Just a heads up, I'll be in Germany next week and thus will have little time to write. Update will likely be out beyond that.
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Mortar and Blood - A Kingdom of Brittany AAR
- Thread starter Mr. Capiatlist
- Start date
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Damn how could I not see this AAR earlier ! 
You have a really good writing and the story is really interesting. From the tidbits you have left there and there, I guess the grandfather must be Karl the Great although given the situation I don't think he deserves the nickname . The political prisoner sure got an old Frankish name I'm glad to not see nowadays in France and he will provide an interesting POV on the Bretons.
Since I'm living in Rennes (Rennes true capital ! ) and I've quite travelled around the region, I'm not sure Rennes was ever attacked by Vikings OTL and I don't know if it's possible. I guess it could be since Vikings sieged Paris and the old city of Condate (which litteraly means "confluent" in Gaulish) presents a setup along a navigable river. Anyway if you want the action to take place on the coast, Alet the old city of nowadays St-Malo would make a good place since it was at the end of the Rance estuary. But Nantes was the first place sieged by Vikings since it controls the Loire and in OTL they controlled the city for a lenghty period when the Kingdom was completely broken and nearly made into a new "Normandy". Nantes and Morbihan surely would be also a haven for Vikings too with all the little islands in the Gulf.
I must sound like a Balkan nationalist but Bretons really were badasses at the time so I'm not surprised by their hegemony here (just look at Nominoe and his sons' fights against the Franks it's quite surprising)
You have a really good writing and the story is really interesting. From the tidbits you have left there and there, I guess the grandfather must be Karl the Great although given the situation I don't think he deserves the nickname
. The political prisoner sure got an old Frankish name I'm glad to not see nowadays in France and he will provide an interesting POV on the Bretons. Since I'm living in Rennes (Rennes true capital !
) and I've quite travelled around the region, I'm not sure Rennes was ever attacked by Vikings OTL and I don't know if it's possible. I guess it could be since Vikings sieged Paris and the old city of Condate (which litteraly means "confluent" in Gaulish) presents a setup along a navigable river. Anyway if you want the action to take place on the coast, Alet the old city of nowadays St-Malo would make a good place since it was at the end of the Rance estuary. But Nantes was the first place sieged by Vikings since it controls the Loire and in OTL they controlled the city for a lenghty period when the Kingdom was completely broken and nearly made into a new "Normandy". Nantes and Morbihan surely would be also a haven for Vikings too with all the little islands in the Gulf. I must sound like a Balkan nationalist but Bretons really were badasses at the time so I'm not surprised by their hegemony here
(just look at Nominoe and his sons' fights against the Franks it's quite surprising)
Well let me tell you... all of Christian Europe was constantly attacked by Vikings in my world - Saxony stayed pagan, regained their independence, and then conquered Frisia - giving them ports. It is/was a nightmare.
Contrary to popular belief work is getting done. I've taken some time off to focus on this. But my wife is demanding we get icecream. So blame her.
Glad to see new work from you, Mr. Capiatlist (though I'm surprised I didn't spot this earlier!) Take all the time you need for the next chapter (and, incidentally, best of luck on getting your book published).
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I totally didn't start reading this AAR because I wanted to see what one made by a mod was like.
The story is indeed quite good, and you can't go wrong with vikings. I'm very interested to see how this one develop and how Austregisel handles the viking invasions.
Also, no one can blame you if you go for ice cream before AARs, even if your wife insists. I'd probably be pulled away from mine if someone offered me an ice cream cake.
The story is indeed quite good, and you can't go wrong with vikings. I'm very interested to see how this one develop and how Austregisel handles the viking invasions.
Also, no one can blame you if you go for ice cream before AARs, even if your wife insists. I'd probably be pulled away from mine if someone offered me an ice cream cake.
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Smoke rose from the few fires left smoldering in the piles of rubble that were once homes, shops, and chapels. Alan followed close on the heels of the man who wore shining armor. Wherever we went people stopped and bowed, faces aglow with broad smiles or barbaric warcries. Men especially embraced their Prince like he was a common barfly, clapping their arms around him and patting him on the back.
