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((Before you begin reading I’d just like to explain a little about this future chapter. These future series of “Percival tales” are something I have created when I want to tell the story from a different point of view and a slightly different narrative style. It won’t completely dominate the story but I like this change, and it’s not a detour because it serves to move along the story. Like I said, it’s just a small change in perspective because I have always told this from a king’s view but now it is from a soldier’s. I believe that it creates more depth to the story and I hope you enjoy it.))
Chapter 6: A Percival Tale – Two weeks to Despotism
1st entry of the Book of Percivals – The Life of Frederik Percival
Monday October 14th 1472
How did my family, if I may ask the good Lord, get itself intertwined with the happenings of Holland? I kept asking myself this on the return voyage from Egypt. Already, I have fought in two terrible, bloodthirsty wars and with asking this question I have realized that only I carry the secret of the Percival family. I am the only one in my family who has not been consumed by the tides of war, or who has been told the whole truth from my male ancestors. So now I have decided to put on paper the terrible happenings of my family, and it all started with my great-great-grandfather, Frederik Percival.
Tuesday, January 7th 1375
It’s true, bold and brash was my great-great-grandfather as most people say he was. On January 7th he awoke in an exhausted state, on the day of his coming of age, inside a castle barracks. He had always said that a life in the army of a lord had suited him more than one in the fields, his mother never believed him.
And so he was now here, in the army barracks, slowly creeping he back to life as every soldier did that day. Painful and slow were the words to describe that morning for today was a day of battle; the soldiers would have to fight for their lives.
Though thankfully it was only a small rebellion and the men did not worry too much. Yet even the with thoughts of death the young Frederik realized it would be his first battle, and both excitement mingled with fear warmed his heart and chilled his spine. It was a peculiar sensation, but the young Frederik enjoyed it. As he arose the door swing open.
“Come on! Come on! Wake up men or you’ll be washing the castle for the next month!” spat the sergeant-at-arms, hitting the soldiers to get them up. The men groaned as they crawled out of their bunks.
“You there,” he said as he smacked the head of a soldier for not waking up.
“Me sir?” asked the young Frederik, snapping at attention while being addressed.
“Yes you boy! Come here!”
Frederik quickly rushed through the men, avoiding them so he doesn’t smack into them. His bare feet, for he did not have time yet to put on boots, felt the bitter cold stone floor. After rushing towards the end of the barracks the sergeant spoke to him.
“Soldier, I need a messenger to get to Amsterdam. All my regular couriers are out right now and this is urgent. You look like a strong lad so, here, take this parcel, don’t look inside or it’s worth your head. You are to deliver this to Adelbert von Ritmensen. Now go and saddle up.”
“But Sir, it’s my first battle and…”
The sergeant’s grim scare shut him up.
“Yes Sir,” he said with a disappointed voice. His heart had given a quick halt and dropped lower. Well, at least he did not have to carry his heavy heart for he went on horseback. He soon left the walls of the castle and went to Amsterdam. With a parcel that he naturally did not suspect, yet held the fate of our country in his hands.
He rode by tall Dutch houses on both sides, though they decreased in size as he rode along. It seemed that no one walked in this street, probably all of them out and about. As he neared the end he did see a man walking towards him, and behind him a cloaked figure, prowling.
The man in front was richly adorned, with many rings on his figure and a silk cloak about him. He approached leisurely, as if taking a mid-morning stroll, and he did not take note of his surroundings for he was clearly enshrouded in thought.
The cloaked man, though, was catching up to the first man.
“You there! Boy! This street is closed, didn’t you see us guards,” came a voice, but this wasn’t from the street, it was from a soldier from behind. As he was about to turn to exit he saw a glimpse of some silver shine from the corner of his eyes. As his head finally turned around to look at what it really was, followed by protest from the guards, he realized that it was the silver shine of a knife!
Frederik then wrenched the reins of his steed and made it go at a fiery speed towards this assassin. The guard jolted in an attempt to catch the horse, but that attempt was clearly folly for he was too far away.
“Watch out! Behind you!” shouted Frederik as he quickly galloping towards the scene. The rich man looked behind and plummeted forwards, missing the knife swing by one millimetre. Frederik then rammed his horse on the assassin, sending him backwards.
Frederik dismounted and approached the man to observe his state and offer his help. The man said he was fine and quickly ascended from the floor.
