Padre
Member
Here's the next. First two installments, more, including battles, to follow.
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Before
Rembrandt van Haagen was never meant to become master of the House van Haagen. He was the youngest of three boys, you see, and as primogeniture had always been the way in the van Haagen line, everyone expected the oldest boy Gunther to succeed to the rule of the house.
But Gunther fell into the Goudberg canal during a game of ‘chase the snotling’, so that all eyes now looked upon Dominic, the middle child. Studious and serious - not the sort to go chasing snotlings with his younger brother and a gang of street lads - Dominic might even prove to be a better ruler for the house.
But Dominic wouldn’t reach maturity either. Just a week after he began his third year of studies in the small university next door to the great Verenan library in Tempelwick, he was convinced by his younger brother to join a gang of youths in celebrating the feast of Manaan’s Dance with drink and rumbullious frolics. Too frolicsome, however, for the delicate Dominic: who succumbed to the drink rather earlier than all the others, and was crushed by rolling cask of wine let loose by a mischievous youth. Everyone else jumped out of its way (that, indeed, was the game) but Dominic seemed too addled by hot liquors to work out which way to jump and jumped towards it. No one who was there would ever forget the strange sound he made as the huge cask rolled inexorably over him, from feet to head. The noise stopped when the barrel reached his chest, but even so, it was unforgettable. By then, luckily for those who would have to live with the memory of that awful sound, all present had turned away, unable to watch as poor Dominic’s head finally went under the rolling weight.
Thus Rembrandt became the heir elect of the fortune that was House van Haagen. He adapted to his responsibility with a novel sobriety. He put away childish things (part of him glad at this, for he was developing a phobia about boyish games) and set about his task.
Gunther had been groomed for the role of master by watching his father work, standing by his father’s side during ceremonial affairs and such like. Dominic had been given the scholarly education that would prepare him for the role of either a ‘religious’ or a secretary or an accountant (or all three). Whereas Rembrandt had been spoiled as the baby and allowed to play and do as he wished. Yet he knew his strengths, and having been allowed to do what he wanted had nevertheless gifted him with some qualities he considered useful.
Unusually for a citizen of Marienburg, he had become a good horseman because he wanted to hunt and hawk and race. He was knowledgeable about war, having been fascinated from infancy by tales of old wars. He’d been allowed to handle weapons, watch the militia drill whenever he liked, and even wear a suit of armour fashioned for his tiny frame and modified as he grew until now one piece of the suit was the same as that in the first suit made. Most importantly he had learned how to lead, for he enjoyed ruling his playmates, inventing the games and settling their disputes. Thus the spoiled child gained some skills, unlike those many rich youths who might simply eat, play and sleep their way through youth to ‘forge’ fat, idle and pampered lives for their adulthood.
Now here he was, a soldier (of sorts) at heart, with one of the richest merchant houses in the city to run. This vexed him at first, until he learned of a resurgence of war brewing in the lands of Araby to the far south. He knew his father had talked of the riches of that land, indeed had made great sums of money trading the luxurious goods it had to offer. So he inquired of his secretaries and clerks and learned that the house had - until a few years ago - several factors in the coastal cities of Araby, and had vied to rule the trade with those parts. But the war had put a stop to this enterprise. Not that the house suffered, as his father simply invested his efforts elsewhere and just as profitably, perhaps even more so. But that was not what was important.
Here was Rembrandt’s opportunity to prove himself a true master of the house, and to utilise the very skills he had. He would re-attain his houses’ trading links with Araby by raising a private army, embarking with them as their leader upon the houses’ fleet, and sailing to Araby. Once there he would fight for the glory of the Empire, for the reputation of Marienburg, for prosperity of House van Haagen (in order of ascending priority) until victory gave his house the trading bases he required, and gave him the reputation that would stand him in good stead for the rest of his days.
He intended to as well as his father had ever done, and better than his brothers might have done. Though he was the baby for so long, playing his boys’ games, now he was the man. Under his rule, House van Haagen would grow even more prosperous and powerful.
Thus, aged 20, Rembrandt van Haagen began to prepare for his venture to the shores of Araby.
