My father was a fool.
This is a harsh thing to say, I know. And when one's father was known as "Yaroslav the Wise", it is a difficult thing to defend. But I believe it is true.
Allow myself to introduce myself. I am Svyatoslav Rurikovich, Prince of Pronsk and Ryazan.
I drew that myself.
My father fought a vicious fratricidal war with his half-brother, Svyatopolk, for control of Kiev, Novgorod, and other lands of the Rus. This war also led to my uncles, Gleb and Boris, "attaining sainthood" (also known as "getting hacked up by a kitchen knife to the throat"), the death of my uncle and namesake, Svyatoslav, the imprisonment of my uncle Sudislav and so on. Some say my father ordered these murders, others say Svyatopolk did, but whichever is true, those years left their mark on my father. Having unified the realm, my father spent his later years doing (among other things) work on the first full code of laws Russia has ever seen, the Russkaya Pravda.
And so, as he lay dying, my father wanted his legacy to be that of a lawgiver, not that of a conqueror. Terrified that history would repeat itself and the Russian lands would be torn apart by brother fighting against brother, he…tore the realm apart himself, granting portions to each of his surviving sons, under the Gavelkind law of inheritance.
That's the "fool" part, in case you didn't know.
Here is a map of how the lands are currently divided:
My lands are in the brown, as I control the headwaters of the river Don, and the Strait of Kerch. The lands in the light green are the Principality of Pereyaslavl, ruled by my younger brother, Vsevolod.
Vsevolod has more lands, more vassals, and a far greater talent for making money. On the other hand, I can kick his ass in battle and I have much better hair. Naturally, he hates me.
The yellow lands are Kiev, ruled by my older brother, Izyaslav, and the red is Novgorod, ruled by his son, Mstislav.
Izyaslav has many good qualities, however "competence" is not among them. (Nor is his nose.) Mstislav has all his father's weaknesses, and none of his strengths. I hate them.
And so you see the problem. Although our father begged us to work together, to rule Rus in several portions as he had ruled it in one, and to complete his work on the Russkaya Pravda, and although this truce has lasted for the past dozen years, the situation can not long endure. Each of us remembers a Russia far greater than our own splintered realms, each of us distrusts the others, and each of us already has an army standing at the ready. My father and his Gavelkind inheritance have not created a lasting peace so much as a framework for a fair and equitable civil war. Gee, thanks. Fool!
Well, I will not compound my father's folly. I will not be my brothers' assassin. But neither shall I be their victim. I may have the smallest realm of any Rurikovich. I may have the fewest vassals. I may have not one, not two, but three pagan hordes lurking to my south and east (and a boatload of Bolgar Muslims across the Volga), but I…
But I…
Oh, shit, I'm screwed, aren't I?
No, no, I will not panic. I will survive. I will prosper. I will fend off my brothers and re-unify our father's lands and even expand them. I will, dare I say it, RUUUUUUUULE THE WORLD!
(No, I dare not say it. That's just ridiculous, I'm not going to live that long. Scratch that last bit.)
This is a harsh thing to say, I know. And when one's father was known as "Yaroslav the Wise", it is a difficult thing to defend. But I believe it is true.
Allow myself to introduce myself. I am Svyatoslav Rurikovich, Prince of Pronsk and Ryazan.

I drew that myself.
My father fought a vicious fratricidal war with his half-brother, Svyatopolk, for control of Kiev, Novgorod, and other lands of the Rus. This war also led to my uncles, Gleb and Boris, "attaining sainthood" (also known as "getting hacked up by a kitchen knife to the throat"), the death of my uncle and namesake, Svyatoslav, the imprisonment of my uncle Sudislav and so on. Some say my father ordered these murders, others say Svyatopolk did, but whichever is true, those years left their mark on my father. Having unified the realm, my father spent his later years doing (among other things) work on the first full code of laws Russia has ever seen, the Russkaya Pravda.
And so, as he lay dying, my father wanted his legacy to be that of a lawgiver, not that of a conqueror. Terrified that history would repeat itself and the Russian lands would be torn apart by brother fighting against brother, he…tore the realm apart himself, granting portions to each of his surviving sons, under the Gavelkind law of inheritance.
That's the "fool" part, in case you didn't know.
Here is a map of how the lands are currently divided:

My lands are in the brown, as I control the headwaters of the river Don, and the Strait of Kerch. The lands in the light green are the Principality of Pereyaslavl, ruled by my younger brother, Vsevolod.

Vsevolod has more lands, more vassals, and a far greater talent for making money. On the other hand, I can kick his ass in battle and I have much better hair. Naturally, he hates me.
The yellow lands are Kiev, ruled by my older brother, Izyaslav, and the red is Novgorod, ruled by his son, Mstislav.

Izyaslav has many good qualities, however "competence" is not among them. (Nor is his nose.) Mstislav has all his father's weaknesses, and none of his strengths. I hate them.
And so you see the problem. Although our father begged us to work together, to rule Rus in several portions as he had ruled it in one, and to complete his work on the Russkaya Pravda, and although this truce has lasted for the past dozen years, the situation can not long endure. Each of us remembers a Russia far greater than our own splintered realms, each of us distrusts the others, and each of us already has an army standing at the ready. My father and his Gavelkind inheritance have not created a lasting peace so much as a framework for a fair and equitable civil war. Gee, thanks. Fool!
Well, I will not compound my father's folly. I will not be my brothers' assassin. But neither shall I be their victim. I may have the smallest realm of any Rurikovich. I may have the fewest vassals. I may have not one, not two, but three pagan hordes lurking to my south and east (and a boatload of Bolgar Muslims across the Volga), but I…
But I…
Oh, shit, I'm screwed, aren't I?
No, no, I will not panic. I will survive. I will prosper. I will fend off my brothers and re-unify our father's lands and even expand them. I will, dare I say it, RUUUUUUUULE THE WORLD!
(No, I dare not say it. That's just ridiculous, I'm not going to live that long. Scratch that last bit.)
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