V&V Stories Thread

[Cecil XIX]

This is the place where players should post all non-battle related stories they have written. Players who write stories involving other player's characters should first ask permission before including them.

[Lord of Lent]

The life story of Hugues I, Duc de Bourgogne

[Writer's comment: This is the prologue of the life story of my new avatar I hope I'll get soon. WARNING: Historical inaccuracies]

Peasants look up from the fields while a man is following the path to the castle. The man is travelling alone and wears a dark cloak. His face isn’t visible. Although this is not a common sight, the farmers go back to work. The weather has been harsh and the harvest is meagre because of recent droughts.

Having entered the castle the man removes the cloak which he used to cover his face. The face of this man is that of a 16 year old boy. But if you have a closer look you see this man’s face looks severe, scarred by sorrow and anger. It’s been 5 years since he’s last been in the castle. His castle. He is there to fetch his stuff.

It’s been 5 years since the king exiled him. It’s still very difficult to talk about it. Thinking of it, his eyes become wet and this hardened man starts crying like a small boy.

A small peasant boy, hiding in the castle from his duty, finds the man crying. The man does not want to anyone to see him crying. Especially not a peasant! But the ignorant boy is the only person he does not fear to tell his story. He lights the fireplace, finds 2 chairs, and starts telling his story:

“5 years since I fled to the HRE. 5 years I’ve lived in poverty like a peasant. 5 years of sorrow. 5 years until I met that man. The only man who felt sorry for me. He said the HRE needed men like me. Arrangements have been made. The man will adopt me. I’ll change my name. I will represent the 16 year old son of my benefactor. Only my closest friends will know who I’ve been.

I do not hate my country. It’s a great and glorious country suffering under the rule of a terrible king. I will do everything to save my country, even if I have to give my life for it.”

The man stands up and hits the young peasant boy. “Don’t you dare to tell anyone!” The boy starts crying so the man hugs him; “Don’t feel sorry. One day, when you’re grown up, I’ll save this country and make you prosper!”

He makes sure he takes everything with his coat of arms on it. Then he leaves the castle. He may never come back. Maybe it’s better if he didn’t.

This is the story of the 31-year Hugues I, Duke of Burgundy who leaves France with only a horse, a cart, his few possessions, dressed like a peasant, but full of pride… And this is only the beginning…

[Ignoramus]

Antwerp 1080

*CRASH!*

“Curses!” muttered the merchant, observing the sorry fragments of a fine earthenware jar that now lay broken upon the cobblestones.

Jan de Vries, a Frisian merchant of reasonable standing, was in Antwerp for the week selling his wares. Although he would hardly have been considered wealthy by the standards of the nobility or the Church, he had nevertheless earned more than enough to keep himself and his family in a sufficient state of comfort and distinction in his hometown of Groningen.

He knew the city and her history well. From the early days of her foundation all the way through her gradual rise of prominence to her current status as the court of the Dukes of Holland.

For many years the Leuven family ruled Antwerp as Landgraves of Brabant, and had been responsible in part for the gradual restoration of the city’s population. Their rule was considered reasonably fair, though they themselves hardly set foot in the city: their power lay in the county of Leuven itself. This was not unwelcomed by the merchants and burghers of the city, who, being freed from political interference, encouraged the growth of trade and did much to undo the effects of centuries of warfare and wanton destruction.

This state of affairs had continued without trouble until the year 1054, when the last landgrave, Lambert the Bearded, died with no male heir. The city then passed to Liudolf Hümmel, Count of Holland, who had married Lambert’s only daughter Matilda. Liudolf had proved an ambitious ruler, expanding his lands at the expense of the Count of Flanders, and in 1056 Henry III elevated Holland to the rank of a duchy.

Liudolf had died in 1078, and his son Andreas succeeded him as duke. So far, Andreas appeared to be content with merely maintaining his father’s gains. But just last month Andreas had marched into Antwerp at the head of 700 men. Rumours spread rapidly: trouble was clearly brewing in the heart of the Reich. And it appeared that Hümmel would be part of it…

[phonicsmonkey]

Leopold, Duke of Austria and second son of Kaiser Heinrich, studied the plans intently before setting them down on the table and fixing the mining engineer with a firm gaze, his blue eyes glittering.

Well now, it's certainly a grand plan - the largest silver mine in the known world! And I can certainly see the financial benefits of such an investment. But tell me good sir, how much is it to cost?

The mining engineer, a squat and swarthy man of Magyar descent, shifted uneasily in his seat, cleared his throat and looked to Leopold's advisor Ernst of Melk. Ernst rolled his eyes before leaning over and writing a figure on the parchment plans which lay on the table in front of the Duke.

Leopold looked at the figure for a long time before rolling up the plans, shaking the mining engineer's hand and dismissing him with a smile and the usual pleasantries.

Once they were alone in the chamber, he turned to his advisor.

Ernst, that's a small fortune! I'm flattered that the public appears to think me such a wealthy man but it is surely beyond the realms of credibility that we can raise a sum like that and invest it for such a long time before reaping the reward...We have troops to pay, horses to water...

