Yes it is.
Many participants are absent so we welcome any newcomer.You will be a member of the Council. I need your title (count of ?), birth year and child-ren (a short biography).
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Yes it is.
Many participants are absent so we welcome any newcomer.You will be a member of the Council. I need your title (count of ?), birth year and child-ren (a short biography).
My dear Prince Elector.
I would always gladly receive the opportunity to build a stronger military...One artillery regiment and one cavalry would be in order as long as we don't go past our means...it might also bring our neighbors to a better understanding that it might be wise for them to approach us to ask for an alliance.
But, we must be alert to any country's reasoning for a change of heart...
I would always gladly receive the opportunity to build a stronger military...One artillery regiment and one cavalry would be in order as long as we don't go past our means...it might also bring our neighbors to a better understanding that it might be wise for them to approach us to ask for an alliance.
But, we must be alert to any country's reasoning for a change of heart...
Aurelien de Geneve, Exiled count of Lausanne, former 2nd viceminister of foreign relations in the swiss parliament.
Born 1621. Widower.
One child, Xavier de Geneve, born 1648
Born 1621. Widower.
One child, Xavier de Geneve, born 1648
To the newly appointed council member of Bavaria the honorable Aurelien de Geneve,
Let me be first to welcome you to our council.
First, allow me to tell you something about myself...in hopes you might in time share a little more about yourself. I too am a widower...twice...(long story). I'm now married to my third wife, Princess Maria von Schönborn from Wurzburg...(an even longer story).
Presently, I have a son in Wurzburg from that Royal marriage. But, for a brief time there were two others...twin babies...but they are known to have died (one boy, one girl) shortly after my second wife died giving them birth.
I was born in 1629...and, I hope that you will find that I can become a very trusted friend.
For now, there is much council we must give our country.
Let me be first to welcome you to our council.
First, allow me to tell you something about myself...in hopes you might in time share a little more about yourself. I too am a widower...twice...(long story). I'm now married to my third wife, Princess Maria von Schönborn from Wurzburg...(an even longer story).
Presently, I have a son in Wurzburg from that Royal marriage. But, for a brief time there were two others...twin babies...but they are known to have died (one boy, one girl) shortly after my second wife died giving them birth.
I was born in 1629...and, I hope that you will find that I can become a very trusted friend.
For now, there is much council we must give our country.
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Well, everyone makes their mistakes, dont they, monsieur???
Everybody hides things, and everybody regrets things, but everyone has at least one secret that they guard with their lives. Thats what i think.
At least, because of my position, I can offer you valuable information on the swiss intelligence, and their opinion on you. I will be most honored to tell the council and everyone else about that as soon as possible.
About the events that preceeded my arrival, and which I was told about by a maid, I can only say one thing. Exilation wont work.
That way, he can continue doing things outside our borders. You should rather have prisoned him, or taken a finger, as a lesson, but ces't la vie.
Everybody hides things, and everybody regrets things, but everyone has at least one secret that they guard with their lives. Thats what i think.
At least, because of my position, I can offer you valuable information on the swiss intelligence, and their opinion on you. I will be most honored to tell the council and everyone else about that as soon as possible.
About the events that preceeded my arrival, and which I was told about by a maid, I can only say one thing. Exilation wont work.
That way, he can continue doing things outside our borders. You should rather have prisoned him, or taken a finger, as a lesson, but ces't la vie.
Godfried arrived back in Munich, where he visted his brother, Joezeph, a man of 45 years. He was in the House when a Girl of 19 years, pretty, pettite, and his favorite part, Blonde, entered the Room. Caroline Maciejewski (ironicly means Kin of Mathias, but witch one?), was the name of Jozeps bastard daughter with a Slavic Mistress. Her mother, long dead, was the 4th daughter (Bastard) of Sigismund III. While Godfried was instantly was in love with this woman, and a courtship secretly began. He would soon discover he was still miracuasly fertile at age 50, and within a week, married her privatley in a small Church in Munich. Godfried later purchased a large plot of land and met with a fine young Architecht, and planned this.
It is a image of a Palace in Poland destroyed in WW2. I got plans for this building.
It is a image of a Palace in Poland destroyed in WW2. I got plans for this building.