Likewise he would often put his hand on their shoulder, holding them at arm's length as he spoke to them. His hair, too, was long and unkempt like a commoner's – dark and curly; stretching down to his shoulders like that of a whore's. The bridge of his nose still crooked where my father had bashed a shield into his face.
The last efforts of a man who'd never be King.
Some people called this young Prince "The Roman", because his mother was a Roman princess just like his grandmother. They'd go on and on.
The Roman this, the Roman that
A boy of sixteen.
He burned Paris to the ground.
Slew father.
And made my grandfather bend the knee before him.
In all the creativity that the Bretons could muster they named him Nicolas, making him the fourth of his name. Nicolas the Roman.
In Frankish we called him Nicolas the Butcher. Just as easily a butcher of men as he was of vikings.
I heard my name in the context of some Breton dribble and instinctively my head popped up, though I tried to not look like I cared. But as my eyes wandered to see what they were talking about, the Roman was looking right at me with dark eyes.
"I don't think we've met before," he said in decent enough Frankish.
"We have."
He paused for a second, face solid as granite, "Then I'm sorry I forgot. It's rude. It's also rude to speak in front of guests in a language they don't understand. Who are you again?"
"Austregisel, m'lord. I was the son o—"
"Ah, yes. Ingomer's son. The monk. I remember now."
I didn't say anything.
"How is Jeannette?"
Anger became rage, embers a fire.
"SHUT UP! Never say her name again! She wasn't yours. She wasn't yours to just claim and drag off to this hell-hole."
The Roman was quiet, his smile had faded away but not into impotent rage. He was not a mirror. Jolly cheeks drooped, sparkling eyes turned their gaze downward.
Alan looked at his master worriedly, trying to avoid meeting my own gaze.
"We were supposed to bring peace to Gaul, Austregisel. Peace."
"A Breton speaks of peace? A Breton knows only war. That's why you took the cross off your flag. You fight not for the Prince of Peace, our Lord, you fight for glory."
"Glory?" the Roman asked with a scoff. "Glory? Is that what you think we fight for? How many times have the black sails of the Saxons reached Paris?"
"They've hit Pari—"
"Once. The Saxons reached Paris once. How many times have they hit Normandy?"
"I—"
"Sixteen times in the last six months. How many times have they hit Nantes?"
"I don—"
"How many times?!" he shouted, grabbing me by the arms.
"I don't know!"
"Of course you don't. You're a spoiled Frankish prince. We've fought to keep the Saxons at bay. Our soldiers fought in the lowlands and on the banks of the Rhine, as far as the Pagan's homeland to keep the Franks free. And what did we get? Insults? Worse than barbarians we are to you."
"Franks fought on the Rhine too."
"For every Frank there were eight Bretons."
"Maybe because every Frank is worth eight Bretons."
"Not what I recall from the battles." He pointed to the crook on his nose. "My wife says it makes me look distinguished. Of course, I wouldn't have it if I had just been given the wife my father and I had been promised."
"Grandfather had his reasons."
"Aye. His reason is he's nuttier than squirrel shit."
"Don't you speak of my grandfather that way! He is a King, a rightful heir to Charlemagne!"
"Your grandfather was a loon. He doomed France to obscurity and made enemies of every ally he had. Had you father any wit he'd've based that shield into his skull and not mine."
"My father is no kinslayer."
"Aye, that was the problem."
I opened my mouth to put the Roman in his place but he cut me short.
"Plus, it didn't kill me – though maybe I give the old bat too much credit. You want to talk big? Fight. Earn your spot here among the Bretons. You talk about our Lord Savior, but what have you done to protect his flock?"
I swallowed.
"A lot of us would rather sit farm and go home at the end of the day to loving wives and families but we don't get that choice. We could've put out capital deep inside Gaul and avoided it all. But we didn't. My ancestors put our capital in the path of it all. If we didn't what reason would any Breton have to listen to us?"
"And what reason do the Franks have to listen to you? You who would burn down a city because a boy did not get his girl?"
