King of the Court: A FBCB/CK Dynasty

[Cap Ologist]

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Author's Note:
This is a rework of a dynasty I started a month ago. My CK game crashed, so I've chosen a new place to start from. Some elements of the first posting in that dynasty were used in the making of this thread, but no animals were harmed. Hope you enjoy!

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The funeral was attended by only two people, three if you count the body in the casket. Most of the people who would have been there were already permanent residents in the cemetery. The priest looked around and quietly asked the lone mourner if he should wait or go ahead. The muffled response was unintelligible, so he decided to begin.

The lone mourner sat silently on the front row. Numbly, bankrupt of emotion, he listened to the familiar words failing to provide comfort when comfort was needed more than ever. The rain began to fall at some point, a light drizzling mess that took him several minutes to even notice. Just enough to get everything wet, but not enough to fight off drought. The priest cut some of his preplanned remarks short, and it was over. An awkward pause, a few coughs, one last glance at the coffin, and a short walk to a nearby car, followed by a dazed drive back to the family house.

Fortunately, the house had a covered walkway from the garage to the back door. Right key, right direction, finally the door unlocked. Light switch by the door flicked on, and the darkness retreated from the invasion of light to lie in wait for it's chance to reconquer it's prize.

Through the kitchen, down the short front hallway, lights invading darkness in every room as the he searched for solace. Front parlor? No. Guest bedroom? Of course not. Grandfather's den? Why the hell not? Solace would not be found no matter how diligently it was searched for. Not today.

The old leather chair beckoned from the corner. How many hours had young children sat in front of Grandfather, listening to the stories he told. Stories. No matter the audience, no matter the list of things pressing, he always had a story, a story that seemed almost as if he knew what troubled the heart, and what the heart needed to hear.

Grandfather was not here, but there was Scotch on the table, and Scotch would have to do today. Johnny Walker Blue, the one thing Grandfather would never allow to run out of. The first shot of warmth on that day followed the first shot of whiskey.

The room was so familiar, nothing had changed in the last twenty-five years. The couch against the far wall, the book shelves to the right, the coffee table and coffee table books, the... One book caught his eye. It was obviously an older book, the binding representing a time long past when books were sold not by megabook chains in crowded shopping centers, but by distinguished stores in quiet buildings.

A thin layer of dust was quickly dispatched, and the book was briefly set down, only to be picked up again after another glass of whiskey was poured. Settling back in Grandfather's chair, taking a step back in time, The King of the Court was opened.

The first story in the chronicles was so familiar, so well known that it probably didn't even need to be read. Aed O'Neill, the first known ancestor of the family. Aed had somehow clawed and scraped his way to owning his own county, Tir Eoghain, a northern territory of Ireland. Aed's county was strategically located between 2 other independent counties, Tir Connail and Ulaid.

Aed needed to gain possession of one of these counties to obtain his dream of becoming an Irish duke. His spies reported that the army of Ulaid could be easily routed, and so it was to the east that he marched. In March of 1066, his forces arrived and the siege of Ulaid began. Fate intervened, and Aed died before the siege could be completed.

The county was passed to his son, Domnall, the marshall of his father's army. Eager to prove himself, the siege continued and Ulaid fell several months later. Many thought that Domnall would immediately begin preparing to be recognized as the Duke of Ulster, but Domnall had his eye on a bigger prize, a kingship.

To this end, he devoted the monies in the treasury to improving the economic outlook of his two county demesne. Under his leadership, forestries and fishing industries were completed. It was only then in November of 1070 with an improved economic outlook for his subjects, that he petitioned for the Duchy of Ulster.

Surprisingly enough, within a month of becoming the Duke of Ulster, the neighboring county of Tir Connail petitioned for vasselization. The request was immediately granted, and the northern tip of Ireland was united under his shield.

Domnall turned his eye south toward the rest of the island. Only one other county remained independent, the county of Mide, a landlocked bridge to the other 3 Irish duchies. Plans were made and troops were trained, and an invasion for the spring of 1072 was planned. However, in January, an emissary from the county of Mide arrived, asking for vasselization.