“Is there any more of them,” the man said. He then glanced sideways with alacrity and it seemed that both the guard and the assassin had withdrawn from the scene of the ambuscade.
“Good,” once more spoke the man whilst taking his hood down, revealing a crown.
“My liege,” said Frederik while he plummeted to the floor in a humble bow and raised his sword homage to his lord.
“Oh stop with that! You can rise my boy,” he said with a kind cheerfulness, as a father who speaks to his son, “you just saved my life.” When Frederik ascended the king spoke again, “So, tell me boy what brings you here to Amsterdam. Judging by your uniform I’d say you were in the army.”
“Yes sir, I am in the army. I’ve been sent to deliver this parcel to Adelbert von Ritmensen.”
“Oh, really,” said the king, chuckling under his breath, “yes, I’d like to know how some of my “loyal guards”, and I use the term loosely, communicate with him. Give me that parcel now.”
Frederik handed him the parcel, clearly he would not deny his king, even if the sergeant-at-arms had told him that it would mean his life. The king snatched it from his hands as if coveting a treasure. Frederik felt the king’s uneasiness and excitement towards the closed parcel. The king then opened it with a knife, for it was well tightened (clearly the sergeant did not trust anyone), and snatched out what seemed to be paper.
“It’s a letter,” said the king. “And it says – We strike now.”
“Oh no. I believe I’ve entered in this dangerous conflict! Just like my deceased brother did!” Frederik bellowed as his face turned pale.
“What? Aren’t you in the army? You should be expecting death! And what did you say about your brother. What do you mean he got in ‘this’ conflict”
“Oh sorry sir….ummmm… slip of the tong,” said Frederik nervously in an attempt to cover up. He slowly backed up from the king.
“Hey stop there! You’re not going to get away easily before you begin to explain things,” said the king. Albert then grabbed Frederik on the shoulders and said in a fatherly tone, “Look son, you must tell me what you mean. If you know something it could mean the entire fate of Holland.”
“I…” gulped Frederik, his throat gripped with pangs of fear, “I…”
“Tell me son!”
“I know who killed your father!”
Chapter 6: A Percival Tale – Two weeks to Despotism
1st entry of the Book of Percivals – The Life of Frederik Percival
Monday October 14th 1472
How did my family, if I may ask the good Lord, get itself intertwined with the happenings of Holland? I kept asking myself this on the return voyage from Egypt. Already, I have fought in two terrible, bloodthirsty wars and with asking this question I have realized that only I carry the secret of the Percival family. I am the only one in my family who has not been consumed by the tides of war, or who has been told the whole truth from my male ancestors. So now I have decided to put on paper the terrible happenings of my family, and it all started with my great-great-grandfather, Frederik Percival.
Tuesday, January 7th 1375
It’s true, bold and brash was my great-great-grandfather as most people say he was. On January 7th he awoke in an exhausted state, on the day of his coming of age, inside a castle barracks. He had always said that a life in the army of a lord had suited him more than one in the fields, his mother never believed him.
And so he was now here, in the army barracks, slowly creeping he back to life as every soldier did that day. Painful and slow were the words to describe that morning for today was a day of battle; the soldiers would have to fight for their lives.
Though thankfully it was only a small rebellion and the men did not worry too much. Yet even the with thoughts of death the young Frederik realized it would be his first battle, and both excitement mingled with fear warmed his heart and chilled his spine. It was a peculiar sensation, but the young Frederik enjoyed it. As he arose the door swing open.
“Come on! Come on! Wake up men or you’ll be washing the castle for the next month!” spat the sergeant-at-arms, hitting the soldiers to get them up. The men groaned as they crawled out of their bunks.
“You there,” he said as he smacked the head of a soldier for not waking up.
“Me sir?” asked the young Frederik, snapping at attention while being addressed.
“Yes you boy! Come here!”
Frederik quickly rushed through the men, avoiding them so he doesn’t smack into them. His bare feet, for he did not have time yet to put on boots, felt the bitter cold stone floor. After rushing towards the end of the barracks the sergeant spoke to him.
“Soldier, I need a messenger to get to Amsterdam. All my regular couriers are out right now and this is urgent. You look like a strong lad so, here, take this parcel, don’t look inside or it’s worth your head. You are to deliver this to Adelbert von Ritmensen. Now go and saddle up.”
