Working on it. It is dead week here at Purdue and the only thing "dead" about it is me.
Homelands: Tales of the Anglo-Prussians
- Thread starter Mr. Capiatlist
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I expect to be done with all of Baltika sometime in the next five years...
This has been an interesting turn of events 
.
Looking to see this lovely part's conclusion.
.Looking to see this lovely part's conclusion.
A much belated Happy Birthday? Sorry about that, but better now than never I think.
Doyvát reminds of me of someone... What a rebel.
Sorry about that, but better now than never I think.Doyvát reminds of me of someone... What a rebel.
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Nine: By the Blade
Part 3
Prelude:
Prussia as a Kingdom was cut down to just the Prussian speaking regions. Three extra regions remained under its grip as vassals: Azowia, Finland, and the City of Cottbus (whose count was wary of Brandenburgian expansion). However, true control over these territories was limited, especially since Vishly's wounding. The King, who refused to allow a regent, continue to direct the affairs of the Kingdom in the ever shrinking time he was awake and well enough to do so. There weren't many people who could have effectively taken the position of regent. Many of his children at this point were very unattached to politics, seeing four of their brothers seemingly die because of it. Ziedás was the next choice, and speculation of the results of her reign range from "nothing" to the formation of a new dynasty under her. Regardless, Vishly maintained his rule with a weakening iron fist, stopping any attempt to usurp his power. But one thorn in his side was the Black Count, a renegade Fraternalist who terrorized the areas in and around the Principality of Galich. The Count, was in fact Doyvát Gunvaldsun, the exiled Prince of Estonia and a pretender for the Prussian throne. But Doyvát was sure that his father was still alive and therefore the only legitimate claimant to the throne. Few supported this notion, but as long as Doyvát was willing to fight for it, there were those who would be pulled toward him.
Prussia with its vassal states in 1350.
March 5th, 1350
Elfwynn waited on a balcony straining her ears to hear the faint clip-clop of hooves. The bumbling Count had made a significant error in trusting her, to think that she would suddenly just stop supporting her father and her King was a stretch to say the least. A trap well set, she thought. The evening sun dipped below the tree line, casting long shadows across the castle. The only sound were the rustling of peasants as they went about making dinner and finishing their work. On the horizon, just at the crest of a hill, an armored figure appeared. Draped by an orange sky, one could hardly make out its form, but Elfwynn recognized it as the Count. He stopped short of the castle and seemed to heft his shield.
"M'lady, why does he seemed prepared for battle?" a soldier asked, trying to remain unseen and unheard.
Elfwynn ignored him, trying to continue the ruse, "My dear, why do you come armored?" The Count did not answer, instead he continued his approach, slow and awkward. Elfwynn was not liking the situation, something was amiss. But the Count was here, it was his trademark armor and his blacked out shield. "Archers! Fire! Kill that man!" The archers stood up from their hiding spots and within a moment a horse was without a rider. The Count lie on the ground in a heap, arrows protruding in all directions. The Princess smiled, easy.
Her men ran up to the body. They were tentative at first but it was obvious that no one could have survived such a barrage. Elfwynn joined the group, kicking the body onto its back. She stooped down and pulled off the helmet. Inside was the gagged face of one of her guards. His eyes frozen in shock, blood dripping from his nose and through the rag in his mouth. Removing the armor showed his arms had been broken and tied behind his back and then stuffed into the armor. From a distance, Doyvát watched in satisfaction, he whistled to his horse and as it came by, jumped up onto the saddle, holding on by the pommel and gullet and pulling himself up. Elfwynn and her guards could only watch as Doyvát rode off with his horse, without so much as a taunting goodbye.
Back at his hut, Doyvát began to pack what he could. He'd move out and head northward, not by much, but enough to keep people searching for him. He'd need a new shield and a new suit of armor. It wasn't going to be cheap, but the Prince knew he could come up with the funds somehow. He was disappointed with how this all worked out, Elfwynn would have made a good ally as well as a good lover, but alas, he was once again on his own. After packing his few goods, and leaving things that were easily replaced, he loaded everything on his horse and walked alongside it, leading it away. The thought crossed his mind as he walked that he could move to Memelgrád and live as a homeless man, but he had little time for that kind of walk. Little time and even less food.
