TEATRC tribute & universe expansion
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Très awesoume.
Why yes, indeed.
Time is non-linear to me!
Time is non-linear to me!
akuaku said:Was inspired to write a little something on my favourite minor character, do reprimand me if i get all the time lines and shtuf all wrong XD
Vilhjalmr the ginger
A sunny day 30 odd years ago , some 10 miles outside Wercheg, a young Nordic boy, perhaps in his early teens, with a crop of violent red hair tends to a filed while his father chops logs for the coming winter. Everything seems perfect and the two characters happy. But the heavily armed man appears, armed in a Huscarls helmet with an axe at his back and a sword at his belt. He is mounted on a white horse and, upon seeing the father, dismounts and approaches him. The two can be seen speaking in hushed voices; as if afraid the very trees are listening. The father nods, and with a solemn expression on his face enters his house, made in the traditional design, complete with the axe and shield above the hearth. The father exits the house after some time armed in a similar way to the messenger. He ruffle’s his sons fiery red hair and asks him to look after the hut for a while, and not to venture to far, grabs the family horse, off the traditional Nordic variety, unsuited for battle butt able to carry the heavy packs filled with rations, as well as the maill armoured warriors of the king.
Vilhjamr wakes up, it’s the same dream he has had since that day, 30 odd years ago in sunny Wercheg , the last time he saw his father before he was killed, without even hefting his axe, by a Laurian Arquebusier.
I like it, not much has been written about that subject I think. Nice to see this thread still going.
Venitius
Count
Wercheg 30 or so years ago was Swadian held, wasn't it?
Nordic detachment perhaps.
Nice to see another of the minor parties fleshed out. Leggy Aionos is the only left, right?
"Haelmar goes to war!"
The town crier shouted in the town square at Hyrmadon, proclaiming to the crowd under the bronze statue of Iohann I, Lion of Haelmar news of war.
Of course, nobody told the Laurians, or any other major power. Nobody even told the Queen, really.
Iohann, the Crown Prince had become regent a fortnight ago and had reformed the government with great vigor - he was determined to fight the Laurians once again and make Haelmar once again great. The navy had been stuck in Haelmar's great ports, anchored under the watchful citadels of the nation - from the Royal Harbour under great Haelmar itself to the anchorage of stone-walled Jaemtland. The army had rotted in its barracks, humiliated to stay in their home towns, with their numbers slowly dwindling due to the lack of recruiting and the works of Margaret's pen-pushers.
But once again mighty Haelmar would rise again from dismay - to regain lost honour and glory. That was the idea, anyway.
-------------------
Later that day a young man on a bay steed galloped along the well-worn dirt path towards the hunting lodge of one of the most illustrious men of the country - a famed marksman and noted as the commander of one of Haelmar's most elite units.
The man pulled hard on the reins, and the horse stopped, sweating on the compacted earth outside the lodge. The rider dismounted, adjusted his satchel and walked towards the wooden building. It looked completely normal, typical of any house that a woodsman in the northern lands would live in, were it not for the guard standing at attention outside. The rider walked up the wooden steps and knocked on the oaken door. It was answered by a lieutenant, who let the messenger in. The messenger walked into the main room of the house, warm due to a stone fireplace located opposite the door, the fire crackling, providing light to the dark room. Next to the fireplace a man poked at it from a wooden seat while opposite him another man, similarly attired in the uniform of a Jaeger, snored in a pile of pelts with a newspaper over his face.
The man seating stood up, and the messenger saluted him, and spoke.
"Sir, message from His Majesty."
He opened up his worn leather satchel and took out a message, and gave it to the man.
The officer snorted, then looked up at the messenger, then to his brother on the ground. He mumbled,
Well... I wish not to abandon my place among my men, yet duty calls me to lead a division. Or at least one of my family..
He turned the messenger, a lieutenant in the Royal Guard, and spoke,
"Give my compliments to His Majesty. Tell him Captain - no, Jaeger-"
Nordic detachment perhaps.
Nice to see another of the minor parties fleshed out. Leggy Aionos is the only left, right?
"Haelmar goes to war!"
The town crier shouted in the town square at Hyrmadon, proclaiming to the crowd under the bronze statue of Iohann I, Lion of Haelmar news of war.
