[OOC: As I said, I wanted to do another, serious AAR as a counterpoint to the more lighthearted History of Castile, this one more in the tradition of my previous works. I will try to update both equally oftem, although it will definitely be defined by my mood which one takes precedence. 
Note to first time visitors: Each chapter is a self contained story of a section of the Klausen family history and will span several posts. I am aiming at making it possible to read any chapter without prior knowledge of the previous chapters. I hope I succeed at least in part.
The game is the grand campaign as Holstein (I took the liberty of calling it the Duchy of Holstein-Hamburg, despite it being terribly incorrect, to make things easier), normal difficulty, normal AI aggression.
***PROLOGUE***
Crest of the Duchy of Holstein-Hamburg
The rain was always the chilliest in december. There was usually little snow in Hamburg in winter, but all the more rain. It poured, it lingered in the air as thin mist, the moisture creeping through the clothes, no matter how many of them you wore. Your skin got damp and before you knew it you were shivering, your teeth clattering. Nevertheless, life went on the Hanseatic City. People were used to the weather and had come to terms with it long ago. Or, as a popular proverb went, "There's no bad weather, there's only bad clothing." Of course those words were coined by a rich person possessing a large assortment of attires for various weathers. The poor froze, and in winter, those who were not fortunate enough to find shelter in one of the clergy's institutions, suffered from colds, and not few of them died. The city guards carried several dozen dead away each night. The good thing was that it took the corpses longer to begin to smell during winter. Not that anyone would have noticed in the stench that consistently hung over the city, changing its odor slightly from quarter to quarter.
Night rain on the Alster
The rain in this dark december night of 1418 was exceptionally chilly. In the few streets that were paved with stone, it made the treading dangerous, freezing on contact with the cold rocks. The unpaved roads that consisted of nothing of dense dirt turned to mud from the rain, not freezing, but allowing the wetness to sneak treacherously through whatever footwear people might try to shelter them with. Hardly anyone shuffled through the dark streets in this clam night, not anyone who had the chance to sit by a comfortable fireplace. The boy who had run from the warm shelter of St. Petri, however, was oblivious to his surroundings. He had run for fifteen minutes and never spent a thought on his aching feet that longed for some place warm. He had run aimlessly, or so it seemed, for he knew the town in and out, before he allowed himself to catch some breath. The cold air bit in his lungs, his throat burning from the exhaustion.
Martin Klausen had come to Hamburg in 1416, nine years old. He hadn't had an easy life. In 1412, his parents died in the flood that destroyed their village Altenwerder. Martin managed to hold onto an empty barrel and was saved. He was accepted as a foster child by his grandparents in Bergedorf, but they exploited him whenever they could, forcing him to labor hard on their farm aand feeding him only what they considered leftovers. After four years of such hardship he ran away, and into the walls of the Hanseatic City of Hamburg.
The Hansa was already in demise, but Hamburg was still a rich city. They had gotten rid of the dangerous pirates Klaus Störtebeker and Godeke Michels. And briefly, they had been the seat of the Hansa when Lübeck was outlawed by the Holy Roman Emperor. No wonder that Duke Heinrich IV of Holstein had layed his eyes upon the wealthy city. It was in 1418, when King Sigismund outlawed the city because of a dispute over coining rights and taxations that Heinrich IV stepped forward, offering the city protection if they acknowledged his rulership. The city counsel agreed, and in turn they were guaranteed to remain largely autonomous. Thus, the Duchy Holstein-Hamburg was formed, and the Duke moved into the city. The Hansa remained its rights in Hamburg, and only a small tax was imposed on them.
Martin, however, cared little for such political intrigues. He stood in the pitch dark night, a dog barking off in the distance, the rain pouring onto him like a hail of small icicles. He shook off the thought of what the sailor in the shelter tried to do to him and began thinking about where to go to. He knew that if he remained outside in the rain he would catch a bad cold, possibly pneumonia. He looked about himself. He was somewhere near the Pferdemarkt, the horse market. And from around the corner, he thought he heard some voices and he could make out the shine of a fire. He slowly approached the corner in question, moving as quietly as he could, although the rain drained out a lot of sound. Carefully he looked peeked around the wall and his eyes needed a few minutes to adjust to the light that he beheld there. Three figures stood around a fire that burned on the the ground under the little roof of a storage house. It seemed they had taken some old, empty crates and somehow lit them ablaze. For a second Martin wondered how they had achieved that in the wetness, but then he tried to discern what the men were talking about. He couldn't make out much, but from what he could understand they were discussing how terrible and dirty the city had become and that there was no need for cheap labor as it used to be. Martin deemed it safe to approach them and ask them to warm him at their fire.
"G... Good evening", he clattered through his teeth. The men turned around. "M... may I... join... I am so cold. P... please, dear sirs."
One man stepped forward, a black, indiscernible shadow before the fire. "Now look what we got here. A little boy", he said with a sarcastic undertone.