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Arrival
House van Haagen’s war fleet had finally arrived at the shores of Araby. Even though there were many old salty sea dogs and wily captains amongst the fleet, none aboard any of the ships, neither grand navigators or lowly pilots, knew the particular stretch of coast that lay before them. This was because their master, Captain Rembrandt, had ordered that they make for the unknown coast immediately south of Kharkoun Isle, not for the ports that were familiar to the veteran sailors amongst the fleet.
He had his reasons, the chief of which was that he expected to meet with several other Empire captains and admirals in the vicinity of Al Hadock. This was a lesser known settlement upon this stretch of the desert realm’s coast, rumoured to be the most welcoming port to men of the Empire. Thus Rembrandt would join a grand alliance of brothers from the north, whose aim was to once again secure trading rights in the rich ports of Araby, as well as to fend off the evil powers preying upon these desert lands.
Not that his own force wasn’t something to be reckoned with by itself. He was rich, proved by the fact that this large fleet of ships were only those already owned by his house. Being rich meant he could hire numerous mercenaries to serve in his army. There were two regiments of battle hardened pikemen, professional soldiers who brought their own armour and balked not at the thought of sailing several thousand miles to fight in a distant land - at least not for the pay he could give them. He had also recruited handgunners and crossbowmen, artillerymen and spearmen, as well as several companies of fearless ogres. Each and every ship was provisioned generously with all that his officers and quartermasters thought necessary for the execution of such a war, from spades and pick axes to cannons and budge barrels of powder.
Not least were the seamen of his fleet. His old father had always said these were the best of men, for they were three trades rolled into one: traders, navigators and soldiers. (This was an old theory in Marienburg, dating from the time of the Crisis.) It was the latter trade Rembrandt was now most interested in. Surely they would prove their worth? Certainly they looked fearsome enough, armed with every kind of gunpowder weapon the Old World could manufacture. And from the swaggering songs they had been singing on the journey, they intended to burn and thunder their way through Araby.
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The mid-day sun beat down inexorably upon the anchored wooden vessels making their timbers creak audibly, so that every master in the fleet ordered those on watch to swab everything they could. Those not busy with that task, including most of the soldiers, strained to make out the shore, obscured as it was by heat haze, and watched the lone ship’s boat being rowed towards it.
Aboard sat five men, four labouring to row in pairs, the fifth getting an ever better view of the approaching shore. Sergeant Theodorus rubbed his chin.
”I wonder lads”, he asked, ”what might lay hidden there for us” What terrors lurk in that foreboding land. What awful fate awaits those foolish enough to step ashore? ”
”Don’t scare the younkers, Theo, ” laughed Norbert. ”And you lads, don’t you go listening to old Theo - he’ll have you thinkin’ you’re gonna get swallowed by a giant lizard. The only truth is he wants to scare you - there’s not one iota of truth elsewhere in what he says? ”
”Oh but there is, Norbert, and you know it, ” interrupted Theodorus. ”There are horrors beyond even my imaginings in these scorched lands, and you’d better believe it. If you don’t believe it, you soon will!”
Theodorus hefted his handgun and checked the smouldering match-cord once more. He couldn’t help himself, even in the dry heat of this coast, for he was a man of the north and there you had to keep an eye to make sure the wet hadn’t got to the match. After testing the fall of the match for the third time, he lifted his eyes back to the shoreline.
“You young ‘uns, tell me,” he commanded, “what do you see direct ahead?”
All four other crew stopped rowing for a moment to scrutinize where Theo was pointing. There was something there, something which broke up the otherwise featureless tree-lined roll of sand dunes. It was a clearing, and not a natural one, for it was too regular in shape. In fact, a building of sorts could now be seen, low roofed and built of sand coloured clay blocks.
“I don’t see anyone there, Theo,” said Norbert.
“Nor I, sergeant,” added one of the lads. “But there could be someone in that hut.”
“Aye, there could be,” muttered Theo. He didn’t think the place looked to be in any way fortified. It was probably just some local fisherman’s dwelling. Except something was wrong, though Theo couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Get to rowing again, lads,” he ordered. Then to encourage them he gave them the beat: “Yo ho - yo ho - yo ho”
As the boat drew closer to the sand, the sound of the surf grew louder, and all aboard busied themselves for the landing. They rowed her right in, steadying with the oars and letting the force of the surge do the final bit of work. First out, his handgun raised above his head to keep it dry, was Theo. He splashed knee deep through the water to make the dry sand as quickly as he could.
