PART 1
Hello all, firstly, if the first couple paragraphs sound like the ramblings of a derange lunatic, you may want to check the opening of A History of England Part I, and the last of A History of England Part V for the context.
I have screenshots of all this, but I am still unable to use my cable connection from home, so those, and the web site update will have to wait. This campaign was played under 1.07 and is long finished, it starts of quietly, but there are plenty of fireworks to come later. I’ll probably post every couple of days as most of the AAR is written. Enjoy……
After the strange events surrounding the EU chest have subsided, I go back to my usual routine. The sun still rises, the world still goes to work, all on the road I need to take if traffic is anything to go by, and aside from a few historical discrepancies the world appears almost the same as it was before my adventure began. I decide to hide the box, and tell no one, lest I end up where all those temporarily insane monarchs did under my chancellorship. Again, I miss the fed-ex guy, and another delivery note ends up on my door. Though strangely, playing the game has taken a back seat to the vivid memories of the last 300 years. Instead I remove the wooden chest from my closet and take a look through some of the souveneirs. After a short evening recalling those times, the friends and enemies in England, and the enormous power at my disposal, I retire to bed, after all, another exciting day of writing code begins in about 5 hours.
I awoke around dawn, but surprisingly not to an alarm clock, but a loud banging on my door. This is strange for more reasons than I could comfortably count at six in the morning; firstly, I live alone, sleep with the bedroom door open, and don’t usually sleep on a straw mattress. It would appear, that whatever mysterious force took a hold before has happened again. I raise myself from the bed and look around. Apart from the fairly forcefull nore-easter that’s blowing through my bedchambers, and the faint odor of dampness and stale bedpans, nothing is the same as it was before. The wall carpets look different, and the room is decorated more lavishly, moreover the excited voice coming from the other side of the wall sounds different too. “Allez, allez monsieur chancellor! se revillier, le Roi demandre votre prescence.” Now strangely enough, I haven’t translated French since the oral segment of O levels ended about 15 years ago. Furthermore, apart from stumbling through my name, and where I spent my last “vacances” I could never speak or understand a word. For those of you who have any experience of O level French, you will surely recognize that the ability to speak the language is a definate hinderance to the verbatim and parrot-like conjugation of verbs which allow students to pass the exam, and is avoided by teachers at all costs. Yet, here I was understanding what the excited man said to me, and responding to him in kind. “Oh shag it I’m French!” were the thoughts which unfortunately became audible, and correctly translated into the present possessive if I recall correctly, and led to the man outside barging into my room asking if I was drunk. I slowly climbed out of my bed and walked worriedly to my closet, I was a little reluctant, as I remembered that for the next two hundred years at least I would have to dress in some kind of tights, the only drawback to an otherwise exciting existence.
One thing I remember from before is that if in any doubt, arrogance is the best attitude, unless addressing a superior, so I ignore the courtier, dress and demand him to lead me to the King. The meeting with Charles is short, but not to the point. In fact, after listening to five minutes of his ramblings I wonder if he needs help holding a spoon. Nevertheless, he is the King, I am apparantly his first minister, and the petty jealousies of the other councillors would love to see me hanging upside-down in a torture chamber, so I pay every respect and agree that I will do all I can to ensure that we act now to seize his Italian legacy as soon as is possible. With that, I ask where my office is located, and am subject to vacous stares from my courtier. It soon becomes apparent that the first minister of France has no office, and that all royal business is done in the enormous throne room here in Rheims. That’s something I shall have to fix later, for now I need to pretend I know what I’m doing, assess the situation, and work towards staying alive, and somehow fitting in here.
I search for a large table to spread out the map of the world. It’s not much of a world, which Colombos is about to find out in a few months, but until then, the world may as well end at Spain for all I care, as that is the source of out travails. France is a large, and fairly well populated nation. What it makes up for in people it lacks in almost everything else, as our military, trading and domestic policy are barely out of the Stone Age. Despite having a COT here in Paris, our officials are too stupid to sponsor traders which would rake in some spondulas for the government, and I wish that I could encourage the Brittany coast to either sink or seceede, as those provinces add nothing but trouble to our kingdom. I can see now why William The Bastard was so keen to leave Normandy for Hastings, not only to change his unfortunate surname to Conqueror, but also to leave behind the dirt farms and hovels which make the Scottish Highlands look urban.