“But Sir, it’s my first battle and…”
The sergeant’s grim scare shut him up.
“Yes Sir,” he said with a disappointed voice. His heart had given a quick halt and dropped lower. Well, at least he did not have to carry his heavy heart for he went on horseback. He soon left the walls of the castle and went to Amsterdam. With a parcel that he naturally did not suspect, yet held the fate of our country in his hands.
***
Amsterdam, nothing much had changed since the death of William V von Wittelsbach; most of the city still rested by the river Amstel, with a few canals here and there. My great-great-grandfather rode towards the palace so to ask the whereabouts of Adelbert von Ritmensen. He went by the river and due to some heavy traffic he turned towards another street that also led towards the palace.He rode by tall Dutch houses on both sides, though they decreased in size as he rode along. It seemed that no one walked in this street, probably all of them out and about. As he neared the end he did see a man walking towards him, and behind him a cloaked figure, prowling.
The man in front was richly adorned, with many rings on his figure and a silk cloak about him. He approached leisurely, as if taking a mid-morning stroll, and he did not take note of his surroundings for he was clearly enshrouded in thought.
The cloaked man, though, was catching up to the first man.
“You there! Boy! This street is closed, didn’t you see us guards,” came a voice, but this wasn’t from the street, it was from a soldier from behind. As he was about to turn to exit he saw a glimpse of some silver shine from the corner of his eyes. As his head finally turned around to look at what it really was, followed by protest from the guards, he realized that it was the silver shine of a knife!
Frederik then wrenched the reins of his steed and made it go at a fiery speed towards this assassin. The guard jolted in an attempt to catch the horse, but that attempt was clearly folly for he was too far away.
“Watch out! Behind you!” shouted Frederik as he quickly galloping towards the scene. The rich man looked behind and plummeted forwards, missing the knife swing by one millimetre. Frederik then rammed his horse on the assassin, sending him backwards.
Frederik dismounted and approached the man to observe his state and offer his help. The man said he was fine and quickly ascended from the floor.
“Is there any more of them,” the man said. He then glanced sideways with alacrity and it seemed that both the guard and the assassin had withdrawn from the scene of the ambuscade.
“Good,” once more spoke the man whilst taking his hood down, revealing a crown.
“My liege,” said Frederik while he plummeted to the floor in a humble bow and raised his sword homage to his lord.
“Oh stop with that! You can rise my boy,” he said with a kind cheerfulness, as a father who speaks to his son, “you just saved my life.” When Frederik ascended the king spoke again, “So, tell me boy what brings you here to Amsterdam. Judging by your uniform I’d say you were in the army.”
“Yes sir, I am in the army. I’ve been sent to deliver this parcel to Adelbert von Ritmensen.”
“Oh, really,” said the king, chuckling under his breath, “yes, I’d like to know how some of my “loyal guards”, and I use the term loosely, communicate with him. Give me that parcel now.”
Frederik handed him the parcel, clearly he would not deny his king, even if the sergeant-at-arms had told him that it would mean his life. The king snatched it from his hands as if coveting a treasure. Frederik felt the king’s uneasiness and excitement towards the closed parcel. The king then opened it with a knife, for it was well tightened (clearly the sergeant did not trust anyone), and snatched out what seemed to be paper.
“It’s a letter,” said the king. “And it says – We strike now.”
“Oh no. I believe I’ve entered in this dangerous conflict! Just like my deceased brother did!” Frederik bellowed as his face turned pale.
“What? Aren’t you in the army? You should be expecting death! And what did you say about your brother. What do you mean he got in ‘this’ conflict”
“Oh sorry sir….ummmm… slip of the tong,” said Frederik nervously in an attempt to cover up. He slowly backed up from the king.
“Hey stop there! You’re not going to get away easily before you begin to explain things,” said the king. Albert then grabbed Frederik on the shoulders and said in a fatherly tone, “Look son, you must tell me what you mean. If you know something it could mean the entire fate of Holland.”
“I…” gulped Frederik, his throat gripped with pangs of fear, “I…”
“Tell me son!”
“I know who killed your father!”
*Dramatic music*
BUM BUM BUM
Very good, and well written. I like this story, hope to see more.
Wonder how he knows who killed his father...