Of course, nobody told the Laurians, or any other major power. Nobody even told the Queen, really.
Iohann, the Crown Prince had become regent a fortnight ago and had reformed the government with great vigor - he was determined to fight the Laurians once again and make Haelmar once again great. The navy had been stuck in Haelmar's great ports, anchored under the watchful citadels of the nation - from the Royal Harbour under great Haelmar itself to the anchorage of stone-walled Jaemtland. The army had rotted in its barracks, humiliated to stay in their home towns, with their numbers slowly dwindling due to the lack of recruiting and the works of Margaret's pen-pushers.
But once again mighty Haelmar would rise again from dismay - to regain lost honour and glory. That was the idea, anyway.
-------------------
Later that day a young man on a bay steed galloped along the well-worn dirt path towards the hunting lodge of one of the most illustrious men of the country - a famed marksman and noted as the commander of one of Haelmar's most elite units.
The man pulled hard on the reins, and the horse stopped, sweating on the compacted earth outside the lodge. The rider dismounted, adjusted his satchel and walked towards the wooden building. It looked completely normal, typical of any house that a woodsman in the northern lands would live in, were it not for the guard standing at attention outside. The rider walked up the wooden steps and knocked on the oaken door. It was answered by a lieutenant, who let the messenger in. The messenger walked into the main room of the house, warm due to a stone fireplace located opposite the door, the fire crackling, providing light to the dark room. Next to the fireplace a man poked at it from a wooden seat while opposite him another man, similarly attired in the uniform of a Jaeger, snored in a pile of pelts with a newspaper over his face.
The man seating stood up, and the messenger saluted him, and spoke.
"Sir, message from His Majesty."
He opened up his worn leather satchel and took out a message, and gave it to the man.
The officer snorted, then looked up at the messenger, then to his brother on the ground. He mumbled,
Well... I wish not to abandon my place among my men, yet duty calls me to lead a division. Or at least one of my family..
He turned the messenger, a lieutenant in the Royal Guard, and spoke,
"Give my compliments to His Majesty. Tell him Captain - no, Jaeger-"
Bunduqdari
Sergeant Knight
Chobo kill farmers and they die (!)akuaku said:The Chobo thing is helarious
@Venitius: I think it's prolly me, but I don't understand whatever story you're trying to tell. Is it unfinished?
Venitius
Count
I did it on impulse last night. Sorta unfinished, I suppose.
It's meant to fix a problem which in theory doesn't need to be fixed.
The thing is that in Haelmar lore Gutenviem's supposed to lead, or at least have overall command of all the light infantry in the Haelmarian Army, but in game he wanders around with a company of Jaegers.
So to solve the problem I gave him a brother with less of an interest in actually shooting stuff and hiding in woods but with more an interest in administration to actually command the structure of the division/brigade/blah, even if only part of it is deployed at one time, as it's expected for a Gutenviem to actually command it due to royal decree.
It's meant to fix a problem which in theory doesn't need to be fixed.
The thing is that in Haelmar lore Gutenviem's supposed to lead, or at least have overall command of all the light infantry in the Haelmarian Army, but in game he wanders around with a company of Jaegers.
So to solve the problem I gave him a brother with less of an interest in actually shooting stuff and hiding in woods but with more an interest in administration to actually command the structure of the division/brigade/blah, even if only part of it is deployed at one time, as it's expected for a Gutenviem to actually command it due to royal decree.
It's an elegant solution
I mean, anywhere else - say, in a film - "he had a twin brother" would be the lamest excuse ever...but for the EATRC lore? I think it works pretty well!
I mean, anywhere else - say, in a film - "he had a twin brother" would be the lamest excuse ever...but for the EATRC lore? I think it works pretty well!
and thus i plod on with my random tale.