Ernst, a thin, gaunt man with dark hair and darker eyes, placed his arm around the Duke's shoulder.

Sire, we live in unusual times. The ongoing rebellion creates a situation of....flux and uncertainty. And in such times clever men have been known to profit.

Do you not ride north on the morrow to Prague and thence, God-willing, to Poland?

Leo's eyes narrowed.

I do.

Ernst grinned.

Then let me share with you an idea...

[_Tristan_]

Paying a blood price

The wind came from the north and the desolate icy wastes. Carrying with it a cold that could shatter bones, it howled through the camp of tents tethered at the line of woods just out of bowshot of the walls of Stettin, a harbinger of snow and cold that would make the men shiver for countless nights, unless...

Magnus contemplated the castle upon its hillock, wondering how much longer he would have to endure the cold and wet before the defenders surrendered or finally gathered enough courage to meet him in the field. He knew that these Pomeranians were no true warriors, drafted into militia from among the craftsmen, villagers and farmers of the land, their commander some kind of petty noble. But numbers played in their favour... Magnus had even sent away the spearmen that he had taken with him when leaving Hamburg, sent them out to foray for anything that would make the wait more tenable, keeping with him only his retainers to man the camp... Magnus' men were now outnumbered but he knew he could count on the bravery and valour of his Saxons to face the odds he had pitted against them, with honors.

"What I wouldn't give for a tankard of hot wine", he mused while he watched the movement of the enemy, puffs of white mist marking the position of the men on the battlements.

A squishing sound of rapidly approaching footsteps in the ever-present mud of the camp brought him around. Johann, Magnus' shield-bearer, stood before him, an annoyed look clear upon his face. Annoyance mingling with expectancy and a little bit of fear, Magnus remarked at a second glance.

"What is it, Johann ?" asked Magnus, wondering what could cause such a mix of emotion in the rather unperturbable Johann.

"An emissary, my Lord... A Danish emissary..."

A scowl crossed Magnus' face. He had always harboured a deep rancour for his Danish neighbours, whose constant pillaging of the border villages of Saxony had taken part in bleeding his land of its riches. Now, he had struck deep into their lands and hearts, their prince dead at his men's hands but they had come back at him with a vengeance. King Knut had marched against Magnus and his paltry army with the whole might of his kingdom behind him. He had forced Magnus to flee cowardly, forcing him further away from his lands, leaving them at the mercy of the Kaiser's dogs, traitors to the ideals of the rebellion, perhaps the shortest-lived in the history of mankind.

"What can Knut want that he cannot gain through force of arms ? I can run but I can't fight... The Dane knows it well... "

"The emissary didn't say, my Lord... He said he must deliver his message to you in person."

"Fetch him then, Johann, that I can hear what the Viking has to say", Magnus said before turning around towards Stettin... A price so close and nevertheless perhaps unreachable now...

"Talk of being caught between a rock and a hard place", Magnus whispered, his words snatched from his lips by a fierce gust of wind like the mist from his breath.
A short while later, Johann returned with the Dane. Although serving as an emissary now, he did not look like he was trained in letters and language. Magnus's suspicion was confirmed when he began to speak in halting German.

"Mein gut Ritter, das King wishes to speak with you personally." The Danish knight gestured towards the outside of the camp. "You follow, Ja?"
"And what guarantees my safe return to my men, were I to follow you... The King's deeds these last few months surely do not lean that way," Magnus answered skeptically.

"On the King's honour, mein Herr", the Danish messenger answered with hand going to his chest and striking it to the resounding clang of his mailed fist on his breastplate.

"On the King's honour then, I'll follow you", said Magnus stepping forward to follow the messenger, silencing Johann, about to object, with a swift hand gesture.

"I may come to regret this but I'll rather have regrets than remorse," Magnus mused while following the bulky form of the Viking through the first of the snowfall.
They walked a short distance, eventually coming to the crest of a hill. At the top was the King of Denmark and his bodyguard, but upon seeing that Magnus had come alone the King waved away his bodyguard and they retreated a safe distance. King Knud wasted no time in beginning the conversation.

"Magnus von Saxony. We meet at last. I assume you know why I am here?"
"I assume you're here to ask a blood price for the death of your son, am I wrong ?" Magnus replied as bluntly as Knud had adressed him.

"I did not wish for your son's death but make no excuses for it... He died valiantly though he would have lived honourably had he suffered to be taken prisoner. He made his choice and suffered the dire consequences..."
"Indeed." The king replied nonplussed. "Nevertheless, it was your decision to attack my Kingdom that resulted in my son’s death. I cannot let that stand!" He gestured behind them. "My elite retinue is ready to scatter your pathetic Saxons across this land. But I thought you might just decide to run again, I am giving you another offer."

The king unsheathed his sword, and pointed it at Magnus.

"Magnus von Saxony, I challenge you to single combat! You will not refuse me, not if you have any hope that Pommerania might one day be yours!"
"And I, Magnus of Saxony, gladly accept your challenge... For in my death, I hope your bloodlust will be sated and the Reich thus freed from your depredations and in yours, I will avenge the raping of my duchy for so many years."

