EUIII Contest - Best of the Rest

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By popular demand you will find the other 13 entries for the AARland Advocate EUIII writing contest in this thread. Have fun reading ad feel free to comment.

The Best of the Rest, entry#1: by GorSer
The Best of the Rest, entry#2: by Myth
The Best of the Rest, entry#3: by hildoceras
The Best of the Rest, entry#4: by DanielMcCollum
The Best of the Rest, entry#5: by Bunka
The Best of the Rest, entry#6: by GBIT
The Best of the Rest, entry#7: by Warspite
The Best of the Rest, entry#8: by Cnae
The Best of the Rest, entry#9: by SnakeIV
The Best of the Rest, entry#10: by 2 Coats
The Best of the Rest, entry#11: by SonofWinter
The Best of the Rest, entry#12: by Grundius
The Best of the Rest, entry#13: by Le Ran

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#1: by GorSer:


It was May 22 of 1618. The teenage king of France Louis XIII as always dined at his palace, when his wife Anne of Austria came and said happily:

Anne: Austia declared war on you!
(Louis XIII suffocated from this)

Louis XIII: How? Why? We are in a royal marriage!

Anne: You are, but I'm not!

Louis XIII: WHAT???

Anne: Ok, that was a joke. You are a royal person too.

(Louis XIII sighed...)

Louis XIII: Thank you. Can you explain to me how did it happen?

Anne: Do you remember the Holy Roman Emperor Ferdinand II, King of Bohemia? He messed up with Protestants and they revolted against him. Nothing unusual - everybody has revolts in their countries even Unprovoked revolts. Then it grew big, because nearby countries had also religious conflicts and since we tolerate protestants, we had to enter on their side. For your information, now it involves Austria and Bavaria on one side and We, Lorain and Savoy on the other side.

Louis XIII looked on a new map on the wall (the map was new because borders of the world changed each month)

-IMG]contest1el6[/IMG-

Louis XIII: yeah... it grew big... And it's basically We against Austria...

Anne: My dear, you're forgetting your catolic citizens, who do not like Protestant religion ad our national religion...

Louis XIII: Civil War??? That is getting harder and harder...

(After an hour of stupid looking on a map)

Louis XIII: Ok, what are your suggestions?

Anne: I see two ways:
1. We can change a Holy Roman Emperor. Of course, we do not elect him, but our vassals are and in fact, if you will look on these preferences of electors

-IMG]contest2cm0[/IMG-

you would see, that our vassal will be an Emperor in this case. This will change our prestige that will put my brother on his place.

2. We can fight... You in fact... I hope... (sad smile)

Louis XIII: You will do diplomatic stuff and I'll fight!

(after an hour of stupid look on a changed while they talked map)

Louis XIII: I'll send my generals to fight and I'll defend my palace! right here... without going anywhere...

Anne: Which generals? Your army is far from professional! Your military tradition is low! So don't pretend as you're powerful!

Louis XIII: Ok, let's they send all they have to the places with rebels!

Anne: But the number of rebelled places is bigger than the number of your soldiers! Just look at the south!

-IMG]contest4dr0[/IMG-

Louis XIII: I can not see that far! Those rebels on my window interrupt the view!

Anne: See!

Louis XIII: Ok! Help me!!!

Anne: Ok. Just wait here!

after 7 years of sitting in palace Louis XIII and Anne of Austria obtained a letter, that the Austrian city of Briesgau is conquered.

Louis XIII: Great! But we don't have access to the other part of Austria - it's just one city we can get to!

Anne: Don't panic! Where is our diplomat?

Diplomat: I'm here!

Anne: Go to Austria and conclude a white peace with them using our positive warscore.

(in the same day)

Louis and Anne: Great! They agreed!

-IMG]contest5ppu1[/IMG-

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#2: by Myth:

Even now, years later, I awake shaking and screaming from uneasy and battle-ridden slumber. I am—I was—a Protestant artilleryist, a captain of the Huguenot guns. You will excuse me if dates are incorrect, the passage of time has blurred the exactitude of my memory. However, those events which I shall currently recount I remember well. Indeed, I cannot forget them; they torment me in my sleep. I participated in the fighting outside Pèrigord in July 1623, Béarn a year later. These are the events I plan to relate to you in time, they are truly noteworthy as revealing the horrors of war to those lucky, unblemished souls who are uninitiated in it. Tonight, however, it shall simply be Pèrigord.

But first, I feel compelled to share with you a tapestry of events for my two battles to comfortably fit amongst. I do not know what it is fashionable to call this war now, and back when I was involved it was so young as to not yet have a name—we simply called it ‘the war.’ I do not recall rightly when it had began, but by 1618 France was at war with both Bavaria and Austria, both great central European kingdoms, if not as great as France. By 1623, a massive Protestant uprising in France had begun raging against Louis XIII and that evil man, Cardinal Richelieu. In those days, artillery was considered the supreme arm of any military force; it was certainly the most important, as infantry could not storm the great fortresses of the day without it and the mere thought of cavalry besieging a walled city is so preposterous as to be laughable. The French artillery was primarily Protestant, a fact that is important in understanding the two battles.

The battle outside Pèrigord occurred on the first of July, 1623, or so I remember. It was a Friday; that I know for a certainty. We had just learned that Royal French forces had finally ended their siege of Armor, whose Huguenot garrison had bravely lasted 301 days against such odds as the French could bring to bear against it while simultaneously fighting the Bavarians and Austrians, as well as other Huguenot forces. At Pèrigord, our total artillery unit comprised 3,411 men according to my memory of later official records. We had risen before the dawn for another day of bombardment, though we had not been hoping for much. We had no infantry with us, there was no one to actually attack the city. Our task was simply to invest it and deny its use and its garrison to the enemy, the Royalists, the Catholics.

Our cannon began thundering, and iron roundshot began shattering against the sloped walls of the city. For some reason, we had decided on an intense bombardment for that day; and within some few hours it was difficult to catch sight of the battlements that we were hammering mercilessly. By noon we had, due to the sheer weight of metal fired, managed to breach the walls of Pèrigord. Unfortunately, as I mentioned earlier, we had no infantry. Apparently, we had also failed to relieve our outposts, whose occupants had left sometime during the morning, perhaps to watch the magnificent display of artillery power. It was due to this failure that a Catholic army arrived near Pèrigord unbeknownst to us and immediately went onto the attack. Fortunately, a gunner down the line realized what was occurring and managed to bring our attention to the slowly advancing ranks of infantry—eight formations in all, some four or five hundred men in each one.

We worked feverishly to turn our guns toward the enemy and succeeded to form a relatively coherent line angled toward them; this took about half an hour, enough time for much of the smoke that had once hidden our exact positions to dissipate. However, a fresh screen of smoke gushed as our first volley bellowed forth toward the Catholic regiments. Now, before I continue I must mention that a continuous cannonade is not possible against moving infantry as it is against stalwart fortifications. When artillery engages infantry, constant modifications to the range are required to keep hitting the enemy, with a consequent slow down in actual fire—both to adjust the charge of the cannon and to await for the smoke to thin out enough that it is even possible to estimate the range again.

