Union Court of Pskov-Novgorod

[von Streusser]

"Well, I am relieved at least to know that I needn't fear the return of Katya the Valkyrie." He smiled as she handed him a second drink, and took a rather longer pull at it than he had intended to as she sat down so close to him. The proximity made his skin burn, and the look in her eyes made him ache, deep in the pit of his stomach. "Sure Dimitru" he thought to himself "you don't have feelings for her anymore. Sure."

"So tell me Dimitru, how can I better re-acquaint your fingers with the Russian pulse?" When she said it he nearly died. But still, his years of pretending to be a diplomat appeared to be having an effect; he betrayed no outward signs of the turmoil within him. Instead, he merely let his smile grow more languid, and let his expression hint of innuendo as well. As he thought about it for a brief moment, this was ever so appropriate...what words could sum up his relationship with Katya better than sarcasm, innuendo, and wordplay?

"I think re-acquaint may be the wrong word, dearest Katya...the biggest problem, I think, is that I never got close enough to the Russian pulse to feel it in the first place." She was so close to him, it was impossible to resist the temptation that suddenly surged up in him. He reached out with his right hand, and ever so lightly stroked her neck. His fingers ran just under her jawline along the throat, feeling along the soft groove in the muscles, searching for her pulse. Her skin was as remarkably soft as he had always imagined it would be, like touching an alabaster sculpture, but warm, more alive than anything he had ever seen or felt before...

His fingers found her pulse, and he smiled...though it was not the jovial smile they had shared just minutes ago, but rather a darker, more sensual look. So, she did not have ice water in her veins after all, and a heart that beat. "The fabled Russian pulse..." he murmured, and his fingers left it behind, tracing their way across her jawline, her throat, her luxurious pale neck...

 

[N Katsyev]

Parlour, Novgorodskeey Kremlin​

​

"I think re-acquaint may be the wrong word, dearest Katya...the biggest problem, I think, is that I never got close enough to the Russian pulse to feel it in the first place." ​

"Is that so?", she almost purred in response, her eyes watching his with a terrible scrutiny that any observer in the know would have most probably attributed to complete emulation of Mina. However, this wasn't Mina, and behind the increasingly sensual veneer was something of trepidation. Her own words and actions echoed to her conscious somewhere in the back of her mind, but something else, far more powerful was keeping it back.

Then, it was as if her skin suddenly came alive in a way almost entirely unfamiliar to her. So rarely had she felt anything like it before, Dimitru's fingers ran across her jaw so lightly just barely brushing the skin at first yet sparking the most intoxicating feeling the entire way. Immediately, her mind went through its natural impusles, but found in such a situation there were so very few. Where thought wasn't possible, the nerves overwhelmed, she as would any creature simply luxoriated under the pleasurable touch. Her neck arching ever so slightly to the side as his fingers sought out her pulse and in doing so, made their own job that much easier to find as her blood rushed in response to his touch.

She caught his smile, familiar - yet not. He murmured gently, something in her being brought to the edge by simply the sound of his voice. A voice she had heard so many times, but she had never heard it like this. The glass that had been hanging so daintily from her fingers dropped to the floor with a dull thud, its contents slowly absorbed... His fingers drew now further down her neck and she reached up with her one hand, placing it over his but just touching, not wanting to impede those simple little gestures of his fingers that were filling her with such a potent pleasure.

"The fabled Russian pulse..."

She responded in an almost raspy whisper, "There's much more..."

Katya's heart beating ever faster, the hand that had been holding the glass reached up, her nails grazing his cheek and she leaned in toward him. Almost as if asking permission she glanced at his eyes once more with a clearly passionate if not seductive glare before pressing her nose into his neck, slowly exhaling as she guided his hand from her neck to her shoulder. Her thumb worked its way down to his chin and she lifted herself back up from his neck, her face coming up to his, her lips dangerously close, "Kiss me." she whispered in a low voice, her grey eyes flicking back up to his.

 

[von Streusser]

The distance between their lips had all but disappeared by now as she drew closer, and every part of his being ached with the proximity. He wanted to drink her deep, taking her all in until his thirst was slaked, a thirst he never thought would disappear. The moment seemed endless as she looked at him, and it suddenly occurred to him that this was just that; a moment. Perhaps it would repeat itself, perhaps this would be the only time. As quickly as it appeared though, the thought left Dimitru's mind, forced out.