The former realms of Charlemagne's brief and catastrophic empire circa 860. Only the rump Kingdoms of the West Franks (blue) and the East Franks (light grey in the middle) are ruled by his descendants. The Kingdoms of Burgundy (purple) and Bavaria (navy) are elective Kingdoms. The Kingdom of Italia is ruled by a Lombard war-lord. The Kingdom of Aquitaine (pink) was usurped by the Basques and is a stalwart defender of Christendom against the Arabs to the south. The Kingdom Brittany (dark grey) quickly grew from a mere county to a large kingdom in the span of three rulers - the Devnents. Lastly, the massive pagan Kingdom of the Saxons (red) looms large over all of Christendom; they have made recent attempts to conquer England and signs point to a pagan victory there.
Likewise he would often put his hand on their shoulder, holding them at arm's length as he spoke to them. His hair, too, was long and unkempt like a commoner's – dark and curly; stretching down to his shoulders like that of a whore's. The bridge of his nose still crooked where my father had bashed a shield into his face.
The last efforts of a man who'd never be King.
Some people called this young Prince "The Roman", because his mother was a Roman princess just like his grandmother. They'd go on and on.
The Roman this, the Roman that
A boy of sixteen.
He burned Paris to the ground.
Slew father.
And made my grandfather bend the knee before him.
In all the creativity that the Bretons could muster they named him Nicolas, making him the fourth of his name. Nicolas the Roman.
In Frankish we called him Nicolas the Butcher. Just as easily a butcher of men as he was of vikings.
I heard my name in the context of some Breton dribble and instinctively my head popped up, though I tried to not look like I cared. But as my eyes wandered to see what they were talking about, the Roman was looking right at me with dark eyes.
"I don't think we've met before," he said in decent enough Frankish.
"We have."
He paused for a second, face solid as granite, "Then I'm sorry I forgot. It's rude. It's also rude to speak in front of guests in a language they don't understand. Who are you again?"
"Austregisel, m'lord. I was the son o—"
"Ah, yes. Ingomer's son. The monk. I remember now."
I didn't say anything.
"How is Jeannette?"
Anger became rage, embers a fire.
"SHUT UP! Never say her name again! She wasn't yours. She wasn't yours to just claim and drag off to this hell-hole."
The Roman was quiet, his smile had faded away but not into impotent rage. He was not a mirror. Jolly cheeks drooped, sparkling eyes turned their gaze downward.
Alan looked at his master worriedly, trying to avoid meeting my own gaze.
"We were supposed to bring peace to Gaul, Austregisel. Peace."
"A Breton speaks of peace? A Breton knows only war. That's why you took the cross off your flag. You fight not for the Prince of Peace, our Lord, you fight for glory."
"Glory?" the Roman asked with a scoff. "Glory? Is that what you think we fight for? How many times have the black sails of the Saxons reached Paris?"
"They've hit Pari—"
"Once. The Saxons reached Paris once. How many times have they hit Normandy?"
"I—"
"Sixteen times in the last six months. How many times have they hit Nantes?"
"I don—"
"How many times?!" he shouted, grabbing me by the arms.
"I don't know!"
"Of course you don't. You're a spoiled Frankish prince. We've fought to keep the Saxons at bay. Our soldiers fought in the lowlands and on the banks of the Rhine, as far as the Pagan's homeland to keep the Franks free. And what did we get? Insults? Worse than barbarians we are to you."
"Franks fought on the Rhine too."
"For every Frank there were eight Bretons."
"Maybe because every Frank is worth eight Bretons."
"Not what I recall from the battles." He pointed to the crook on his nose. "My wife says it makes me look distinguished. Of course, I wouldn't have it if I had just been given the wife my father and I had been promised."
"Grandfather had his reasons."
"Aye. His reason is he's nuttier than squirrel shit."
"Don't you speak of my grandfather that way! He is a King, a rightful heir to Charlemagne!"
"Your grandfather was a loon. He doomed France to obscurity and made enemies of every ally he had. Had you father any wit he'd've based that shield into his skull and not mine."
"My father is no kinslayer."
"Aye, that was the problem."
I opened my mouth to put the Roman in his place but he cut me short.
"Plus, it didn't kill me – though maybe I give the old bat too much credit. You want to talk big? Fight. Earn your spot here among the Bretons. You talk about our Lord Savior, but what have you done to protect his flock?"
I swallowed.
"A lot of us would rather sit farm and go home at the end of the day to loving wives and families but we don't get that choice. We could've put out capital deep inside Gaul and avoided it all. But we didn't. My ancestors put our capital in the path of it all. If we didn't what reason would any Breton have to listen to us?"