BUM BUM BUM
Very good, and well written. I like this story, hope to see more.
Wonder how he knows who killed his father...
O this is getting good. Now he knows for certain who killed his father!! And the attack on himself!!!
I wonder what he is going to do with them???
I wonder what he is going to do with them???
Thanks, I'll have to continue writting the next chapter and hopefully post it soon.
Thanks, the best thing about writing a story is that I already know the answers.
Nicely written. There were a few spelling and such mistakes, so my only advice to you is to proof read it again as you post, or ask someone here if they'd do it (I volunteer if you'd like!).
Otherwise, very nice. I look forward to more.
Otherwise, very nice. I look forward to more.
Chapter 7: A Percival Tale – Conspiracy Unmasked
“What?” coughed the king, changing his mood from calm and fatherly to dumbfounded and furious, “You lie! Or you’re the one who did it! Now don’t lie anymore!”
“No!” retorted Frederik after being accused, Frederik then cowered after making this outburst in front of his king. Knowing he would have to respond, and not daring to foresee the consequences of denial, he continued, “Truly! I know! But I didn’t do any of it. I… I was only a small boy when it happened…”
“It was simply a cold September night, like the ones we always had by the cold river on our distant farm. Lately, for the last couple of months, my brother Gerolt Percival had sneaked out around somewhere and with my natural childlike curiosity, for I was still a child, I decided it would be best to follow his footsteps to see what he was up to. Night was still in its infancy, and both my mother and my siblings had ceased the search for me or my brother. I had almost given my position in the trees with my chuckles of laughter, but I had managed to restrain myself.
Soon, I had scurried quietly down the same trail that I had seen my brother take. Though among all these trees I began to despair for I realized that I should have immediately followed him instead of hiding first. I would have lain down and wept, for I was also lost, had I not heard voices from nearby on a river. Yes, it was the river Amstel. One voice was mysterious to me, yet the other one was my own brother.
“Quickly, quickly,” whispered the stranger, “get on or it’ll be too late by the time we get there.”
“Ok. Ok,” answered my brother”
On what I wondered. So I dared to creep by more and there appeared two hooded figures, only identifiable by their voices for the night’s darkness dominated the earth more and more. The one I had identified as my brother went on a small boat, like the ones I saw them use to fish on the coast once. And soon, they cast off.
I followed by land, and tread with silent stealth. And every single moment of the night I wanted to halt my pursuit for my feet had begun to ach after all the day’s work; my stomach begged, for I had missed dinner in my hiding; and my mind also staggered, in its tiredness. Yet, as my mental discussion of whether I should head home or continue on this trek went on, we soon arrived near the edge of the city of Amsterdam.
Being in the country all my life I had never seen such a peculiar grouping of houses before. They all lined up, following the river as it twined like a snake. It astounded me and the palaces, with its leviathan like towers standing high above the town, put me in a state of dazed stupor. Though luckily, even as my mind seemed to halt before this wondrous beauty, my feet kept treading the path. Soon I realized I was in the very nucleus of the town, the men disembarked.
From that moment I had come into a stark realization: the night had entombed the earth in its nebulous power. Due to my youth I was aggravated by some inner instincts at the darkness and the menacing figure that accompanied my brother, like some of those morbid stories of evil creatures that plague the night. Yet it seemed that I was halved, for in my other half there laid the love for my brother, and all I wished was to go see him. And yet the instincts became my master, fear governed me, and I hid myself behind some bushel.
The two conspirers approached another man; he was richly adorned like some evil lord in the night. They spoke of a plan to kill the king. My brother was merely a pawn in their play for power, a pawn to later be sacrificed…
Tuesday, January 7th 1375
“What?” coughed the king, changing his mood from calm and fatherly to dumbfounded and furious, “You lie! Or you’re the one who did it! Now don’t lie anymore!”
“No!” retorted Frederik after being accused, Frederik then cowered after making this outburst in front of his king. Knowing he would have to respond, and not daring to foresee the consequences of denial, he continued, “Truly! I know! But I didn’t do any of it. I… I was only a small boy when it happened…”
***
Frederik Percival’s Account
Frederik Percival’s Account
“It was simply a cold September night, like the ones we always had by the cold river on our distant farm. Lately, for the last couple of months, my brother Gerolt Percival had sneaked out around somewhere and with my natural childlike curiosity, for I was still a child, I decided it would be best to follow his footsteps to see what he was up to. Night was still in its infancy, and both my mother and my siblings had ceased the search for me or my brother. I had almost given my position in the trees with my chuckles of laughter, but I had managed to restrain myself.
