No harder than any other language.
If it is critical text, yes. So far nothing has been critical to the story, filler really. Filler that takes a great deal of time to compose.
Homelands: Tales of the Anglo-Prussians
- Thread starter Mr. Capiatlist
- Start date
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I've decided for future updates, I will slightly lengthen my posts. I feel the current 1.5 pages leads to be over-depending on the prelude to get information out. If these prove to be unliked or problematic, I will return to the current format.
Not harder? You mean anglo-saxon is easier than English? Really? Maybe it's me and my ignorance in the language area. (While I mastered English, all other languages are too hard for me.)
No language is harder than another, really. People might have bias toward one or another, but in the end it is about when you try to learn. When you are older it becomes much harder to learn a new language.
Homelands
Chapter Fifteen: A Glorious Return
Part 2
Prelude:
At the age of twenty two, Prince Sviendorog was the most eligible bachelor in Prussia. By Prussian law he could not be declared heir until married. However his lack of a wife was the doing of his father, who intended to arrange a special marriage in order to prepare for bigger plans. The woman Gunvald intended for his son was a Norman woman by the name of Ela de Normandie. She was the third oldest daughter of the reigning King of England. Her arrival in Memelbuhr in 1166 was timed specifically by both the Prussians and the English. It represented the hundredth anniversary of William’s victory over the Saxons. Gunvald sold it as reconciliation from the Leofricsons to the invaders. But the deep-rooted hatred between the families was far from over. Gunvald knew that by using a marriage instead of a real treaty there was no real agreement to hold to.
October 11th, 1166
The Norman ship pulled into the harbor with long red and gold streamers trailing behind it. Maidens tossed roses and pedals off the side. Gunvald stood with his arms crossed watching the ship moor to the docks and a parade start from the harbor.
“They spared no expense, those bloody Normans.” Gunvald scoffed. When no one replied he turned and saw Aethelwulf and Sviendorog playing chess inside the parlor. Sviendorog’s face showed no real expression on it. He seemed dreadfully bored. Aethelwulf however seemed very agitated. He face was very close to the board and his hand tangled in his hair. Gunvald walked over to the board and repeated himself.
“Yes, I heard father. I am waiting for uncle to finish his turn so I can end this match.”
“Shut your mouth, you simply caught me off guard!”
“Uncle; that excuse grows old.” Aethelwulf knocked his King over and stood up to leave.
“We’ll see who the better commander is when we are on the field!”
“I gladly await that day.”
“Good, because I’ll need both of you to begin planning for a massive invasion I plan to do in two years,” Gunvald said. Both turned around to look at their King.
“Brother, you don’t really plan to, do you?” Gunvald nodded.
Sviendorog smiled, this would actually be half-way amusing. He stood upright and stroked his beard. He looked down at the chess board beneath him. He reached over and picked Aethelwulf’s King piece up and stood it upright. “Father, have you seen my wife before?” he asked.
“I have not. I’ve heard her descr…” Sviendorog stopped his father.
“If it is to be a surprise, let the surprise be complete.” Gunvald was taken aback. His son was a lethargic man who was bored with the world around him. He had proven to be such a prodigy in tactics and science and theology that he had quit schooling by the age of fourteen. He had spent the last eight years looking for something to challenge him. Gunvald had allowed him to travel to Constantinople and as far as Alexandria and Basra all in the search for books and new sciences. This left the young Leofricson bored when he was made to stay in one place for very long.
The Norman parade had reached the palace and the gates were being opened so that they might enter. The King and the Prince headed down stairs while Aethelwulf was left to ponder chess.
“What is my wife’s name?” the Prince asked.
“Ela de Normandie, she is the daughter of William the Second.” Gunvald answered placing a hand on his son’s back to increase the feeling of urgency in his son. Sviendorog did not hurry his pace. When they did arrive the Norman precession was waiting below them. Ela was covered by a brown veil hiding her face. She was speaking to one of the maids who was trying to comprehend the strong English accent.
England and Prussia in a size comparison circa 1166.
“Entering: his royal majesty King Gunvald the Handsome and his royal highness Prince Sviendorog,” the caller said as the two entered. All in the room turned to face the pair. Once at the bottom of the stairs Ela was brought up to Gunvald and introduced. The King smiled and took her hand. He led her the short distance to his son.