The look in her eyes reminded Dimitru of Mina for a moment...but he knew the woman before him was not Mina. Regardless of how badly she might want to be, they were very different women. Perhaps not so much to the outsider, but to Getrescu, who had spent so much time in their company, the differences were evident. Katya was more cerebral...which is not to say that Mina was not intelligent, but rather that Katya led with her mind, while Mina led with her heart. Dimitru knew that Katya was analyzing this moment...and he knew that she had precious little experience in moments like these. What was she thinking? Was she scared?

He was, he found himself admitting. He probably had less experience in this area than she did...he was just going on instinct, doing what felt right. And everything felt so right as he ran his fingers down her neck onto her shoulder, and she buried her face in his neck. As she lifted her head to look at him, she was so close he could feel her breath on his lips, her pulse in his hands. She was not the calm, controlled mask he imagined Mina would be in a similar situation, but her pulse was quick and her breathing impatient.

"Kiss me." she said, and he lost all rationality.

Reaching up with his other hand, from which his drink had long since disappeared, he ran his fingers along her cheek as he leaned in ever so slightly and kissed her, pouring ten years of ardent desire into the single gesture. This single kiss he had longed for since he had first arrived in Pskov, and he was determined not to waste it. He began slowly, tenderly, but let the kiss grow, until it took on a life of its own, less the product of two people's mutual passion and more an entity of its own accord.

He kissed her, and time seemed to stand still. He didn't care, for just that moment, if he ever got this chance again. If he were kissing Mina, perhaps he would have felt different, more guarded...but something about Katya always struck him as more genuine, and so he threw himself into the kiss, into the moment, over the edge.

 

[N Katsyev]

Two Friends and One Mighty Host​

​

Much of the army that had moved in from Pskov-Novgorod was not in fact on the field on the sun began to break over the silhoutte of the hills in the west. Due to the frigid weather and the elements, only a token force was laying siege to Tver, a token force that is for the Union army of now nearly twenty thousand that had crossed the frontier into the Tver Principality. A token force that was more than a match with its reinforcements from Zubtsov and Rzhev for any direct assault those held up in Tver could deal.

Braving the cold, Vladimir Melnikov left the little impromptu hut built for him that rest half under the frozen ground and half above. He found Prince Ivan of Zubtsov there, watching the sun rising over the Valdai. The snow making a familiar crunch under his boots, Vladimir approached Ivan from behind and placed his large hand on the Prince's shoulder, speaking, his breath coming out in long misty waves, "All is prepared Prince. When your men are ready I shall call in for another five thousand taking shelter nearby, more if you deem it necessary, but I wouldn't be able to promise them until too late in the day to make delay until tomorrow inevitible."

Melnikov paused and drew his hand from Ivan's shoulder, "Regardless, when the city is yours, not only shall we have been comrades on the field, not only brothers by the same motherland, but countrymen." He smiled, the numbing cold on his nose he thought he felt dissipate for a moment by the dawn sun, "It is an honour I look forward to my Prince."

 

[N Katsyev]

Parlour, Novgorodsky Kremlin​

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​

It was a moment that most girls no doubt dreamed of. Not Katya however, Ekaterina Polotovskaya - "Kitty" to her Mina had very rarely thought or dreamt of such things. Indeed her last real love interest erupted in nothing but heartache and the subject left for a homeland far away, a homeland from which no message ever came. Beside, Katya Yuriyevna had so much to keep her busy, had if not a great or terribly substantial, intimate life with her "sister". And though there had never been any real sexual side to this, aside from a couple "close" moments, it had been sufficient for what she had found was in herself a very modest desire.

But during that previous love interest, during those moments with Mina, she had always shocked herself that despite her usual lack of interest - when the moment did come, she was wholly consumed by it. The stories shared between adoloscent girls told by Mina to her so many years ago in whispers and not totally confident giggles that had at the time held little real clout for Katya then, in moments like these they made perfect, passionate, sense. She felt the ache Mina would describe, the sensitivity to touch and the warmth spreading through her body more intensely between her thighs.

Now as Dimitru engaged her in this all consuming kiss, as his fingers tightened on her shoulder where the skin was literally burning at this touch, the fingertips of his other hand grazing her cheek, nothing could ever hope to be enough. Her body shuddered at the wave of emotional and physical shock and she gave a barely audible whimper. She wanted every one of these suddenly irrefutable and demanding desires of her body answered all at once and the sheer impossibility of this happening was driving her mad. But as always, maybe even as a Polotovski she wouldn't simply resign to something being impossible and therefore not worth seeking and actively persuing.