It is even more difficult to do damage to infantry formations once they have started accelerating its advance, as the infantry facing us had indeed begun to do—not only do we have to work faster and thus less accurately, but have even less time to inflict destruction upon their regiments. Even so, we persevered. We crushed formation after formation as they charged the field, leaving trails and piles of bodies, some silent and stiffening and others screaming and struggling. Finally they retired, unable to go on into the murderous fire, unable, even, to aid their shattered comrades. That was when we understood their plan. Three cavalry formations, some fifteen hundred strong, had flanked us. I do not believe you can know the horror we felt at that moment. A solid wave of horsemen armed with sabers and pistols was rolling inexorably toward us. We could not bring the guns around in time to even get off a single shot at them.

And then they were upon us; fifteen hundred cavalry against 3,411 gunners. We had never stood a chance, though we didn’t know it earlier. Pistols were fired, sabers were bloodied; the gunners resisted with what little they had. The only reason I survived was because a rider-less horse knocked me over and, within moments, corpses were toppling onto me. I only emerged once the cavalry had ridden away and the field was quiet. Grave-digging parties were slowly making their way out the city toward the battlefield, but the Royalist army had left. I set off as quickly as I could toward Toulouse.

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#3: by hildoceras:

War in the Pashific​

(with the involuntary help of Molière and the most helpful corrections of MrT)

Philippe VII : sissy king of France
Foulque d’Anjou : pashifist on wheels
Mgr Pierre Couveille : linguistically-challenged archbishop
Lord Cat : protesting protestant ambassador
Boultan : spymaster of his mistress



Scene 1

The French Palace, the throne room.
Philippe VII enters, regally. He has a flowery hat with many feathers, and a staff that he uses negligently to walk. He moves slowly to the front of the stage, bows slightly to the nobility in the public, makes a sissy wave of his hand to any of the handsome male spectators, and then turns to go to his throne. His pants are split in the rear, allowing everyone to see that he is wearing pink underpants, covered in teddy bears. He sits.

Foulque enters in a wheelchair; followed by Couveille and Lord Cat, walking

Philippe VII : Where is Boultan?
Foulque : He is deeply and thoroughly involved in the interrogation of a possible spy, your Majesty.
Philippe VII : Oh? I didn’t know he was so deeply involved with his spymaster duties. He is more often deeply and thoroughly involved in flirting with taverns’ wenches.
Couveille : Well there are special circumstances involved, your Majesty. The supposed spy is a woman...with flaming red hair, no less. Boultan thought he should take the matter into his own, dutiful arms. "Redhaira spya malevolent est," as they say. I shall make it my own, personal duty to confess her later… [makes the face of the cat who stole the milk]
Foulque : Well, foreign affairs before other...best left un-described...affairs, your majesty. His Excellence, the Ambassador of England, comes to present you his letters of introduction.
Philippe VII : [aside] He’s cute! [to Lord Cat] Dear ambassador, come closer. I’m so glad to see you in this sad palace. Closer, I say you! What brings you here? Closer!!!
Lord Cat : [bowing, and leaving a safety margin between himself and the king] His Royal Majesty, Henry IX, sends you his dearest and deepest salutations. He knows there is no king in Europe so wise, so powerful, so…elegant.
Couveille : Elegantum honoris est!
Philippe VII : Indeed? Oh, he is so nice with me. And tell him he has the most efficient and handsome of ambassadors… [He stands to move closer to Lord Cat who steps back. Both take one step, then another, and another]
Foulque : [rolling his wheelchair between them] Your Majesty! The ambassador has important news from England!
Philippe VII : Shouldn’t we hear it in my private study, next to my bedroom? We would be soooo much more comfortable…
Foulque : We must decide at once! War is at stake!
Philippe VII : [in a high-pitched voice] War? But I do not want to make war!
Lord Cat : Your majesty, the King of England, my Master, expects that you will support him in his righteous struggle against the infamous Catholics, Austria and Bavaria.
Couveille : [coughs] Non infamus, Santissima Catholica Austria est!
Lord Cat : Heh?
Foulque : He means that we have good a relationship with Austria, so it would be hard to start war against them. The public...
Philippe VII : And I need my soldiers and guards around me, day and night. Especially at night. The dark…I’m afraid of the dark. I mean, having some company with me is reassuring, you know... [he turns the wheelchair around; Lord Cat also turns]
Lord Cat : Your Majesty, I call upon our old alliance that your father built…
Philippe VII : my faaaTHER!
Foulque : [to himself] Oh no!
Philippe VII : [suddenly running around the throne, waving his arms] I’m straight, all is straight! I’m straight, all is straight! [He sits, eyes a bit wild]
Lord Cat : [to Foulque] What?...
Foulque : [in reply] He had a straight and hard education…
Couveille : Straighticum Educationus! By the best masters, Jesuits of course. Whips and letters alternated for the Glory of God, and France!
Lord Cat : Oh… [to the king]So, your Majesty, you can’t be thinking of reneging on the promise made by… your father?
Philippe VII : [running around the throne, waving his arms again] I’m straight, all is straight! I’m straight, all is straight!
Lord Cat : You surely will lead your troops as did… your father!
Philippe VII : [continues his strange behaviour] I’m straight, all is straight! I’m straight, all is straight!
Lord Cat : And you will help in any matter that will bring us victory, in memory of your…
Philippe VII : Stop! I can’t bear it, you win, it is war, but stop it at once!
Foulque : Your Majesty, you can’t seriously be considering war?
Lord Cat : But, under the same circumstances, wouldn’t it the decision that his fath…
Philippe VII : I said...I ordered...I praaayy, send all of our armies to war! At once! Ah...against who again?
Foulque : Austria and Bavaria.
Philippe VII : So be it!



Scene 2

A road in the South West of France. Philippe VII is walking with difficulty, helping himself along with a staff. Foulque rolls along behind him on his wheelchair. They stop.