Twenty-two sacks
Belem didn't really try to guide Eric through the maze of trees and brush at full gallop. The horse was quite capable in this regard; the only this Belem needed to do was make sure a tree limb didn't brain him. It had happened before; Eric never took much care of his rider. Checking himself thoroughly, he made sure that he did not take a blow, and then he checked his steed. The horse did not appear injured from Belem's vantage point on the saddle. He might have taken a blow to the underbelly, but Eric was not panicking in pain nor entrails dragging, so Belem was figured he was safe in assuming the horse was not injured. He took a deep breath, glad that they weren't injured. Still, he could not ride there idly as the lion throne began a counterattack, or began to hunt his company down. He drew his pistol and reloaded while Eric galloped to the rally. Once the pistol had be loaded, he began to load the rifle. It was quite hard and slow to reload the long-barreled weapon on the charging horse, but Belem took his time and got it done. Making sure the flash pan was covered and the hammer lowered into a not-cocked position, he put the rifle into it's covered sheath.
By now, about half an hour had passed since the attack. Ample daylight remained for another run, but Belem was wary of pushing Eric beyond his abilities. Once they hit the camp, they would have some time to decide what to do.
--------------------------------
An hour later, Belem rode a tired Eric into the camp, and slide of his saddle. He was greeted by a handful of individuals; men riding the fastest horses they could afford. Eric's natural skills in the woods, and strong stamina meant that he had arrived before the main groups. A few sacks that they were already placed in the general loot pile; it would be divided up once everyone had arrived. Belem lead Eric to a nearby stream and let the stallion rest, and then went to sit with the rest of his men.
Over the next few hours, men arrived in fours, trios and pairs. Domazhir trotted in alone about halfway between the arrivals, still coated in blood. The mound of sacks grew, as did the number of men whom returned. Soon, twenty-six, twenty-seven men had returned to the rally, and aside from a number of small injuries, all were non the worst off for their adventure.
Soon, however, twenty minutes passed without the last man appearing. "Who's missing?" Belem barked to group. Domazhir looked up, as and the rest of the men glanced around to their companions, looking for a missed face. One of the Kaiserlichers asked quietly in the silence. "Where's Adalhard?" Curses and quick glances through the men did not see the brave blond-haired youth in their mist.
"I'm here." A weak voice drifted out of the woods. Belem spun around to see the Kaiserlicher trot slowly out of the woods; horse unharmed but well spooked. A Kara-khitan shaft stuck out of his shoulder, and a large amount of blood stained his back as well as his horse's flank. Belem cursed and moved forward; the scared horse shied away, almost making Adalhard fall. Belem took the horse by the bridle and comforted him while strong hands took the weak youth gently from the saddle. The company surgeon, a Swadian by the name of Roht, quickly began to examine the man after removing the shaft. "He'll be fine; he just lost allot of blood. The wound will heal up soon enough; provided he doesn't bleed out. Then it's only the matter of stopping any infection from taking hold." Belem nodded, and a number of men breathed a sigh of relief. Adalhard passed out from blood loss as Roht began to patch him up.
Belem nodded calmly. That was that. "Alright, good. We all made it through, and I don't think that the lion Throne is in pursuit; the battle in Vienna will pose greater concerns then a few raiders. Lets see whats in those sacks." He nodded to Domazhir, whom drew a short knife and walked forward. He made a small cut at the top of the sealed bag and sniffed a small handful of powdery substance. He sneezed.
"Cumin. It's spice."
Belem gawped, and the rest of the men's eyes widened. "And the others?" Belem said quietly, afraid to frighten away this windfall of good fortune. More men came forward and opened the sacks.
"Mace." Said a Swadian. A Kaiserlicher looked up. "Pepper." Another man glanced up from his bag. "Saffron."
"It's all spice..." Belem muttered under his breath. Spice! The expensive commodity that every king and lord must have. Highly valued and hard to get; especially further north. Men around him began to celebrate at their good fortune, their share of the loot would be worth maybe three month's wages each. He did his own calculations; loot was shared equally among three parts. One third for him, the leader, one third for the fire-team leaders, and one final third for the other men. About seven bags of high quality spice were his by right, and if he sold it in the right place he might net nearly ten-thousand denarii. A fortune.
But this also made the situation different. The loss of twenty two large bags of highly valuable spice was bound to incite the fury of some important Lion Throne officer or leader. They needed to move, and soon. Even if the battle still preoccupied they enemy command, someone would be sent out as soon as the fighting winded down. He turned to Domazhir and barked. "We move, now! To Nibelheim!" Domazhir nodded instantly and quickly set the company into order. Not matter the circumstance, nobody likes to argue with axe-wielding Vaegir with a thirst for blood.