To be continued
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Before
Rembrandt van Haagen was never meant to become master of the House van Haagen. He was the youngest of three boys, you see, and as primogeniture had always been the way in the van Haagen line, everyone expected the oldest boy Gunther to succeed to the rule of the house.
But Gunther fell into the Goudberg canal during a game of ‘chase the snotling’, so that all eyes now looked upon Dominic, the middle child. Studious and serious - not the sort to go chasing snotlings with his younger brother and a gang of street lads - Dominic might even prove to be a better ruler for the house.
But Dominic wouldn’t reach maturity either. Just a week after he began his third year of studies in the small university next door to the great Verenan library in Tempelwick, he was convinced by his younger brother to join a gang of youths in celebrating the feast of Manaan’s Dance with drink and rumbullious frolics. Too frolicsome, however, for the delicate Dominic: who succumbed to the drink rather earlier than all the others, and was crushed by rolling cask of wine let loose by a mischievous youth. Everyone else jumped out of its way (that, indeed, was the game) but Dominic seemed too addled by hot liquors to work out which way to jump and jumped towards it. No one who was there would ever forget the strange sound he made as the huge cask rolled inexorably over him, from feet to head. The noise stopped when the barrel reached his chest, but even so, it was unforgettable. By then, luckily for those who would have to live with the memory of that awful sound, all present had turned away, unable to watch as poor Dominic’s head finally went under the rolling weight.
Thus Rembrandt became the heir elect of the fortune that was House van Haagen. He adapted to his responsibility with a novel sobriety. He put away childish things (part of him glad at this, for he was developing a phobia about boyish games) and set about his task.
Gunther had been groomed for the role of master by watching his father work, standing by his father’s side during ceremonial affairs and such like. Dominic had been given the scholarly education that would prepare him for the role of either a ‘religious’ or a secretary or an accountant (or all three). Whereas Rembrandt had been spoiled as the baby and allowed to play and do as he wished. Yet he knew his strengths, and having been allowed to do what he wanted had nevertheless gifted him with some qualities he considered useful.
Unusually for a citizen of Marienburg, he had become a good horseman because he wanted to hunt and hawk and race. He was knowledgeable about war, having been fascinated from infancy by tales of old wars. He’d been allowed to handle weapons, watch the militia drill whenever he liked, and even wear a suit of armour fashioned for his tiny frame and modified as he grew until now one piece of the suit was the same as that in the first suit made. Most importantly he had learned how to lead, for he enjoyed ruling his playmates, inventing the games and settling their disputes. Thus the spoiled child gained some skills, unlike those many rich youths who might simply eat, play and sleep their way through youth to ‘forge’ fat, idle and pampered lives for their adulthood.
Now here he was, a soldier (of sorts) at heart, with one of the richest merchant houses in the city to run. This vexed him at first, until he learned of a resurgence of war brewing in the lands of Araby to the far south. He knew his father had talked of the riches of that land, indeed had made great sums of money trading the luxurious goods it had to offer. So he inquired of his secretaries and clerks and learned that the house had - until a few years ago - several factors in the coastal cities of Araby, and had vied to rule the trade with those parts. But the war had put a stop to this enterprise. Not that the house suffered, as his father simply invested his efforts elsewhere and just as profitably, perhaps even more so. But that was not what was important.
Here was Rembrandt’s opportunity to prove himself a true master of the house, and to utilise the very skills he had. He would re-attain his houses’ trading links with Araby by raising a private army, embarking with them as their leader upon the houses’ fleet, and sailing to Araby. Once there he would fight for the glory of the Empire, for the reputation of Marienburg, for prosperity of House van Haagen (in order of ascending priority) until victory gave his house the trading bases he required, and gave him the reputation that would stand him in good stead for the rest of his days.
He intended to as well as his father had ever done, and better than his brothers might have done. Though he was the baby for so long, playing his boys’ games, now he was the man. Under his rule, House van Haagen would grow even more prosperous and powerful.
Thus, aged 20, Rembrandt van Haagen began to prepare for his venture to the shores of Araby.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arrival
House van Haagen’s war fleet had finally arrived at the shores of Araby. Even though there were many old salty sea dogs and wily captains amongst the fleet, none aboard any of the ships, neither grand navigators or lowly pilots, knew the particular stretch of coast that lay before them. This was because their master, Captain Rembrandt, had ordered that they make for the unknown coast immediately south of Kharkoun Isle, not for the ports that were familiar to the veteran sailors amongst the fleet.