Philippe VII : [his hand pressed to his heart] I’m dead! Bury me here, Foulque, in my dear soil of France!
Foulque : I’m tired too, your Majesty. We should have stayed with the coach. Boultan would have found us. He is coming on this road.
Philippe VII : A sure way to bring the rebels to catch me! They would have been happy to try to get a ransom for me; and at the same time jostle me, bully me, hurt me, maybe...maybe rape me?
Foulque : You can be raped on this road just as easily; and if we had stayed I wouldn’t be so tired!
Philippe VII : Eek! Do you think so? Protect me Foulque, protect me! [he looks from side to side, fearfully]
Foulque : Protect? As if I could! You didn’t even bring any mousquetaires for your bodyguard.
Philippe VII : I wanted to be inconspicuous! All our armies are in Austria…
Foulque : Franche-Comté
Philippe VII : So close...so, in Franche Comté, then; or invading Bavaria
Foulque : Artois. And THEY are invading us.
Philippe VII : Whatever. There is no one to quash the rebels. But I must review the situation...
Foulque : The situation is that we are walking in a province, infested with rebels, without any guard, and far from any inn. As far as I know, anyone could come out of this bush at any moment and attack us!
[Boultan appears, jumping into the scene. He is wearing the disguise of Captain Fracasso, the captain of the Commedia Dell'Arte] Sang et Tripes! Here you are!
Philippe VII : Heeeeee, a rebel! [he hides behind the wheelchair]
Foulque : Bou… [Boultan make a quick sign, motioning him to keep his identity a secret. Foulque grasps the idea.]...Boo! What do you want?
Boultan : [waving his sword] Wouldn’t you be rich nobility?
Foulque : Me? I mean us? Not at all.
Boultan : Too bad, I’d like to kill a noble with this spade! [He whips around viciously, connecting with Philipe VII’s ass]
Philippe VII : Heeee!
Boultan : Bull's testicles! I’d like to draw a yard of guts from any nobles I’d find here! [another strike]
Philippe VII : [running around holding his ass] HEEEE, HEEEE, HEEEE!
Foulque : We are no nobles, esteemed Captain. We are but poor travelers, lost on this road.
Boultan : [winking to Foulque] Dogs and Cats! Are you sure you are not really nobles, simply disguised under all of that dust? [he runs after the king, striking at time with the spade]
Philippe VII : No, no , I swear, I’m a poor man… HEEEE! Lost on the road HEEE HEEE! Not worth of any ransom HEE HEE HEE ! Don’t kill me, don’t rape me, pleeeeease [he runs out of the scene]
Foulque : Boultan, you are going a bit hard on him.
Boultan : He had it coming....payback for some money he refused to give me when I needed it. I’ve more for him, too. I’ll be back. [He leaves the scene and, shortly, Philippe VII returns.]
Philippe VII : Is he gone? He hurt me!
Foulque : Your majesty, I told you it was dangerous. There are armed rebels everywhere. No law, no faith! The province is lost!
Philippe VII : Don’t be such a defeatist. We will manage to turn the situation around, I’m sure of it. Boultan will find a way!
Foulque : If we don't die on this road before that...
Philippe VII : No!
Foulque : Just one more corpse in the fields, feasted upon by the crows…
Philippe VII : Noo!
Foulque : Regretful; but still straight dead [aside], at least he'd be straight for once in his life.
Philippe VII : [crying] I don’t want to diiiiie!
Foulque : Isn’t that...?
Philippe VII : What?
Foulque : No; it's not. But, I thought...
Philippe VII : What?!?
Foulque : I thought I heard someone coming...
Philippe VII : Protect me Foulque!
Foulque : But I don’t know... Wait. [he takes out a big burlap sack] Climb inside this. It was for our food and drink...[accusingly]...but there is no more.
Philippe VII : I was a bit hungry…
Foulque : And thirsty, too, it seems. Climb in! Quickly! I hear him coming!
[Philippe VII climbs into the sack, but wonders what to do with his staff]
Foulque : Drop it! Quick! [he closes the bag over the king's head]
[Boultan enters once more, with big strides and a very bad German accent]
Boultan : Donnerwetter! Heeere I AM. Vat? A King IST heeere…?
Foulque : No, no, a soldier. [aside to the bag] Do not move
Boultan : Hey! Are you chure zere IST no King heeere?
Foulque : Absolutely.
Boultan : I vant to checke. Vat IST zis baaag? [He strikes it with his sword]
Philipe VII : [muffled] Heee!
Boultan : You said…?
Foulque : Nothing
Boultan : You said ‘Heee’.
Foulque : Never!
Boultan : You are joking meee, huh? Diou Biban, you ARE vanting to make a fooool of meee, huh?
Foulque : Sir, no!
Boultan : [picking up the staff and then striking the bag] You lie to meee, huh? Caracho! Take ziss!
Foulque : Haaa!
Philippe VII : Ouch!
Boultan : [stiking it again] And zat!
Foulque : Haa, I’m dying!
Philippe VII : Oooh!
Boultan : And again!
Foulque : Stop, please stop!
Philippe VII : Aarrgh!
Boultan : You’ll tell to your king zat he is not vanted here!
Foulque : Yes, AAAH, I’ll tell him, AAAH
Philippe VII : I’m dead, oooh!
Boultan : Tell him to take you back to Paris and its taverns, and its maidens… Mille Diou!
Foulque : Sure, sure, anything you want! AAAH! Please stop striking me! [Foulque takes the staff from Boultan and gives the bag yet another few strikes while Boultan exits, laughing soundlessly] Aaaah! Aaaah! Aaaah! Aaaah! I suffer a thousand deaths. [then after a period of silence and inactivity, groans] He has gone.
Philippe VII : [climbing out of the sack with difficulty] Foulque, help me, I’m hurt.
Foulque : How can you be? He was striking me, aaah…
Philipe VII : What do you mean? He was beating ME. I’m mashed, and haven’t a single bone intact.
Foulque : You only had the tip of his staff.
Philippe VII : You should have rolled a bit further away to spare me!
[Boultan runs back into the scene, but this time without his hat and disguise]
Boultan : Ah, here you are. We must flee! All is lost, the rebels are everywhere. I had to hide in the mud to reach you. Now they are coming in force!
Philippe VII : What?! It is time to make our retreat back to fortified positions. To my palace, quickly!
[exunt, running]




Scene 3

The French palace, the throne room. Foulque, Couveille and Boultan are on the side of the scene, plotting.