Soon, I had scurried quietly down the same trail that I had seen my brother take. Though among all these trees I began to despair for I realized that I should have immediately followed him instead of hiding first. I would have lain down and wept, for I was also lost, had I not heard voices from nearby on a river. Yes, it was the river Amstel. One voice was mysterious to me, yet the other one was my own brother.
“Quickly, quickly,” whispered the stranger, “get on or it’ll be too late by the time we get there.”
“Ok. Ok,” answered my brother”
On what I wondered. So I dared to creep by more and there appeared two hooded figures, only identifiable by their voices for the night’s darkness dominated the earth more and more. The one I had identified as my brother went on a small boat, like the ones I saw them use to fish on the coast once. And soon, they cast off.
I followed by land, and tread with silent stealth. And every single moment of the night I wanted to halt my pursuit for my feet had begun to ach after all the day’s work; my stomach begged, for I had missed dinner in my hiding; and my mind also staggered, in its tiredness. Yet, as my mental discussion of whether I should head home or continue on this trek went on, we soon arrived near the edge of the city of Amsterdam.
Being in the country all my life I had never seen such a peculiar grouping of houses before. They all lined up, following the river as it twined like a snake. It astounded me and the palaces, with its leviathan like towers standing high above the town, put me in a state of dazed stupor. Though luckily, even as my mind seemed to halt before this wondrous beauty, my feet kept treading the path. Soon I realized I was in the very nucleus of the town, the men disembarked.
From that moment I had come into a stark realization: the night had entombed the earth in its nebulous power. Due to my youth I was aggravated by some inner instincts at the darkness and the menacing figure that accompanied my brother, like some of those morbid stories of evil creatures that plague the night. Yet it seemed that I was halved, for in my other half there laid the love for my brother, and all I wished was to go see him. And yet the instincts became my master, fear governed me, and I hid myself behind some bushel.
The two conspirers approached another man; he was richly adorned like some evil lord in the night. They spoke of a plan to kill the king. My brother was merely a pawn in their play for power, a pawn to later be sacrificed…
Sorry guys I've been busy.
Thanks, I'll make sure to proofread. I've already got someone here who wants to read it and correct it so you don't have to. But thanks for the offer.
Thanks, I'll make sure to proofread. I've already got someone here who wants to read it and correct it so you don't have to. But thanks for the offer.
Hey guys, quick question about photos. Sometimes I try to put photos to add to the story. All the photos that aren't mine I have previously checked to be free to the media (not copyrighted). Do all the photos I put on have to be free? I guess so but I'm not sure.
Your welcome.
Thanks for the update.
can't wait to read the rest.
Your welcome.
No, as long as you own the copyright its ok (but don't forget that anything on this forum, the copyright in turn belongs to Paradox), so if its either free or you buy it .. both are ok, but of course you have to link to them via a proper image hosting site, not to where they are currently.
Chapter 8- Finally, Despotism Arrives
The king was, simply put, completely and utterly bewildered. His visage showed it: his mouth lay gaped and his face was crimson pale. It was all true, yes he had suspected of some treason, but this was too much for him. The stark and terrible realization of one of his greatest friend’s betrayal came like a terrible blow. A final blow that would change him: it was to make him stronger and ever so more terrible.
His patience was at an end, he was to act swiftly, the young Percival could see this in the king’s eyes. It was pure flame, one of terror and hate.
“Come with me boy,” stated the king, “you are one I can surely trust for it seems that anyone of high rank is either a conspirer or a king these days. Come on! Come on! Don’t stand there stupefied. We really do have a job to do and, boy, if you prove to be as resourceful and cunning as you are now, it’ll be worth it.”
The young Percival followed after his liege “Yes sir,” he said overflowing with excitement and patriotism.
The king smiled and muttered, “Time to see some old ‘friends’.”
Outside the gates of the king’s throne room were gathered many lords and nobles of the kingdom of Holland. They all muttered amongst themselves, curious as to this meeting’s purpose. Rarely did the king have his nobles together without reason, but it did happen. Amongst them were Aart and his father.