“My lady, this is your future husband, Prince Sviendorog,” Gunvald said. He handed her hand to his son. Sviendorog turned to face her, and had a genuine smile on his face. He bent over to kiss her hand. Standing upright, he pulled the veil back to look upon his wife for the first time. Even Gunvald’s heart fluttered for a second. Gunvald had heard Ela described as an angel but he had taken it with a grain of salt. He now knew that he should have left the salt at home.
“King Gunvald, my father spoke quite highly of you. You have left a major and enduring mark on world politics.”
“Why thank you my dear.”
“And you, Sviendorog, you must tell me of your trips to Egypt and Arabia when we have a chance.”
“As you wish.” Sveiendorog said, a smile plastered across his face. Gunvald was glad that the boy was finally not nearly as bored as usual, but he now feared the boy would resist the invasion. But he settled his fear knowing the boy took things far too seriously, to him the invasion was a challenge, and he had never seen his son give up for any reason.
“The wedding plans are set for a week from today, it order to let you settle,” Gunvald said. “Our servants will lead you to your temporary quarters. You should find them accommodating.”
“Thank you, your highness.” Ela bowed her head and left with the servants.
When she was out of ear shot, Gunvald turned to his son and said, “I don’t care what you are thinking, but she is not the next Cleopatra. I don’t want this getting between you and the invasion.”
Sviendorog’s face had returned to its normal blank boredom, he shifted it slightly to look at his father. “Father, I have the best excuse to cover my ass; daddy made me do it. What are you going to tell her?” Sviendorog smirked and then bowed to his father. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I want to talk to the lady.”
Gunvald nodded his approval while he thought on his son’s words. Gunvald could easily read people, years of working with foreign and domestic nobles had taught him that, but his son was another topic. He sighed, and then returned to his study where Aethelwulf still sat in front of the chess board. “The key, brother, I have found is that winning this game isn’t about which pieces you have left… only which ones you have taken.”
Chapter Fifteen: A Glorious Return
Part 2
Prelude:
At the age of twenty two, Prince Sviendorog was the most eligible bachelor in Prussia. By Prussian law he could not be declared heir until married. However his lack of a wife was the doing of his father, who intended to arrange a special marriage in order to prepare for bigger plans. The woman Gunvald intended for his son was a Norman woman by the name of Ela de Normandie. She was the third oldest daughter of the reigning King of England. Her arrival in Memelbuhr in 1166 was timed specifically by both the Prussians and the English. It represented the hundredth anniversary of William’s victory over the Saxons. Gunvald sold it as reconciliation from the Leofricsons to the invaders. But the deep-rooted hatred between the families was far from over. Gunvald knew that by using a marriage instead of a real treaty there was no real agreement to hold to.
October 11th, 1166
The Norman ship pulled into the harbor with long red and gold streamers trailing behind it. Maidens tossed roses and pedals off the side. Gunvald stood with his arms crossed watching the ship moor to the docks and a parade start from the harbor.
“They spared no expense, those bloody Normans.” Gunvald scoffed. When no one replied he turned and saw Aethelwulf and Sviendorog playing chess inside the parlor. Sviendorog’s face showed no real expression on it. He seemed dreadfully bored. Aethelwulf however seemed very agitated. He face was very close to the board and his hand tangled in his hair. Gunvald walked over to the board and repeated himself.
“Yes, I heard father. I am waiting for uncle to finish his turn so I can end this match.”
“Shut your mouth, you simply caught me off guard!”
“Uncle; that excuse grows old.” Aethelwulf knocked his King over and stood up to leave.
“We’ll see who the better commander is when we are on the field!”
“I gladly await that day.”
“Good, because I’ll need both of you to begin planning for a massive invasion I plan to do in two years,” Gunvald said. Both turned around to look at their King.
“Brother, you don’t really plan to, do you?” Gunvald nodded.
Sviendorog smiled, this would actually be half-way amusing. He stood upright and stroked his beard. He looked down at the chess board beneath him. He reached over and picked Aethelwulf’s King piece up and stood it upright. “Father, have you seen my wife before?” he asked.