Boultan : [to Foulque] I need money!
Couveille : [nodding] So do I!
Boultan : I need more money!
Couveille : So do I!
Boultan : I have bills to pay!
Couveille : So have I!
Boultan : I have children to raise, many eager women, many bastards!
Couveille : So have I!
[They look to Couveille, surprised ]
Couveille : Orphans! I mean, I’ve a lot of orphans to educate o It takes money...generosity to the Church and all... Orphanii gentile sunt, you know what I mean? o
[Foulque and Boultan look at each other in silence for a moment]
Foulque : Yes...quite...don't worry; I’ll make him pay. I have a plan. But ssshhh, here he comes!
[Foulque pushes the others out of the scene as Philippe VII enters from the opposite side of the stage]
Foulque : Ô misfortune! Ô sadness! Such unfairness!
Philippe VII : Foulque! What has happened?
Foulque : Your Majesty! A day of such infamy... Who could have known?
Philippe VII : What? Why? Explain, dear Foulque, what saddens you in such a way? Don’t cry, please, don’t cry...
Foulque : The war is ending...
Philippe VII : Well, yes I ordered it. I mean, we are loosing and all, it’s no longer funny, and all guards are outside while I’m alone in this big palace and...
Foulque, interupting : Yes, I know. What I wanted to say is that the war is ending and you have sent an embassy to beg for peace.
Philippe VII : Oh. Did I?
Foulque : You did.
Philippe VII : I must have, mustn’t I? That's how you make peace, isn't it...
Foulque : Monseigneur Couveille and Boultan led this embassy. They were received very amiably. They were installed in a cozy room. They were served sorbets and chocolate by gracious maidens...[gauges the king's reaction]... and young men of the most exquisite appearance. A sort of bordello but… chic!
Philippe VII : [sadly]It's always the same ones who get all the fun... And what is it that has made you so upset?
Foulque : Alas, dear King! While they were enjoying their sojourn, the treacherous enemy sent us an ultimatum! Either we pay 1000 ducats or they will be sold as slaves to the Turks!
Philippe VII : To the Turks?
Foulque : And you know what happens to male slaves in Turkey..
Philippe VII : No?
Foulque : [makes a snipping gesture of scissors to the groin] Clac!
Philippe VII : [horrified]Oooh! We must save them! Let us call our army! To arms!
Foulque : Your army, to the Turks? Surely you jest? And further, what army? We were already losing, remember?
Philippe VII : Oh. Yes. Very true. But...1000 ducats?! And what the devil were they doing in this bordello?
Foulque : 1000 ducats is not so much to get back your Archbishop and your Spymaster.
Philippe VII : But...I haven’t that much money! Look, dear Foulque, my dearest Foulque, my Foulquy, I may have... No, YOU have the solution. We’ll just propose that they take you in place of the hostages. You’re a Prime Minister...the most important person in France besides me...and they can’t... [he makes a snipping gesture] I mean, you’re already...[scissors motion again]... And at your age, you wouldn’t be a hostage or slave for long...
Foulque : [disentangling himself from the king’s embrace] Never! Not on my life! Beside, why would they take a minister in a wheelchair when they can have two able men?!
Philippe VII : able, able...[scissors] Well, I see... Take this key.
Foulque : Yes?
Philippe VII : Go to my bedroom.
Foulque : Yes?
Philippe VII : Open the closet. You'll find my pink royal costume, the violet one I never wore, all the toys I saved for the son that never came, and my dear, dear, teddy bear. There's also the feathered hat that Tanguy, my bodyguard, once gave me as a sign of his love for me… [sighs]
Foulque : Yes? And what of the money?
Philippe VII : [Sighing again] Sell it. Sell it all! Get the money to pay off these diabolical Austrians. Oooh [He begins to exit, weeping; his arm covering his eyes]
Foulque : Hey! Wait! Wait!!! [Philippe VII stops] I’ll barely get 50 ducats for those old clothes, let alone 1000!
Philippe VII : 1000 ducats! And what the devil were they doing in this bordello?!? Here is a key! [he shows another key]
Foulque : Another key?
Philippe VII : This key open a casket in my private study. In the casket there is a pouch with a thousand ducats.
[Foulque reaches for the key but Philippe VII pulls it away from him]
Philippe VII : But say to the Austrians that they are swindlers!
Foulque : [reaching again] I will.
Philippe VII : Truly highway robbers!
Foulque : [rolling his wheelchair around the king in his efforts] Sure thing...
Philippe VII : That I surrender only to their superior force...and to prevent further...bloodshed [scissors gesture]
Foulque : [nearly standing to reach the key] Aaargh…
Philippe VII : [runs in a sissy fashion towards the edge of the stage] Run my Foulquy, run…
Foulque : Sire! The key!
Philippe VII : [stops; turns] Didn’t I give it to you?
Foulque : You didn’t!
Philippe VII : Didn’t I? [he seems to discover the key in his hand and tries to give it to Foulque; but he is clenching it very hard in his hand] Here it is, my dear Foulque.
Foulque : [making a supreme effort] Hmmmpff! YES! I have it! [he wheels himself quickly out of the scene] At least I’m getting out of this closet!
Philippe VII : But what the devil where they doing in this bordello...?!

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#4: by DanielMcCollums:


It was midday, and the gallows stood looming; a brooding king holding court amongst the dead. Soldiers stood at attention, their armor glistening with the blinding rays of the sun. The crowd was large, much larger than at previous executions, and the number of soldiers had been increased in reflect this.
Henri Jean Pillion walked through the crowd with a regal dignity which would not have been expected from his station in life. He did not struggle against the soldiers on all sides of him, nor against the manacles which bound his hands. His face, he kept up, and surveyed the crowd all around him; it seemed as if the entire mob of Paris had turned out for the day. So focused where they on his noble face, that few if any bothered to look down and notice the faint waver in his walk; the only sign of nerves and his regret for the part he had been chosen to play.
“Henri Jean Pillion”, the court official cried out “You have been tried, and found guilty, for the crimes of sedition against the crown and the government of France, for seeking the aid of the enemies of his Most Catholic Majesty King Louis XIII, and for extolling the illegal doctrines of sinner John Calvin and the Reformed Church of France! For these crimes you have been sentenced to death upon this day, Monday the 27th of May in the Year of Our Lord, 1624! Have you any last words?”
The crowd, which had been raucous up until a mere moment before, grew quiet and subdued. Henri took in a deep breath; they expected a show, and he had long ago decided not to disappoint. He breathed again to steady his nerves, it would not serve the cause or his own memory if he went to the gallows with a quavering voice and tears in his eyes.
“Yes”, he said; too weakly, the crowd could not hear it. Henri had never been a soft spoken man and so he took a deeper breathe and bellowed “Yes! I have words to speak!” The crowd began to cheer.
“People of France! I do not deny any of the accusations against me, save one. I am a member of the Reformed Church of France, and I have sought to spread the word of the true faith amongst the downtrodden and dispirited here in Paris. Yes, I have worked with members of our brothers from many other nations in order to strengthen the cause here in France.”
“But I have never acted against the interests of the great French people! They call my family and I traitors. Bah! My Father served, my older brothers fought, and died, in Louis’ struggle against the Habsburgs in an effort to win himself a bride; so many lost their lives so that our King could have his token princess, when we all know well that he prefers the company of other men!”
At this the crowd burst into great laughter, and the guards looked at one another nervously; Henri looked to his side bemused to see a wide grin upon the face of the soldier to his right. He was treading on thin ice, and he knew it; a prisoner was expected to speak, but if he went to far, he would be hanging by the neck sooner than he expected.
“No; I am no traitor. I speak no hatred, only love; love for the poor of this city and across all of France who where swindled by the thieving ministers of our King and the Church. Love for the wounded and maimed who walk these city streets every day, missing arms, legs or even worse; all of which they lost in our King’s arrogant wars! Love for those who still hold dear to the Church, despite its every efforts to debase their souls and condemn its own followers to hell. I will even say that I love those poor fools who carry out the orders of our King, simply because they know no better or fear the consequences if they turned their back upon our Monarch.”
At this the crowd had grown quiet, it waited on his every word and he could sense that he had won them over. Henri drew himself up to his full height, words swelled within him and threatened to burst out. “You all know of the rebellions throughout the country! I may not agreed with the methods of those rebels, but I do sympathize with their plight. An entire generation crushed under the boot of poverty and betrayed by the man who vowed to lead them. Louis XIII is a pretender to the throne; although royal blood beats through his veins, his heart is weak and unmanly! And so, I shall show him how a true Christian man acts and accept the fate which our great and glorious god has seen fit to give me. I will not fight, I will not weep; and should I pass through the gates of Heaven, I shall say a prayer for the souls of all those in France, even the King himself.”
With that, Henry bowed his head as a sign that he had finished; he allowed the hangman to slip the noose around his neck, and smiled, giving one last wave to the crowd. The hangman pulled the lever and the floor dropped out from under the man. He was dead before his own body stopped twitching. Another Huguenot martyr had died as the religious wars spread through France.