Dimitru may have gone over the edge, the Princess however had totally removed for herself any hope of ever touching the ground after falling from it. She removed herself from his kiss only at the threat of suffocating, in no small part to her own excitement. Tossing her head back, her chest heaving, her fingers graped the back of his head where it met his neck and pulled his face forward to her neck. She slowly slid on the couch, in his embrace so as to invite his weight at least somewhat upon her. The pressure of his body seemed to bring with it something of a relief or comfort but at the same time only an more violent desire for more. A mixture of increasing desire and seeking of comfort that was a vicious cycle into which she now hopelessly found herself, once which simply brought two words from her lips as his face pressed into her neck, his hand on her bare shoulder... "Don't stop." Rationality had long since dissapeared, and with it the notion that the Commander she had summoned would no doubt be here any minute. But these things were far buried beneath a long dormant desire now screaming for release from her evey pore, from her every movement that demanded a long neglected sensuality.

 

[N Katsyev]

Synod of 1450​

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Across the Russias and Georgia, armed bands from the Patriarchal army deliver invitations to the Synod of 1450...

Synod of the Holy Russian Orthodox Church - 1450​

The Holy Russian Orthodox Synod of 1450 shall be soon commencing once more in the proud and holy city, the Patrimony of St. Sophia, Novgorod. All leading churchmen from across the land are both welcome and encouraged to attend this event presided over by His Holiness Patriarch of the all the Russias and Georgia, Sergius Romanivitch.

Key Issues already set to be discussed...

*The appointment of a new Archbishop of Moskva following the surrendering of the title by His Holiness the Patriarch...

*The question to persue the declaration as anathema for Vasili Mikhailitch of Moscovy...

*The hostile religious intentions of the Latvian Order in the Baltics...

*Any and all concerns or desires concerning the organization of the Holy Church

Attendants are again fully welcomed and encouraged to have with them other issues for discussion by this most holy body in service and witness to God All-Mighty.

 

[von Streusser]

Dimitru buried his head in the hollow of her neck, breathing her scent, sensing her excitement, kissing her over and over again, lost in this moment. He lay over her, running one hand down her side, finally wrapping it around her waist, trying to pull her closer to himself. His other hand ran over her shoulder, up her neck, through her hair, and back again countless times.

All his frustrations, his pain, his pent up emotions of the last ten years flowed through his fingertips into every touch, through his lips into every kiss. Time itself seemed to stop, as did his own mind. To Dimitru, there was nothing outside of this woman, this moment, this sudden outflow of emotion.

But dimly, in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was with this woman in her parlor in the Kremlin...where she regularly received guests and petitioners. And the thought began to creep into his mind...when would they be interrupted?

He found he really didn't care, and kept kissing her, much preferring her various commands...particularly the last one, which he intended to obey until she told him otherwise.

 

[von Streusser]

Amid the towering structures and beautiful domes of Novgorod's churches, a little old bishop shuffled along through the streets. Behind him followed a second bishop, younger and clearly more nervous, he kept his arms outstretched, waiting to catch his companion. The old man, however, exuded a quiet confidence; his eyes seemed permanently closed, yet he smiled to every passerby in the street, offering friendly greetings in Vlach. Though almost no one understood him literally, the meaning of his words were readily apparent...perhaps he confused the Russians with his behavior, but perhaps he also made them smile.

Arriving at the location of the Synod, Gheorg sat down in a pew while his young companion sought out the Metropolitan, or asked around to see if he had even arrived...

 

[Mettermrck]

A letter arrives for the Grand Princess from the Hochmeister of the Teutonic Order with a piece of paper attached.

To Grand Princess Mina Polotovskaya of Pskov

Your very existence is a stain on the well-being of this Earth and our faith. The unholy creation you have assembled under your leash brings nothing but woe to the truly pious and faithful. That you persist in your schismatic heresies is a sign to us that you are virtually beyond rehabilitation. Your failure to demonstrate the true enlightenment expected of Christian rulers by embracing the True Faith is bringing your people closer to a maelstrom that you will have none but yourself to blame for.

​

Be Warned!​

Though Our Lord is merciful, our God is also a jealous God. Hark ye to the words of Exodus 34:14, Do not worship any other god, for the Lord, whose name is Jealous, is a jealous God. Consider this letter to be a last warning from the guardians of the True Faith that your abomination will be tolerated no longer. Repent! Bring yourself and your people to Our Lord’s mercy and throw yourselves on His Holiness’ generosity. I can assure you that once the dogs of war are loosed, neither mercy nor generosity shall be shown. And in the cities of Russia there will be wolves and the gnashing of teeth...”