“I have not. I’ve heard her descr…” Sviendorog stopped his father.
“If it is to be a surprise, let the surprise be complete.” Gunvald was taken aback. His son was a lethargic man who was bored with the world around him. He had proven to be such a prodigy in tactics and science and theology that he had quit schooling by the age of fourteen. He had spent the last eight years looking for something to challenge him. Gunvald had allowed him to travel to Constantinople and as far as Alexandria and Basra all in the search for books and new sciences. This left the young Leofricson bored when he was made to stay in one place for very long.
The Norman parade had reached the palace and the gates were being opened so that they might enter. The King and the Prince headed down stairs while Aethelwulf was left to ponder chess.
“What is my wife’s name?” the Prince asked.
“Ela de Normandie, she is the daughter of William the Second.” Gunvald answered placing a hand on his son’s back to increase the feeling of urgency in his son. Sviendorog did not hurry his pace. When they did arrive the Norman precession was waiting below them. Ela was covered by a brown veil hiding her face. She was speaking to one of the maids who was trying to comprehend the strong English accent.
England and Prussia in a size comparison circa 1166.
“Entering: his royal majesty King Gunvald the Handsome and his royal highness Prince Sviendorog,” the caller said as the two entered. All in the room turned to face the pair. Once at the bottom of the stairs Ela was brought up to Gunvald and introduced. The King smiled and took her hand. He led her the short distance to his son.
“My lady, this is your future husband, Prince Sviendorog,” Gunvald said. He handed her hand to his son. Sviendorog turned to face her, and had a genuine smile on his face. He bent over to kiss her hand. Standing upright, he pulled the veil back to look upon his wife for the first time. Even Gunvald’s heart fluttered for a second. Gunvald had heard Ela described as an angel but he had taken it with a grain of salt. He now knew that he should have left the salt at home.
“King Gunvald, my father spoke quite highly of you. You have left a major and enduring mark on world politics.”
“Why thank you my dear.”
“And you, Sviendorog, you must tell me of your trips to Egypt and Arabia when we have a chance.”
“As you wish.” Sveiendorog said, a smile plastered across his face. Gunvald was glad that the boy was finally not nearly as bored as usual, but he now feared the boy would resist the invasion. But he settled his fear knowing the boy took things far too seriously, to him the invasion was a challenge, and he had never seen his son give up for any reason.
“The wedding plans are set for a week from today, it order to let you settle,” Gunvald said. “Our servants will lead you to your temporary quarters. You should find them accommodating.”
“Thank you, your highness.” Ela bowed her head and left with the servants.
When she was out of ear shot, Gunvald turned to his son and said, “I don’t care what you are thinking, but she is not the next Cleopatra. I don’t want this getting between you and the invasion.”
Sviendorog’s face had returned to its normal blank boredom, he shifted it slightly to look at his father. “Father, I have the best excuse to cover my ass; daddy made me do it. What are you going to tell her?” Sviendorog smirked and then bowed to his father. “Now, if you will excuse me, I believe I want to talk to the lady.”
Gunvald nodded his approval while he thought on his son’s words. Gunvald could easily read people, years of working with foreign and domestic nobles had taught him that, but his son was another topic. He sighed, and then returned to his study where Aethelwulf still sat in front of the chess board. “The key, brother, I have found is that winning this game isn’t about which pieces you have left… only which ones you have taken.”
I like that guy!
If his name would be more saxon he would be the perfect ruler. Maybe a nickname?
If his name would be more saxon he would be the perfect ruler. Maybe a nickname?
I like that guy!
If his name would be more saxon he would be the perfect ruler. Maybe a nickname?
Gunvald isn't Saxon either. Sviendorog is later known as "the Lett" mostly because he didn't have many distinguishing features.
Heh. I can't wait to see the English reaction to the invasion after this arranged marriage. Truly, a backstabbing of epic proportions.
I know they're not saxon anymore but still. Aethelwulf sounds MUCH better than Sviendorog.
Mostly it involves running for the hills. ^___^
I agree that not all the Lettish names are as good as Gunvald's, but once we get to such dastardly names as 'Kiten' and 'Vishly', 'Sviendorog' sounds much better.