…Congratulation my dear friend, on your and Caroline’s recent marriage. May the love you have for one another be inspiration to us all.
On a lesser note, how are your three grandchildren?
On a lesser note, how are your three grandchildren?
Mathes
Thank you, and the Children are here at the home, I will gladly open my home to all freinds and Councilers.
Thank you, and the Children are here at the home, I will gladly open my home to all freinds and Councilers.
For the life of me I knew that I had met dear Bismarck before…but his name at the time wasn’t Bismarck. Then, it came to me within a dream…about one battle I fought in Scotland.
It was the summer of 45’ or 46’…I had come with a band of Irish to drive the English from the Scottish soil. It had been a very dry and hot summer. To our further displeasure the weather was as detested as the greeting we received from some of the Scottish clans…intrusion on their clan lands they said.
Being ones that did not want to stay where we were not wanted, we made plans to return home to Ireland. Shortly after the time we decided to go home, the Scots and the English held a battle that we were not invited to attend.
The Scots, greatly outnumbered, were thrown back in utter in defeat. The English for some dumb reason decided not to press the attack to finish the Scots. Instead, their general paused to regroup his army and discuss strategies for the next day’s battle.
Right before dusk a rider was seen moving up to our position. I climbed a tree by the roadside and waited for him to move beneath the limb that I was perched on. As he passed I dropped down upon him, knocking him from his horse. I scrambled to my feet much quicker then the rider.
He was a Mercenary carrier, given special charge to give response of compliance to an order given to the Mercenary general.
“I would suggest that you give up,” I told the young man, as the tip of my sword pressed against his throat. “What’s your business?” I asked, before noticing the pouch hanging down from around his neck.
By this time many of the men with me had surrounded our guest. The pouch was soon grabbed roughly from about his neck.
“What do we have here, Range?” Captain Michael O’Rourke asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “He’s either a spy or a mercenary for the English.”
The pouch was brought directly to O’Rourke who wasted little time before reading the dispatch. As he read, he gave orders, “Robert tie this gentleman securely to a tree off the side of the road and gag him.”
“What is it,” I asked hoping that O’Rourke my good friend would tell me.
“Well, Range…it would appear that it’s from some English General to the general of the Mercenary. It reads, “From the honorable General Richter…to the general Turner of the English in Scotland…at sunrise we will advance with all hast through the gap marked on the map…and catch the Scots as they retreat from your frontal assault.”
“My father will hang all your Irish,” said our prisoner, defiantly.
“And, who is your father,” I asked.
“General Richter,” he replied with a smirk.
“Then why are not in an English uniform?”
“We make more money as mercenaries.”
“Robert, take him and do as I say immediately…we have to hurry to join the Scots.” Said O’Rourke, handing the communiqué to me as he moved passed.
“Were going to help them, when they want no help from us,” asked McGregor.
Having soon read further into the communiqué than O’Rourke, I called out to him. “Michael…might I suggest something?”
McGregor then mumbled to Michael, “Are you going to listen to the young man?”
“So, far he has not done us wrong…do you recall the tight spot he got us out of in Ireland…he has special knack…a discernment beyond his age and this gift cannot be taught.”
McGregor agreed nodding yes, as if wondering about me.
“All right Range what do you see that I have missed?” He asked almost amused.”
“You are right we do have to come to the aid of the Scots, but not in the normal way. If we were to join the Scots we’d only find ourselves in the same predicament that the English plan for the Scots.” Showing Michael the map I explained. “WE have to stop the Mercenaries at the pass.”
“Boy…they outnumber us more two to one.”
“I know but, we can cut them down…as the English are about to make two mistakes.”
By the next morning’s light, we were in position. The Scots had been warned by us and the battle was about to begin.
We were in position as well, broken into various groups. There were some on both ridges of the narrow pass. Some lay in wait off to the side, hidden behind some thicket just beyond the grassy path. From there was a field of tall dried grass that stretched sixty yards into the pass.
WE watched from behind the thickets, not making a sound, as the Mercenaries marched past us. And, as the lead element soon moved into the pass all hell broke loose. From above the ridge tied burning bundles of brush rained down to set the dry grass on fire. Horses were then sent scurrying through the pass setting more of grass on fire until the entire field was in flames. The screams of the enemy in torment echoed from the pass. Some tried to run for opening of the far end of the pass only to find the pass blocked and guarded by us.
