Barbarian Politics

[Amalric Maulesel]

Amalric Maulesel walked into his war room and sat in his war chair. Like in Edgar Allen Poe's short story The Masque of the Red Death or the Spice Girls' bus in the the movie Spice World, Amalric's castle had many rooms themed for their royal uses. There was a war room, a very blood-thirsty and masculine place. There was also a peace room and a glory room and a music room and a beauty room and, of course, a hall of iron. But in the war room, Lances and spears decorated the torch-holder, the chairs were studded in spikes, and the windows were barred like a prison. The countenance of his great great great great great uncle, who was once king, glared cruelly from the top of his chair. Behind Amalric, very large steel swords were mounted on the wall. They were stained with the ancient blood of defeated kings.

Amalric wore about half of his armor, which made him sit up straight and look especially stiff. "I thought this was supposed to be a negotiation for peace. Why are we in the war room?" Sir Münche said, bending down to hover over Amalric's shoulder. Amalric ignored him easily, staring coldly at the door that the Sorelian Prince would soon be announced at. Beneath his armor, his hair stood on end. "Sire!" Trumpets sounded. "Sire! This is irresponsible!" Amalric's hand shot up, grabbed Sir Münche by the collar and yanked him so close that he smelled the sauerkraut Amalric had just eaten for lunch.

"Enough," he frowned. "I do not wish to make peace. He is a liar when he says he comes to make peace. Do you think I am an idiot?"

The peace room was actually currently being used by his mother, the old queen. She was having a eggnog siesta with the wives of the nobility. His mother was very fond of the peace room and its many flowers and happy wall carvings, but this was not the reason why he conducted his affairs in the war room. Amalric did not like Vortigern. He had heard that Vortigern had the the mouth of a stoat and the eyes of a snake. He had also heard that when Vortigern was a baby, a fairy had given him a rat's tail (which he kept hidden under his pants), blood red eyes, and a low tolerance for alcohol. He was, indeed, a devil in this kings imagination. He was practically Amalric's polar opposite. Amalric did not like Vortigern. And because Amalric was no princess, who must obey the rules of her culture and be submissive, he did not have to pretend to like Vortigern. Barbarian politics are much more simple-minded than those of the Rome-worshippers, but in a world with fancy letters of words Amalric cannot understand, well, he can only say yes or no on the messages sent to him from abroad. The letter had come to him out hunting the she-griffin, and he had scribbled a 'yes' only to later learn what it meant. He accepted his mistake dryly, and prepared the castle for his guest.

Now, Amalric's mother had also told him that Vortigern had the rude tendency to insult whomever woman he lusts after. She called it an awful habit, but impossible to fix or change in the man's nature. Its called reverse psychology, she had said smartly and half tipsy one night at a feast. Woman intimidate the poor boy like nothing else. He feels naturally inferior, and so, all he can do complain. Helen Maulesel had once visited the Kingdom when she was still young and Amalric's father was still alive. Amalric had only met Sorelians in the recent skirmishes by the Reilingen outposts.

Taking his mother's advice, Amalric had made sure that every person who assisted his enemy to this oval table he sat at, was a woman. And the most intimidating women he could find. He made sure they were all very loud and opinionated and vengeful and that they liked to drink and tease the men around them. Many were the sisters of squires and the royal guards, and they were a lively bunch of ladies that had conquered the eastern tower as their dormitory. They worked as maids, cooks, and ladies-in-waiting. All kept their frizzy hair in braided buns, and new the most revolting songs.

Amalric had also tripled the number of cats that prowled the corridors. Whatever could make the rat-tailed prince uncomfortable.

And while Sir Münche disliked the idea of going to war, the old advisers and nobles that joined Amalric at this table cracked their knuckles and rubbed their helms. They , too, had worn their armor, and as they waited quite enthusiastically. They talked amongst themselves about how many men from their manors they could suit up and horse and strategic locations to set their men. They had not battled in a while and their memories of organized campaigns for death had changed flavor like warhead candies. It was about time to pop another.

After Amalric lost his temper, albeit briefly, Sir Münche bit his tongue, and was about to speak up against his king, but the horns had finished their ditty and heavy oak door opened for the enemy to take his place at the table.

"Hail, Prince Vortigern," a woman with a deep voice said to announce the man we all have waited for, and she stepped to the side and stood perfectly with her hands in front of her skirts. And despite the threatening fist Amalric mashed onto the table, he still had the chivalry in mind to read off his demands and hopefully the fool would find the wisdom to surrender.