Hochmeister Leopold von Brunn
Order of the Teutonic Knights

 

[Auspend]

An old but still physically fit bishop enters the location of the Synod called by the Russian Patriarch. Seeing no one of note other than the Moldavian he approaches and in unaccented Greek says, "Greetings brother. I am Grigori Krasikovich. I take it we are the first to arrive?"

 

[von Streusser]

"Gheorg, Bishop of Iasi...I may have once had a family name, but I fear I have forgotten it" the old man said with a smile, looking up at the Russian. His response was in excellent Greek as well, but he quickly switched to Russian. "It's so nice when a good plan all comes together, is it not? I find it delightful. My assistant is going to fetch some tea, though he never brews it quite right. Can I interest you in a cup? I'm afraid I developed quite a taste for the stuff during my time as an Uzbek slave." Gheorg's completely matter-of-fact manner in revealing his past, accompanied by his ever-present half grin, is a little unsettling.

"He's a good boy, my assistant that is, but a little too intense sometimes. All business, all the time." Gheorg leaned on his cane, resting his chin on the top of the stick and allowing his long white beard, almost the equal of a Russian's, to cascade down it. "I hope we have as much success at this synod as we did at the last..." Gheorg mutters. His mind seems to wander from topic to topic almost at random, moving from important items to thoughts of no importance at all.

 

[N Katsyev]

Orthodox Synod, Cathedral of St. Sophia​

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The room was relatively dark and those already gathered, many higher ranking of the clergy from around Pskov-Novgorod bishops of the major towns and the like, were seated around a large finely polished deep auburn table upon which the dull lights of the candles and torches reflected off of in an almost eerie fashion. At each place of the table, a few still vacant were silver chalices filled with Catalonian wines, a glass of water and a knife. In three places at the centre of the table were silver platters with an assortment of black breads, cheeses and salt.

Sergius Romanivitch greeted the Moscovite Bishop upon his enterance with a respective nod of his head, "It is a pleasure to have you Krasikovich, please, sit." The Patriarch then turned his scrutinizing gaze, though one that softened slightly toward Gheorg, "We are all honoured to recieve you, it is truly impressive that you would travel this far to join us. My invitation to you however was not without meaning. But, we shall come to that in good time."

Sergius motioned for both men to sit, then he did himself. Taking a look around the table, somewhat dissapointed that some represntitives were not here yet, he cleared his throat to gather his thoughts and began, "It seems that we are not all here yet, however we may began on less critical areas. As such, maybe its best we come right to the point of why I invited our good Moldavian here."

He paused here and took a drink from his water before continuing, "The lands of the Danube were at one time part of Rus. It should also be kept in mind that this, the Holy Church of Russia, belives its position to be one that should oversee all the lands of Rus. In this mission, it is important that we acquire jurisdiction both over the Metropolitanate of Kiev and the lands of Danube from Constantinople, who it should be added is hardly in the position in its diminshed state to very well watch over the responsibilities she presently has.

This proposition in mind, how does the holy man from Moldavia feel about the proposal? Or, any of the rest of you for that matter..." Sergius' eyes went around the table, finally falling on Gheorg.

 

[von Streusser]

This proposition in mind, how does the holy man from Moldavia feel about the proposal?

Gheorg sat at the table, picking up his knife and reaching for some of the cheeses. The Metropolitan spoke as the Moldavian broke a piece of black bread, spread a soft white cheese on it, and finally sprinkled it with salt before placing the entire spread into his wrinkled old mouth. The Metropolitan had asked him a question long ago, and he sat in place, chewing silently for a long long moment. There was a heavy pause before he answered.

"This is marvelous cheese...what is it? This white one I mean, that's kind of soft. With these green flecks...is that garlic? Delicious." He took a sip from his goblet, before Brother Octavian, his attendant, finally returned from his unknown mission, placing a small cup in front of the Bishop. Holding up a tiny delicate teapot, he poured a cup of a steaming hot brew for the old man, who took and drank gratefully.

"Would anyone else care for a cup? It's just delightful. You know, in my lands, we make cheeses from both cows and goats, but mostly from sheep? Have you ever had goats cheese gentlemen? It's...most unique. I don't care for it much usually, but every so often I am wrong. What kind of animal produced this cheese, do you know? I'm only marginally familiar with the beasts of Russia, but I've heard you have Reindeer. Then again, you probably can't make cheese from that.