"And what reason do the Franks have to listen to you? You who would burn down a city because a boy did not get his girl?"
..--==--.. ..--==--.. ..--==--.. ..--==--.. ..--==--..
It's quite clear that there's a big divide between the Bretons and the Franks. No soft life for Austregisel here.
That is one divided France. I don't imagine the East Franks lasting long wedged between all those kingdoms.
That is one divided France. I don't imagine the East Franks lasting long wedged between all those kingdoms.
Keeping them alive has not been easy. Bavaria and Burgundy especially have enjoyed taking chunks out of the East Franks even while Saxons burn and pillage.
A tense meeting between the princes there. It seems that even with the pagans trying to kick down the gates into the heartland of Christendom, there's still plenty of time and energy left to shed blood over grievances and feuds. Nicholas the Roman seems to be just the sort of leader that historians of every generation love to idolize (and reinterpret again and again to suit their generation's values), much like a prototypical Godfrey de Buillon or Richard the Lionheart. I'll certainly be keeping an eye on him myself.
Also, that Saxony looks positively terrifying.
Also, that Saxony looks positively terrifying.
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Brittany sure got some pretty borders here.
Pagan Saxons taking over England ? It's more likely than what you think
Austrgisel surely is narrowminded but well when your territories are reduced to two kingdoms when you ruled over all Gallia you sure can be bitter.
Pagan Saxons taking over England ? It's more likely than what you think
Austrgisel surely is narrowminded but well when your territories are reduced to two kingdoms when you ruled over all Gallia you sure can be bitter.
A Saxon yoke on English neck. Yikes!
Pretty interesting to see Brittany as big as it is. Perhaps they could beat Saxony to the punch and invade their Breton kin in Cornwall and start taking Wessex apart?
Pretty interesting to see Brittany as big as it is. Perhaps they could beat Saxony to the punch and invade their Breton kin in Cornwall and start taking Wessex apart?
Good writing! Will be interesting to see which of these realms who survive or if war breaks out.
Thanks everyone. I'm planning on getting a chapter banged out in the next week or so. Been very busy, but the soccer season is over so it's back to work.
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I took the time to read the 3 chapters. It was really great. I'm patiently waiting for the next one !
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Holy crap a Mr. Capiatlist AAR! What is this, 2009? I can't wait to read it. You introduced me to the idea of a megacampaign all the way before I made an account. It was what got me into Paradox games, specifically CK1.
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Thanks guys!
Been working on my book quite a bit lately, book 2 is undergoing a complete rewrite and I checked here and thought "Holy crap, I posted this nearly a month ago." :|Thanks everyone. I'm planning on getting a chapter banged out in the next week or so. Been very busy, but the soccer season is over so it's back to work.
I'll fix that this week.
The Roman was often quiet. He whittled a lot, his fingers constantly running along the recently cut wood as he turned it over and over and over again.
It was never perfect, never done.
Even when it was thinner than a twig, he'd snap it in twain and pick up a new block to cut into.
His fingers and hands were covered with tiny nicks from sharpened blades, his knuckles constantly worn raw from days spent wearing gauntlets and training others with the use of their swords.
I wasn't sure if he enjoyed this downtime or had just grown used to it, tolerated it like a farmer tolerated winter.
A log on the fire cracked and he glanced up for a second, the fire reflecting off his eyes before he looked away, throwing his legs over the stool he sat on, hand groping for a pint of ale.
"How many times did the Vikings hit Nantes?" I asked.
His mug hovered inches from his lips. "Hmm?"
"In Rennes – you told me Normandy was hit sixteen times in six months then made me guess how many times Nantes had been hit. You never gave me an answer. I would like to know."
"Forty."
"For— But Normand—"
"Isn't a prize. All the Vikings and Saxons want to be the one to crack Nantes. Nantes gets Viking raids as often as it does rain. There is a reason I look less like a prince and more like a mercenary. When I am home it is always so strange."
"Why's that?"
"I live in Normandy now and I'm an outsider. I don't belong in palaces or villas. I belong on a wall. Not to mention when I climb into bed. Me, beat up old scumbag... her, beautiful princess from a warm, exotic shore."
