King will want to read, I assure you. Although I do not deliver it by choice”. Dropping to the side of his horse, the French Lord approached Richard, smiling, and held his hand outstretched. “Then you will give it to me, mon ami. I represent the King here”. Flustered, Richard opened the saddlebag and threw the bound papers at the feet of the noble, his color and anger rising. With a flourish the man bent down, picked up the muddied parchment, and with a curious look at the Englishman, opened the papers. His confident grin faded. “Is this another trick of your King, Mon Ami? Do you seek to lull us into a false sense of security and then attack us elsewhere? My Scottish friends assure us that a duplicitous nature is the mark of every Englishman…” There was no mirth in the voice now. Bounding onto his horse, the Frenchman wheeled around back towards his camp. “Wait here! You will have your answer from Charles de Valois on the morrow!”. Without another word, he rode hard for the encampment and the castle beyond it.
 
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Scouse Mouse said:
My first AAR - hope to make daily updates - will start (and add screenies) after I get to download the game from Gamersgate tomorrow morning.


No my friend not just your first aar, but the first true aar of the EU3 era.
 
interesting little scene. He could get himself into trouble if he lets his temper get the better of him too often.
 
Thanks for the words of encouragement guys. I'll try to keep this interesting and a little more appealing as far as visual matter as the story progresses. The objective of the game will be to form the United Kingdom and its colonial empire centuries before they happened in reality. It will be interesting to see if that gives me the scope to play the UK as an aggressive imperial power rather than the fulcrum/catalyst of a delicate balance of power that it tried to play in European affairs up until the 20th century, with its mercantile possessions occupying most of its attention.

It would be interesting to play the first great Cold War - between the British and the Russians in the 18th/19th century - a little more aggressively. :)

Well, lets get through 20 years without the French and Scots squashing me. First things first!!! More to come tomorrow.
 
I dunno, one could argue the French/English bickering with each other for centuries counted as a Cold War. :)

Excellent start! I'm really enjoying your characterization.
 
CatKnight said:
I dunno, one could argue the French/English bickering with each other for centuries counted as a Cold War. :)

Excellent start! I'm really enjoying your characterization.

more like siblings fighting amongst each other
 
Yay the 1st England AAR :D
this is great unfortunately im away for a week so I wont be able to read it.
although when i come back i can read 7 in one go if you keep your time table :cool:

oh yes what happens in the american war in Eu3?
 
A very nice start, Scouse Mouse! And blast you for writing on Richard of York so soon. Dammit man...I wanted to write on that. But I so far, you've done as well or better as I might. So let's see some more. :)
 
Bah... I can't wait to see a Wars of the Roses AAR! :cool:

I think you've made a wonderful start, Scouse Mouse. Here's hoping that Richard usurps the throne, only for Edward, prince of Wales to reclaim what is his by birthright further down the line!

I can't wait to see what you do with the WotR and the HYW. Obviously, I hope you sell Calais and make peace with France - then by God come back later with one hell of a vengeance... ;)

Well done, and good luck - I'll be following this one.