It would seem to me, Honored Metropolitan, that your proposal would greatly increase the importance of Novgorod as a religious center. I'm not saying it should not be, it's a lovely city. I love the domes on this Cathedral, true works of art. Rarely on the Danube would you see such a thing, that's certain. I don't know of Kiev." Gheorg took another bite of bread and some more cheese, salting lightly.

"I think the real question is, aside from historical presence, why should the jurisdiction over the lands of the Danube fall under Novgorod's purview, especially when Constantinople is so much closer. I am not saying it is necessarily a bad idea, I just want to develop this a bit farther." He placed the bread in his mouth and began to chew, sighing a bit with enjoyment.

"Delicious cheese" he said again.

 

[Blade!]

*A letter arrives by ship from England, sealed in wax with the diplomatic seal of the Zayyanid Caliphate. It is also marked with the seal of a trading house in Lisbon.*

Mina Andreyevna Polotovskaya
Czarina of the Rus
Twinkling Star of the Winter Night

Your Highness,

I hope you received my first missive. I was very careful with my words, and again I apologize for any lack of detail this message may contain, as my merchant friends are very protective about their movements.

I have arrived home. Please find a proper map attached, I noted the maps in your court are a little vague. You will see the 5 districts of Algeria... I am now in Oran. Can you see the district Aures? Maybe I did not mention, I am Sharif.. ah, Boyar of that district. A gift from my friend and Lord, Akbe.

England was of muted success, poor young John was said to have died of the flux... but I also heard rumor otherwise in whispers and strange reactions. I had hoped to pawn wealth to the English King in exchange for his fleet in action, for which the Zayyanids would have compensated greatly, but discrete inquiry yeilded such poor reception, that it was not to be. A pity, for I have bad news regarding my task.

My people are under greater threat than was first anticipated. It seems Algeria can be more like Pskov than I realized, for the Golden Horde has declared war, for reasons as thin and whispy as the first snow. Ah, the snow. It is winter in Pskov, and no doubt this letter will travel by infernal sled at some point. I hope it is buried deep under furs... maybe at least when it reaches you, it will have that honor. Were I on such a journey as this letter, I would hope to have good company under the furs of a sleigh... terribly lonley in the cold, or in the sands of Oran.

Anyways, much trouble has arisen, from many quarters. My absence from Algeria, was probably poor for the military... some of my sub-commanders were not so high ranked when I left. There are two armies at my disposal that remain standing at all times in a semi-active way. The Army of Algiers, which is the 1rst Army (and has a battalion of women fighters), and the Mujahir Army, made up of Moorish refugees. I expect at least several other forces to be raised, including a Berber force of my Clan, Zenata; and a force of religious warriors... I look for Moldovian and Portuguese mercenaries as well. I brought some from England, sons of my aqquantences in youth, but I need keep them close as they speak no common tongue, Latin or Arabic. I wish I were there to explain everything I write of in passing which is so familiar to me.

The problems of maintaining a true military force in active conditions... logistics, strife, displine.. my role is now much more in resemblance to yours, than previously....

... I put down my pen, and take it up again. You would not beleive it Czarina, but the very King of Portugal has passd by my forces on parade. Sultan Akbe Mohammed has joined me, and I must go now... he is my oldest friend, and I have much sorrow and rejoicing to share with him. I will convey your best wishes, and that is all... for the moment. He would again have me ask that you make any possible lines of credit open to Zayyanid merchants in Novogrod in this time of strife.

I have been considering, that should I meet with success and have the liberty to do so, how best to lose the title and responsibilities of Sharif of Aures... I prefer a more northern district.

I think often of the government of Pskov-Novogrod, and have been hoping all is well. I recently wrote to Petru, I hope he has left by now.

In the desert, only the rarest most lovley flower will bloom. I find it is the same in the snows of the north. I now venture to the coast and the boats with several thousand at my back to load. I know that the blood that will be shed will produce no flowers.... so I cannot wait to trace my steps to where I know one blooms eternal.

Most Sincerely,

Azim Mohammed,Delegate to the North
Supreme Commander, Zayyanid Forces (for the time being...)

 

[N Katsyev]

Parlour, Novgorodskeey Kremlin​

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​

She totally surrendered herself to the pleasureable sensations coming from her neck. His arm tightening about her slender waist, the increasing pressure of his body and the strength of his arm bringing on the one hand a slight relief from the edge of her desire but increasing its strength ever more. The feel of his hand moving up her shoulder, neck, through her hair which now fell loosely through his fingers fully endeared her to the moment, one of physical and emotional bliss.