The Mercenaries outside the burning hell were stricken with disbelief…as they heard their comrades crying out in pain. Some the soldiers threw themselves from the flames, their friends hurried to assist them. That’s when we struck from behind the thickets “Erin Go Bragh!”
The Mercenaries didn’t have a chance. We cut everyone of them down before they knew what was happening.
An English rider soon arrived at the side. “General, the Irish are attacking our stores…destroying everything.”
The Mercenary General, furious, noticed me standing in the open staring at him. He charged at me upon his horse…
I raised a fully loaded pistol that I had found on the ground, taking a steady pose with arm out stretched. I allowed him to draw closer until he came into range and I fired. The shot hit the general squarely in the forehead, causing him to fall backward off his horse. He was dead before his body came to a stop on the ground. His horse ran passed me.
Michael was furious with me, rushed to my side. He called me mad. But, when he turned me about to him, he noticed that I hadn’t a hint of fear or the realization that my life had been in peril.
Later, he said my eyes stared blankly and he wondered how I had been able to accomplish such a shot under such duress…so calm…and without slightest hint of fear.
I explained, “Someone once told me…after the training you must allow you instinct to rule your action.”
AS for the young Mister Richter, I never saw him again until he showed up looking for a position on the council.
It was the summer of 45’ or 46’…I had come with a band of Irish to drive the English from the Scottish soil. It had been a very dry and hot summer. To our further displeasure the weather was as detested as the greeting we received from some of the Scottish clans…intrusion on their clan lands they said.
Being ones that did not want to stay where we were not wanted, we made plans to return home to Ireland. Shortly after the time we decided to go home, the Scots and the English held a battle that we were not invited to attend.
The Scots, greatly outnumbered, were thrown back in utter in defeat. The English for some dumb reason decided not to press the attack to finish the Scots. Instead, their general paused to regroup his army and discuss strategies for the next day’s battle.
Right before dusk a rider was seen moving up to our position. I climbed a tree by the roadside and waited for him to move beneath the limb that I was perched on. As he passed I dropped down upon him, knocking him from his horse. I scrambled to my feet much quicker then the rider.
He was a Mercenary carrier, given special charge to give response of compliance to an order given to the Mercenary general.
“I would suggest that you give up,” I told the young man, as the tip of my sword pressed against his throat. “What’s your business?” I asked, before noticing the pouch hanging down from around his neck.
By this time many of the men with me had surrounded our guest. The pouch was soon grabbed roughly from about his neck.
“What do we have here, Range?” Captain Michael O’Rourke asked.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “He’s either a spy or a mercenary for the English.”
The pouch was brought directly to O’Rourke who wasted little time before reading the dispatch. As he read, he gave orders, “Robert tie this gentleman securely to a tree off the side of the road and gag him.”
“What is it,” I asked hoping that O’Rourke my good friend would tell me.
“Well, Range…it would appear that it’s from some English General to the general of the Mercenary. It reads, “From the honorable General Richter…to the general Turner of the English in Scotland…at sunrise we will advance with all hast through the gap marked on the map…and catch the Scots as they retreat from your frontal assault.”
“My father will hang all your Irish,” said our prisoner, defiantly.
“And, who is your father,” I asked.
“General Richter,” he replied with a smirk.
“Then why are not in an English uniform?”
“We make more money as mercenaries.”
“Robert, take him and do as I say immediately…we have to hurry to join the Scots.” Said O’Rourke, handing the communiqué to me as he moved passed.
“Were going to help them, when they want no help from us,” asked McGregor.
Having soon read further into the communiqué than O’Rourke, I called out to him. “Michael…might I suggest something?”
McGregor then mumbled to Michael, “Are you going to listen to the young man?”
“So, far he has not done us wrong…do you recall the tight spot he got us out of in Ireland…he has special knack…a discernment beyond his age and this gift cannot be taught.”
McGregor agreed nodding yes, as if wondering about me.
“All right Range what do you see that I have missed?” He asked almost amused.”