He had his reasons, the chief of which was that he expected to meet with several other Empire captains and admirals in the vicinity of Al Hadock. This was a lesser known settlement upon this stretch of the desert realm’s coast, rumoured to be the most welcoming port to men of the Empire. Thus Rembrandt would join a grand alliance of brothers from the north, whose aim was to once again secure trading rights in the rich ports of Araby, as well as to fend off the evil powers preying upon these desert lands.
Not that his own force wasn’t something to be reckoned with by itself. He was rich, proved by the fact that this large fleet of ships were only those already owned by his house. Being rich meant he could hire numerous mercenaries to serve in his army. There were two regiments of battle hardened pikemen, professional soldiers who brought their own armour and balked not at the thought of sailing several thousand miles to fight in a distant land - at least not for the pay he could give them. He had also recruited handgunners and crossbowmen, artillerymen and spearmen, as well as several companies of fearless ogres. Each and every ship was provisioned generously with all that his officers and quartermasters thought necessary for the execution of such a war, from spades and pick axes to cannons and budge barrels of powder.
Not least were the seamen of his fleet. His old father had always said these were the best of men, for they were three trades rolled into one: traders, navigators and soldiers. (This was an old theory in Marienburg, dating from the time of the Crisis.) It was the latter trade Rembrandt was now most interested in. Surely they would prove their worth? Certainly they looked fearsome enough, armed with every kind of gunpowder weapon the Old World could manufacture. And from the swaggering songs they had been singing on the journey, they intended to burn and thunder their way through Araby.
-----------------------------
The mid-day sun beat down inexorably upon the anchored wooden vessels making their timbers creak audibly, so that every master in the fleet ordered those on watch to swab everything they could. Those not busy with that task, including most of the soldiers, strained to make out the shore, obscured as it was by heat haze, and watched the lone ship’s boat being rowed towards it.
Aboard sat five men, four labouring to row in pairs, the fifth getting an ever better view of the approaching shore. Sergeant Theodorus rubbed his chin.
”I wonder lads”, he asked, ”what might lay hidden there for us” What terrors lurk in that foreboding land. What awful fate awaits those foolish enough to step ashore? ”
”Don’t scare the younkers, Theo, ” laughed Norbert. ”And you lads, don’t you go listening to old Theo - he’ll have you thinkin’ you’re gonna get swallowed by a giant lizard. The only truth is he wants to scare you - there’s not one iota of truth elsewhere in what he says? ”
”Oh but there is, Norbert, and you know it, ” interrupted Theodorus. ”There are horrors beyond even my imaginings in these scorched lands, and you’d better believe it. If you don’t believe it, you soon will!”
Theodorus hefted his handgun and checked the smouldering match-cord once more. He couldn’t help himself, even in the dry heat of this coast, for he was a man of the north and there you had to keep an eye to make sure the wet hadn’t got to the match. After testing the fall of the match for the third time, he lifted his eyes back to the shoreline.
“You young ‘uns, tell me,” he commanded, “what do you see direct ahead?”
All four other crew stopped rowing for a moment to scrutinize where Theo was pointing. There was something there, something which broke up the otherwise featureless tree-lined roll of sand dunes. It was a clearing, and not a natural one, for it was too regular in shape. In fact, a building of sorts could now be seen, low roofed and built of sand coloured clay blocks.
“I don’t see anyone there, Theo,” said Norbert.
“Nor I, sergeant,” added one of the lads. “But there could be someone in that hut.”
“Aye, there could be,” muttered Theo. He didn’t think the place looked to be in any way fortified. It was probably just some local fisherman’s dwelling. Except something was wrong, though Theo couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Get to rowing again, lads,” he ordered. Then to encourage them he gave them the beat: “Yo ho - yo ho - yo ho”
As the boat drew closer to the sand, the sound of the surf grew louder, and all aboard busied themselves for the landing. They rowed her right in, steadying with the oars and letting the force of the surge do the final bit of work. First out, his handgun raised above his head to keep it dry, was Theo. He splashed knee deep through the water to make the dry sand as quickly as he could.
To be continued