A bliss that did not allow for the rational mind to come forward. She ached in a most taunting if not totally unpleasant way. Reacting on instict she drew her thigh up along the outside of Dimitru's leg, welcoming even more the increasing pressure between her legs. She rolled her head back and closed her eyes, so caught up in the moment, in the exchange that she believed without the subtlest motion of her own she could simply will Dimitru's head to her bosom presenting itself to him more fully as she arched her back.

Then, maybe the only thing that could have brought her out of this bliss occured. Reality, the world around her erupted rudely into her conscience again with a knock on the door, and a voice on the other side, "Princess, the Tystiatskeey is here to see you now."

Her heart skipped and her eyes opened. The reality of what was happening tore through her mind and for a moment there was panic. She felt Dimitru's lips on her collar bone, his fingers digging into her waist, and these sensations that a moment before were pleasurable and fully welcomed were now dangerous and undesired. In pure reaction, one born only out of a lifetime of habit she managed a response calling out back, still looking up at the ceiling, "Just one minute."

Now, what to do with Dimitru? Suddenly, he wasn't a potential lover but a problem needing to be fixed. They were both disheveled at best at the moment. In any other situation she simply would have spoke of a headache, for the commander to come back later. But in this instance where five minutes could delay the marching of troops by five hours, this wasn't an option. There was only one way she could think of to get rid of him, her own appearance she could explain, his she couldn't. "Hide.", she hissed to him.

She hurredly scrambled from beneath him and almost tripped on the glass she had dropped earlier on the floor. Her hands went up to her hair as she tried to bring her clouded mind with both lingering passion and alcohol back to coherence. She gave a quick helpless smile to Dimitru and leaned forward, kissing his lips once and indicated a cupboard on the other side of the room, whispering to him, "Quickly."

In something of a moment's inspired genius she left the glass on the floor and didn't make any attempt to make a better appearance of herself as she walked over to the door and as Dimitru shifted into the small closet. She only held one hand over forehead as she opened the door with the other, "Please, Anatoly, come in."

The Commander, Anatoly looked at her with something of curiousity. Her appearance was far from orthodox and she really looked terrible, especially in the dim light of the room, "Princess, is everything okay?"

She turned and indicated the glass on the floor, "I spilled it when getting up... I had fallen asleep... Give me a moment and i'll met you in study Commander... "

Anatoly nodded with a concerned look on his face before taking the Princess' hand and holding it to his lips a moment, "Of course Princess, forgive the intrusion, but I was told to come at once."

"And you did well... I'm just... tired. I'll be there in a moment.", Katya smiled in response and shut the door again, the sound of Anatoly's foosteps echoing down the hall. She fell with her back against the door and her hand slide from her forehead down her face. She remained there only a moment though before lifting herself off the door and quickly striding over the to the cabinet where Dimitru had hid himself, "You can come out now... I'm sorry." She smiled somewhat sheepishly, "Just leave the room a few minutes after me, I have to go now." She held his eyes a moment longer before turning away and walking slowly back to the door, righting her dress and her hair along the way...

 

[von Streusser]

Startled out of the moment by the rudest knock he had ever heard, Dimitru suddenly found himself crammed inside a cupboard. A bottle was nearby, still mostly full he noticed...

He could hear what was transpiring on the other side of the door, and it was all he could do to still himself enough and not laugh. When she opened the cupboard door and announced he could come out, he burst out laughing. Stepping out, he met her eyes as she apologized. "Don't worry about it" he said, grinning, and planting a final brief kiss upon her lips. "I understand, go do what you have to. I'll retire to my chambers until dinner, and we can go to that foundry of yours and discuss this artillery project tomorrow. I'll just stay here and have myself another drink first..."

His wink and smile were mischevious, almost conspiratorial. He watched her as she fixed her dress and hair, and found a tiny laugh bubbling up inside him again, but this one he stifled successfully, pouring another glass for himself.

After she left, he sat on the couch they had just shared so intimately. He couldn't stop smiling, he even wanted to toast himself. In fact, he did so. About ten minutes and two drinks after Katya left, Dimitru himself departed the Parlor, taking a few moments to fix his robes and straighten his hair on the way. Retiring to his chambers, he took the bottle out of a hidden fold in his robes and placed it on the desk. That bottle in particular was worth hanging on to...

Throwing himself back onto his bed, he lay there, staring up at the cieling, grinning like an idiot.