I physically waved the image of his naked body away, chasing it into the piles of trash that littered my mind.
"Does she love you?"
"Not sure," the Roman said with a heavy sigh. "I don't think I ever'll be. But... but Rome needs soldiers and Brittany needs legitimacy. Bigger battles are coming – Gaul is the steel caught between the hammer and the anvil."
"East Francia will fall first, then Burgundy... the-"
"The Saxon isn't Christendom's only enemy. The south's weak, Aquitaine's lost many wars to the Moors even if territorial losses've been minimal. We can't afford to lose more. And then there're the Norsemen. And the Arabs. And the Slavs. And the Turks... There's more to the world than Brittany, Francia, and Germania."
The Roman bit his lip, letting out a long sigh and lowering his gaze to the wood shavings on the floor.
"You don't make our chances look good, Roman."
"I don't mean to exaggerate them."
"Do you speak to your men like this?"
He looked back up with that dull, unfocused stare of his. "No. I need them to fight. I tell them things'll be rough, but Christ willing we'll win."
"Do they believe you?"
"Do I look like a mind reader, Austie?"
"Don't call me that."
"You called me 'Roman.'"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"Still isn't my name, nor you my equal."
"We are both princes, aye?"
The Roman laughed. He laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and he had nearly buckled in two. Words were born, lived, and died in his mouth as he tried to settle down only to be provoked back into laughter.
"I am serious!" I shouted.
He took a deep breath, putting his hand on my shoulder to stabilize himself. "That's what made it so funny, Austie. You're just so sincere about it."
The Bretons really did think highly of themselves despite all their protests to the contrary. I am a prince and an heir to Charlemagne, what were they? Petty warlords? The closest things to pagans that still managed to drag themselves into church once a week. "You know, for a second I was even starting to like you."
The Roman laughed again, though it wasn't as hearty. "Yeah, you wouldn't be the first to retract the honor of their friendship. from me."
"I'm not sure I'd brag about that."
"Not bragging," he said with a smile. "Just a fact. I long ago stopped with the needless tact and guile of court life in the civilized world. Maybe one day you too will forget it."
"I don't think so."
"You're young. You've got time to change."
"You're only a few years older than me."
"True, but I also have a wife, a Duchy, an army, and a King putting quite a bit of pressure on me being a solid character. You? You got all the freedom in the world. Who knows. Maybe you'll find a Breton girl with curly red hair and huge ti—"
"I doubt it. I'm a monk, remember."
"No you're not. You're a prince and a hostage."
I opened my mouth to say something but held the dogs back, squirming under my own anger.
"Of course, you might not have much say in who you marry, I can relate to that. Twice. Twice, mind you, I was told, essentially, this is who you're going to fuck and you two will squirt out a male heir and you will live peacefully together because your wedding bed's the physical representation of our alliance."
"So that's what you thought of my sister?"
The steam and pride in his face evaporated and on the inside I couldn't stop laughing.
"Just something to stick you manhood in and produce the next ugly Nicolas to sit on your prickly throne of wood?"
"No," he said quietly, rocking back and forth impatiently. "That's not what I meant. I wa—"
He grabbed a bottle of wine and uncorked it, filling two goblets up and then passing one to me, not accepting my refusal. I grabbed it and he clinked them together and then downed most of his.
"I had been prepped all my life for a miserable marriage of convenience, I had nearly escaped. Nearly. But I guess I could've done worse."
It was never perfect, never done.
Even when it was thinner than a twig, he'd snap it in twain and pick up a new block to cut into.
His fingers and hands were covered with tiny nicks from sharpened blades, his knuckles constantly worn raw from days spent wearing gauntlets and training others with the use of their swords.
I wasn't sure if he enjoyed this downtime or had just grown used to it, tolerated it like a farmer tolerated winter.
A log on the fire cracked and he glanced up for a second, the fire reflecting off his eyes before he looked away, throwing his legs over the stool he sat on, hand groping for a pint of ale.
"How many times did the Vikings hit Nantes?" I asked.
His mug hovered inches from his lips. "Hmm?"
"In Rennes – you told me Normandy was hit sixteen times in six months then made me guess how many times Nantes had been hit. You never gave me an answer. I would like to know."