Domnall was surprised, and immediately accepted. Without losing a man, he had doubled the size of his holdings. His rapid advancement did not go unnoticed by the other Irish dukes. As Domnall huddled around maps with his advisors, a different huddle was happening on the other side of the island, a huddle that would result in the greatest shock of of Domnall's life.

Memories came back to him as the book was carefully placed back on the coffee table. The first time he'd seen her, their first conversation, the first walk they'd taken. He was a basketball coach at Stephen F. Austin in Texas, she was a waitress at a little restaurant in the middle of the Ozarks. It was lunchtime or was it dinner? Didn't really matter in the scheme of things, he had come into the restaurant alone again. Being a small town, she knew he was not a local. He kept to himself, sat at the same table every day, was polite enough, a decent tipper. Their conversation had been limited to the pleasantries and requests that make up typical restaurant banter.

He'd been at the restaurant for at least an hour that day, which was out of the ordinary. If she'd been more observant, she would have noticed that although he was never looking directly at her, his eyes never missed anything that she did. He had just been about to give up when the Hilder boys had come in, led as always by the oldest and biggest, Travis. The Hilder boys lacked brains, lacked manners and most definitely lacked personal hygiene. Annoyed at their noise, he'd almost gotten up and left.

When he saw they sat at one of her tables, he lingered a few minutes longer. It took Travis about 3 minutes to make a fool of himself, and that was only because he spent the first 2.5 minutes on his cell phone.

From his seat across the restaurant, he could see all three of the Hilder boys. He knew them well. Oh, he didn't know these boys by name, in fact he'd never said a word to any of them, but he knew them. You could find them in any small town you went to if you stopped long enough to look. They placed their orders and began to loudly talk about their exploits from the previous night, most likely full of shit, and mainly to let everyone in earshot know how manly they were.

Their food came, and he left his seat to go pay his ticket, maybe go for a walk, maybe go back and read, maybe think about her. Travis' voice caught his attention, "My food is cold, bitch."

He got just what he wanted, every eye turned to see the great Travis Hilder. Seeing that he had their attention, "I'm not gonna pay for that, what the hell kind of place is this?"

She looked for help in a sea of faces, but nobody came to her rescue. No manager trained to rush in and head off a disgruntled costumer. She turned to apologize and that was when Travis, full of himself and critically lacking in intelligence, threw his plate at her. He missed, but caught himself, "Next time, I won't miss, bitch."

A glass of ice water hit him square in the face, and he blinked, stunned. Before Travis knew what was happening, someone had one of his ears jerked roughly back and his arm twisted behind his back. He was moving, and moving quickly through the restaurant. The door was temporarily closed, but his 'chauffeur' didn't slow down to open it. Like a battering ram, the crown of his head plowed through the door and into the stone column outside.

Travis looked up from where he lay on the ground, not recognizing his assailant. He found himself staring up at cold, blue eyes that didn't blink. "You sonuvabitch," Travis began.

"Shut your pie hole," the stranger said. "I don't know who you are or why you don't shower, but I'll be damned if I'm gonna let you act like that. Get your sorry ass out of here now if you ever wanna walk again."

Travis had never backed down from anyone before, but as they say there is a first time for everything. He picked himself up, brushed his greasy hair back behind his ears, hollered for his brothers and headed for his pickup, then the parking lot exit, then back to wherever maggots like them choose to hang out.

By this time, a crowd had gathered, talking excitedly about what they had just seen. The locals were torn between standing there and rehashing each detail or being the first to start the inevitable phone tag that takes place in small towns.

He walked back inside, picked up his ticket and went to pay the cashier. The cashier was usually a talkative old lady who would bend his ear about all sorts of banality that he could have cared less about, however on this day, she just gave him a quiet, knowing smile and didn't say a word.

Those who had resisted the urge to start the phone tag were looking at him. It almost unnerved him, he put his Lumberjacks hat on, and said over his shoulder, "I hate rude behavior in a man, won't tolerate it either."

They spent the rest of the day together. He was captivated by her in ways he'd never experienced or imagined, and she felt secure for the first time in her life. The rest of the week flew by, and the day they'd been dreading finally came to be.