Belem quickly retrieved Eric, and set himself ready for leave. The men hadn't bothered to unpack, so it was mostly a matter of sealing the bags of spices. He waited patiently until a swadian named Manfred trotted up beside him. With the rest of the company still getting into order, Belem looked this swadian farm-boy up and down. Clad in a dark red set of padded cloth, Manfred still managed to look like he never stepped of his father's apple farm near Tosdhar. Belem wondered how the recent events affected him. "It's bad that Vienna fell like that, eh?" Manfred nodded slowly. "Eeyup." Belem looked back to see his company beginning to assemble; Adalhard strapped to his saddle and Domazhir harrying the stranglers into line. "How you figure you're father's farm is dealing with all this?" Manfred shrugged calmly. "Soefine. I figure he wrapped up the crop early, so no loss. Never owned any land, any'ways." Belem glanced over to Manfred, whom was calmly chewing on some flora. Belem nodded at the calm and stoic man, and clamped him on the shoulder. Best marksman in the unit, and never flinched once.
They trotted into the woods, towards the pass of Ehlerdah, always wary of an ambush by bandits. Fortunately, they where well enough armed and in numbers that few bandits would attempt attack such a group of seasoned troops. No merchant caravan were they, and the sack's simple make let them to appear nothing more then standard bag of rations.
They camped at the high point in the pass that night, and morning greeted them with the sun rising over northern calradia, the foothills near Ulm that led into the Laurian foothold on this side of the Obello.
--------------
The roar of cannon was still loud, and the battle was still being fought as she took her rest from combat. It was impossible to fight forever in such conditions. And it gave her time to address this minor problem. "Send a mixture of Mylesian horse and loyal Cavalry after them. Say, thirty-forty strong. I want the head of the leader." A brigadier bowed. "As you wish, so shall it be."
Twenty-two sacks
Belem didn't really try to guide Eric through the maze of trees and brush at full gallop. The horse was quite capable in this regard; the only this Belem needed to do was make sure a tree limb didn't brain him. It had happened before; Eric never took much care of his rider. Checking himself thoroughly, he made sure that he did not take a blow, and then he checked his steed. The horse did not appear injured from Belem's vantage point on the saddle. He might have taken a blow to the underbelly, but Eric was not panicking in pain nor entrails dragging, so Belem was figured he was safe in assuming the horse was not injured. He took a deep breath, glad that they weren't injured. Still, he could not ride there idly as the lion throne began a counterattack, or began to hunt his company down. He drew his pistol and reloaded while Eric galloped to the rally. Once the pistol had be loaded, he began to load the rifle. It was quite hard and slow to reload the long-barreled weapon on the charging horse, but Belem took his time and got it done. Making sure the flash pan was covered and the hammer lowered into a not-cocked position, he put the rifle into it's covered sheath.
By now, about half an hour had passed since the attack. Ample daylight remained for another run, but Belem was wary of pushing Eric beyond his abilities. Once they hit the camp, they would have some time to decide what to do.
--------------------------------
An hour later, Belem rode a tired Eric into the camp, and slide of his saddle. He was greeted by a handful of individuals; men riding the fastest horses they could afford. Eric's natural skills in the woods, and strong stamina meant that he had arrived before the main groups. A few sacks that they were already placed in the general loot pile; it would be divided up once everyone had arrived. Belem lead Eric to a nearby stream and let the stallion rest, and then went to sit with the rest of his men.
Over the next few hours, men arrived in fours, trios and pairs. Domazhir trotted in alone about halfway between the arrivals, still coated in blood. The mound of sacks grew, as did the number of men whom returned. Soon, twenty-six, twenty-seven men had returned to the rally, and aside from a number of small injuries, all were non the worst off for their adventure.
Soon, however, twenty minutes passed without the last man appearing. "Who's missing?" Belem barked to group. Domazhir looked up, as and the rest of the men glanced around to their companions, looking for a missed face. One of the Kaiserlichers asked quietly in the silence. "Where's Adalhard?" Curses and quick glances through the men did not see the brave blond-haired youth in their mist.