“You are right we do have to come to the aid of the Scots, but not in the normal way. If we were to join the Scots we’d only find ourselves in the same predicament that the English plan for the Scots.” Showing Michael the map I explained. “WE have to stop the Mercenaries at the pass.”
“Boy…they outnumber us more two to one.”
“I know but, we can cut them down…as the English are about to make two mistakes.”
By the next morning’s light, we were in position. The Scots had been warned by us and the battle was about to begin.
We were in position as well, broken into various groups. There were some on both ridges of the narrow pass. Some lay in wait off to the side, hidden behind some thicket just beyond the grassy path. From there was a field of tall dried grass that stretched sixty yards into the pass.
WE watched from behind the thickets, not making a sound, as the Mercenaries marched past us. And, as the lead element soon moved into the pass all hell broke loose. From above the ridge tied burning bundles of brush rained down to set the dry grass on fire. Horses were then sent scurrying through the pass setting more of grass on fire until the entire field was in flames. The screams of the enemy in torment echoed from the pass. Some tried to run for opening of the far end of the pass only to find the pass blocked and guarded by us.
The Mercenaries outside the burning hell were stricken with disbelief…as they heard their comrades crying out in pain. Some the soldiers threw themselves from the flames, their friends hurried to assist them. That’s when we struck from behind the thickets “Erin Go Bragh!”
The Mercenaries didn’t have a chance. We cut everyone of them down before they knew what was happening.
An English rider soon arrived at the side. “General, the Irish are attacking our stores…destroying everything.”
The Mercenary General, furious, noticed me standing in the open staring at him. He charged at me upon his horse…
I raised a fully loaded pistol that I had found on the ground, taking a steady pose with arm out stretched. I allowed him to draw closer until he came into range and I fired. The shot hit the general squarely in the forehead, causing him to fall backward off his horse. He was dead before his body came to a stop on the ground. His horse ran passed me.
Michael was furious with me, rushed to my side. He called me mad. But, when he turned me about to him, he noticed that I hadn’t a hint of fear or the realization that my life had been in peril.
Later, he said my eyes stared blankly and he wondered how I had been able to accomplish such a shot under such duress…so calm…and without slightest hint of fear.
I explained, “Someone once told me…after the training you must allow you instinct to rule your action.”
AS for the young Mister Richter, I never saw him again until he showed up looking for a position on the council.
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My lords, I suggest that we build some awesome palaces to shock the world with our Bavarian glory.
Or invent the Oktoberfest!
Or invent the Oktoberfest!
Godfried and Caroline entered there new home. It was a lovely home, the main room decorated with the finest French and Italian furnature. There gardens and Mansion one of the largest non royal palaces in Bavaria.Godfrieds income, was just enough to pay for this home. Near by, a brewary, which was struggling, he bought it. He thought, what if the Bavarian nobility and people can converge on one place and drink away there differences. He sent invitations and set the date for October. He ordered fliers verywhere. The whole Royal Family themselves where even invited.
Aurellien receuved his mail that morning with a heavy heart. His son was ill with high fever, and the doctor was trying to convince him that it was gods punishment.
"Nonsense", he said to himself when he looked at the approaching post rider.
He knew well what the punishment would be for, but he didnt believe that it was gods punishment after all.
When he looked through his mail, he came across a letter that intrigued him.
Reading the letter, a devious smile spread througout his face.
"I'll be cursed if i let a chance like that go past me", he said to himself.
"Herr de Geneve??" It was the doctor again.
"Merde!!!" Aurellien went inside again.
"Nonsense", he said to himself when he looked at the approaching post rider.
He knew well what the punishment would be for, but he didnt believe that it was gods punishment after all.
When he looked through his mail, he came across a letter that intrigued him.
Reading the letter, a devious smile spread througout his face.
"I'll be cursed if i let a chance like that go past me", he said to himself.
"Herr de Geneve??" It was the doctor again.
"Merde!!!" Aurellien went inside again.
My Queen, my good Prince...Distinguished members of the council I am sad to report our soldiers waste away...their swords are becoming rusted in place. We must take into account that a soldier's life is not only for protection but also for war.
We grow fat...and in time we will become easy prey. Now, is the time to act to show the world what we are made of...
We grow fat...and in time we will become easy prey. Now, is the time to act to show the world what we are made of...