(NOTES) looking forward to writing comedy with you -- bring as many armored guards as you want. I think you'll need them.
(TAGGED) Vortigern

[Vortigern]

-------To say that Vortigern did not want to do this, would be a massive understatement. This was one of the worst things his father had ever made him do. No. It could be worse: Amalric could have a sister and his father would have sent him with not only hopes to make peace, but also a possibly marital arrangement. Dear god, that would have been horrible. Vortigern truly did not understand the purpose of this. There had been building tension, skirmishes, hell they were at war practically! And his father wanted to achieve peace? It was repulsive. War was what strengthened kingdoms and Vortigern's arrogance permitted him to believe that he could easily defeat Amalric and claim his pathetic kingdom for his own. It was only pathetic because Vortigern did not like the man. He had heard that King Amalric and a gryffin fetish. Disturbing. Very, very disturbing.

-------Ordinarily Vortigern did not wear his armor whilst traveling. He wore expensive attire, meant to show off the wealth he possessed upon first meeting whoever it was that his journey was meant for. But this time, he was fully clad in it. He wore his chainmail and other pieces of darkly colored armor to cover it. His black cape draped to one side over his arm. The journey was one greatly dreaded but every step towards the castle, he hoped for an attack. Something. Anything! That would make him quickly turn around and declare to his father that Amalric had tried to kill him. Of course Vortigern had already presented this possibility to his father. But Gildas had thought otherwise. "He could have me assassinated father. Do you really believe that the man wants peace?" That had been Vortigern's attempt to dissuade his father from going through with these, 'negotiations'. "Nonsense son. King Amalric would not dare attack you when we go with a truce, however temporary it may be. To betray it would be unthinkable." His father had far too much faith in people; a weakness.

-------"Do you really believe that this man thinks father?! We should be going there with an official declaration of war. Not with our tail between our legs to ask for peace!" But all of Vortigern's arguments were made to no success. His father was making him go. And here he was. This would be a dreadful experience. He did not know what Amalric's plan was; what was he playing at? With Vortigern, his hands were tied for he was doing the bidding of his king. But Amalric was king. So then what? What did he hope to achieve from this? Surely not peace. Not after all that had happened between Soleria and Landgraben. He rode through the courtyard, pulling his horse to a halt and swiftly dismounted. He of course, expected his men to do the same. He had traveled with a large group of knights. He did not trust Amalric, and yet he hated to admit that no attack had happened...thus far. Shame. Vortigern was looking forward to the possibility. An opportunity to kill more of his civilians and guards.

-------He made his way through the hallway, lead by some random woman servant who Vortigern said no words to. He was not oblivious to the fact that there were cats all over the place. So in additional to a gryffin fetish, he also had a cat fetish too? Vortigern's stride was confident and poised, but every now and then a cat would quickly scurry in front of him, and his 'accidental' stepping on its tail would release a loud hiss from the feline. After two or three of these, Vortigern had enough. The next cat who had hissed at him, he quickly pulled out his sword and stabbed the creature right through, straight down at a perfect angle. He pulled out the sword placing the weapon back in its sheath, and picked up the deceased cat. It was concealed casually under his cape so that no one would be able to see it upon first glance.

-------As they drew towards the doors, the servant stopped, gave a bit of a bow and stepped aside. Vortigern heard a voice announce his name...a woman's voice. How utterly demeaning. He was a prince! He should be announced with someone of more standing rather than just a woman. Keeping a serious expression on his face, and forcing his father's words of remaining polite and respectful to facilitate his actions, Vortigern entered the room. The very, strange looking room. It actually had its charms, and he hoped that what it represented would be the outcome of his visit: violence, slaughter, war! His gaze fixated on the king, though he did notice the company that Amalric kept. Women. A great deal of women. Was he doing this just to spite him? Did he hear that much of his reputation? Vortigern did not ask, and he would have to act like it did not bother him. But he already felt as if the king of Landgraben was not taking this seriously. Then again, why was that such a bad thing? It would be a valid, and truthful excuse for Vortigern to return to Soleria and report to his father that Amalric cared nothing for peace; only to tempt and provoke them to war.

-------With the sudden silence that the room had been filled with due to his presence, Vortigern decided to fill it. He walked towards the table, the sound of his boots echoing in this room. With his cape having been shrouded to one side, over his shoulder and arm, the very side that the cat was concealed under, Vortigern lifted his arm, revealing the dead animal. He threw it towards Amalric so that it landed on the table, right in front of the king. "Do you believe that this is just cause for a declaration of war?" He asked sarcastically, with a slight smirk, referring to the fact that he had killed one of his cats. So his sense of humor tended to be a bit more morbid. What did he care. At the very least, perhaps it would irk out some of the women and cause them to leave. Women did after all tend to be over sensitive and far too sympathetic. He knew what his sisters would do if they saw him kill a cat: they would cry and wail and pray for the poor kitty's sole. It was pathetic really.