Bowing to the Danish King and divesting himself of his cape, Magnus himself unsheathed his own sword.
Upon hearing Magnus's acceptance, the King quickly dismounted and returned the bow. Thus they began.
The two warriors began circling each other. Blows were exchanged to the clanging of the swords, the rasping of the blades as they slid on one another. Soon, it began apparent that the Danish King although filled with rage had less stamina and prowess than his opponent.
Using a feint, Magnus swiped at Knut midsection, cleaving his breastplate and drawing blood from the King’s torso. Knut stepped back.
But having regained his footing, the King lunged at Magnus who sidestepped and brought his blade down on the King’s arm, once again drawing blood.
The fight was taking a turn for the worst for the Danish King to the dismay of his retinue, watching from a distance.
During a pause in the combat, Magnus stepped back and adressed his adversary

"Knut, I do not wish to see you dead... Surrender and promise to leave the Reich lands at peace and I will spare you... You do not need to die today, your honour is safe."
The King laughed ruefully. "Leave the Reich lands? Have you not noticed that I have been scrupulously avoiding entering the Reich all this time? Or are you so stung with the guilt of your actions that you have convinced yourself that you are the victim, rather than the perpetrator?"

The king sighed, than staggered into a bloody cough over the nasty wound he received to his midsection.

"No, I won't apologize. But if you truly are the man you claim to be, and you are willing to let me walk away when you have the upperhand, than I would be suitably impressed with your character to forgive you. Otherwise..."

The King regained his composure, and raised his sword on high.

"Have at you!"
King Knud, bleeding and sore from the prolonged fight, raised his sword high over his head hoping to land a crushing blow on Magnus. But in doing so, he made his attack predictable, allowing ample time to Magnus to prepare a block.

Knud's blade slided upon Magnus' own, carrying him forward with the strength of the blow, allowing the latter to land a blow on his back with the flat of his blade. A blow to the proferred neck would have separated the royal head from the rest of the body, had Magnus taken the opportunity.

"King Knud, you would be dead by now if not for my mercy... Surrender and go back to your land... Your honour is safe as is your son's... He died a warrior's death... I truly wished he had lived but as stubborn as his father, he would not surrender and fought to the bitter end."

Keeping a safe distance from Knud, Magnus circled him, awaiting his answer.
The King straightened himself up, and let out a long sigh. He lifted his visor to look at von Saxony.

"Very well, Magnus von Saxony. I will leave. If you are willing to forgo this duel then I am willing to overlook your transgressions against my Kingdom. But know this." The King leveled his sword at Magnus. "If you should attack my lands again, next time I will not be so constrained."

Without waiting for a reply, the King remounts his horse, and rides away with his guards.
Watching the King ride away, Magnus saluted with his sword, then wiped it on his sleeve before sheathing it back. Once the King's out of sight, Magnus slowly turned back to his camp.

[_Tristan_]

Double post

[Cecil XIX]

Silesia, 1084 AD

"My King, will it really be this simple? Can we really defeat the Empire?"

The question hung in the air like freshly-baked bread wafting into the command tent. Władysław I Herman strode across the room before banging the palm of his hand against the main map that was unfurled on the table.

"We can! We absolutely can! We've all heard the stories: How the Reich is bankrupt, how the Electors cannot afford their armies and are already in debt to support them. The so-called "Saxon Rebellion" has turned the Empire into a house of cards!"

The King removed his hand from the map using to to gesture in support of his speech.

"Most likely they will try to throw their soldiers at us, using this war as an excuse to trim their military expenditures to a sustainable level. But that will take time, during which all but two will be incapable of replacing losses. And even the Whole provinces, such as Brandenburg and Bohemia, have no ability what so ever. What shall they replace their knights and sergeants with? Peasants? Town militia? Or shall they continue to rely ever so much on expensive and difficult to replace mercenaries?"

As the King continued, he pointed to the north of Germany.

"The civil strife in the Empire has concentrated their forces in the north, as the loyalists squashed the rebellion. And now Leopold, no doubt trying to increase his financial clout within the Empire, has left himself vulnerable."

Without breaking his concentration, the King made an abrupt about-face and marched out of the tent and out to the camp, his aides following behind him.

"All we have to do is sweep him before us, and there will be no one to stop us from conquering Austria! With Austria's wealth taken from the Empire and added to our own, the Reich will have lost too much revenue to defeat us."

One of the King's more astute advisors spoke up. "What about the Emperor? He has one of the largest armies in the world, and he's far from bankrupt!"

Władysław smirked to himself as he mounted his sword, preparing for battle. "The Kaiser will simply have to ask himself a question. For what does it profit a man if he gains Poland but loses all the Holy Roman Empire?"

With a wave of his hand his dismissed his men to finish preparing themselves for the battle at hand. In this brief, quiet moment he thought to himself.

"Of course, this is only possible because of that otherworldy donation we recieved. How could anyone give away such a huge sum of florins?"

In the few remaining moments the King of Poland had to himself, the again pondered the emblem that accompanied those 22,000 florins, the only mark to identify the benefactor.

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