"I'm here." A weak voice drifted out of the woods. Belem spun around to see the Kaiserlicher trot slowly out of the woods; horse unharmed but well spooked. A Kara-khitan shaft stuck out of his shoulder, and a large amount of blood stained his back as well as his horse's flank. Belem cursed and moved forward; the scared horse shied away, almost making Adalhard fall. Belem took the horse by the bridle and comforted him while strong hands took the weak youth gently from the saddle. The company surgeon, a Swadian by the name of Roht, quickly began to examine the man after removing the shaft. "He'll be fine; he just lost allot of blood. The wound will heal up soon enough; provided he doesn't bleed out. Then it's only the matter of stopping any infection from taking hold." Belem nodded, and a number of men breathed a sigh of relief. Adalhard passed out from blood loss as Roht began to patch him up.
Belem nodded calmly. That was that. "Alright, good. We all made it through, and I don't think that the lion Throne is in pursuit; the battle in Vienna will pose greater concerns then a few raiders. Lets see whats in those sacks." He nodded to Domazhir, whom drew a short knife and walked forward. He made a small cut at the top of the sealed bag and sniffed a small handful of powdery substance. He sneezed.
"Cumin. It's spice."
Belem gawped, and the rest of the men's eyes widened. "And the others?" Belem said quietly, afraid to frighten away this windfall of good fortune. More men came forward and opened the sacks.
"Mace." Said a Swadian. A Kaiserlicher looked up. "Pepper." Another man glanced up from his bag. "Saffron."
"It's all spice..." Belem muttered under his breath. Spice! The expensive commodity that every king and lord must have. Highly valued and hard to get; especially further north. Men around him began to celebrate at their good fortune, their share of the loot would be worth maybe three month's wages each. He did his own calculations; loot was shared equally among three parts. One third for him, the leader, one third for the fire-team leaders, and one final third for the other men. About seven bags of high quality spice were his by right, and if he sold it in the right place he might net nearly ten-thousand denarii. A fortune.
But this also made the situation different. The loss of twenty two large bags of highly valuable spice was bound to incite the fury of some important Lion Throne officer or leader. They needed to move, and soon. Even if the battle still preoccupied they enemy command, someone would be sent out as soon as the fighting winded down. He turned to Domazhir and barked. "We move, now! To Nibelheim!" Domazhir nodded instantly and quickly set the company into order. Not matter the circumstance, nobody likes to argue with axe-wielding Vaegir with a thirst for blood.
Belem quickly retrieved Eric, and set himself ready for leave. The men hadn't bothered to unpack, so it was mostly a matter of sealing the bags of spices. He waited patiently until a swadian named Manfred trotted up beside him. With the rest of the company still getting into order, Belem looked this swadian farm-boy up and down. Clad in a dark red set of padded cloth, Manfred still managed to look like he never stepped of his father's apple farm near Tosdhar. Belem wondered how the recent events affected him. "It's bad that Vienna fell like that, eh?" Manfred nodded slowly. "Eeyup." Belem looked back to see his company beginning to assemble; Adalhard strapped to his saddle and Domazhir harrying the stranglers into line. "How you figure you're father's farm is dealing with all this?" Manfred shrugged calmly. "Soefine. I figure he wrapped up the crop early, so no loss. Never owned any land, any'ways." Belem glanced over to Manfred, whom was calmly chewing on some flora. Belem nodded at the calm and stoic man, and clamped him on the shoulder. Best marksman in the unit, and never flinched once.
They trotted into the woods, towards the pass of Ehlerdah, always wary of an ambush by bandits. Fortunately, they where well enough armed and in numbers that few bandits would attempt attack such a group of seasoned troops. No merchant caravan were they, and the sack's simple make let them to appear nothing more then standard bag of rations.
They camped at the high point in the pass that night, and morning greeted them with the sun rising over northern calradia, the foothills near Ulm that led into the Laurian foothold on this side of the Obello.
--------------
The roar of cannon was still loud, and the battle was still being fought as she took her rest from combat. It was impossible to fight forever in such conditions. And it gave her time to address this minor problem. "Send a mixture of Mylesian horse and loyal Cavalry after them. Say, thirty-forty strong. I want the head of the leader." A brigadier bowed. "As you wish, so shall it be."
Bunduqdari
Sergeant Knight
I have to say this is getting more and more interesting.