Vishly sounds better than Sviendorog. Note that I'm Polish and those names sound a little different to me. OK, enough chatter about names I'm going to wait for an update now.
You'll have to wait a bit longer. I have math homework and 5 gallons of beer to bottle tonight.
Homelands
Chapter Fifteen: A Glorious Return
Part 3
Prelude:
In 1168, on the eve of the one hundredth anniversary of the founding of Marienscír Prussian troops attacked en masse against England. William II de Normandie, King of England at the time, was an ineffective ruler and was dealing with a massive outbreak of revolts both in the Anglo-Saxon north but also amongst the Normans who now felt that they were considered secondary to the growing English population. The English, like the Prussians, were the result of two cultures colliding. But to the Prussians the entire island was full of foreigners and Normans. They saw little kindred spirit in the Saxons despite the Saxon support of their arrival. The invasion was a great shock to many in Europe, but more so the length and complexity of the war is what kept many nations, already at war with the Muslims, out of the battle. King Gunvald remained in Prussia for much of the war, only arriving in the island in 1170. Instead Sviendorog and Aethelwulf were let loose on the Island, each commanding an army that number in the tens of thousands. The war would nearly bankrupt Prussia, but it drove the English Isles into a spiraling economic depression that would affect the region for centuries. Plague and decimation was rampant even amongst the Norman nobility.
November 20th, 1168
Sviendorog was camped for the winter in York, the old seat of power of his ancestor Morcar. He and all the Prussian troops on the island were under strict order to speak only Prussian, and absolutely no Saxon. However, the Prince was meeting with a local Bishop after hearing about his prowess at chess.
“You and your troops certainly knew what to expect upon arriving here. Word from the south is that London has already been seized and your fellow commander has already set up shop.”
“We’ve been planning for quite some time; this is going to be a quick war.”
“I do hope so. I must personally thank you, though. You have spared all the churches and cathedrals across the entire nation. For an invading army you seem in no hurry to shock and awe the people.”
“We seek only the crown. Pointless to rule over a Necropolis,” Sviendorog said looking over the chess board carefully. The bishop played very differently from his uncle. It was very slow, probing and defensive.
“I’ve heard rumor you’ve been to the Holy Lands. You must tell me of your journeys!”
“I have, I passed through Jerusalem and Bethlehem long enough only to pay my respects. I actually held audience with the Sultan of the Seljuks and the Caliph in Cairo. We have much to learn from them. Their works with optics and light rays has been simply stunning. As well, recently their contributions to mathematics have been amazing. I found it all truly fascinating.” Sviendorog looked up to find the Bishop uninterested in the science. The Prince shook his head and instead swiftly ended the chess game with a mate. The Bishop looked up from the board and into his opponent’s face. He didn’t see anger, or glee, or anything. Just a cool, calculating man buried deep within his own thoughts.
“How did you see that move?”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see it; that came out of the blue!”
“It was right there on the board.” Originally excited about a decent game and a grand discussion, Sviendorog’s voice lapsed back into its characteristic boredom. He pulled at his beard, something he did at length while thinking. “One must keep their eyes open to everything.” He leaned back into his chair. With him he had a bottle of honeywine. He poured himself a glass and sipped at it lightly.
“That is a drink of pagans, good Prince.” The bishop said.
“I suppose, but it tastes good and it is made for royalty. I also suppose pagans also drank wine and water, but we have no issue with that.” He had the Bishop returned to his church and returned to looking over plans for the summer. It would have to be quick again. The Norman armies were in retreat toward Cornwall, but that could be changed. Either bolstered troops from Normandy or even from France could be on their way. Though France is most likely concerned with their own invasions.
“Wessex and Hampshire are most likely where William will set up his counter-attack.” Sviendorog said aloud. He put his index finger to his temple and tried to think. Norman settlement was heaviest on the southern coast…
“Kent!” he almost exclaimed the word aloud. “Servant! Servant!” He called. A manservant walked into the room and asked his purpose. “I need a letter sent to Aethelwulf, commander of the London Army.” Sviendorog hastily wrote that he feared a Norman counter attack from Kent and sealed it with his wax mark. He watched later as a rider left his temporary palace under cover of night, headed south. He could only hope it got to London in time. But once the rider was out of sight he returned to his desk.