-------"King Amalric," he finally greeted, refusing to bow to a man who he perceived as his enemy. He walked towards the seat meant for him and sat down, his men taking their positions around the room, on guard should any of these talks turn into something more, intense. But how were they to have serious talks of politics are such, if there were women all about them? Would they stick their opinion in? Most probably. No woman was not opinionated and the fact that Amalric had probably done this deliberately to infuriate Vortigern, made him all the more angry at his actions. But again, he remained composed. He had given his word to his father and Gildas was the only man that he would not dishonor. "I came with the understanding that we are to talk of peace and politics." He began, his voice holding a tone of mocking. "Not gossip and fashion." Which is all women seemed to talk about.

[Amalric Maulesel]

Vortigern stomped over to the table, oblivious to Amalric's tightening jaw line and elevating y-shaped forehead vein. Vortigern looked very red and black, quite the symbol of blood and death, and his skin, when lit by this fashion, glowed with a sinister humor. His thick black eyebrows wiggled like gymnasts, their sarcastic flexible impressive, as he plunked a dead cat in front of Landgraben's lord. At first, the Amalric thought it was a rabbit. He might have liked the fellow if it was a rabbit. There's to being a man! Maybe they could actually relate on something. For a split second, Amalric thought they could actually be friends! Nothing like the sport to make Amalric all gung-ho and back-slap-happy. Amalric picked it up to inspect the fatness of the meat, only to find it to be nothing but a cat.

"Do you believe that this is just cause for a declaration of war?"

"What? A little cat?" Amalric jeered, trying to lift his eyebrows the same way as Vortigern. "You do not know our ways here. However, it is criminal to kill the great boar! Fortunately, none of your men succeeded in that little feat, Sorelian Prince." War horns would have blown without even the manners of a war council. Those boar were sacred gods among the good, mountain, Christian folk. Many of his councilmen grinned and nudged each other in the ribs. Amalric held the cat up by the tail and then gave it to Sir Münche. Sir Münche held it behind his back very seriously, still making up his mind if he should interrupt or fetch the old Queen.

When Vortigern stalked away to his seat. Amalric's pudgy fingers came to his brow. His eyebrows, alas, stuck in one line like an iron bar and this made him very bitter.

And when Vortigern finished his little tirade, all the while, swept in the glorious drama of ridicule, Amalric sat on his war throne like a sour patch kid putting up with a lame puppet show.

"Well, peace and politics aren't ambushes and skirmishes either, Sorelian Prince," Amalric said. "Either your men are idiots and fight when they are commanded to sit and be still because they untrained animals, or you have no control over your army and you need someone to--" a metal fist smashed on the table. "Fix it. Sor--e--li--an Prince. If you are unfit, well, I do not know what beast or soldier would listen to a man who doesn't fill out his armor." Amalric's council nodded furiously with vulture eyes and made low 'mmm'-ing noises.

(NOTES) I am slow... yes, I am slow.
(TAGGED) Vortigern

[Vortigern]

-------Upon hearing that it was not a crime to kill one of his felines, but rather a great boar, Vortigern smirked. "Pity," He began to say. It was a pity that he had not entered the castle with the head of a boar. Had he known it was such a grand crime, a cause for war, he would have been sure to hunt one on his way over. And if Gildas ever asked, then he would claim that he had not know that the murder of a boar was just cause for war. "I will be sure to remedy that mistake next time." Mistake, meaning that he killed the wrong animal. And he hoped Amalric was not stupid enough to pick up on what he meant by that. While the words of his father rung in his head, reminding him to be civil and respectful... Vortigern found it all the more difficult when Amalric began to insult his capability.

-------Criticizing his army and the battles they had found. He felt himself raging, but managed to maintain composure. He would not show himself as a hot headed prince. But if they were in Soleria, Vortigern would have had a far less peaceful reaction to Amalric's criticisms. "Is this how you commence peace talks?" He asked sarcastically. "With name calling and childish jibes?" Vortigern could not believe his father made him do this! If Gildas wanted damn peace, then he should have invited the damn king to Soleria rather than send his son to diffuse the tension! This was not Vortigern's forte, and he was not about to smile and tolerate Amalric's highly disrespectful words.

-------He slightly leaned back a bit in his seat in a very casual manner. "Inform me when you are finished with your juvenile insults. For I came here to talk to a King and who I have found instead is someone who does not know how to hold a civil conversation." Vortigern knew his words were hypocritical. Mostly because conversations Vortigern was engaged in were hardly civil. The only reason he knew he could get away with saying this, was because Amalric had said these things first. He had blatantly insulted Vortigern and his army first, so he could act like the more mature one... only for this second. If the conversation continued on down this path, well Vortigern had his limit. He would not sit here like a quiet coward and let Amalric speak in such a way to him.