Warhammer651
Recruit
Interesting. It'd be funny if they managed to sell everything off and encountered that squad a few minutes later
Bunduqdari
Sergeant Knight
My speculation is, that with all the heavy loot and injuries, there's a good chance that the LT party will catch up on them. Their best bet is to hide and prepare a nice ambush for them. But we'll see what A_Mustang will make of it.
Bunduqdari
Sergeant Knight
How about you get on with my original plan of giving the Padishah a successful battle against the LT against unlikely odds(because of a surprise Ptian regiment arriving from the west), then you can go on and burn part of Lerna to the ground, sort of what we planned for C4(the raiding of the countryside).Venitius said:
Jon Shankmaster
Recruit
The harbinger of doom has arrived in Calradia, with the future of weaponry being guns. I just wish my beloved Grand Ducal could realize this. Even with the Husaria at the tip of our scythe we will eventually be overcome by this new wave of power streaming from the north. I have traveled far and wide and seen what devastation these weapons can bring. My Ducal companions and I witnessed a battle between some bandits and colonists from Haelmar earlier today, even though outnumbered two to one, the bandits were decimated, and not a single one was left standing. Until that battle I never notices the raw power held in these death bringers. It is good I learned at a young age to fire a rifle, it has helped me through out the years. Now I know that for the Ducal to survive, it must adapt, and make the pinnacle of our army vast numbers of gunners rather than them just replacing the archers. Hmm, I guess I only get into politics when I’m drunk, by this time tomorrow I will go back to the selfish ways of a trader, supplying the war machine to all sides as long as I get my cut. But I should get my rest, I hear there’s a tournament in Wercheg tomorrow, if I bet just 300 in the first round, I can win 3,900 denars!!! That’s a lot of money! I could reopen my brewery in Lubnie and pay off my depts. with that kind of gold. I’d better keep it quite from Katrin and Lezalit, they don’t like me betting on the tournaments when I’m in them, they don’t think I’m trained enough, BAH! What do they know, I’m more qualified then half the fools entered in those things. Damn, just threw up in lap, going to go pass out, write more tomorrow.
Drunken Rabble 46
Excerpt from Journal of Boris, Trader and Entrepreneur
Translated from the drunken rabble that it was by Lezalit, Companion and Money-Carrier of Boris
Moral of the story, don’t depend on tournament bets to pay your party, depts., and to reopen your crappy barely making profit business, especially when you are on a realistic no quit without saving game.
Drunken Rabble 46
Excerpt from Journal of Boris, Trader and Entrepreneur
Translated from the drunken rabble that it was by Lezalit, Companion and Money-Carrier of Boris
Moral of the story, don’t depend on tournament bets to pay your party, depts., and to reopen your crappy barely making profit business, especially when you are on a realistic no quit without saving game.
Jon Shankmaster said:
You make me write some little story...
Landser Gotthard, the Kaiserlicher Guard, raised his double-barreled caliver. Left and right, his fellow Guards were also aiming their weapons at the approaching enemy. Glittering silver, decorated with red dots, was visible on the horizon, as the Ducal battle-line was approaching.
"Feuer!" Shouted the Hauptmann. Gotthard pulled the first trigger, and with a shock his weapon pushed backward, while it spit out a dot of smoke. Still holding his rifle in the general direction of the Ducal line, he pulled his second trigger, and fired into the smoke.
Whel the smoke was blown away, the reloading guards lokked up at the Ducal line, which had stopped its advance some hundreds of paces before the Imperial line. Suddenly, a trumpet sounded the charge, and the brown horses leaped forward, while their riders levelled their long red lances. While charging, the wind blowing through the feathers on the 'wings' of the hussars made a screaming-like sound; the few Imperial cavalry was immediately turned into a disorganised mob, as their horses went mad instantly. Gotthard frantically pushed the cartridges into the barrels, while most of his comrades watched in shock as the Hussars approached whith amazing speed. He raised his Caliver again, but before he could fire, the point of a red lance appeared in front of him...
Moral of the story: don't mess with Winged Hussars, especially when you're a Kaiserlicher. And DON'T UNDERESTIMATE THEM!
Seriously, since my first encouter with them, a silver-and-red line on the horizon makes me tremble with fear.