I hastily think back to my limited knowledge of French history and remember that one of the social problems of the revolution was the salt tax, a census tax on the population which France depended on to survive. I know that I have to change the dependency from income tax to production and trade tax which will stimulate research, and hopefully prevent any more French provinces setting up a Spanish language class. My first actions are to allocate the monthly treasury in a manner that will improve our horrendous economic problems. I direct money towards the guilds which will stimulate trade, a large portion to the army as I have a feeling we’re going to need it quite often, and I instruct Cardinal Robataille that from now on, infrastructure means ways of raising more tax, and cutting corruption, not building any more cathedrals. I make no friends with the navy when I cut off all their funding. I don’t anticipate being a colonial nation any time soon, and I have no intention of invading England for a while, so those ships are just taking up money. I instruct the Southern fleet to scupper all remaining galleys. When we get around to fighting a naval battle we will build more warships.
Politicaly the situation is both good and bad. We have congenial relations with almost all nations in Europe, except Les Couchons D’Anglais (a phrase that gets repeated around the castle quite a bit these days) and the Evil Empire to our West, East and North. How in God’s name did Europe sit back while Spain aquired half Europe? I will have to plot a way to fix that, as right now we’re in the middle of a Spanish vice. I am also disturbed to hear that our domestic political situation is tenous. There is no real France, and the recent unification of Normandy, Anjou, Provence, Burgundy and France leaves ancient hatreds and rivalries simmering under the surface. Should there be political trouble at home, the ruthless barons of those areas will use it as an excuse to set themselves up as an independent King, so I must try and ensure stability and unity at home. We are currently allied with Savoie and The Papal States, but I immediately dispatch a courier to King Antoine of Lorraine to bring his nation into the alliance as soon as possible. Keeping your friends close, and your enemies closer is a lesson I learnt the hard way before. Due to the terrible adminsitration of Charles, I have to wait and bite my nails while the courier returns before I can send him to Scotland and add the Highlanders to our alliance two months later. I would imagine that across La Manche, Henry VII is mumbling something rotten about us when he learns of the Scots jumping into our bed. When the, now worn out courier returns I send him on his way back to Scotland with a Royal marriage contract between our two nations. I have dug up the most toothless, and oldest Princess to ship up north. Although I can ally with the Scots, I don’t have to like them. My diplomatic courier is a little peeved with the return trip, but I console him that he’s earning double ship miles, and though I doubt he understands what I’m talking about, he smiles the same condescending smirk that underlings here appear to be quite profficient in.
Hello all, firstly, if the first couple paragraphs sound like the ramblings of a derange lunatic, you may want to check the opening of A History of England Part I, and the last of A History of England Part V for the context.
I have screenshots of all this, but I am still unable to use my cable connection from home, so those, and the web site update will have to wait. This campaign was played under 1.07 and is long finished, it starts of quietly, but there are plenty of fireworks to come later. I’ll probably post every couple of days as most of the AAR is written. Enjoy……
After the strange events surrounding the EU chest have subsided, I go back to my usual routine. The sun still rises, the world still goes to work, all on the road I need to take if traffic is anything to go by, and aside from a few historical discrepancies the world appears almost the same as it was before my adventure began. I decide to hide the box, and tell no one, lest I end up where all those temporarily insane monarchs did under my chancellorship. Again, I miss the fed-ex guy, and another delivery note ends up on my door. Though strangely, playing the game has taken a back seat to the vivid memories of the last 300 years. Instead I remove the wooden chest from my closet and take a look through some of the souveneirs. After a short evening recalling those times, the friends and enemies in England, and the enormous power at my disposal, I retire to bed, after all, another exciting day of writing code begins in about 5 hours.
I awoke around dawn, but surprisingly not to an alarm clock, but a loud banging on my door. This is strange for more reasons than I could comfortably count at six in the morning; firstly, I live alone, sleep with the bedroom door open, and don’t usually sleep on a straw mattress. It would appear, that whatever mysterious force took a hold before has happened again. I raise myself from the bed and look around. Apart from the fairly forcefull nore-easter that’s blowing through my bedchambers, and the faint odor of dampness and stale bedpans, nothing is the same as it was before. The wall carpets look different, and the room is decorated more lavishly, moreover the excited voice coming from the other side of the wall sounds different too. “Allez, allez monsieur chancellor! se revillier, le Roi demandre votre prescence.” Now strangely enough, I haven’t translated French since the oral segment of O levels ended about 15 years ago. Furthermore, apart from stumbling through my name, and where I spent my last “vacances” I could never speak or understand a word. For those of you who have any experience of O level French, you will surely recognize that the ability to speak the language is a definate hinderance to the verbatim and parrot-like conjugation of verbs which allow students to pass the exam, and is avoided by teachers at all costs. Yet, here I was understanding what the excited man said to me, and responding to him in kind. “Oh shag it I’m French!” were the thoughts which unfortunately became audible, and correctly translated into the present possessive if I recall correctly, and led to the man outside barging into my room asking if I was drunk. I slowly climbed out of my bed and walked worriedly to my closet, I was a little reluctant, as I remembered that for the next two hundred years at least I would have to dress in some kind of tights, the only drawback to an otherwise exciting existence.