England at the end of 1168. Light blue is under Norman control. Cyan is under rebel Saxon and Welsh control. Dark blue is under Prussian control.
November 24th, 1168
Aethelweard was surprised when the rider arrived carrying Sviendorog’s seal. He opened the letter carefully and instantly recognized his nephew’s intricate, and somewhat foreign, handwriting. Kent. The old Saxon scratched his cheek and thought. He never expected an attack from Kent, but the boy had a knack for seeing the invisible. He walked over to his map. Kent was the prime crossing point between England and France. He called his best general into the room, and opening discussion up with the same Prussian spiced honeywine as Sviendorog had with him
“Milzas, what do you think about Kent?” he asked probingly.
“Well, it doesn’t seem like the region itself can provide much either economically or in terms of manpower. I doubt it would be significant.”
“What about the crossing to France?” Aethelwulf asked.
The Prussian general scrunched his face up and sucked on his lip as he thought the scenario out. “It would explain their supply lines. Do you fear an attack from this region?”
“I do. I want you to take seven thousand men and move into the region. Occupy it.”
“In the winter?”
“Yes. Take Hastings. Take Canterbury. If anything we can weaken their morale.”
“Is Hastings of important to you?”
“It is. Burn it to the ground.”
Chapter Fifteen: A Glorious Return
Part 3
Prelude:
In 1168, on the eve of the one hundredth anniversary of the founding of Marienscír Prussian troops attacked en masse against England. William II de Normandie, King of England at the time, was an ineffective ruler and was dealing with a massive outbreak of revolts both in the Anglo-Saxon north but also amongst the Normans who now felt that they were considered secondary to the growing English population. The English, like the Prussians, were the result of two cultures colliding. But to the Prussians the entire island was full of foreigners and Normans. They saw little kindred spirit in the Saxons despite the Saxon support of their arrival. The invasion was a great shock to many in Europe, but more so the length and complexity of the war is what kept many nations, already at war with the Muslims, out of the battle. King Gunvald remained in Prussia for much of the war, only arriving in the island in 1170. Instead Sviendorog and Aethelwulf were let loose on the Island, each commanding an army that number in the tens of thousands. The war would nearly bankrupt Prussia, but it drove the English Isles into a spiraling economic depression that would affect the region for centuries. Plague and decimation was rampant even amongst the Norman nobility.
November 20th, 1168
Sviendorog was camped for the winter in York, the old seat of power of his ancestor Morcar. He and all the Prussian troops on the island were under strict order to speak only Prussian, and absolutely no Saxon. However, the Prince was meeting with a local Bishop after hearing about his prowess at chess.
“You and your troops certainly knew what to expect upon arriving here. Word from the south is that London has already been seized and your fellow commander has already set up shop.”
“We’ve been planning for quite some time; this is going to be a quick war.”
“I do hope so. I must personally thank you, though. You have spared all the churches and cathedrals across the entire nation. For an invading army you seem in no hurry to shock and awe the people.”
“We seek only the crown. Pointless to rule over a Necropolis,” Sviendorog said looking over the chess board carefully. The bishop played very differently from his uncle. It was very slow, probing and defensive.
“I’ve heard rumor you’ve been to the Holy Lands. You must tell me of your journeys!”
“I have, I passed through Jerusalem and Bethlehem long enough only to pay my respects. I actually held audience with the Sultan of the Seljuks and the Caliph in Cairo. We have much to learn from them. Their works with optics and light rays has been simply stunning. As well, recently their contributions to mathematics have been amazing. I found it all truly fascinating.” Sviendorog looked up to find the Bishop uninterested in the science. The Prince shook his head and instead swiftly ended the chess game with a mate. The Bishop looked up from the board and into his opponent’s face. He didn’t see anger, or glee, or anything. Just a cool, calculating man buried deep within his own thoughts.
“How did you see that move?”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see it; that came out of the blue!”
“It was right there on the board.” Originally excited about a decent game and a grand discussion, Sviendorog’s voice lapsed back into its characteristic boredom. He pulled at his beard, something he did at length while thinking. “One must keep their eyes open to everything.” He leaned back into his chair. With him he had a bottle of honeywine. He poured himself a glass and sipped at it lightly.