 

[N Katsyev]

Zubtsov​

​

The Czarina, the Grand Princess of Pskov-Novgorod... and Tver? The stunning, dominating, driven woman known otherwise as Mina Andreyevna sank further into her bath drawing the bottom of her foot up the soft interior of her calf with a self assured hint of a smile on her lips. It was somewhat amusing to her that here she was bathing in Prince Ivan's bedchamber while he led men put under his command by herself to bring further unity to Russia... Free Russia... Her Russia.

All this and she had little doubt there was some part of the young Prince that would much rather be here now... Now as her foot passed over her knee and she sank more fully into the vessel. As she closed her eyes however there was a knock on the door. She sighed and cast an annoyed glance in the direction of the door, as if admonishing it for not swinging back with full force and striking whomever was disturbing her.

Instead however her voice came out strongly with just enough of an annoyed note to put whomever was on the other side on guard, "Yes?"

A young woman's voice replied on the other side. Where Mina's had been confident with a touch of annoyance, this one was shaky and uncertain, "Princess forgive me, the courier has just arrived. Two letters, one from a Zayyanid guild in Novgorod ("Zashka", thought Mina) and another from the Latvian frontier ("Beauty and the beast seeking me at once....", Mina smirked to herself), may I come in?"

"Of course Sonya love.", Mina sat up in the bath, the droplets of water slowly snaking down her flesh lit by the candles and the popping fire. She reached over the side as the servant girl, Sonya, opened the door and came in, taking up a blanket and began drying her hands. Mina heard the door close behind her and spoke over her shoulder to the girl, "Its okay, come here, hand them to me."

Dutifully the girl stepped forward and set the two in Mina's waiting palm. Mina took a small blade resting near her vessel and began seperating the seal that held closed the correspdonance from Latvia, speaking to Sonya as she did, "Are you still chasing that stable boy... What was his name... Petya? Around?"

The girl safely behind the Grand Princess, cloaked by the dim light in the room blushed with a bit of a smile, looking over to the windows and the dark night outside, "Chasing him my Princess. He is chasing me."

Mina gave something of a contemptuous smile and set the small knife aside, slowly opening the papers with her fingers, "Is that so? You know what they say, don't you Sonya? A boy chases a girl until she catches him."

The girl grinned, her eyes cast back down to the beautiful shoulders of the Czarina, the damp curls at the ends of her hair that hung over the edge of the bathing vessel, "My Princess... they may be right."

"May?"

Sonya noticed the annoyed hints in Mina's voice had gone and she relaxed a little at this, "Well... they often are."

Beginning to read the letter from Riga with something of a bored look, a smile hung at the corner of hre full lips simply due to Sonya, "You can do far better than Petya, Sonya. You are a pretty girl... What about Roman Pavyelitch?"

Sonya burst out in a giggle, "Princess, please be serious. Roman is twice my age, noble, wealthy and married." Smiling, she came around the side of the tub and kneeled down, resting her chin on her arms on the edge of the vessel looking at Mina's beautiful face that had just finished reading the letter and the attached bit from Riga, "... If not handsome... Can I get you some more hot water Princess?"

Mina's grey eyes flicked up to Sonya's, lit with a strange light from either the fire or what she had just read, maybe both. She set aside the letter and with the other hand stroked Sonya's head, her nails slightly grazing the young girls' skin, "Please love, and some wine... "

The girl smiled and rose, beginning to walk away from the tub to the door. A voice came after her, "Sonya love, don't let details get in the way of your dreams."

The girl turned, but Mina was not facing her and had only sunk further into the tub. She tried to contemplate some sort of response, but could think of nothing more than, "I shall return quickly."[/color][/i] With that she closed the door behind her, leaving the Czarina alone once more.

Mina's thoughts lingered on the letter from Riga a moment more before she barely audibly to herself simply said, "Interesting." Taking the small knife once more she began cutting at the seal on the letter from Zashka. With somewhat of a devilish smile she looked forward to the wine and the hot water, she may need it soon...

 

[N Katsyev]

Holy Synod, Novgorod​

​

Sergius sat back into his chair, the dim lights of the room somewhat concealing a bit of a smile that formed on his lips. 'Ah yes...' he thought to himself, 'I remember this one now.' The other men already gathered exchanged looks of curiosity at this new eccentric... Moldavian? The Patriarch's mission no doubt would mean more prestige for church...

"You mean alms taken in Russian churchs... Money gained from the Russian land should be spent on the souls of Moldavia?" One grisly old fellow raised a suspicious, and suspiciously thick, eyebrow.