He had to go back to Texas, to Nacogdoches, but would return as soon as he could. A few weeks later, he was back. Fresh off of his first 30 win season and leading his team to the second round of the tournament, he found himself working as a short order cook at the restaurant during the off-season.

He would often chuckle to himself that he'd won at least 20 games six out of the last seven seasons, was a prominent name mentioned in job openings at prestigious programs around the country each year, and yet in this little town, tucked high up in the Ozarks, he was known simply as Michael, the guy from Texas who'd fallen for Melissa, and fallen hard.

[Izulde]

Interesting start.

Though I find it interesting that you were able to take Ulaid as usually it's Ulaid who eats Tir Connail.

[Cap Ologist]

He got up, stretched and walked around the house once more. The scent of each room so familiar, the fresh ashes from the wood fireplace in the great den, the lilac in the kitchen, the remnants of tobacco in the living room. Restless, he returned the smaller den and once more picked up the book he knew so well.

Domnall was surprised, and immediately accepted. Without losing a man, he had doubled the size of his holdings. His rapid advancement did not go unnoticed by the other Irish dukes. As Domnall huddled around maps with his advisors, a different huddle was happening on the other side of the island, a huddle that would result in the greatest shock of of Domnall's life.

Instead of banding together, the other 3 Irish dukes did the unthinkable, they pledged loyalty to a foreign king, Philippe of France. Domnall cursed and broke the table and chair he was using. The servants fled and found corners of the manor that urgently needed cleaning.

Frustrated, Domnall focused once more on improving the economic conditions of his demesne. As the months turned into years, reports began to reach him that his newest vassal, the Count of Mide was expanding his small manor. Intrigued and uneasy, he dispatched spies quickly.

Each day, he waited for word, and a fortnight later, they returned. Their news brought a new round of curses and broken furniture, for they had seen an envoy from Philippe bringing gifts to the lowly count.

Domnall sent his own envoy south, with a demand to surrender the title of Count of Mide and gave two weeks time for an answer. The Count of Mide, Murchad sent an answer, "I'll shall meet you on the field of battle, and may our Sovereign God choose between you and I as to who is worthy."

Domnall summoned his two regiments and dispatched them. Murchad's men fought valiantly, but in the end they could not withstand the furious onslaught. Within two months of initiating the siege, Domnall received Murchad's unconditional surrender.

Domnall returned home, a little relieved, but still tense. Philippe had enough Irish titles to claim the throne. Domnall feared this more than anything. That act would stop his dreams perhaps forever, for there was little chance he could ever defeat the entire French army.

Domnall summoned his best advisors upon returning home and charged them with finding a solution to his problem. The braintrust came up with 3 choices.

1. Wait and watch, and hope that the Irish dukes would quickly tire of their regiments being used to fight for the glory of France. Since pledging their loyalty, their regiments had quickly been summoned to help the Philippe in the Crusade to liberate Jerusalem.

2. Declare allegiance to England, and hope that the French would be hesitant to engage the English empire, thus allowing him to pick off the Dukes one by one.

3. Send the most skilled assassin he could find to France to kill the King, and hope that upon his death, the Irish dukes would regain their senses and not pledge loyalty to the new King.

Domnall listened, but did not speak. The silence grew deafening as the advisers awaited some reaction. Finally he spoke.

"If we wait, we will grow stronger, but so will they. There are too many unknowns for what might happen. Kings do not become kings by waiting for the right moment but by seizing the moment and making it the right one."

"Pledging loyalty to England would be a temporary insult, one that would go away once I've ascended the throne. Who knows, it might lead to a possible alliance in the future that would secure our future for generations to come.

"The risks of an using an assassin are great. The King is by no doubt heavily guarded, and what if he succeeds but is captured. How long will it take before he reveals all he knows, and we are drawn into a war we cannot win.

"You've given me much to contemplate. You shall have my answer on the morrow."

[Cap Ologist]

Originally Posted by Izulde

Interesting start.

Though I find it interesting that you were able to take Ulaid as usually it's Ulaid who eats Tir Connail.

Guess it was luck, mainly chose Tir Connail because they start out with 2 claims on titles. It was a pretty narrow victory, I only had 200-300 troops left when the siege ended.