“Maybe,” whispered Aart to his co-conspirators, his voice mixed with nervousness and hopefulness, “maybe the king is dead and we finally get the kingdom. This could be the ‘grave’ announcement. ”
The younger conspirators enjoyed this idea and agreed.
“Don’t be a fool,” said his father, “if he was dead we’d already have known it. Aart, I don’t like this. In the last two weeks we have had many attempts and all have failed. It seems that the king has been prying around our homes for information. He has been unnecessarily careful. Truly, I don’t like this.”
The next moment was all a blur in the minds of the nobles, they felt cold hands push them inside the gates, they were all soon in prostrate forms. They all bowed, in a way, to their liege.
The king arose from his throne. Above him stood the flag of the Orange Lion in its marvelous pride, its great mane appeared as if flowing in the wind, it was the living embodiment of the king’s ferocity.
“Traitors! Traitors all of you! No loyalty for Holland! No loyalty to the king! No loyalty to the Holy Roman Empire! All you care for is your land and your affluence. Well, now you have no more. You all should be hanged but I believe a greater punishment is exile. Be off with you all! This is my kingdom now, and it will be tight in my grasp. You have made this so.”
Tuesday, January 7th 1375
The king was, simply put, completely and utterly bewildered. His visage showed it: his mouth lay gaped and his face was crimson pale. It was all true, yes he had suspected of some treason, but this was too much for him. The stark and terrible realization of one of his greatest friend’s betrayal came like a terrible blow. A final blow that would change him: it was to make him stronger and ever so more terrible.
His patience was at an end, he was to act swiftly, the young Percival could see this in the king’s eyes. It was pure flame, one of terror and hate.
“Come with me boy,” stated the king, “you are one I can surely trust for it seems that anyone of high rank is either a conspirer or a king these days. Come on! Come on! Don’t stand there stupefied. We really do have a job to do and, boy, if you prove to be as resourceful and cunning as you are now, it’ll be worth it.”
The young Percival followed after his liege “Yes sir,” he said overflowing with excitement and patriotism.
The king smiled and muttered, “Time to see some old ‘friends’.”
***
Wednesday January 21st
Wednesday January 21st
Outside the gates of the king’s throne room were gathered many lords and nobles of the kingdom of Holland. They all muttered amongst themselves, curious as to this meeting’s purpose. Rarely did the king have his nobles together without reason, but it did happen. Amongst them were Aart and his father.
“Maybe,” whispered Aart to his co-conspirators, his voice mixed with nervousness and hopefulness, “maybe the king is dead and we finally get the kingdom. This could be the ‘grave’ announcement. ”
The younger conspirators enjoyed this idea and agreed.
“Don’t be a fool,” said his father, “if he was dead we’d already have known it. Aart, I don’t like this. In the last two weeks we have had many attempts and all have failed. It seems that the king has been prying around our homes for information. He has been unnecessarily careful. Truly, I don’t like this.”
The next moment was all a blur in the minds of the nobles, they felt cold hands push them inside the gates, they were all soon in prostrate forms. They all bowed, in a way, to their liege.
The king arose from his throne. Above him stood the flag of the Orange Lion in its marvelous pride, its great mane appeared as if flowing in the wind, it was the living embodiment of the king’s ferocity.
“Traitors! Traitors all of you! No loyalty for Holland! No loyalty to the king! No loyalty to the Holy Roman Empire! All you care for is your land and your affluence. Well, now you have no more. You all should be hanged but I believe a greater punishment is exile. Be off with you all! This is my kingdom now, and it will be tight in my grasp. You have made this so.”
Actually I don't think Holland had a king at this point. Most likely it would have been a count or a duke. This is just me nittpicking however, feel free to ignore it.
He exiled them out of the country. They can go wherever they want to.
Rifal said:
Yeah, they had a duke. You see the game said he was a king so I belived it before i did some of my research. In the next chapter I say he's a duke but calls himself king. You'll see.
Chapter 9: Reign of Terror
“ It seemed by now that no more enemies surrounded the inner circle of our king, but after being betrayed by a friend as dear as Aart (or which seemed once so dear) then the king would not stop his expansion for power until he consumed all the power from those that surrounded him – until he breathed it.