One thing I remember from before is that if in any doubt, arrogance is the best attitude, unless addressing a superior, so I ignore the courtier, dress and demand him to lead me to the King. The meeting with Charles is short, but not to the point. In fact, after listening to five minutes of his ramblings I wonder if he needs help holding a spoon. Nevertheless, he is the King, I am apparantly his first minister, and the petty jealousies of the other councillors would love to see me hanging upside-down in a torture chamber, so I pay every respect and agree that I will do all I can to ensure that we act now to seize his Italian legacy as soon as is possible. With that, I ask where my office is located, and am subject to vacous stares from my courtier. It soon becomes apparent that the first minister of France has no office, and that all royal business is done in the enormous throne room here in Rheims. That’s something I shall have to fix later, for now I need to pretend I know what I’m doing, assess the situation, and work towards staying alive, and somehow fitting in here.
I search for a large table to spread out the map of the world. It’s not much of a world, which Colombos is about to find out in a few months, but until then, the world may as well end at Spain for all I care, as that is the source of out travails. France is a large, and fairly well populated nation. What it makes up for in people it lacks in almost everything else, as our military, trading and domestic policy are barely out of the Stone Age. Despite having a COT here in Paris, our officials are too stupid to sponsor traders which would rake in some spondulas for the government, and I wish that I could encourage the Brittany coast to either sink or seceede, as those provinces add nothing but trouble to our kingdom. I can see now why William The Bastard was so keen to leave Normandy for Hastings, not only to change his unfortunate surname to Conqueror, but also to leave behind the dirt farms and hovels which make the Scottish Highlands look urban.
I hastily think back to my limited knowledge of French history and remember that one of the social problems of the revolution was the salt tax, a census tax on the population which France depended on to survive. I know that I have to change the dependency from income tax to production and trade tax which will stimulate research, and hopefully prevent any more French provinces setting up a Spanish language class. My first actions are to allocate the monthly treasury in a manner that will improve our horrendous economic problems. I direct money towards the guilds which will stimulate trade, a large portion to the army as I have a feeling we’re going to need it quite often, and I instruct Cardinal Robataille that from now on, infrastructure means ways of raising more tax, and cutting corruption, not building any more cathedrals. I make no friends with the navy when I cut off all their funding. I don’t anticipate being a colonial nation any time soon, and I have no intention of invading England for a while, so those ships are just taking up money. I instruct the Southern fleet to scupper all remaining galleys. When we get around to fighting a naval battle we will build more warships.
Politicaly the situation is both good and bad. We have congenial relations with almost all nations in Europe, except Les Couchons D’Anglais (a phrase that gets repeated around the castle quite a bit these days) and the Evil Empire to our West, East and North. How in God’s name did Europe sit back while Spain aquired half Europe? I will have to plot a way to fix that, as right now we’re in the middle of a Spanish vice. I am also disturbed to hear that our domestic political situation is tenous. There is no real France, and the recent unification of Normandy, Anjou, Provence, Burgundy and France leaves ancient hatreds and rivalries simmering under the surface. Should there be political trouble at home, the ruthless barons of those areas will use it as an excuse to set themselves up as an independent King, so I must try and ensure stability and unity at home. We are currently allied with Savoie and The Papal States, but I immediately dispatch a courier to King Antoine of Lorraine to bring his nation into the alliance as soon as possible. Keeping your friends close, and your enemies closer is a lesson I learnt the hard way before. Due to the terrible adminsitration of Charles, I have to wait and bite my nails while the courier returns before I can send him to Scotland and add the Highlanders to our alliance two months later. I would imagine that across La Manche, Henry VII is mumbling something rotten about us when he learns of the Scots jumping into our bed. When the, now worn out courier returns I send him on his way back to Scotland with a Royal marriage contract between our two nations. I have dug up the most toothless, and oldest Princess to ship up north. Although I can ally with the Scots, I don’t have to like them. My diplomatic courier is a little peeved with the return trip, but I console him that he’s earning double ship miles, and though I doubt he understands what I’m talking about, he smiles the same condescending smirk that underlings here appear to be quite profficient in.
