NationStates Jolt Archive


The Trials of a Sovereign [Introduction, Past-Tech]

Neath Talbot
18-10-2005, 03:57
[OOC: Feel free to comment, but please, if you would like to join in Telegram me first, lest I ignore you.]

“M’ liege, it is done.”

The exhausted king slouched down into his symbolic throne. His face momentarily losing it’s youthful exuberance, his image was startlingly similar to that of his late father, Colwyn Llywelyn, Sovereign of Talbot and her kingdoms.

“How many?” The boy king asked, his eyes regaining their vigor as they fell upon the form of another noble – a lesser noble, having amassed dominion and title through the wars of his father. The nobleman knelt, armor rattling as his knees touched the hard stone floor.

“Thus far, all members of twenty-eight noble families, including the royal lines of Neath and Gwynedd, and the dukes of Cardiff, Merthyr, Cynon, Wrexham, and an independent Tydfil. Now, only the families Luttrel, Anwyl, and Bannough have refused to sign on behalf of their households and vassals.” The news was stunning. The feudal hierarchy on this island of Neath Talbot had produced no fewer than fifty-seven competing lines of nobility in its long and obscure history. Now, of the forty-two which remained, thirty-nine had chosen to attend what was being called the Accords of Anglesey. Twenty-eight of those families had agreed to recognize the Llywelyn Family, Sovereigns of Talbot – long the most prosperous region of the tiny island – as the legitimate heir to all Neath Talbot. A further eight had sworn fidelity to the Llywelyns long ago, leaving only three dissenting lines of nobility.

“And of the dissidents?”

“The Luttrel dukes of Caernafon in far Gwynedd demand the restoration of their ancient titles should they submit to your rule. The Anwyl and Bannough families have followed their fathers’ oaths of allegiance to the Caernafon dukes. They will break from Gwynedd should you not recognize their claims.”

“And?” Inexperienced as he was, his mind hesitated when called to rule judgment out, particularly on those of the nobility among whom hospitality was expected even in times of war.

“Yes m’ Lord?”

“Alun, I ask for your advice, as your friend and ruler. Please, rise.” The king sounded distraught, as though, for all his power, he doubted himself even in the face of such a menial challenge. The death of Colwyn Llywelyn had taught his son the price of ambition, and he now struggled to do what would enrich himself and his kingdom.

The lightly clad knight rose and raised his face to his lord. Their eyes met, and he was quiet for some time. At long last, “M’ Lord – “

“Aneurin, please, or Aneurin Llywelyn if you would prefer.”

“Aneurin,” His eyes fell. “It is not my place to say, but such an affront to your sovereign rule needn’t be endured. All you have to fear is the levies Bannough may raise against you, but I can assure you that even my family alone in battle could take Caernafon. For all her defenders, she is weak as the decayed timbers of her walls. The appearance of strength is but that, an appearance.”

“What would you have me do? As a friend, tell me.”

“Refuse them. Make it known that the Weldig family still rules over Gwynedd. That all Wrexham’s long halls will be emptied against them in this foolish venture. You will demonstrate firmness. ‘Tis as your father would do, Lord rest his soul.”

“Very well.” The boy-king sighed. The band of pressed gold weighed terribly on his brow. Responsibility, he thought. It was as his father had said, the power to rule was as trying as any a job under heaven may be. Finally, he reached decision. “Gather your vassals and their sons. Ride for me to the meeting hall, in force and as my herald. You have told me what you would have me do as friend. As a friend, then, do this for me.”

“M’ Liege.” The knight in scarlet and yellow hurriedly bowed and, collecting his brazen helm, hurried forth from the king’s chamber.

The door crashed closed, leaving the room shuddering with its echo. The cooling air of autumn swept in from the door, carrying with them the stink of mud and filth churned up in the rainswept streets. For all it’s grandeur, the halls of the king seemed drab and empty, and likewise the rule of Aneurin Llywelyn, King, seemed for all their accomplishment appeared suddenly marred by the small yet vexing trials which lay before the young king. Yet he knew that overhead the sun continued in its movements, and so all things would move onward, slow though they be…
Neath Talbot
18-10-2005, 13:28
[OOC: Bump for later post. Come on, I know there's got to be some medieval-tech nations around.]
Soragakure
18-10-2005, 17:23
OOC: :D Past indeed. Though mine is more far east based. Hope you don't mind.

IC:Two figures, dressed in hoods and cloak, could be seen in a darker corner of a tavern who appeared to be nursing their drinks. But if you looked closely enough, you could tell that they were anxiously waiting for someone.

The tavern door opened as another figure, similarly dressed walked in. Walking over the corner, he pulled up a seat. "So...what did you find Kai," said one of them. "Well Iris," replied Kai, "There seems to be a little bit of unrest going on here." "So what do we do?" asked the last one. "Well Rika," he answered, "Well go to the capital and wait and see...maybe we'll have a mission request sent back to Soragakure." Nodding, Rika went back to her drink. An hour or so later, they left the tavern and headed toward the castle.

OOC: btw do you happen to have a map of the place?
Borman Empire
18-10-2005, 17:48
OOC: Wow, really good writing man. Congradulations. And I've been thinking of making a puppet a medieval tech nation. I'll TG you.
Neath Talbot
18-10-2005, 18:24
OOC: :D Past indeed. Though mine is more far east based. Hope you don't mind.

IC:Two figures, dressed in hoods and cloak, could be seen in a darker corner of a tavern who appeared to be nursing their drinks. But if you looked closely enough, you could tell that they were anxiously waiting for someone.