"You old fool, i'm sure the Moldavian church raises monies of its own... ", another answered the man with the suspiciously thick eyebrows, "The question is, if its enough to justify the added stresses of administration." Indeed, when Gheorg asked just why should the Danubian provinces by put under jurisdiction of the Russian chruch, he had many approving nods who turned with curiosity toward the Patriarch and those few who had supported him with acknowledging grunts from the beginning.

The Patriarch sat more straightly and laid his hands upon the table, entwining his fingers, as he began to explain,"As I stated previously, if this is the Russian church, why should it not hold jurisdiction of all the lands of the Rus? One may say that the Danube is no longer part of this holy flock, but I would ask them why. Because barbarians and nomads conquered those lands from Kiev so long ago? When did such a holy body ever respect the goings on of tatars and devils?"

Sergius could see from a few that their interest in the matter was deepening and continued, "As father Gheorg says, Constantinople is indeed closer. But does this church not now make gifts to the Patriarchs of Constantinople, Antioch, Alexandria and Jersualem, just to insure their continued viability? Tell me Gheorg, how many times in your memory has the Patrirach of Constantinople had the opportunity to bring together the religoius leaders of your realm? This body meets annualy under my presence. Surely is it not better for your people's spritual health that they recieve the benefits this type of leadership could provide?" Romanivitch let the quesiton hang a moment before finishing, "I only look out for my flock. The monies we send to Constantinople could be much better used if the expense was to only be shared among Greeks and southern Slavs and Orthodox such as those of Srvye and Bulgaria. Under the Russian Church the Danube would be granted her own Archbishoporic, more autonomous of Kiev and ultimately Constantinople, while having added the benefits of belonging to this most... affluent of Orthodox Churches." Those who had begun opposed had fallen silent, some in thought of a good arguement, others contemplating the matter itself further as the Patriarch awaited the Moldavian's response.

 

[N Katsyev]

Novgorod, Near St. Peter Yard​

​

Bundled tightly in a cloak of Mezen furs, Katya strolled down the side of the broad avenue her arm locked in Dimitru's. The wind swept through the city, especially here so close to the Volkhov with something of a particular fury, tossing Katya's hair about her head and face. Her nose having long since gone totally numb and she clung that much tighter to her companion for the simple body warmth. She spoke to him over the wind, "You'll find most of the work has actually stopped for the winter. We're planning on completion by the summer."

As a more harsh wind came across them, bringing stinging tears to her eyes she lowered her head as she continued, "We are fortunate in that when production begins cost will be minimalized by our natural abundance of what is most often the most sought after ingredient for the powder, peat and sulphur. Peat of course being very common in Pskov, and sulphur in the colonies, particularly in Karelia and the Zavidgrad settlement. Iron is more scarce, sources have been found in the far east, near the Urals but only a trickle makes its way west and its doubtful that will improve anytime soon."

The frigid winds picked up with them snow from the hanging banks and swept across the open street which in typical winter fashion was rather empty compared with the summers where pedestrians being killed was nearly a daily occurence due to simple crowding. The two figures, the Princess and her escort made their way across the avenue now toward a long building that once served as a warehouse for one guild or another.

A copule guards huddled in their furs sat on either side of the door, obviously shivering quite badly. Almost immediately however as the pair neared, they recognized Katya and stood. Both stepping inward to open the doors for the Princess and her companion, enjoying the moment of allowing some of the warmer air inside to pass over them. Inside however it was only modestly warmer, mainly not for any great heat source but the abscence of wind.

In a way, the still air was almost more frigid... though somewhat more comfortable. Slowly the two walked through the large structure devoid of any other people. The large equipment inside, the first bronze test cannons already completed lining a far wall. Each with unique designs, artistry and sculptures adorning them. After some moments of silence, Katya began again, "Sadly I cannot show you more now, but like I said. Until everything is completed, its really not worth the expense of keeping people here over the winter. Regardless, next time we are outside of Moskva or wherever in hostile fashion... Well... " With a gesture of her hand and a slight smirk she indicated one of the larger finished pieces.

 

[Auspend]

Holy Synod, Novgorod

Grigori raises an eyebrow curiously at the strange remarks of the Moldavian.

"I would like to point out that Novgorod is the only Patriarchal seat in the hands of proper Christians, and Rome is the only other not controlled by the Mohammedians. It is not at all a stretch to make Rus the next seat of Christianity. A sucessor to Rome and Constantinople perhaps. Why settle for merely the lands of Rus being under our jurisdiction. We should take our place as the heads of the Orthodox faith."