“That is a drink of pagans, good Prince.” The bishop said.
“I suppose, but it tastes good and it is made for royalty. I also suppose pagans also drank wine and water, but we have no issue with that.” He had the Bishop returned to his church and returned to looking over plans for the summer. It would have to be quick again. The Norman armies were in retreat toward Cornwall, but that could be changed. Either bolstered troops from Normandy or even from France could be on their way. Though France is most likely concerned with their own invasions.
“Wessex and Hampshire are most likely where William will set up his counter-attack.” Sviendorog said aloud. He put his index finger to his temple and tried to think. Norman settlement was heaviest on the southern coast…
“Kent!” he almost exclaimed the word aloud. “Servant! Servant!” He called. A manservant walked into the room and asked his purpose. “I need a letter sent to Aethelwulf, commander of the London Army.” Sviendorog hastily wrote that he feared a Norman counter attack from Kent and sealed it with his wax mark. He watched later as a rider left his temporary palace under cover of night, headed south. He could only hope it got to London in time. But once the rider was out of sight he returned to his desk.
England at the end of 1168. Light blue is under Norman control. Cyan is under rebel Saxon and Welsh control. Dark blue is under Prussian control.
November 24th, 1168
Aethelweard was surprised when the rider arrived carrying Sviendorog’s seal. He opened the letter carefully and instantly recognized his nephew’s intricate, and somewhat foreign, handwriting. Kent. The old Saxon scratched his cheek and thought. He never expected an attack from Kent, but the boy had a knack for seeing the invisible. He walked over to his map. Kent was the prime crossing point between England and France. He called his best general into the room, and opening discussion up with the same Prussian spiced honeywine as Sviendorog had with him
“Milzas, what do you think about Kent?” he asked probingly.
“Well, it doesn’t seem like the region itself can provide much either economically or in terms of manpower. I doubt it would be significant.”
“What about the crossing to France?” Aethelwulf asked.
The Prussian general scrunched his face up and sucked on his lip as he thought the scenario out. “It would explain their supply lines. Do you fear an attack from this region?”
“I do. I want you to take seven thousand men and move into the region. Occupy it.”
“In the winter?”
“Yes. Take Hastings. Take Canterbury. If anything we can weaken their morale.”
“Is Hastings of important to you?”
“It is. Burn it to the ground.”
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Wow, the Royal Marriage/Claim Throne/Declaration of War. That's -2 Stab instead of -3 under EU3 rules!
Am I reading this correctly. . . did you weave the bishop-beats-you-at-chess event in with the we-are-not-vikings! event and the ancient-treatiese-discovered event?
Loverly, a nice, easy-to-read balance is going on here. The prelude is wonderful and sets a nice tone, and the addition of at least a picture or two makes the whole thing come together very well.
Loverly, a nice, easy-to-read balance is going on here. The prelude is wonderful and sets a nice tone, and the addition of at least a picture or two makes the whole thing come together very well.
Burn Hastings!
That's the true Saxon spirit!
What provinces belong to the Crown of Angland?
That's the true Saxon spirit!
What provinces belong to the Crown of Angland?
It is a good plain.
Remember Hastings indeed.
If I say yes, will you be impressed?Am I reading this correctly. . . did you weave the bishop-beats-you-at-chess event in with the we-are-not-vikings! event and the ancient-treatiese-discovered event?
Loverly, a nice, easy-to-read balance is going on here. The prelude is wonderful and sets a nice tone, and the addition of at least a picture or two makes the whole thing come together very well.
Actually Sviendorog wins the match, and Aethelweard moves to burn hastings. I had two armies simaltaneously attacking two different cultured regions. Sviendorog is in the Saxon north where resistance is limited and Aethelwulf is in the south against stauncher Norman resistance.
Thank you for the kind words!
The Light blue, eventually though England and Normandy will be split.Burn Hastings!
That's the true Saxon spirit!
What provinces belong to the Crown of Angland?
I will try to get an update out this coming weekend. It is an exam week, so I've been busying myself with studying and Steel Battalion.