The tavern door opened as another figure, similarly dressed walked in. Walking over the corner, he pulled up a seat. "So...what did you find Kai," said one of them. "Well Iris," replied Kai, "There seems to be a little bit of unrest going on here." "So what do we do?" asked the last one. "Well Rika," he answered, "Well go to the capital and wait and see...maybe we'll have a mission request sent back to Soragakure." Nodding, Rika went back to her drink. An hour or so later, they left the tavern and headed toward the castle.

OOC: btw do you happen to have a map of the place?

OOC: That I do. It's not on this particular computer, though, so I'll get it up tonight with a factbook. Oh, and I'll let you keep going with you little corner of the RP, but I'd prefer before you have anything happen that you TG me. I do want this to proceede in an orderly fashion, and with a final goal in mind.

Borman, thanks. I'll look for the TG.
Neath Talbot
19-10-2005, 05:23
The doors of the meeting hall were shut fast against Alun Angvine, herald of the king, when after long ride his men arrived. Guards had been posted in the muddy streets outside the hall, but even the invocation of the name Llywelyn would not move them to admit the king’s messengers. At long last, the herald moved himself and his men to force their entry into the long hall.

Alun, his vassals, and their sons – in total numbering little more than a score and five – dismounted and approached the heavy doors of oak and pine. Once more, he shouted to the master of the guard, entreating entry in the name of the king.

“As messenger and herald of my master, Aneurin Llywelyn, Sovereign of Talbot and her kingdoms, Lord over the Northlands, Master of all this isle, I demand you unbar these gates and let us pass. I warn you, kindly, but once.” Alun cut a princely figure as he walked towards the archway, but clad as he was, without fine tunic or coat but rather in the garb of his service - heavy mail beneath a linen tunic, booted and gloved in leather, all bound by throngs of hide – he was not greeted in accordance. A country lord, nameless vassal of little or no title, the guard thought him, his vassals behind carrying shields of wood, and he himself with a helm of cheap brass. The shield with the Angvine family crest, something which may have marked him as one of the king’s errand, hung forgotten on the saddle of his mount.

“And I warn you but once, harecatcher, though not kindly. My orders are of the lords assembled herein. None shall enter until their debate is finished.” Lords of the great houses oft named the poor country nobles harecatcher, in spite of an uncertain life which oft required those like Alun to hunt or face starvation. Usually such tauntings were ignored, their talk being out of ignorance rather than fact, but to be named such by a man of common blood was an injury which could not be ignored. Alun scowled.

“Well enough.” A slight scratch of metal against metal followed as Alun readied the long sword at his side. With a quick nod, the country vassals moved forward and seized the master of the guard before he could draw his weapon. A brief scuffle ensued, the end of which left the guard shoved aside, furious but impotent, and Alun threw open to doors to the long hall.

The crash of heavy oaken timbers shuddered the hall, silencing those within. For a moment, the only sound echoing across the stone floor was the dull tromp of Alun’s booted feet. One youthful follower darted lightly ahead of the king’s messenger, and shouted an introduction into the silent chambers beyond the door.

“Hail the young Lord Alun Angvine, heir to the estates of Lesser Vale and master of those vassals who before you come in his service and in service of the Lord Aneurin Llywelyn, King of Talbot and her realms. He is herald of the king, mouthpiece of the royal court. All silent and hear what must be said.”

A murmur struck the hall, spread like a grassfire across the hundreds gathered within. Quickly, though, the murmur died to a whisper, and then petered out altogether. Alun Angvine began to speak.

“These words are for the dukes of Caernafon and those who hold fidelity to them. My lord has heard your requests. This, he orders me I inform you: He tells nothing of his judgment over this matter, save that there will be none. In silence, you have thus been refused. Submit now to the Crown or Lord permitting I will force your compliance.”

The whispers began again, louder and more frantic than before. What sensational news. A moment and a voice responded, the speaker masked in the crowd’s vastness.

“I am the Sovereign Duke of Caernafon, rightful heir to the lands of my father and my father’s father. None, not even the crown, have authority to deny what is mine by birth. This is an affront to the honor of me and mine. Inform your lord he would be wise to fix his eyes in the south where they belong, lest they be cut blind in battle.”

“Knave,” Alun spat venomously.

“Silence harecatcher. You do not know your place. The strength of all the Vale is of little consequence in Gwynedd far to our north, and there we have names for your type far less forgiving than those here given.”

Alun drew his blade in response, and, though he raised it not an inch despite his anger, the threat was clear. Unarmed, however brave the men of the crowd were they parted, leaving only empty stone between the two men.

“Most uncouth and honor-less you are to draw your blade in these hallowed chambers, to disturb these sacred proceedings. You deserve not the authority granted to you. I am yet without a blade of my own, and this is how you threaten me? I name thee a coward.”

Alun stepped forward, the Duke Luttrel retired back to the rear wall. “What you name me is of no consequence here. I come in the king’s authority, and with his blessing. He will tolerate no rebellion among his people, and so I command you now, kneel and submit, if not to the harecatcher before you than to he one in whose name he comes, the sovereign of your lands, superior and better to you in all matters of quality.” On the word kneel, the blade of the sword was lifted just below the Duke's throat. Stubbornly proud, he did not move or mutter a sound. “I say again, kneel!”
Neath Talbot
19-10-2005, 05:56
[OOC: Oh, and links for the map can be found here: Link. (http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a129/GenericName120/neathtalbot.jpg)]