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#5: by Bunka:

France in times of trouble​

The year 1618.​

In the north, England, Sweden and the small german minors with corrupted protestant faith, rule.
To the south and controlling Netherlands we have the spaniards which is never to be trusted.
To the east we have our true enemies which we currently are at war with, The rulers of Austria and Bavaria.
Neighbor with Austria to the east we have the turks: Wild beasts that conquers everything they see. Wonder for how long they can maintain such an empire...
And in the middle of this mess we have THE country: France.
We stand alone against many difficulties including internal problems with protestant people. But France will forever be our country!

The Austrian threat isn't that dangerous​

As I have told before we had an enemy in Austria and its ally Bavaria. Luckily Austria wasn't the elected Holy Roman emperor and because of that didn't get the benefits of having a much larger army and even more important, getting military access through the member states and by that reaching France. But, we were not alone, our french brothers of Savoie and Lorraine are with us in this quest and with them we cannot loose! An army is sent to the only place we can siege at the moment without military access: Breisgau.

Evil protestants starts rebellions​

While our attention was in the east, mischievous protestants in the south-west starts revolts. Against their own king, how rude! The courageous 5th regiment led by General Bunka is sent to quell the rebellion leaving the north border undefended for some time. On their way south they retake the province Armor from the rebels. Then general Bunka of the 5th regiment gets the messege that Périgords walls are breached and that he has to move quick if he doesn't want to siege yet another province. They march with minimum sleep and rest for several days and by that they manages to get there in time and a glorious victory is won by the tired regiment. But it's not over. While Bunka was fighting in Périgord, Toulouse and Béarn were taken by rebels.

General Bunka defeats the rebels​

General Bunka has two options: either split the army in two parts attacking both provinces and by that earning several months or attacking the provinces one by one with a larger force. Bunka chose the first option and sent half the army to Toulouse where there are no armies seen. Himself and the rest of the army is sent to the rebels stronghold in Béarn. The army in Toulouse got there and took the province without having to fight a single battle. But in Béarn it proved to be worse than Bunka had thought. The rebels were everywhere in the Pyrenées and it wasn't Bunkas favorite terrain to fight in. But he managed to encircle the rebel troops and 255 days after Bunkas arrival in Béarn the province was taken.

The war with Austria proves to be meaningless​

General Bunka was sent back with his regiment from the south-west with a few more medals than before. But on his way north he was food poisoned and died. But that was not the point. The stupid war with Austria seemed to be never-ending but after a succesful siege of Breisgau which took 1364(!) days to complete, the French king made up his mind and sent a white peace offer. It was accepted and thus a meaningless peace were signed on a Monday, the 21th May 1625, meaning nothing more than a short lived truce...

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#6: by GBIT:

Gai-Jin
​

The first cascade of thunderous fire had shaken his soul to its very core. Gunpowder smoke and soil uprooted by cannon lingered near the ground, a cloud of noxious fumes choking the air around him. Mutilated foot soldiers lay broken, strewn across the brackish field like so many tiny playthings. No honor or meaning, only a cacophony of wailing men and the overwhelming stench of death.

He stared over the battlements at the scourge that had threatened the city for the better part of a year. It was now July and Pau was in her death throes. His name was Hasekura Tsunenaga and he, along with his European envoy, was trapped. So many successes over the past eleven years now to end in a civil war that he did not care about. The Americas, Portugal, Spain, even their Pope in Rome had bent to his will. Now he was stranded in this eta village they called France about to die for a cause he had no stake in. But that is karma, neh?

Another artillery barrage crashed unceremoniously into the castle’s last cannon tower, scattering its remaining defenders and sending a shockwave through the rest of the walls. The King’s guns fell silent and the final call to arms rang out through the makeshift fortifications ringing the capital. In concert the rabble turned their fire on a single point in the walls and every man inside them knew they had just perished.

He grunted in acknowledgement of his fate and turned to face his retainers. Even now, so far from their home, they were prepared to die for him. The 6,000 ri separating them from their customs could not destroy what made them Samurai. They all bowed in universal deference for what they knew would be their last orders, and he began.

“This is not our place, nor our conflict. But it is honorable to die in glorious battle, no matter what the battle, neh?” A large chunk of the outer wall crumbled. “Buddha smiles upon us, and will surely grant each of you a place at his side. But if not, that is karma, and you have served your liege lord. Masamune-sama remains in Sendai, but in his stead I grant permission for any man who wishes it to commit seppuku.” The words, spoken for the sake of tradition, were clearly understood by each and every man. This was a disgusting battle fought by disgusting barbarians but it was their duty to join the fray. None wavered in their resolve.

Then, the final blow. The tottering defenses could take no more, and they tumbled to the ground. The main trench began to inexorably grind across the field for the breach in the walls. Catholics primed their muskets and awaited the inevitable charge. Tsunenaga got on his knees and began to clear his mind. The Gave de Pau below him and the Pyrenees towering above, he left the foul realm of France and found himself again in his house overlooking his fief of 600 koku. His wife Naoko and his consort Fujiko beckoned him to dinner: charcoaled fish with some rice and sweet pickled vegetables. Here, finally, he escaped the brassy odor of the gaijin and their rotting meats. His men entered a similar trance, the practices of Zen well entrenched in the majority of the Samurai ranks.

Christian “brothers” met in their final conflict. An ear pounding eruption from the Catholics inside the city and renewed cries of pain echoed over the meditating unit, infiltrating their thoughts. He was in Korea once more, confronting the Garlic Eaters and their filthy Chinese allies. The exalted charge, the overwhelming momentum of 30,000 warriors, and then they appeared. Bursting forth with fire to explode unnatural shrapnel into their dense ranks…

He awoke. The hwacha and what it did to proud men still haunted his memories to this day, much like the indiscriminate and cold death of a gunshot. He rose and took in the grim tale unfolding before him. Already masses of cut down bodies began to pile at the breach as cheers of “Remember St. Bartholomew’s Day!” carried each successive wave into the gaping maw awaiting them.

His men rose with him and like their ancestors since time immemorial, prepared for their death. His hand unconsciously rested on the hilt of his katana, the “two handed killing sword”, as Europeans called it, the ignorant fools. The Masamune blade had been a parting gift from Shogun Tokugawa Ieyasu, who had authorized the expedition. Over a century old, the thought of it ending up in the hands of some barbarian looter was more than enough to boil his blood. As always, he accepted his karma for what it was and assured himself it would go out in a blaze of carnage, at the very least. He drew it from the ornate scabbard on his thigh, its deadly grace evident even with a cursory glance.

The repeated charges by the rebel forces began to take their toll on the defenders, as the ever increasing tide of Protestants erupted through the thin defensive line and the melee began. Now came their time. He composed his death haiku and leapt down the nearby stairs into his fate. One clean stroke and the nearest barbarian fell to the ground with no head. The thirty guards followed with cries of “Tokugawaaaaa!!!!!!!!!” and began to devastate the disheveled and exhausted Christians arrayed against them. His sword cut through man and steel like stalks of grass, a performance rivaling that of even the dictator Nobunaga. He knew he could single-handedly annihilate the entire army arrayed against him. Then, nothing. No epic duel with an enemy daimyo or poetic death, only an insignificant cracking noise.