Martin braced himself, for this was taking a different course than he had hoped. He cursed himself for not trying to get to the Convent of St. Jacobi instead. He tried to reason with the tall man. "I... I beg you, dear sir. I am j... just cold, and I... I'd..."
The man cut his words short. "You wanted to warm yourself at aour fire, didnn't you?" Martin could but nod. The man chuckled. "Well, too bad. There's not enough room for you." At that the other men laughed. The man fidgeted in a pocked of his ragged clothes. Martin still couldn't make any features out, but he was sure the man bore an evil smile. The man had taken some bones from his pocket and threw them at Martin. "Here, try to make a fire yourself with these!" Martin didn't see what had hit him, but as it looked, sounded and felt on impact like wood, he cowered down, trying to pick the pieces up from the muddy, slippery ground. The tall man laughed again, resting a foot against Martin's head and pushing him rudely over. With a splash Martin fell into the mud, the chilly wetness creeping through his rags at an instant, even colder than the rain had already been.
"That's enough, I guess", came another voice, stern, loud, deep. "Don't you know how dangerous such fires are in a town?"
"But sir", came the voice of the man who had pushed Martin into the mud, only much more timid now. "We were just having some fun." With that he picked up the boy, bringing him to tumbling feet.
"Yes, of course. I bet I should take you in tonight, but I guess you would be grateful for a dry room tonight. Now, kill that fire before it spreads!"
"Sir, we are cold..." began the tall man again.
"The churches offer shelter. Now, get to it!" Martin looked at the man that had seemingly come to his rescue. Another tall man, only this one was clad in armor, bearing a halberd, the fire shimmering on the worn steel and the stubby blond beard of the man. Another guard stood behind this man, smiling all the time.
Grudgingly, muttering, the man who had made fun of Martin went to his companions. They used some mud and rain water to kill the fire and shuffled off. Martin's teeth were still clattering. The guard looked at him, tilting his head. "Well, I guess this has not been your night so far."
Martin didn't answer and instead just shook his head. "Well, my name is Arnulf", the guard said. "You're soaking wet and if you don't get warm soon it'll be your death, I should think." Arnulf talked to his fellow for a moment in a low voice that Martin couldn't understand. It seemed, though, that Arnulf was suggesting something and that the other guard was opposing it. Eventually, Arnulf turned back to Martin. "Well, you can stay in the guards barracks for tonight. We have an empty bunk at the moment after Walter had a bad run in at a bar."
Martin didn't actually know what to say. He stammered a "Thank you", before the guards led him to the barracks.
Note to first time visitors: Each chapter is a self contained story of a section of the Klausen family history and will span several posts. I am aiming at making it possible to read any chapter without prior knowledge of the previous chapters. I hope I succeed at least in part.
The game is the grand campaign as Holstein (I took the liberty of calling it the Duchy of Holstein-Hamburg, despite it being terribly incorrect, to make things easier), normal difficulty, normal AI aggression.
***PROLOGUE***
Crest of the Duchy of Holstein-Hamburg
The rain was always the chilliest in december. There was usually little snow in Hamburg in winter, but all the more rain. It poured, it lingered in the air as thin mist, the moisture creeping through the clothes, no matter how many of them you wore. Your skin got damp and before you knew it you were shivering, your teeth clattering. Nevertheless, life went on the Hanseatic City. People were used to the weather and had come to terms with it long ago. Or, as a popular proverb went, "There's no bad weather, there's only bad clothing." Of course those words were coined by a rich person possessing a large assortment of attires for various weathers. The poor froze, and in winter, those who were not fortunate enough to find shelter in one of the clergy's institutions, suffered from colds, and not few of them died. The city guards carried several dozen dead away each night. The good thing was that it took the corpses longer to begin to smell during winter. Not that anyone would have noticed in the stench that consistently hung over the city, changing its odor slightly from quarter to quarter.
Night rain on the Alster
The rain in this dark december night of 1418 was exceptionally chilly. In the few streets that were paved with stone, it made the treading dangerous, freezing on contact with the cold rocks. The unpaved roads that consisted of nothing of dense dirt turned to mud from the rain, not freezing, but allowing the wetness to sneak treacherously through whatever footwear people might try to shelter them with. Hardly anyone shuffled through the dark streets in this clam night, not anyone who had the chance to sit by a comfortable fireplace. The boy who had run from the warm shelter of St. Petri, however, was oblivious to his surroundings. He had run for fifteen minutes and never spent a thought on his aching feet that longed for some place warm. He had run aimlessly, or so it seemed, for he knew the town in and out, before he allowed himself to catch some breath. The cold air bit in his lungs, his throat burning from the exhaustion.
