Britannia Hotseat Story Thread

[Zim]

As the name says, this thread is for any campaign stories the Britannia Hotseat players would like to post. It will probably lag behind the game a turn or two, so that noone gives anything away.

[Privateerkev]

Turn 1: 1258

Alexander sat up in his bed. He couldn't sleep. He looked over at the body shaped lump under the big bearskin blanket next to him. He watched as her breathing moved the blanket up and down. She was fair and beautiful and Alexander still couldn't believe she was his wife. A princess of England no less. King Henry obviously wanted to solidify an ally up to his north. Well, he sure picked a good way to do it. Eventually, when they came of age, Queen Margaret had earned her keep.

Alexander had become King of Scotland on July 13th 1249 at the young age of 8 due to the death of his father. Due to his young age, different groups tried to rule the Kingdom in his name. One group was led by Walter Comyn, Earl of Menteith, and the other by Alan Durward, Justiciar of Scotia. Both groups feuded bitterly over control of Scotland. Two years later, the King of England has decided to influence Scottish affairs and offered his daughter to Alexander even though he was only 10. She was only a year older and they wed on December 26th 1251.

Only children, their marriage was little more than symbolic. And Alexander ruled in name only. But they grew up together. And they planned. In this last year, they decided it was time for Alexander to seize control of his Kingdom. Though he was not supposed to rule until he was 21, Margaret was able to use her influence and friendship with the ladies of the court to gather gossip. The Scottish nobles running things liked their nocturnal activities. And they liked to boast and gossip to women they hoped to impress.

This information made it's way back to Margaret who then would redirect it to other parties. Eventually, massive infighting developed among the Scottish nobles. In that vacuum, Alexander came of age at 17 and started to rule officially. The night that happened, an 18 year old Margaret came into his room to celebrate. And they celebrated all night long and it became "their" room from then on.

Now husband and wife in deeds, hearts, and words, Alexander and Margaret started to plan the direction for their Kingdom. Alexander wanted to continue his father's work of pushing the Norse out of ancient Scottish lands. And Margaret wanted to ensure that Scotland would be a powerful and loyal ally of her father, King Henry of England.

Together, they would help direct the destiny of the 5 Kingdoms on the Isles. Happy and content, Alexander leaned over to his wife's sleeping form, kissed her matted hair, was pleased at the happy noise it produced, and tried to get back to sleep.

[RoadKill]

Turn 1: 1258

King Lewllyn stood outside his tent, as it wavered around in the gentle winds. He has took his massive force and seiged the neighbouring English settlement. King Lewllyn had doubts, the Welsh are only one-tenth of the kingdom of England. But risks must be taken. His men were ready, the catapults were ready his knights were ready. He truly did not want this, but the welsh must secure their border. Lewllyn truly hoped that the English will meet his demands. All he wanted was Cardiff to secure his border and he would lay off this seige.

A soldier sprinted towards King Lewllyn. out of breathe he spoke, "King Lewllyn, my majesty, the diplomatic agreements have been met, the English agreed to our demands. Once the snow fades a diplomat will arrive at our gates and give us Cardiff as long as we have a ceasefire and lay off this seige, they even added an addition of trade aggrements.

King Lewllyn had a bright smile on his face, he stood upon this highest point in the camp, and his knights quickly struck a loud bell. soldiers came out of their tents to see what the announcements was

"My brave soldiers, you were ready to give your lives, you were ready to sacrafice anything for me, but today will not be the day it will happen. The English has met our demands and we will have a ceasefire the moment we receive Cardiff. The soldiers grabbed their swords and swung them in the air cheering.

King Lewllyn was glad that blood indeed has not been spilt.

[Cheetah]

Turn 1: 1258

The strong wind blew the salty water into the face of King Haakon.
"A few more days and we will reach Orkney" -thought the King.
When he looked back he saw one of the largest fleet ever assembled by Norwegian Kings. All sterns pointing towards the same direction, all hearts burning from the same desire ...

[phonicsmonkey]

Turn 1: 1258

As the last notes of the song died away the tavern erupted into a frenzy of dancing and singing.

The bard Dougall hastened to drain his tankerd and began to make his way through the mass of men to the back of the bar, and up a flight of narrow stairs.

The song of Cúchulainn was ever likely to stir the hearts of Ulstermen, but he sensed a new defiance in the air of Derry this night.

The English, whose boots once trampled heavily the streets of the town, were huddled together, fearful in their fort. They patrolled the battlements, peering nervously into the darkness and sending their Irish servants out for food and supplies.

Men in hooded cloaks had been arriving in the town for some days under cover of dark, and it was common knowledge amongst the townsfolk that cartloads of pitchforks and pruning hooks had been stowed in the marketplace.

These were dangerous times in Derry and time was of the essence.

In a small box room above the bar, at a small square table sat a burly man with a shock of red hair. He wore a grubby white shirt sleeves with sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a dirty leather butcher's apron. It was Fergal the tavern-keeper. He sneered at the bard as he leaned back in his chair in the candlelight with his big arms crossed.