He collapsed to the ground, a ragged hole where his chest had once been.

Hasekura Tsunenaga died a Samurai in a sea of peasants.

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#7: by Warspite:

The Aporue family and the Reformation struggle.

“My father Jean Aporue had a vision that cut through generations like a sword to spread a new idea. Now I carry his words to my countrymen and continue the dream in the face of dogma.”

Jean Aporue II leaned forward on his saddle in thought. Tired from a battle only hours before against the Catholic forces, still he managed enough stamina to keep his men focused as yet another battle marched within a hundred yards away. Lifting his riding crop high in the air, his gunners looked on awaiting the signal. For Aporue II, timing meant everything.

“Fire!”

Protestant rebels had began to siege Catholic strongholds in Perigord, Toulouse and Bearn in the summer of 1624. Jean Aporue II led his protestant army south to Bearn and fought a numerically superior French army of 2,579 soldiers, which was supported by 50 cavalry. Saturday July 7th the final battle took place. The Protestants had been chased back but now held the high ground.
The Protestants had only one chance left, they had to make sure every shot counted. With the command to fire, dozens of cannon balls with chain whistled into the ranks of Frenchmen. The French infantry front line was cut down, the rest disoriented quickly and spread out blocking off the path of their own cavalry. It was a perfect moment that Count Aporue II took advantage of; he led a charge into the French.
Without the help of the cavalry, the French infantry held for only so long before wavering to a systematic route. The protestant rebels had taken the garrison in Bearn that day and allowed the remaining French to march out.

France had been fighting a protracted war against the Archduke of Austria for several years. War exhaustion began to further weaken a brittle relationship between Catholic and Protestant France. It was a time in France when new ideas challenged the old. The reformation was spreading and with it; war. The reformation was slow to take hold in France during the sixteenth century, but the Aporue family helped change that.

The religious wars so strained France that the French King asked Austria for peace. Strained by its own internal struggles, by May 21, 1625 Austria accepted the peace proposal to end the long and bloody war with France. Historians often call this the “white peace” between the two powers. With it, no side gained anything from the other. The Archduke of Austria had to deal with the same kind of protestant upheavals as France.

So intense was the religious factor becoming in Europe that the Holy Roman Empire began to weaken further. Those member states that clung to the Catholic faith were at odds with the states that adopted the various reformation faiths. This confusion within the powerful states of Europe only bolstered the power of the Ottoman Turks, who were united either through faith or subjugation. It was well that Austria and France made a white peace, the aggression of the Turks would put Christian Europe to the test.

Unfortunately for the protestant rebels of France, the end of the war against Austria meant France could focus its armies against them. Within the next few years Count Aporue II fled to Poitou where his followers hid him from the Catholics. The Protestants may have lost the war against France, but the reformation could not be stopped and it spread throughout much of Europe.

Years after the French religious wars, in a small village of Poitou France, a young man gathered crowds to listen to his ideas, with him another great idea in the making. The young man was Jean Aporue III and he was already a wealthy merchant. He was not intending to start another religious revolution in France though; rather he had a mission that would bring his grandfathers vision to the world, not just Europe. With a growing base of dedicated followers, he would go on to become one of the greatest missionaries in history.

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((I used all five screenshots to write the short AAR. I am not sure how you want them posted, so I will include the links. Thanks for this opportunity; it helped me get back into writing an AAR

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#8: by Cnae:

Marquis Armand du Plessis was standing atop the western tower of his own castle that towered over the small town of Papillion. He had already ordered the castles gates to be closed and issued a “carte blanche” to fire at any peasant or villager daring to approach the portcullis. When the order had been issued his wife had of course began to haunt him regarding how he should be treating his subjects with more respect and freedom of choice. He cursed and spat across the battlement at the thought of his wife. Ever since his wife had been afflicted by that German preachers teachings she had become totally uncontrollable. Even his subjects, who barley could read and write, had taken this absurd priest to their hearts. His name was Martin Luther a small-time crook from some ungodly village in Holy Roman Empire. However, he did not stand for that kind of blasphemies not even from his own wife. He had a famous Italian alchemist “Il Condore” examine her, who concluded that she was suffering from a mental illness that could only be cured by professionals like himself. The Marquis quickly gave custody of his wife to the alchemist who started to treat her with different mixtures and leeches.

Atop his tower Armand could see people stirring among the buildings of the town and suddenly he could hear the church bells chiming, scaring a group of doves into the air.
- Looks like they are assembling in the town square, Armand said to nobody in particular.
The guards atop the tower eyed him carefully not taking the risk of provoking one of his famous fits of anger. The once humble and cultivated Marquis had started to change a year ago coinciding with the arrival to the castle of the Italian alchemist, bringing the promise to transform iron to gold. So far the only thing the alchemist had been able to turn to gold was his own purse while Armand’s coffers quickly emptied.

As du Plessis was watching the commotion in his village his stomach gave a gurgling sound and he cringed over in pain.
- Ahhrgg, guard fetch my medicine, quick or you will be sent to the gallows, he uttered the words in wailing agony.
He could feel green phlegm running from his lower lip and he almost fell into unconsciousness before the guard returned bringing the white healing powder “Il Condore” had made for him. The powder quickly settled Armand’s stomach easing his pains and a mischievous grin established itself on his lips.
- Guard assemble the men we are to disperse this peasant scum in a single cavalry charge!
- But, Sir…the guard started to stay, but changed his mind when he saw the look on his lord’s face.
Armand du Plessis mind oozed with anticipation as he took three steps at a time while descending this tower. When he reached the inner courtyard, he had to wait impatiently, while his horse was saddled and most of his men had assembled behind the impressive black warhorse. He quickly climbed into the saddle and ordered the portcullis to be raised. Even before the iron gate was completely raised he charged his horse forward unsheathing his sword and started to gallop towards the village. Before any guards could follow their lord the portcullis was starting to close. On top of the gatehouse a cloaked figure was standing a broad smile playing his lips as Marquis Armand du Plessis was charging alone towards Papillion.

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#9: by SnakeIV

Fate of a faith.​

The pope was old and weak. He was no longer to fulfill all what his post required, and his power had decreased thereafter. That did not mean that he lacked will and spirit. The pope did what his health allowed him to, and it was not possible to entirely ignore his will.

He was made ready for facing the crowd. He was uneasy, the thirty years war and the religious civil war in France concerned his more than anything else ever had. He saw it as his duty to restore religious stability, and that was what the speech was supposed to be about. The pope called it speech, but due to his fragile health he would only make an announcement. The pope slowly took the steps out on the balcony. He was met by a loud cheer from the people on the St. Peter's Square. The pope, whose voice in difference to his overall health was very good, would speak in Latin, but another man would repeat his words much louder and in Italian for the uneducated, which it were many of present. The pope held up his hand as a sign for the crowd to be quite. He began to speak to the crowd.