Martin Klausen had come to Hamburg in 1416, nine years old. He hadn't had an easy life. In 1412, his parents died in the flood that destroyed their village Altenwerder. Martin managed to hold onto an empty barrel and was saved. He was accepted as a foster child by his grandparents in Bergedorf, but they exploited him whenever they could, forcing him to labor hard on their farm aand feeding him only what they considered leftovers. After four years of such hardship he ran away, and into the walls of the Hanseatic City of Hamburg.
The Hansa was already in demise, but Hamburg was still a rich city. They had gotten rid of the dangerous pirates Klaus Störtebeker and Godeke Michels. And briefly, they had been the seat of the Hansa when Lübeck was outlawed by the Holy Roman Emperor. No wonder that Duke Heinrich IV of Holstein had layed his eyes upon the wealthy city. It was in 1418, when King Sigismund outlawed the city because of a dispute over coining rights and taxations that Heinrich IV stepped forward, offering the city protection if they acknowledged his rulership. The city counsel agreed, and in turn they were guaranteed to remain largely autonomous. Thus, the Duchy Holstein-Hamburg was formed, and the Duke moved into the city. The Hansa remained its rights in Hamburg, and only a small tax was imposed on them.
Martin, however, cared little for such political intrigues. He stood in the pitch dark night, a dog barking off in the distance, the rain pouring onto him like a hail of small icicles. He shook off the thought of what the sailor in the shelter tried to do to him and began thinking about where to go to. He knew that if he remained outside in the rain he would catch a bad cold, possibly pneumonia. He looked about himself. He was somewhere near the Pferdemarkt, the horse market. And from around the corner, he thought he heard some voices and he could make out the shine of a fire. He slowly approached the corner in question, moving as quietly as he could, although the rain drained out a lot of sound. Carefully he looked peeked around the wall and his eyes needed a few minutes to adjust to the light that he beheld there. Three figures stood around a fire that burned on the the ground under the little roof of a storage house. It seemed they had taken some old, empty crates and somehow lit them ablaze. For a second Martin wondered how they had achieved that in the wetness, but then he tried to discern what the men were talking about. He couldn't make out much, but from what he could understand they were discussing how terrible and dirty the city had become and that there was no need for cheap labor as it used to be. Martin deemed it safe to approach them and ask them to warm him at their fire.
"G... Good evening", he clattered through his teeth. The men turned around. "M... may I... join... I am so cold. P... please, dear sirs."
One man stepped forward, a black, indiscernible shadow before the fire. "Now look what we got here. A little boy", he said with a sarcastic undertone.
Martin braced himself, for this was taking a different course than he had hoped. He cursed himself for not trying to get to the Convent of St. Jacobi instead. He tried to reason with the tall man. "I... I beg you, dear sir. I am j... just cold, and I... I'd..."
The man cut his words short. "You wanted to warm yourself at aour fire, didnn't you?" Martin could but nod. The man chuckled. "Well, too bad. There's not enough room for you." At that the other men laughed. The man fidgeted in a pocked of his ragged clothes. Martin still couldn't make any features out, but he was sure the man bore an evil smile. The man had taken some bones from his pocket and threw them at Martin. "Here, try to make a fire yourself with these!" Martin didn't see what had hit him, but as it looked, sounded and felt on impact like wood, he cowered down, trying to pick the pieces up from the muddy, slippery ground. The tall man laughed again, resting a foot against Martin's head and pushing him rudely over. With a splash Martin fell into the mud, the chilly wetness creeping through his rags at an instant, even colder than the rain had already been.
"That's enough, I guess", came another voice, stern, loud, deep. "Don't you know how dangerous such fires are in a town?"
"But sir", came the voice of the man who had pushed Martin into the mud, only much more timid now. "We were just having some fun." With that he picked up the boy, bringing him to tumbling feet.
"Yes, of course. I bet I should take you in tonight, but I guess you would be grateful for a dry room tonight. Now, kill that fire before it spreads!"
"Sir, we are cold..." began the tall man again.
"The churches offer shelter. Now, get to it!" Martin looked at the man that had seemingly come to his rescue. Another tall man, only this one was clad in armor, bearing a halberd, the fire shimmering on the worn steel and the stubby blond beard of the man. Another guard stood behind this man, smiling all the time.
Grudgingly, muttering, the man who had made fun of Martin went to his companions. They used some mud and rain water to kill the fire and shuffled off. Martin's teeth were still clattering. The guard looked at him, tilting his head. "Well, I guess this has not been your night so far."
Martin didn't answer and instead just shook his head. "Well, my name is Arnulf", the guard said. "You're soaking wet and if you don't get warm soon it'll be your death, I should think." Arnulf talked to his fellow for a moment in a low voice that Martin couldn't understand. It seemed, though, that Arnulf was suggesting something and that the other guard was opposing it. Eventually, Arnulf turned back to Martin. "Well, you can stay in the guards barracks for tonight. We have an empty bunk at the moment after Walter had a bad run in at a bar."
Martin didn't actually know what to say. He stammered a "Thank you", before the guards led him to the barracks.
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