From then on terror struck the land, he was no longer a man with the power of a duke and the title of “king”, he was more– he was now a despot. He consolidated all power to himself, rewarding those loyal and punishing those disloyal.
Truly, in his mind there was no one he could lay his confidence that was not, of course, part of his family. And my grandfather, with his undying loyalty, had earned the confidence of the king and the king with his power granted my grandfather the rank of knight and adopted him in the family. Luckily there was no breach in code in Frederic becoming a knight for a young man could become a knight by showing his bravery and prowess on the battlefield, clearly his bravery was overabundant.
Slowly, like the very embodiment of the great lion, Albert would not rest until all beside him knelt and recognized his dominance. The gathering storm grew, with Albert as its orchestrator.”
-The Book of the Percivals
During the opening day of March the despot had launched into effect his plan to expand his influence over his domain. He was to centralize power to himself and his future son. Yet it did not go as smoothly as he had expected, the people revolted.
To him though, it was simply insignificant, his levy of soldiers rose up and annihilated the small band of rebels. With this the rebels’ hopes were crushed and none were to band together in armed rebellion for generations. The grasp of Albert had tightened.
Next he had arranged to begin with a mission he had received by the council of nobles, and approved by the newly reformed council, to subjugate the nearby state of Frielsand. Yet once again he planned a ruse, a false motive for war, and soon the invasion had begun.
7,000 troops, no matter their force of will, were no match for the onslaught of arms led by King Albert and his 14,000 men. Both armies were outnumbered two to one, though. Clearly the army from Holland outnumbered them in force of arms, but the army outnumbered them in another way – they had two lions on their flag instead of one.
Quality of the Lion, it seemed, bested quantity. Quantity of men, on the other hand, is a different story.[/COLOR]
“ It seemed by now that no more enemies surrounded the inner circle of our king, but after being betrayed by a friend as dear as Aart (or which seemed once so dear) then the king would not stop his expansion for power until he consumed all the power from those that surrounded him – until he breathed it.
From then on terror struck the land, he was no longer a man with the power of a duke and the title of “king”, he was more– he was now a despot. He consolidated all power to himself, rewarding those loyal and punishing those disloyal.
Truly, in his mind there was no one he could lay his confidence that was not, of course, part of his family. And my grandfather, with his undying loyalty, had earned the confidence of the king and the king with his power granted my grandfather the rank of knight and adopted him in the family. Luckily there was no breach in code in Frederic becoming a knight for a young man could become a knight by showing his bravery and prowess on the battlefield, clearly his bravery was overabundant.
Slowly, like the very embodiment of the great lion, Albert would not rest until all beside him knelt and recognized his dominance. The gathering storm grew, with Albert as its orchestrator.”
-The Book of the Percivals
Saturday, March 1st, 1375
During the opening day of March the despot had launched into effect his plan to expand his influence over his domain. He was to centralize power to himself and his future son. Yet it did not go as smoothly as he had expected, the people revolted.
To him though, it was simply insignificant, his levy of soldiers rose up and annihilated the small band of rebels. With this the rebels’ hopes were crushed and none were to band together in armed rebellion for generations. The grasp of Albert had tightened.
March 1st 1376
Next he had arranged to begin with a mission he had received by the council of nobles, and approved by the newly reformed council, to subjugate the nearby state of Frielsand. Yet once again he planned a ruse, a false motive for war, and soon the invasion had begun.
7,000 troops, no matter their force of will, were no match for the onslaught of arms led by King Albert and his 14,000 men. Both armies were outnumbered two to one, though. Clearly the army from Holland outnumbered them in force of arms, but the army outnumbered them in another way – they had two lions on their flag instead of one.
Quality of the Lion, it seemed, bested quantity. Quantity of men, on the other hand, is a different story.[/COLOR]
Another step good work.
What is your plan with Burgundy?
They will come calling sooner or later.
What is your plan with Burgundy?
They will come calling sooner or later.
Another step good work.
What is your plan with Burgundy?
They will come calling sooner or later.
Glad you're still following.
Basically, Burgundy seems very busy on the front with France so I actually see them as a much needed buffer zone. I do plan to conquer them when I have enough troops though. NOTE
Since I'm much farther in the game this is how I thought about them before. I'm talking like this, in the present tense, so I don't give away the supense.)