"Forty."
"For— But Normand—"
"Isn't a prize. All the Vikings and Saxons want to be the one to crack Nantes. Nantes gets Viking raids as often as it does rain. There is a reason I look less like a prince and more like a mercenary. When I am home it is always so strange."
"Why's that?"
"I live in Normandy now and I'm an outsider. I don't belong in palaces or villas. I belong on a wall. Not to mention when I climb into bed. Me, beat up old scumbag... her, beautiful princess from a warm, exotic shore."
I physically waved the image of his naked body away, chasing it into the piles of trash that littered my mind.
"Does she love you?"
"Not sure," the Roman said with a heavy sigh. "I don't think I ever'll be. But... but Rome needs soldiers and Brittany needs legitimacy. Bigger battles are coming – Gaul is the steel caught between the hammer and the anvil."
"East Francia will fall first, then Burgundy... the-"
"The Saxon isn't Christendom's only enemy. The south's weak, Aquitaine's lost many wars to the Moors even if territorial losses've been minimal. We can't afford to lose more. And then there're the Norsemen. And the Arabs. And the Slavs. And the Turks... There's more to the world than Brittany, Francia, and Germania."
The Roman bit his lip, letting out a long sigh and lowering his gaze to the wood shavings on the floor.
"You don't make our chances look good, Roman."
"I don't mean to exaggerate them."
"Do you speak to your men like this?"
He looked back up with that dull, unfocused stare of his. "No. I need them to fight. I tell them things'll be rough, but Christ willing we'll win."
"Do they believe you?"
"Do I look like a mind reader, Austie?"
"Don't call me that."
"You called me 'Roman.'"
"Doesn't everyone?"
"Still isn't my name, nor you my equal."
"We are both princes, aye?"
The Roman laughed. He laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and he had nearly buckled in two. Words were born, lived, and died in his mouth as he tried to settle down only to be provoked back into laughter.
"I am serious!" I shouted.
He took a deep breath, putting his hand on my shoulder to stabilize himself. "That's what made it so funny, Austie. You're just so sincere about it."
The Bretons really did think highly of themselves despite all their protests to the contrary. I am a prince and an heir to Charlemagne, what were they? Petty warlords? The closest things to pagans that still managed to drag themselves into church once a week. "You know, for a second I was even starting to like you."
The Roman laughed again, though it wasn't as hearty. "Yeah, you wouldn't be the first to retract the honor of their friendship. from me."
"I'm not sure I'd brag about that."
"Not bragging," he said with a smile. "Just a fact. I long ago stopped with the needless tact and guile of court life in the civilized world. Maybe one day you too will forget it."
"I don't think so."
"You're young. You've got time to change."
"You're only a few years older than me."
"True, but I also have a wife, a Duchy, an army, and a King putting quite a bit of pressure on me being a solid character. You? You got all the freedom in the world. Who knows. Maybe you'll find a Breton girl with curly red hair and huge ti—"
"I doubt it. I'm a monk, remember."
"No you're not. You're a prince and a hostage."
I opened my mouth to say something but held the dogs back, squirming under my own anger.
"Of course, you might not have much say in who you marry, I can relate to that. Twice. Twice, mind you, I was told, essentially, this is who you're going to fuck and you two will squirt out a male heir and you will live peacefully together because your wedding bed's the physical representation of our alliance."
"So that's what you thought of my sister?"
The steam and pride in his face evaporated and on the inside I couldn't stop laughing.
"Just something to stick you manhood in and produce the next ugly Nicolas to sit on your prickly throne of wood?"
"No," he said quietly, rocking back and forth impatiently. "That's not what I meant. I wa—"
He grabbed a bottle of wine and uncorked it, filling two goblets up and then passing one to me, not accepting my refusal. I grabbed it and he clinked them together and then downed most of his.
"I had been prepped all my life for a miserable marriage of convenience, I had nearly escaped. Nearly. But I guess I could've done worse."
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I sure wouldn't want to be living in Nantes. Forty attacks in six months.
At least someone understands how these royal marriages work: pump out some male heirs and everyone is happy.
At least someone understands how these royal marriages work: pump out some male heirs and everyone is happy.
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