"Ah Dougall, so here y'ar with yer serpent words from King Brian, are ye?"

Dougall tilted his head with a soft smile.

"Now Fergal, let's have none of that. You know me from the old days, we used to play at hurling together as lads, roight? Now all the King wants is for ye to wait a little lahnger, be a little patient? Is that so much of a thing?"

Fergal's face twisted with rage and he bashed a ham fist down on the table.

"Aye it is, it is indeed. Plans are afoot and your snivelling dog of a King has done nothing for the men of Derry of late, leaving us to the mercy of the English pigs. It's time for us to be strong and make our own destiny."

Dougall's face grew stern.

"The King will be mightily displeased to hear of this Fergal - Oi'd be very careful if I was y..ACH!"

The bard fell forward, knocking over the table, clutching at his slit throat and grabbing at Fergal as he collapsed onto the floor.

As he choked on his blood and writhed on the floor, he heard another voice from behind the door. The voice of his killer.

"Aye my man, he will. But by then it'll be too late....."

[Cheetah]

Turn 2

Prince Magnus at the Isle of Mann gathered his war council as he received the orders from his mighty father. There will be war and he will play and important role in it. His father gathered one of the largest fleet Norway ever say in the last hundred year to reestablish his controll over north of Scotland and the Hebrides. Prince Magnus' task will be to lead the forces of the Kingdom of Mann into Ireland to reclaim settlements like Dublin, founded by the Norse people.
When he looked over the council he saw eager faces, this was their life, this was their living. There were only a very few questions asked. The fleet will be ready soon, the army can embark any time.
According to norse traditions Prince Magnus named his heir in case he might die in battle. He chosed a noble Knud of Qaanag, a talented but young man, from a family with high connections so that other will accept his lead without hesitation in the unlikely case he will die.
The meeting did not last long, the prince displayed confidence through the whole meeting, but deep inside he had his doubts about the plan of his mighty father.

[phonicsmonkey]

Turn 2

The hooded figure slipped quietly out of Prince Magnus' bedchamber and made his way down the darkened passage.

From around a corner came the sound of drunken voices in song. He looked around frantically to the left, to the right, but there was nowhere to conceal himself.

Taking a deep breath he stood up tall and walked around the corner, to see the Prince draped over the shoulders of a couple of wenches, flagon of ale in hand and singing a bawdy song.

As he bustled past the group Magnus shouted after him in angry drunken Norse, before turning his attentions back to one of the wenches, who yelped with surprise.

"Good night, sweet Prince" he thought, his face twisting into a sneer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Turn 3

King Domnall stood on the battlements and looked out over the town of Derry.

The town was alive with celebration, with street parties and music, drinking and song all commemorating this wondrous day - the day that Ireland was finally united and free from tyranny.

Domnall knew that all across the land the scene would be the same, with the Irish at once celebrating their long-sought-after freedom, and toasting to the memory of his father the late King Brian, who was cruelly slain by the marauding Norse on the very eve of his great triumph.

Domnall turned to his equerry. "Saddle up my charger, boy - we ride."

Some minutes later the boy watched as Domnall and his men rode out through the ancient gates of Derry leaving a cloud of dust in their wake.

He looked up at the gate, from which the head of the traitor Fergal still hung, black and stinking, and he began to throw stones at it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

R.I.P. King Brian O'Connor, who fell in battle this day AD 1260 defending his lands against the Viking invader.

King Brian will be remembered always as the man who unified Ireland, and takes his place at God's side among the heroes of Ulster.

[phonicsmonkey]

Turn 20

King Domnall sat atop his charger on the rocky beach, looking out over the slate-grey sea at the distant fog-enshrouded mountaintops of the Scottish Highlands.

The Norse War had been long and hard, and there was no guarantee that even now it was coming to an end.

Many Irish lives had been lost since the Triple Alliance of England, Scotland and Ireland vowed to drive the Vikings from the British Isles.

At first it had seemed like it would be quick work to send the bearded men back to the North from whence they came; first the Isle of Man, then Islay, then Mull and Stornoway had fallen to the allied forces.

But the Norse had fought back tenaciously in the heartlands of Scotland, taking Inverness, Inverlochy, Wick and Stirling from the Scots, who died by the score upon the cruel blades of their rough-hewn battleaxes.

For a time it had seemed like Scotland would cease to be, as first King Alexander and then his successor King Patrick had fallen in battle vainly defending Scottish soil, plunging the Scottish leadership into political turmoil.

Domnall could hardly recall the face of the latest Scottish king (Donald?) although he knew they had met and hunted grouse together as boys at Balmoral when his late father King Brian had paid a visit of state to the Scots.

Father, he thought, if only you had seen your murderer Knud brought to his end, friendless and alone in a miserable fen after falling out with King Haakon and taking to the woods with his men, executed by his own people as a common bandit.

He shook his head to clear it and brought his thoughts back to the present situation.

With the Welsh joining the war and the Norse armies skulking in the forests, the net seemed to be tightening around old King Haakon..

A boy trotted up on a small, sturdy pony, clutching a scroll sealed with wax.

"Your highness Sir, news from the front!"