Most beloved brothers. Many times in the true faith’s history it has experienced troubles, and faced enemies, but this is the biggest threat yet. It is open war against the heretics, and we are losing. Those who are still following the true faith prefer to just sit and watch rather than helping out against the heathens. This can not continue. I have considered things a lot, I have spoken with many people, cardinals and kings, I have asked God for advice, and I have decided to call for a crusade against the disbelievers, a crusade for every…

Suddenly the pope was disrupted by a refection of the sun from somewhere among the crowd. He stopped talk for a second. Just then a sound of a gun was heard. It was a signal. People who had hid in the shadows appeared and armed people with daggers, small arms and wooden bats. As fighting erupted in the crowd the pope made his way off the balcony and down the stairs. Even with help from the people around him moved slowly. The crowd did not take long to stop the inner fighting as many unarmed fled and it soon was trying to break the wooden door of the St. Peter’s Basilica, which had soon after fighting erupted been closed by the Papal Swiss guards. The pope had hardly reached the ground floor when the doors broke and the mob made its way into the church. It poured in people who looted the church on any golden or valuable artifacts. Others searched for men of the church who had not made it to safety. The pope was out of the church in another end a minute before the mob reached it. The door which he left through was closed and locked, which blocked the exit for several cardinals whose heads where to the visible to the public on spears outside the basilica within the hour. Making their way towards safer location the pope’s company bumped into a couple of guards on horsebacks who soon where left to their fate in the Vatican.

The company did not come very far before they met a small papal force which was meant to exchange the guards at the Quirinal Palace. They followed them to the palace as the other side of the river was assumed still to be safe, and to join up with the guard who where there and then with bigger escort make their way to the city gates. When they arrived at the palace after couple of minutes they found it in the hands of the scum already, with men carrying sacks leaving the building. Without anyone ordering it the guards charged against the unorganized mob which could not give much resistance with most men looting the building, being just a dozen poorly armed at the square outside.

The old and weak pope’s horse would not fully obey the papal orders when the tumult started, as it was trained to participate in the fighting. The younger priest who held the reins held it back as good as he could, but could not stay out of the risk zone. When being too close to the palace the priest was hit by a bullet in the head, died instantly, and fell off the horse. The horse was frightened and reared, throwing the blood stained pope to the ground. The pope rose as fast as his old body allowed him to and tried to get away unnoticed.

Inside the papal library a young adult participated in the looting. He and some friend had went through five meters of bookshelves and sorted out what was in opposition of the teaching of Luther, to burn that, and what was not, to put in their own sack. On the floor there where a big pile of book to burn, and the young man decided that it was time to make place for some more. First out the window was a big and heavy illustrated bible. As it left the building it fell down towards the ground and hit the top of the head of the pope, killing the old man.

The body was burned on stake in the evening when Rome had fallen to the protestant rebels and German mercenaries.

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#10: by 2Coats

To be expected.

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#11: by SonofWinter

Private Diary of
Count Anjou
1618, May - The war of unification continues. The bloody Duchy of Flanders continues its grasp on Artois, but our battles have gone well. It would appear that their allies in Bavaria and Austria have some sort of a soft spot for the Calvinist scum, but we are going to succeed against the small upstarts in the lowlands, even if we have kill every soldier in the little heretic kingdom. Luckily for us, the Ottoman Turks are giving it to the Austrians, in such a way, that we don’t have to focus all of our energies on the would-be emperor and his resources.

As we say in France, marry and Austrian and kiss your ass goodbye. Unfortunately, we are spending many resources keeping our allies in Lorraine, from being completely obliterated by the Austrian scourge.

1621, July – Finally, the war with Flanders is over and the Austrian forces have been completely annihilated in Lorraine. We begin our siege in Breisgau, when a new flare up of Calvinists has sprung up all over western France. It would appear that if the Dutch can’t win a war, they will try to subvert an enemy with heresy. Unfortunately, our peace treaty does not allow us to deal with them in a more permanent manner at this time. The revolts are spreading like wildfire across our most valuable provinces while our manpower resources are being pushed to the limits. For now, we can still draw some men into the ranks, so we will wait the heretics out and hope that we can achieve some peace deal with the Austrians and stabilize our internal problems.

1625, May – God curse the Austrians and all their inbred relatives. 7 bloody years, thousands of men dead, fields burned, cities razed, but at last the curs have agreed to a ceasefire, so that the bloodshed of Catholic men could come to an end. Had the Holy See not threatened excommunication, they would keep up the killing. The last few years were ones of woe as Frenchman killed Frenchman, over what?!?! A HERESY. The last of the revolts were put down at the end of 1624. And the Austrians realized that they would never break our backs to surrender to their Imperial ambitions.

Narrator: In the aftermath of the Franco-Habsburg war, France has had to come to grips with its goals and ambitions. France had to overcome the internal problem of the Calvinist threat and its divisive nature. Ultimately, many of the Huguenots left east, as well as, the new world and France’s strength grew with time once more. The armies, which were almost obliterated from the civil war as well as Austrian aggression, were rebuilt and the flower of French manhood was once more allowed to replenish the ranks of the Kingdom.

 

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The Best of the Rest, entry#12: by Grundius

A storm was sweeping over Europe. The teachings of Martin Luther and Jean Calvin were supposed to bring clarity and purge the corruption of Rome, yet like most religious schisms, they brought only war. Or perhaps it was just the pretence, the ultimate excuse, which the Lords of Europe needed to extend their power ever again. For years nations that had supposed to be brothers in the Catholic faith, had watched each other with envy. Border conflicts had shifted marginal pieces of lands between nations, yet great wars for conquest within Europe had been few and far between; although the Great Powers of the time might have had conquest in mind, they had rarely found a cause that was acknowledged by their peers. No, overt attempts at conquest were the province of the followers of Islam and their barbaric neighbours.

Yet now, much had changed. The growing empires of Austria and France were on the rise. The age of Spain had passed. France and Austria had expanded by whatever means deemed legal; they had removed neighbouring rulers by subterfuge and diplomacy, taking their lands by "civilized" means. Both had had their fair share of inheritances: dying, heirless kings giving their throne to the King of Paris or the Archduke of Vienna. Now they set their sights on the lands dividing them: the brittle unity of the Holy Roman Empire, shattered by religious differences. The Emperor, the ruler of Baden, was weak. His lordship was now only supported by the Archbishopric of Cologne, and the Archbishop himself was beset by Lutherans and Calvinists both foreign and domestic. Austria was strong, and would march through the Empire with little or no opposition. Bavaria would stand with her.

There was only the matter of the casus belli. Austria had wanted to punish France for a long time, but no good reason had been found. France was a fellow Catholic nation. However, she was divided. Protestantism was the religion of the majority of the French populace, while the nobility still followed the Catholic creed. France was rive with rebellious sentiment. When Armor fell to the Protestants it was clear: France could not cope - or that was what the Austrians told the rest of the Catholic world. The French contradicted the statement, but it was too late - Austrian forces were on the move. The Holy Roman Emperor, afraid of losing his only supporter in the Archbishop of Cologne and hoping to gain a new one in the Archduke, of course approved of the Austrian "aid" to France. The French reacted by closing their borders to the Austrians, which was explained by the Austrians as a sign of heretics taking control of the French throne. No time was to be wasted - Austria declared war, and she would not stop until Paris was in Habsburg hands.

