[56 / 11 / 57]
Quoted By: >>5277557
Rolled 34, 74, 11, 40, 82, 44 = 285 (6d100)
What is a Polish knight capable off? If only he's fearless, firm in the saddle and dexterous with his sabre, he can stand against any enemy and came out victorious.
And there is no shortage of enemies for the Commonwealth, for its neighbours watch with wolf eyes on a tasty snack that's Polish and Lithuanian borderland. Crimean and Tartary raiders, unruly vassals of the Great Porta, torment the country from the south. The Muscovite troops are marching across the vast territories of the Rus lands, every day closer to Eastern border. From north, Swedes are readying for another Baltic war, wanting revenge for previous humiliations in battle and looking for allies. Austrians are uncertain allies and France is far and away, busy with its own affairs.
Internal situation isn't much better. Chaos reigns over the Crown, with riots and confederations every so often rampaging over the provinces and causing ever-increasing anarchy. Ukraine is boiling for huge revolt - Cossacks, unruly as always, are now openly plotting to break away. Lithuania, nominally an integral part of the Commonwealth, is consumed with internal politics of the great magnate families, too busy with their infighting to see the bigger picture.
If anyone is left within the Commonwealth to still see it...
= . = . =
But this is currently not your concern either. Yours is the sinewy rider, currently resting with his fur cap on his lap. You are holding the letter the man has brought. It is well-sealed, and the wax bears the familiar coats of arms pressed into it. You break the seal and open the paper. The hand writing is steady and simple, without excess calligraphy.
"My dearest son
I'm writing to you with the worst news possible. Your father, after reaching the ripe age of 64 and serving the Commonwealth for all of it, is dying. His heart failed him. While his soul is still around us, the body became twisted and lifeless. The light in his eyes is fading with each day and there are no signs of recovery. As much as I put this though aside, one day I might wake up and he will be gone.
And yet, he asks for you. He keeps asking for you every day. I know things weren't always good between you two, but he's your father and there might be no second chance to meet ever again."
The next sentence is written with larger letters, from the new, separate line:
"Please come back home as soon as you can."
Then the elegant initials.
You flip the page. There is nothing more. No extra message, no other information.
Then you look at the man who brought you here. You take a deep breath, while eye-balling the large letters
"Please come back home as soon as you can."
What is a Polish knight capable off? If only he's fearless, firm in the saddle and dexterous with his sabre, he can stand against any enemy and came out victorious.
And there is no shortage of enemies for the Commonwealth, for its neighbours watch with wolf eyes on a tasty snack that's Polish and Lithuanian borderland. Crimean and Tartary raiders, unruly vassals of the Great Porta, torment the country from the south. The Muscovite troops are marching across the vast territories of the Rus lands, every day closer to Eastern border. From north, Swedes are readying for another Baltic war, wanting revenge for previous humiliations in battle and looking for allies. Austrians are uncertain allies and France is far and away, busy with its own affairs.
Internal situation isn't much better. Chaos reigns over the Crown, with riots and confederations every so often rampaging over the provinces and causing ever-increasing anarchy. Ukraine is boiling for huge revolt - Cossacks, unruly as always, are now openly plotting to break away. Lithuania, nominally an integral part of the Commonwealth, is consumed with internal politics of the great magnate families, too busy with their infighting to see the bigger picture.
If anyone is left within the Commonwealth to still see it...
= . = . =
But this is currently not your concern either. Yours is the sinewy rider, currently resting with his fur cap on his lap. You are holding the letter the man has brought. It is well-sealed, and the wax bears the familiar coats of arms pressed into it. You break the seal and open the paper. The hand writing is steady and simple, without excess calligraphy.
"My dearest son
I'm writing to you with the worst news possible. Your father, after reaching the ripe age of 64 and serving the Commonwealth for all of it, is dying. His heart failed him. While his soul is still around us, the body became twisted and lifeless. The light in his eyes is fading with each day and there are no signs of recovery. As much as I put this though aside, one day I might wake up and he will be gone.
And yet, he asks for you. He keeps asking for you every day. I know things weren't always good between you two, but he's your father and there might be no second chance to meet ever again."
The next sentence is written with larger letters, from the new, separate line:
"Please come back home as soon as you can."
Then the elegant initials.
You flip the page. There is nothing more. No extra message, no other information.
Then you look at the man who brought you here. You take a deep breath, while eye-balling the large letters
"Please come back home as soon as you can."