June 6th, 1350
Doyvát sat in the front parlor of a small merchant manor in Pinsk. Across his lap lie a new shield, and he tenderly went about painting it. "You know, master painter, these paints were very hard to procure. Blue is not common this far away from France," said the merchant's daughter.
"I know, and I thank you, very much," Doyvát said. With a piece of chalk he slowly drew the first of three lions, for he had come to believe that the Black Counts deeds would be useless unless they knew where his allegiance was. The daughter watched the Prince go about his task, her children running about at their feet.
"I have seen that shield before, it is from Estonia, is it not?"
"It is, it is the marker of the Prince of Estonia."
"God rest his soul," the daughter replied. She made the cross over her chest.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Didn't you hear? The Prince of Galich announced that the Prince of Estonia had been killed just a few months ago. You really have been lost in the woods," she laughed.She wandered away for a few minutes, stirring a pot of a sweet-smelling stew before returning, cleaning her hands in her apron. "King Gunvald and Prince Doyvát were heroes to many in Pinsk, it was such a sad day when the Monarchists retook the city, my father cried... my brother... he marched off with the Fraternalists... and we haven't seen him since. My... my father had said very little since my brother left... my husband runs most of the business now."
"I know how it can be, my father was a merchant too, in Æstlinn... simpler days, but that is mostly behind me now."
"Are you fleeing from the Monarchists?"
"I was, but now I am not certain if I must."
"With the Prince dead, you mean?"
"Yes," Doyvát said, looking up from his handywork.
"I am sorry to hear that, Pinsk can use a hero these days... we are punished with heavy taxes and embargos from the King... but we are lucky to be alive."
Doyvát nodded, indicating toward his sword, "Well, then all is well... for I am a hero seeking a home." Dipping a brush into the blue paste, he spread it across the shield, keeping to his chalk lines. He had named the three lions from personal heroes. The top one was Sviendorog, the middle Achilles, and the bottom Arminius.
The woman seemed to understand what Doyvát meant, piecing the puzzle back together, she smiled sheepishly and wandered away again. The Prince spent the rest of the day working on the shield, and when he finished it was well after dinner. His host brought him some dinner from the stew pot, placing it beside him and then taking a seat. Doyvát turned and faced the elderly man, "Good evening," he said.
"My son in law says that you are the Prince of Estonia... I believe him. I've seen you before, clad in fine steel and atop a marvelous steed. I've seen you in the city before its fall... I also watched as you fought even as other retreated. I've heard that you fought still after your father's death... and now even after your own... But what of my own son?"
"I am sorry, sir, but I do not know... for all I know he is alive and well, living on the coast. The army disbanded, it probably left him with little idea of where to go... if he did make it, that is."
"You are honest, even when it would be best to lie. For a man who should have little idea of the life of peasants, you seem to know more about it than even we do. You will not win anything fighting this insane one man war... I urge you, Prince, do not try. You will fail, and you will lose everything for more people than just yourself. There is a lodge of men here, they are called the Order of St. Stephen, they are a band of knightly men who once were Knights of Estonia. Now they live under a vow of poverty helping the poor and the sick. Seek them out. They will recognize their own, Doyvát."
"I will do just that, thank you." Doyvát watched the man walk off again, back to his bedroom where he spent all of his days. The Prince put a hand on the tattoo under his shirt. He remembered what it meant to be a Knight, to belong to something bigger than yourself. He thought of an idealistic boy running away from home to fight a war that he only partially understood. Dying on the battlefield leagues away from home and those who you fought for. But he didn't die alone, and he didn't die unloved. And it certainly wasn't in vain. For if you died for what you believe, no one can take it from you. It lasts forever. Someone had died for him to rule.
Chapter Thirty Nine: By the Blade
Part 3
Prelude:
Prussia as a Kingdom was cut down to just the Prussian speaking regions. Three extra regions remained under its grip as vassals: Azowia, Finland, and the City of Cottbus (whose count was wary of Brandenburgian expansion). However, true control over these territories was limited, especially since Vishly's wounding. The King, who refused to allow a regent, continue to direct the affairs of the Kingdom in the ever shrinking time he was awake and well enough to do so. There weren't many people who could have effectively taken the position of regent. Many of his children at this point were very unattached to politics, seeing four of their brothers seemingly die because of it. Ziedás was the next choice, and speculation of the results of her reign range from "nothing" to the formation of a new dynasty under her. Regardless, Vishly maintained his rule with a weakening iron fist, stopping any attempt to usurp his power. But one thorn in his side was the Black Count, a renegade Fraternalist who terrorized the areas in and around the Principality of Galich. The Count, was in fact Doyvát Gunvaldsun, the exiled Prince of Estonia and a pretender for the Prussian throne. But Doyvát was sure that his father was still alive and therefore the only legitimate claimant to the throne. Few supported this notion, but as long as Doyvát was willing to fight for it, there were those who would be pulled toward him.
Prussia with its vassal states in 1350.
March 5th, 1350
Elfwynn waited on a balcony straining her ears to hear the faint clip-clop of hooves. The bumbling Count had made a significant error in trusting her, to think that she would suddenly just stop supporting her father and her King was a stretch to say the least. A trap well set, she thought. The evening sun dipped below the tree line, casting long shadows across the castle. The only sound were the rustling of peasants as they went about making dinner and finishing their work. On the horizon, just at the crest of a hill, an armored figure appeared. Draped by an orange sky, one could hardly make out its form, but Elfwynn recognized it as the Count. He stopped short of the castle and seemed to heft his shield.
"M'lady, why does he seemed prepared for battle?" a soldier asked, trying to remain unseen and unheard.
Elfwynn ignored him, trying to continue the ruse, "My dear, why do you come armored?" The Count did not answer, instead he continued his approach, slow and awkward. Elfwynn was not liking the situation, something was amiss. But the Count was here, it was his trademark armor and his blacked out shield. "Archers! Fire! Kill that man!" The archers stood up from their hiding spots and within a moment a horse was without a rider. The Count lie on the ground in a heap, arrows protruding in all directions. The Princess smiled, easy.
Her men ran up to the body. They were tentative at first but it was obvious that no one could have survived such a barrage. Elfwynn joined the group, kicking the body onto its back. She stooped down and pulled off the helmet. Inside was the gagged face of one of her guards. His eyes frozen in shock, blood dripping from his nose and through the rag in his mouth. Removing the armor showed his arms had been broken and tied behind his back and then stuffed into the armor. From a distance, Doyvát watched in satisfaction, he whistled to his horse and as it came by, jumped up onto the saddle, holding on by the pommel and gullet and pulling himself up. Elfwynn and her guards could only watch as Doyvát rode off with his horse, without so much as a taunting goodbye.
Back at his hut, Doyvát began to pack what he could. He'd move out and head northward, not by much, but enough to keep people searching for him. He'd need a new shield and a new suit of armor. It wasn't going to be cheap, but the Prince knew he could come up with the funds somehow. He was disappointed with how this all worked out, Elfwynn would have made a good ally as well as a good lover, but alas, he was once again on his own. After packing his few goods, and leaving things that were easily replaced, he loaded everything on his horse and walked alongside it, leading it away. The thought crossed his mind as he walked that he could move to Memelgrád and live as a homeless man, but he had little time for that kind of walk. Little time and even less food.
June 6th, 1350
Doyvát sat in the front parlor of a small merchant manor in Pinsk. Across his lap lie a new shield, and he tenderly went about painting it. "You know, master painter, these paints were very hard to procure. Blue is not common this far away from France," said the merchant's daughter.
"I know, and I thank you, very much," Doyvát said. With a piece of chalk he slowly drew the first of three lions, for he had come to believe that the Black Counts deeds would be useless unless they knew where his allegiance was. The daughter watched the Prince go about his task, her children running about at their feet.
"I have seen that shield before, it is from Estonia, is it not?"
"It is, it is the marker of the Prince of Estonia."
"God rest his soul," the daughter replied. She made the cross over her chest.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Didn't you hear? The Prince of Galich announced that the Prince of Estonia had been killed just a few months ago. You really have been lost in the woods," she laughed.She wandered away for a few minutes, stirring a pot of a sweet-smelling stew before returning, cleaning her hands in her apron. "King Gunvald and Prince Doyvát were heroes to many in Pinsk, it was such a sad day when the Monarchists retook the city, my father cried... my brother... he marched off with the Fraternalists... and we haven't seen him since. My... my father had said very little since my brother left... my husband runs most of the business now."
"I know how it can be, my father was a merchant too, in Æstlinn... simpler days, but that is mostly behind me now."
"Are you fleeing from the Monarchists?"
"I was, but now I am not certain if I must."
"With the Prince dead, you mean?"
"Yes," Doyvát said, looking up from his handywork.
"I am sorry to hear that, Pinsk can use a hero these days... we are punished with heavy taxes and embargos from the King... but we are lucky to be alive."
Doyvát nodded, indicating toward his sword, "Well, then all is well... for I am a hero seeking a home." Dipping a brush into the blue paste, he spread it across the shield, keeping to his chalk lines. He had named the three lions from personal heroes. The top one was Sviendorog, the middle Achilles, and the bottom Arminius.
The woman seemed to understand what Doyvát meant, piecing the puzzle back together, she smiled sheepishly and wandered away again. The Prince spent the rest of the day working on the shield, and when he finished it was well after dinner. His host brought him some dinner from the stew pot, placing it beside him and then taking a seat. Doyvát turned and faced the elderly man, "Good evening," he said.
"My son in law says that you are the Prince of Estonia... I believe him. I've seen you before, clad in fine steel and atop a marvelous steed. I've seen you in the city before its fall... I also watched as you fought even as other retreated. I've heard that you fought still after your father's death... and now even after your own... But what of my own son?"
"I am sorry, sir, but I do not know... for all I know he is alive and well, living on the coast. The army disbanded, it probably left him with little idea of where to go... if he did make it, that is."
"You are honest, even when it would be best to lie. For a man who should have little idea of the life of peasants, you seem to know more about it than even we do. You will not win anything fighting this insane one man war... I urge you, Prince, do not try. You will fail, and you will lose everything for more people than just yourself. There is a lodge of men here, they are called the Order of St. Stephen, they are a band of knightly men who once were Knights of Estonia. Now they live under a vow of poverty helping the poor and the sick. Seek them out. They will recognize their own, Doyvát."
"I will do just that, thank you." Doyvát watched the man walk off again, back to his bedroom where he spent all of his days. The Prince put a hand on the tattoo under his shirt. He remembered what it meant to be a Knight, to belong to something bigger than yourself. He thought of an idealistic boy running away from home to fight a war that he only partially understood. Dying on the battlefield leagues away from home and those who you fought for. But he didn't die alone, and he didn't die unloved. And it certainly wasn't in vain. For if you died for what you believe, no one can take it from you. It lasts forever. Someone had died for him to rule.
Doyvát... why so much fuss...
Son in the game you got to fight your rebellious prince, and then watch how his heirs decides to flee from court to court, while granting titles to far-away vassals?
Son in the game you got to fight your rebellious prince, and then watch how his heirs decides to flee from court to court, while granting titles to far-away vassals?
Homelands
Chapter Thirty Nine: By the Blade
Part 4
Prelude:
By 1356, King Vishly had fallen ill from his injuries. But he still refused allow a regent to rule in his stead. Without an heir, without a means of effectively ruling, without the support of his family or his normal allies; Vishly was in a very similar situation to his grandson, Prince Doyvát. But unlike Doyvát, Vishly only grew weaker with time. The Prince worked from Pinsk, building up wealth to make his bid for the throne once again. His allies in the Order of St. Stephan had gotten him in touch with former enemies, specifically the Patriarch of Prussia as well as former friends who were looking to once again band together. The Prince had lead a busy, but uneventful life since being coerced out of fighting his lone war. He had been wed to the daughter of the mayor of Pinsk and enjoyed a semi-celebrity status. In 1354 his son, also named Doyvát, was born and with that his own succession secured. With Vishly incapacitated, the Fraternalists united once more to assert Doyvát's claim to the throne. On April 10th, word quickly spread that Vishly was on his deathbed. Doyvát and his men quickly rode off to Memelgrád to take the throne. They found the court in disarray, multiple claimants had appeared, but only Doyvát had the gall to actually enter Castle Vishly. There he found that his grandfather was, in fact, on his deathbed, but everyone else had deserted him, fearing the repercussions of being caught.
April 12th, 1356
Prince Doyvát led a column of knights into Castle Vishly. The castle's security was in great disarray, and the guards were happy to be reinforced. Other claimants littered the area, each pushing his claim as the strongest. Cousins twice removed, godfathers of uncles, each more far-removed than the last. But Doyvát had a serious advantage: he was the only one who had the presence of mind to bring an army. Vishly was lying on a large bed that had been erected in the throne room. Only a few priests tended to him, gently sponging his naked flesh and trying to keep his head cool. "How is the King?" Doyvát asked quietly.
"He is close to death, young man. And who are you?" the head priest asked, his voice never exceeding a whisper.
"I am Prince Doyvát Gunvaldsun, rightful heir to the throne," Doyvát answered, bowing slightly.
Over on the bed, Vishly reacted to the name of his son. He groaned and moved his hands jerkily and eventually he turned his head to look at the new comer. "Gunvald is no son of mine, K-k-kill the pretender!"
Doyvát strode up to the King and placed a forgiving hand on his forehead, "I am sorry, but your lies are over. I have already been chosen to be King in my father's stead. You are to be allowed to live until you die of natural causes, but your reign is already over, grandfather, I am King... I am being crowned in a few days."
Vishly's eyes focused, he tried to make out the man who was standing not three feet away. "I've seen you before..."
"Yes... I lied to you once in Morcárgrád, I went by the name Kristján at the time. You recognized me then too, but I am afraid that you thought I was my father."
Vishly's eyes grew, "So close... how did I not see?"
"You grow blind with age, grandfather. Disease has left little of you intact... or your family. I noticed that the Queen is gone, as are my uncles and aunts. They fear you, but they fear me more. Now, this is very important, where is my father? Is he alive?"
The next moment was critical for Doyvát, he watched Vishly's face as it quickly contorted in and out of a lie, "Sambigrád... I had him killed there."
"That's a lie. I can see through you, old man."
"If you do not believe me, I will say no more about it." Vishly hissed.
"Fine, it is the King's right, I guess." Doyvat turned around and surveyed the throne room he eventually looked back at Vishly and his bed. "Men, please remove the King from this room, return him and his bed to his chambers and be sure that he is attended too." Vishly physically shook with anger, but could do little more. Doyvát hid a sly smile, it was all so easy. So many battles were quickly being overturned because of a cough. But it had all been worth it, everything leading up to this one point.
With the King gone, Doyvát walked over to the throne and put his hand on the finely carved wood. As he turned to sit down, the soldiers were surprised when their Prince sat down in the regent's chair. He relaxed and let out a long sigh of relief. His youth prevented him from looking weary, but in the way he collapsed into that throne, many could tell he was far more weakened then he would show. For a few minutes the Prince just closed his eyes and seemed to take the briefest of naps. But it was not to last, for as soon as the Prince sat down, nobles and clergy men were returning to the throne room to see who was claiming it now. At the head was the Patriarch of Prussia, he was an old man, his skin sagged under the years and his wiry grey hair hung out of his cap in loose clumps. When he saw that Vishly was already gone, his face turned to stone. "What is this madness? Where is the King?"
"I am right here," Doyvát answered, knowing all too well that is not that answer that the Patriarch was seeking. "But if you are looking for the old man, my grandfather, he is in his room being attended by the doctors."
"He should be sitting in his throne, where he belongs, young man."
"'My lord.'"
"Excuse me?"
"You are to refer to me as 'My Lord', I am sometimes saddened with how long it takes these things to sink into people's minds: Vishly's reign is over. The only regency that is currently underway is the one for my father until he is either found or proven dead. This is that last time I am saying it."
"So that is it? That's it? Vishly's reign is over? Have you no respect for the institution you are inheriting?"
"It is that very respect that has made me do this. I don't think you understand what I've been through since my father was captured. I have wandered as a masterless knight, I have loved and lost, I was found and reborn, I was a merchant, a hero, a nemesis, a general, a warrior and I have above all other things been a son. I have paid my toll to sit here, I have done more than many who came before me and I do not tread as lightly as some like to say I do. I take my steps to power carefully and only when I can be guaranteed victory. Do not lessen my deeds for your love of a tyrant!"
The Patriarch scowled, "It is true, you have come far, my Prince. Though I wonder who would you have crown you if not me?"
"I would be crowned Regent of Prussia by her nobles; with their authority as vassals of my dearest father."
I admire your certainty in your father's survival. I would begin my search for him in Mariengrád, my lord."
Doyvát watched the old man give a passing smile before turning and leaving. Was it a sign of support. The Prince nodded as the old man slowly left the room. Mariengrád? He would take the suggestion to heart and begin as soon as he could assure his rule would not crumble the moment he left the capital. But this was the beginning of the end for the Prince's quest to reunite his father's kingdom.
Chapter Thirty Nine: By the Blade
Part 4
Prelude:
By 1356, King Vishly had fallen ill from his injuries. But he still refused allow a regent to rule in his stead. Without an heir, without a means of effectively ruling, without the support of his family or his normal allies; Vishly was in a very similar situation to his grandson, Prince Doyvát. But unlike Doyvát, Vishly only grew weaker with time. The Prince worked from Pinsk, building up wealth to make his bid for the throne once again. His allies in the Order of St. Stephan had gotten him in touch with former enemies, specifically the Patriarch of Prussia as well as former friends who were looking to once again band together. The Prince had lead a busy, but uneventful life since being coerced out of fighting his lone war. He had been wed to the daughter of the mayor of Pinsk and enjoyed a semi-celebrity status. In 1354 his son, also named Doyvát, was born and with that his own succession secured. With Vishly incapacitated, the Fraternalists united once more to assert Doyvát's claim to the throne. On April 10th, word quickly spread that Vishly was on his deathbed. Doyvát and his men quickly rode off to Memelgrád to take the throne. They found the court in disarray, multiple claimants had appeared, but only Doyvát had the gall to actually enter Castle Vishly. There he found that his grandfather was, in fact, on his deathbed, but everyone else had deserted him, fearing the repercussions of being caught.
April 12th, 1356
Prince Doyvát led a column of knights into Castle Vishly. The castle's security was in great disarray, and the guards were happy to be reinforced. Other claimants littered the area, each pushing his claim as the strongest. Cousins twice removed, godfathers of uncles, each more far-removed than the last. But Doyvát had a serious advantage: he was the only one who had the presence of mind to bring an army. Vishly was lying on a large bed that had been erected in the throne room. Only a few priests tended to him, gently sponging his naked flesh and trying to keep his head cool. "How is the King?" Doyvát asked quietly.
"He is close to death, young man. And who are you?" the head priest asked, his voice never exceeding a whisper.
"I am Prince Doyvát Gunvaldsun, rightful heir to the throne," Doyvát answered, bowing slightly.
Over on the bed, Vishly reacted to the name of his son. He groaned and moved his hands jerkily and eventually he turned his head to look at the new comer. "Gunvald is no son of mine, K-k-kill the pretender!"
Doyvát strode up to the King and placed a forgiving hand on his forehead, "I am sorry, but your lies are over. I have already been chosen to be King in my father's stead. You are to be allowed to live until you die of natural causes, but your reign is already over, grandfather, I am King... I am being crowned in a few days."
Vishly's eyes focused, he tried to make out the man who was standing not three feet away. "I've seen you before..."
"Yes... I lied to you once in Morcárgrád, I went by the name Kristján at the time. You recognized me then too, but I am afraid that you thought I was my father."
Vishly's eyes grew, "So close... how did I not see?"
"You grow blind with age, grandfather. Disease has left little of you intact... or your family. I noticed that the Queen is gone, as are my uncles and aunts. They fear you, but they fear me more. Now, this is very important, where is my father? Is he alive?"
The next moment was critical for Doyvát, he watched Vishly's face as it quickly contorted in and out of a lie, "Sambigrád... I had him killed there."
"That's a lie. I can see through you, old man."
"If you do not believe me, I will say no more about it." Vishly hissed.
"Fine, it is the King's right, I guess." Doyvat turned around and surveyed the throne room he eventually looked back at Vishly and his bed. "Men, please remove the King from this room, return him and his bed to his chambers and be sure that he is attended too." Vishly physically shook with anger, but could do little more. Doyvát hid a sly smile, it was all so easy. So many battles were quickly being overturned because of a cough. But it had all been worth it, everything leading up to this one point.
With the King gone, Doyvát walked over to the throne and put his hand on the finely carved wood. As he turned to sit down, the soldiers were surprised when their Prince sat down in the regent's chair. He relaxed and let out a long sigh of relief. His youth prevented him from looking weary, but in the way he collapsed into that throne, many could tell he was far more weakened then he would show. For a few minutes the Prince just closed his eyes and seemed to take the briefest of naps. But it was not to last, for as soon as the Prince sat down, nobles and clergy men were returning to the throne room to see who was claiming it now. At the head was the Patriarch of Prussia, he was an old man, his skin sagged under the years and his wiry grey hair hung out of his cap in loose clumps. When he saw that Vishly was already gone, his face turned to stone. "What is this madness? Where is the King?"
"I am right here," Doyvát answered, knowing all too well that is not that answer that the Patriarch was seeking. "But if you are looking for the old man, my grandfather, he is in his room being attended by the doctors."
"He should be sitting in his throne, where he belongs, young man."
"'My lord.'"
"Excuse me?"
"You are to refer to me as 'My Lord', I am sometimes saddened with how long it takes these things to sink into people's minds: Vishly's reign is over. The only regency that is currently underway is the one for my father until he is either found or proven dead. This is that last time I am saying it."
"So that is it? That's it? Vishly's reign is over? Have you no respect for the institution you are inheriting?"
"It is that very respect that has made me do this. I don't think you understand what I've been through since my father was captured. I have wandered as a masterless knight, I have loved and lost, I was found and reborn, I was a merchant, a hero, a nemesis, a general, a warrior and I have above all other things been a son. I have paid my toll to sit here, I have done more than many who came before me and I do not tread as lightly as some like to say I do. I take my steps to power carefully and only when I can be guaranteed victory. Do not lessen my deeds for your love of a tyrant!"
The Patriarch scowled, "It is true, you have come far, my Prince. Though I wonder who would you have crown you if not me?"
"I would be crowned Regent of Prussia by her nobles; with their authority as vassals of my dearest father."
I admire your certainty in your father's survival. I would begin my search for him in Mariengrád, my lord."
Doyvát watched the old man give a passing smile before turning and leaving. Was it a sign of support. The Prince nodded as the old man slowly left the room. Mariengrád? He would take the suggestion to heart and begin as soon as he could assure his rule would not crumble the moment he left the capital. But this was the beginning of the end for the Prince's quest to reunite his father's kingdom.
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Bah, it ends so lame?
He could at least have Vishly tortured and stabbed?
Proper bloody coup?
He could at least have Vishly tortured and stabbed?
Proper bloody coup?
Bah, it ends so lame?
He could at least have Vishly tortured and stabbed?
Proper bloody coup?
Sorry to hear that, there is one more update left for Homelands, but you have to remember that Homelands is not the end of the story. The end is rather far away. You must also remember who is taking over. Doyvát and the other fraternalists are not really the ones to solve their problems with regicide. Especially a sickly old man on his deathbed. Killing a helpless man would only strengthen Vishly's cause, which is not what Doyvát needs right now.
Don't worry, the last update is better. It is also a bit meatier (~5000 words or more than twice as long as any previous update). Writing this update was hard because I had already finished part 5 so this was very much a filler update. Also remember, this isn't an end. I have to leave some plot strings hanging to lead into bastions. This series is far from over and hopefully in the next few years I can whip up an amazing ending for it all.Well yeah....but...
The only thing I found anticlimatic is that there was only one update :b I liked it, he acted exactly as he should, being the the son of Gunvald II The AWESOME. Please, don't say he's dead :<
+1
I too want to see Gunvald rising from his dungeon and hugging his son, now that their goals are accomplished. Would bring a tear to my eye
.Great update, as always.
+1
I too want to see Gunvald rising from his dungeon and hugging his son, now that their goals are accomplished. Would bring a tear to my eye
Great update, as always.
Don't worry gentlemen, I made my lovely assistant bring a laptop for the sole purpose of updating on Christmas. So only five days!
Just noticed that on second read through and thought I'd bring it up, just for you to perfectionize your brilliant work a bit more :b
Only the tip of the iceberg. I'll fix it when I am back at my computer January 4th. Editing on my phone is a bitch.
this update is not lame... it suits Dorvyat quite well indeed.
Christmas ? we have to wait till christmas for next update ? should i fetch my shiny pitchfork ?
Christmas ? we have to wait till christmas for next update ? should i fetch my shiny pitchfork ?