The French rushed to the defensive. If only they could halt the march of the Protestants themselves, no pretext for war would exist. The forces besieging Armor were spurred on and completed the siege in 301 days, which would have taken too long if not the Austrians had had some logistic problems and their march had thus been delayed. Still, the matter had been resolved. Armor was in Catholic hands again and the rebels punished. But now Southern France rose in revolt, and many a province fell to Protestant rebels. The Austrians used this to conclude that France was not yet clear of Protestant influence and continued their advance.

The war would not be what they hoped it to be. For Austria had, by her violation of French sovereignty, given the warring factions of France the one reason that could unite them: nationalism. Catholics and Protestants united for one final time to throw the Austrians out. The Austrians, not prepared for the onslaught, were pushed back. The French would as easily cross the divided Empire as the Austrians had done. They invaded Breisgau, the westernmost Austrian possession, and conquered the city. Austria had no rally point left in the west, and when the Archbishop of Cologne -pressed by French "peacemakers"- openly declared for the French, and the Duke of Baden, seeing the French on his doorstep, forbid the moving of Austrian reinforcements through the Empire, the war that should have brought Austria lordship over Europe ended where it begun: the Austrians accepted a white peace. France would be fighting to preserve her lands against domestic opponents for now, while Austria would soon be facing problems of her own....
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The Best of the Rest, entry#13: by Le Ran

The Talleyrand-Périgord Brothers
A European WestAARn

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Winter 1618. It was a dark and stormy night in Grignols. Suddenly a scream resounded in the tower of the remote castle…

André : I hate him !

Godefroi : Calm down André.

Charles : Calm down André.

Henri : André, I’m hungry.

André : I hate Richelieu ! I hate Louis XIII ! I hate the whole friggin’ monarchy ! And do you know why ?

Godefroi : Yes, André.

Charles : But you’ll tell us nevertheless, won’t you ?

André : I hate them because they robbed us of our rightful title ! I belonged to our family, but nooo, they had to marry people together and suddenly poof ! It belongs to the king ! But all this will come to an end… And someday…

(he pauses)

André : … someday I will be Count of Périgord !

Godefroi : Wow. I didn’t know you were THAT desperate.

Charles : Not as if dad wasn’t already of Prince of Chalais, for example.

Henri : But Charles, YOU will be the next Prince of Chalais. And I will be count of Chalais. Only André will… *he giggles* … will have Grignols.

André : Let me kill him !

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July 1821, Grignols.

André : Godefroy, Charles, Henri, come here ! I have a plan !

Godefroy : But André, you know I will fail.

Charles : …as usual…

Henri : … and I’ll end up in prison too even if I hadn’t understood what was going on (1).

André : Listen boys : last week the new Holy Roman Emperor was elected. I’ll give him an occasion to affirm his might, and call him to rescue me from the French king who oppresses me ! And in gratitude he will make me Count of Périgord !

(he dresses himself with a sheet as if it was a toga)

André : Look ! Don’t I look like a Roman ?

Godefroy : André, everybody knows that the Holy Roman Empire is German.

André : OK, fine ! Look ! *he tries to look taller* I am Aryan too !

Charles : But André, everybody knows that the Aryans originate from Tibet, and that the people of Tibet originate from the Atlantis, who themselves came from inside the Earth ! You don’t look like that at all !

Godefroy : Not as if we knew what « Tibet » or « Atlantis » meant, actually.

Henri : Or « Earth », for that matter. But you sure don’t look like that.

André : Let me kill him !

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July 1824, Grignols.

Charles and Henri are banging at a door.

Charles: André! André! Come out! There’s a war going on! The Protestants are besieging Périgueux! The walls of the city were broken this morning! Villages are revolting! We need to fortify our castle!

The door opens, and André exits slowly, looking especially serene.

André: I am not afraid my brother, for I saw the light.

Charles: You did what?

André: I converted to Protestantism yesterday. I just finished writing and sending more than fifty letters to make that public knowledge. I hope that the others lords of Périgord will see the same light soon.

He grins.

André: … Which means that I’m so far the only lord in Périgord who has converted to Prostestantism. So, guess who will be the next Count when the Protestants march into the city? André, Count of Périgord! Muhahahaha!

Godefroy rushes into the room from the outside.

Godefroy: Great news! The King’s troops dispatched the rag-tag army of the Protestants in Périgueux! The catholic victory is complete!

Henri: Oh crap. I sure hope you only took the Free 30 Days Trial Membership…

<image 3 : similar to original, not re-uploaded>
<image 4 : similar to original, not re-uploaded>​

May 1825, Grignols.

André: Raah! I hate him! But this time I have an infallible plan!

Godefroy: You know that it will fail as usual, don’t you?

André: Listen: you know that France has been at war with Austria for years… But listen to what my spies told me: the King of Austria will win the war totally in a matter of weeks!

Godefroy: I got the word too. His precise words are reported to be “Even if the French besiege Bresgau, I think that I know a way to end that French warmongering once and for all, in a true Austrian way”. By the way, you have no spies and you heard that at the tavern, just like me.

André: That’s our chance! I spent half of the fortune we made in the trade of cacao to the King of Austria, as a tribute to his war effort!

Godefroy: Wasn’t that sugar that we were importing from Bordeaux?

Henri: Anyway, that was some sort of unhealthy new food, with little or no good old duck fat in it.

André: Whatever: now the Kings of Austria owes us. With the rest of our money, I bought hundreds of Austrian flags to put at the windows of our fief for when their troops reach Périgord. Then they will see who their real allies are, and they will make me the new…

Charles (enters the room): Hey guys, do you know the news? Austria accepted a white peace after the French took Bresgau.

Godefroy: Wow. The Austrian way to end a war is efficient.

André: Aaaarg! Let me kill… uh… let me kill something!

Henri (low): The Austrian flag is red and white, isn’t it?

Godefroy (low): Yep. And if you think at the same thing as me, the trend this year is to wear green or blue capes.

Henri (low): We’re boned.

<image 5 : similar to original, not re-uploaded>​

(1) Authentic. More or less.

 

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Hildoceras, I'm your new fan. Were you born a couple centuries earlier, your genius would be acknowledged by the Académie today

Side note concerning my own AAR : André, Henri, Charles and Godefroy are truely the historical figures they pretend to be. Their picture was loosely recomposed from authentic sources, too.

 

[Snake IV]

Nice. I'll read them through as soon as possible.

Just a little nitpick though, Grundius apperes twice in the list in the first post

 

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Just a little nitpick though, Grundius apperes twice in the list in the first post

Fixed it. thanks

 

[unmerged(11366)]

Fixed it. thanks

Now when I click on Warspite I get pointed to post #7 of the thread, which says Entry #12 by Grundius, even though if I scroll down to post #7 it says GBIT not Grundius what!??!

 

[CatKnight]

The link to Warspite's post is still broken. (going to Grundius)

Warspite's is post # 8 (entry # 7). There's an offset between post number and entry number because Singleton used the first post as an index/explanation

 

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Maybe it is just FireFox being weird but for me all of the links bring up the Grundius post. :wacko: