Author Topic: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel  (Read 608 times)

Clarence Dannel

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Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« on: 31 July, 2017, 06:59:00 AM »
Plague broke out in London. Lord Clarence, the vassal of London, looked down to see spots on his own hand. Well, that at least explained the feeling of malaise. Lord Clarence and the others boarded the newly built plague ship Clarence had recently commissioned, foreseeing the current outbreak the moment the rats swarmed the city. The H.M.S. Death's Pale Horse would make its maiden voyage while the timbers were still fresh enough to smell the forests.

Several locals and servants from the Tower also contracted the Plague. The holds were full, as were the railings. “Morbid name for a ship 'tisn't it, m'lord?” Blacian, the assistant chief servant, followed Clarence down the steps from the deck of the ill-fated ship.

“This is a plague-ship, Blacian, not Cleopatra's Royal Yacht. The name fits the function, and if you wonder why Death rides a pale horse, find a mirror.” The servant was clammy and covered with boils.

“Don't need one, m'lord, you're as pale as a spirit....and also seasick I suppose....I'll fetch the mop...”

This ship was no one's home, but if treatment did not arrive soon, it would surely become everyone's grave. Nonetheless, all on board approach death knowing full well that they followed the Emergency Plague Protocol laid out by the hopefully-not-soon-to-be-late Lord of London.
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #1 on: 01 August, 2017, 07:09:12 AM »
The captain of the H.M.S. Death's Pale Horse called Lord Clarence to the deck. It was the second day the ship had sat at sea off the coast of London. Lord Clarence had recovered from the Plague. That recovery seemed to fate him to watch helpless as everyone else suffered and died. This captain who called him wasn't even the captain—he was the first mate with a field promotion. The old captain was dead.

On the deck, the captain handed Clarence the glass and pointed off the port bow. Through the scope, Clarence spotted the King's flagship. Raising the view to the masts, Clarence's suspicion was confirmed. Two flags flew from the main mast. The first was the new Plague Flag Clarence had designed the week prior to the outbreak: A large black circle of a boil, surrounded by a white outline of raised skin around the boil, on a field of red—the red of blood. The second—the second indicated who was on board, not even this record dares say. Clarence sunk his head, his fears confirmed. This wasn't the only other plague ship he'd seen in the past day. How many friends and fellow nobles was this now? This epidemic had become a nightmare.

They buried Blacian the servant that morning. He died during the night. The kid was only 14 years old. “Forgive me for sayin', m'lord, but I loath it when ye are right." Clarence had predicted this Plague and had also predicted that the dilapidated condition of London's Theological Churches would exacerbate the crisis. The old captain had already died, and the new captain—who cast off his own name in preference of being called “Charon,” after the boatman who ferried souls to Hades—had Clarence perform the funeral.

“Blacian was a servant. His name in older English meant black, I think, and the black death was Blac's death too. We devote his soul to Teos, and his body to the deep.” The fish would eat well tonight....but the Black Death might then come for them too.

“I may be an officer of State,” cried the despondent lord, “but when I return, there will be religious reform!”
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #2 on: 09 August, 2017, 02:19:38 AM »
His left foot rose from the gang-plank of the Plague-ship, and rested once again on the ground of the city of London. Lord Clarence gazed at the city. The Plague had left London, but it had not left London untouched. There was something foul in the air—a sense of the dread and death that had struck the city. The wounds of the boils had mostly healed, leaving a few scars.

Help had not come from London. It had come instead from Exeter and all the way from Flanders. They had worked tirelessly to rid London of the Plague, while London stood impotent and helpless. London was forever in her rescuers' debt. Their toil would never be forgotten.

The physical pain diminished with each passing day....but not the heartache. Clarence feared the news he knew he would now have to receive, and watching from the harbor, he saw that news coming in the form of one of London's stewards. Someone of highest rank had died—that much he knew. Was the it the King? the Cardinal? ...the Drillmaster? “M'lord, Eike Repgow died at sea from the Plague off the coast of London.”

A sharp pain struck Clarence in the chest, causing him to collapse down to the planks of the dock. “M'lord! M'lord!” It was the grief that struck him down. Clarence had seen Eike's Repgow's ship near his own Plague-ship. Their ships had not been alone. One would not return. Rising to his feet, Clarence ordered ceremonies of mourning throughout London. He would not send a servant to tell this news to the King.

Someone had erred, and that burned in Clarence's blood. A Healer who refused to heal, Wicked Fiends who had cast those Plague-ridden rats into his city to bite, to devour, to destroy....these were the Agents of Death. Captain Charon had to be taken to a monastery in the countryside, for that much death had destroyed his sanity. Glancing back, Clarence saw city guards restrain the captain as he writhed in his madness on his way to the wagon that would transport him. His expenses would be paid from Clarence's own accounts.

It is time now to move on from this calamity, to rebuild, to embrace what is good....and, perhaps more important than anything else, it is time to breed innumerable litters of cats.
« Last Edit: 09 August, 2017, 02:29:04 AM by Clarence Dannel »
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #3 on: 17 August, 2017, 05:28:21 AM »
It is said that in the annals of history there are some who participate, and there are some who spectate from the sidelines and make commentary. Such was the case with Lord Clarence at the Battle of Munster on the eleventh day of August, in the year thirteen-hundred and seventeen.

There were not enough natives for all soldiers to fight, so the rest watched. Lord Clarence stood on hilltop next to Judge Fulco and the rest of the bored soldiers of Operation Herman. They watched as a few warriors of Ireland approached in their finest armor. “Have they come to join us?” Fulco asked.

“I think not, Fulco.” Clarence watched as Malachi Ap Rhys, a Irishman with a Welsh name, charged at the natives by himself. “Rather impressive—he actually took a few of them out for us before falling. I hope he's not injured.” Two more Irish soldiers appeared from the horizon. “Gentlemen, this is a classic example of mimetic desire—Ireland only wants Munster because they see someone else wants it.” None of the other nobles had heard of mimetic desire. Clarence was on his own with that one.

After the battle, John Costello awoke from his nap, “Did I miss the battle?” Upon realization of the truth, John became irate, started muttering something in Irish Gallic, and staggered off to find a tavern with some ale and a whole chicken for him to devour.

Lord Clarence would later describe this mimetic desire in his Treatises on Ireland as “weak,” “child-like,” and “utterly lacking in mental or physical prowess.” He described this first visit to the Emerald Isle as “a pastoral, idyllic land filled with green fields covered by small, yellow pansies.”


In 1973, a page of illuminated manuscript was discovered with a depiction—not of the battle—but of the three bored English nobles on the hilltop. The artist is unknown. Some believe it was Lord Clarence himself who painted it, but others argue he would have made himself taller and believe the artist was instead just another bored soldier. In any case, the illumination was discovered deep within the Tower of London (Lord Clarence's home of that time) buried under a pile of 14th Century grocery lists and an anatomical drawing of a quill-less porcupine.
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #4 on: 20 August, 2017, 02:22:41 AM »
His left eye twitched for a moment in the dim candle light. Clarence strained to focus on the paper in front of him. It was late for such work, but late hours never bothered him. The twitching in his left eye, however, made work more of a challenge. “Alas, I shall just finish this page, then retire for the night,” he resigned. “Remember, now, the pain is a gift.”

It was, in truth, though it felt more like a gift when it didn't bother him. It was a squalid leftover of the first time he contracted the Plague as a youth, barely past the brink of manhood. So was the intermittent ache at his right thigh. It had not defined his manhood years, but it had shaped them. What manner of man would he be if not for them? Humility is having a right view of yourself, and mortal man lives but a moment, then withers like grass. Infirmities are a tonic to keep pride at bay. He thought of Alfred, King of Wessex, whose example gave Clarence the inspiration to also see his own mild infirmities as a gift. “Alfred the Great,” Clarence always thought that man should be called.

These constant reminders brought life always into focus, and spurred him onward, to press on to whatever service he might able offer those worthy of it. The people of London: he was their servant, ever since Michael took the throne of England and assigned him stewardship over the capital city and its surrounding countryside. It's an honor to serve such people, where even the commoners are more noble in truth and in deed than many nobility of other lands. That's why the lords of England are the servants of the people, and the King, servant of all. England's greatness is the greatness of her people, and that is greatness indeed.

Alright now, that page is finished. He probably shouldn't have pressed on to finish it, but it was done now, so, no matter. He picked up the lamp and started walking down the corridor from his office to his bedchambers. There's that thigh ache flaring up—probably from sitting too long and staying up too late. Best that the servants had already gone to sleep, lest they see the slight limp in his gait.

A piece of cheese made its way into his mouth followed by a cup of water, fresh drawn from the well in the lower levels of the Tower. He stood by the window as he prayed his nightly prayers. He prayed for the people of London—his family, he always called them. He prayed for England, prayed for her King, and prayed for a good night's rest, that it might bring him the strength to serve well in the day ahead.
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #5 on: 22 August, 2017, 05:54:44 AM »
The smell of cow manure is only fragrant perfume to one who has longed for the simple life after spending too much time away from home. Clarence spent the early dawn inspecting his new herd of cows. All of them were White Park cattle, the premiere breed of England.

The largest of the herd was the alpha female, Boudicia. She was as large as a bull, and despite her massive girth, she carried herself with a grace that the swiftest deer could never surpass. Her white horns sloped upward, each as long as Clarence's lanky arms, and both culminating in red, pointed tips as long as a man's hand. Boudicia was only cantankerous when defending one of the other cows in the herd or fending off the advances of Maximus, the local bull, which she did with ease, for even that ill-tempered one-and-one-quarter ton bull knew better than to test his strength against that of Boudicia.

The sun was still touching the horizon as Lord Clarence made his rounds, gathering the day's supply of milk. The innkeepers of London will be making cheese past sundown with how much these cows were producing. As Clarence groomed Matilda, the second largest cow in his herd, Boudicia started to grunt and snort in agitation. Clarence looked over and saw the massive cow rear up in her stall. Her shoulder broke the timbers separating her stall from the next. Dairymen fled out of the barns as if fleeing from a fire. Clarence ran past the dairymen and toward the frightened cow as a sense of horror washed over his entire body. What on Earth could possibly unnerve the fiercest cow in the whole of England?

And there, he saw it. Hideous, deformed, and out of proportion with the rest of reality, it was the size of a male goat, and its teeth were as large as a goat's horns. “I loathe these large rats!” Clarence shouted.

The rat saw him and turned to charge at the lord. Clarence rolled out of the way and reached for the long sword resting on the wall of the barn. Ever since these demonic aberrations appeared in London, Clarence had kept a number of long swords in conspicuous locations around his estates. A servant, thinking himself clever, had carved “In case of rats...” in the wood above this long sword. The rat bit Clarence on the leg—his good leg—and proceeded to hiss and squeal as it scratched and pawed at the prone lord. Clarence struck the rat square in its hide, only drawing a minimal amount of blood.

The rat stepped backward several feet to regroup. That's when Boudicia seized the opportunity and stomped the rat with both front hooves, bringing her full weight down upon the abomination. The rat squeaked in pain, wriggled free, jumped five feet into the air, and bit Boudicia's right nostril. Boudicia roared. Clarence had never heard a cow roar before. He leapt to his feet, grabbed a bottle of mulberry brandy a dairyman had left behind and a lit lantern with his other hand. In one fluid motion, Clarence broke the bottle over the dire rat and slammed the lantern into the rat's back, shattering the lantern and spreading its flames.

“Return from whence thou came, thou devil!” The rat shrieked as the flames tore at its back, yet, it bit Clarence on the arm—then the chest, and the stomach, and....Clarence wasn't about to let that progression continue. With a downward stroke of his long sword, Clarence split the occiput and severed the rat's spine. The rat was dead, but another would emerge from the abyss in a few hours.

Clarence was bathed in his own blood, and in pain he staggered toward his magnificent cow. Wounds now marred her flawless snowy hide. He missed the days when the only danger in dairy farming was getting kicked by an ornery cow. (For the record, that cow was Gundrada, and she was delicious.)
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #6 on: 26 August, 2017, 07:37:09 AM »
Clarence hesitated at the threshold of London's Parish Church. He had not stepped inside since the former priest closed the doors of the church to the sick and the dying mere moments before the Plague devastated the city. Any time he had prayed since then was either at the Cardinal Palace or privately at his home, where he said his prayers every night just before sleep.

Now the wayward priest had been replaced, and Father Mortimer, the new priest, opened the doors of the church wide, welcoming all of London to enter. Clarence gazed deep into the sanctuary to see the dimly lit frame of a humble church servant sweeping the stone floor. Even as a silhouette, it was clear that this figure smiled at Clarence once he noticed the lord's presence. Clarence set a tentative foot inside the door.

Before long, Clarence felt his body carry him further into the church. He slid into a hard oak pew near the front. His eyes looked forward, toward the altar, and up to the gilded inscription on the altar's ledge. It was written in Latin, a passage from the sacred texts. Clarence stared at the passage he had read a thousand times before, and yet, he looked at it as if this was the very first time it had entered his view. It meant all the things it had meant before, but now it seemed to Clarence that it meant something more.

Clarence glanced over at the humble figure sweeping the floor. The light through the windows shifted, and Clarence got a glimpse of the figure's face. It was Father Mortimer himself. That sight drove home what the passage on the altar's ledge meant to him at that moment. It spoke of the time at the end when Teos would make everything new, and in so doing, put an end to illness and death. Though this present moment was far from the end of time, yet it seemed that this was a symbol, an example—a type, even—of the newness that was promised.

After hours of earnest prayer and rededication, Clarence arose slowly. His back was stiff, and his legs found it arduous to lift his stout body. The stillness in those quiet hours had tensed Clarence's body, but it had refreshed Clarence's soul. Thus, with soothed soul, rested mind, and tired body, Clarence returned to the Tower of London.

On his way home, Clarence stopped by the cemetery to pay his respects to those brave men, women, and children who had served England to their dying breaths during what was now known as The Great London Plague. Blacian the Servant, Captain Pelagius the Ill-Fated, a baker known only as “Al,” all the crew of the H.M.S. Rocco, as well as that of the H.M.S. Orpheus—countless names and countless people....countless to all except Lord Clarence. He knew all their names; he remembered all their faces. He had even made many of their orphaned children his wards. Thus this plague had made them beneficiaries of his nobility via adoption. It was the only good to come from such great ill, that, and Father Mortimer's call to the ministry.

2,527 people had died, and 431 orphans were made in the course of that one horrid week. Now with Father Mortimer as the Priest of London, such misery would surely shrink away like shadows from sunlight. Clarence looked forward to the newness that lay ahead.
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #7 on: 03 September, 2017, 06:09:13 AM »
“Lean forward.” The maid pealed the old bandages from Lord Clarence's back, revealing a long gash across the left flank, just below his arm. It would leave a scar, but that was all. Clarence was fortunate. He had answered the King's call to arms and had made himself present at Dublin, where he fell on the field of battle to a Kievan mercenary.

Mercenaries. They were all Ireland had to defend themselves in this war. Dangerous move: Mercenaries, by definition, are motivated by something other than the interests of the nation who hires them.

“Ouch!” Clarence winced as the maid cleaned the wound. She was thorough. Gisele was from a small village along the Rhine River, and her talent was in preventing infection. The mercenaries and this girl from the Rhine brought to Clarence's memory the story of his grandfather, Malcolm Dannel.

Malcolm was born in the lowlands of Scotland on a modest family farm in Autumn 1215. The ink on The Great Charter was still wet from King John's pen, not that it mattered to the Scotch. Malcolm's father was a carpenter, which left little time for farming, and his grandfather (the farmer) was already seventy. By the time Malcolm was eight years old, he was operating the entire farm himself.

Five years later, a recruiter from a mercenary company came to town. The recruiter told stories of far off wars in far off places, for the Church and for glory. The tales he told filled the young man's heart with dreams. So Malcolm lied about his age, telling the recruiter that he was sixteen in order to be accepted into the company. His stature and his farm work gave him the physique that sold the lie, and he mustered into the company during the Spring of 1229. He passed the care of the farm to his younger brother Alexander, and boarded the ship.

The company fought first in the East. Later they blazed a trail across the deepest reaches of the mountains, in the hearts of lands few non-natives ever see. Malcolm never saw the glory of war as much as he saw the horror. He watched his brothers-in-arms bleed out beside him and heard their dying cries—cries for their mothers and wishing to be home again. He saw commanders of the company loot, plunder, and burn villages to the ground. He even saw them turn on their employers, taking their gold, and then their lives. Yet Malcolm's causes were always just. At the end of seven years, he had liberated a people from a tyrannical king, ended atrocities, and saw justice restored.

At twenty, Malcolm sailed with the company up the Rhine River and, near Alsace, met and married a local girl. At sight of her, he left the company and returned home to Scotland. The next morning, Malcolm went into a field with his long sword and threw it as far as he could. His young wife was with child that first year but later died in miscarriage. Five months later, Malcolm married the daughter of a York noble and eventually moved the family farm to Northampton, England, which his son later sold in order to move to London, the place of Clarence's birth.

Clarence looked up. His grandfather had done great and noble things during those wars, yet nothing could shake loose the horror of it all, nor could it assuage the dangers of mercenary companies. On that thought, Gisele finished replacing the bandages. Perhaps the wound would not scar after all.
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #8 on: 07 September, 2017, 06:03:50 PM »
The Cornish rebel's mace sailed through the air, striking Lord Clarence in both calves. Clarence toppled downward in a daze, falling face first into a slab of granite rock. The battlefield was covered in bulging, folding mounds of granite. This was the expanse of the Cornubian batholith. If not robbed by violence, the beauty of this unique landscape would have stopped Clarence in his tracks. He was stopped, alright, but not by the beauty around him. He tried to rise, but the Cornishman's mace struck his helmet twice in rapid succession. Down he stayed.

The battlefield was a blur of men and metal. Steel flashed back and forth in a cascade of visual music, the Sun bouncing from one surface to another, too furious to keep eyes from blinding from the light. There were the English soldiers pressing the Cornish on the left of the line. Scotsmen and Swedes came bearing up the center with an indomitable spirit. One let out a battle cry that split the air.

The twenty-ninth rebel that the scouts had noted in their reports was in fact the leader. Lord Clarence received an intelligence report from one of his officials who had fled the county. This rebel movement had appeared out of nowhere with no apparent causality. They declared themselves independent from the King of England and called themselves the Citizens of Neo-Dumnonia. Their leader's history could not be found, as his name was not known. He called himself King Doniert and was known by no other name.

Clarence rolled down the slope, sword in hand, and when the rebel stepped forward for another blow, Clarence impaled his sword right through the side of the rebel's foot. The rebel reeled back, putting all his weight on the other foot. A pause, a struggle for a moment, and the still-prone Clarence elevated his blade to slice open the backs of the rebel's knees. The rebel fell down dead, and Clarence, still prone, felt little better than his opponent. He turned his weak head to one side and saw the battle rage on.

Rebel King Doniert swiveled his war hammer over his head in an arc, taking out soldier after solder in rapid succession. His wide strokes left him open to counter-attacks, however, and the falling soldiers chipped away at him—a cut here, a blunt force trauma there. He dispatched yet another soldier on the field, but the constant tiny wounds had battered him and drained out his strength. He staggered toward his next opponent, a brave Viking warrior. The Viking grabbed Doniert by the neck and shoved his head into the pool of standing water at the Viking's feet. Doniert drowned on the field, ending his rebellion on the morning of the fifth day of September, 1317.

...And 700 years later, to the day, on a continent that had not yet been discovered, another mass of water threatened a long-distance relation of Lord Clarence. [OOC: Evacuating from Hurricane Irma. See y'all later.]
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #9 on: 08 November, 2017, 06:41:36 AM »
Clarence sat by the gates of London, where all the merchants brought their wares, and nobles and peasants alike went to and fro about their business. He held in his hands a copy of Bishop Odo's account of the Norman Conquest of England, AD 1066. The anniversary of William's landing had just passed, and it was ever present on the lord's mind. A number of his own direct ancestors were on those boats that crossed the Channel. In fact, on a trip to Bayeux during his boyhood, Clarence saw the great tapestry commissioned by this same Bishop Odo. His father pointed to a Norman knight dressed in yellow and told Clarence that man was supposedly Clarence's sixth great-grandfather.

Clarence turned the page. He recalled this part, how the Saxon government weakened as their final true king, St. Edward the Confessor, lay dying with no heir. The Saxon counsels feared losing their power, especially since Edward's lack of an heir meant the most legitimate claims to the throne of England were from Scandinavia in the East, and Normandy in the South. And thus entered the year Teos had predestined, in which England would be changed forever by the Norsemen and the Normans who came to claim that which by right and might was theirs.

The lord's thoughts wandered to the current state of Normandy. “How far the mighty have fallen!” he exclaimed as he pondered. Clarence could not help but speculate that perhaps the very best Normandy had to offer had sailed to England with William on that fateful voyage 261 years ago. The current Norman government ruled its people out of fear rather than love—out of avarice, rather than justice—and out of mistrust, rather than magnanimity. So he thought. They seemed as anemic as the Saxon counsels who ruled England in those final days before the Normans and the Norse landed on the shores of Britannia. Then a thought struck him: This new Norman ruler even bore a Saxon surname. It came from Old English, and the etymology of the name brought to mind the little hamlets that litter the countryside and the simple common folk who live there.

“What a turn fate has dealt the people of 1317! For King Michael, being a direct descendant of King William the Conqueror, is a Norman, and, if surnames suggest origin, the new Norman king is, in fact, a Saxon!”

At this, Lord Clarence slammed the book shut, startling a Scottish merchant carrying an excessive load of cheese out from the city. And what of himself? He was Norman....and he was also Saxon. He was Scottish too, like this dairy merchant, and.....also a little French (but mostly just for flavor). A moment of thought, and Clarence resigned himself to the simple truth of the matter: Being a combination of the very best members of diverse groups of peoples is what it means to be English.

Clarence rose and reentered the city. Every person within his view received a look from the lord that bore the honor normally reserved to a king.
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #10 on: 22 November, 2017, 05:46:54 AM »
Gisele the maid was worthy of a noble title. She had labored tirelessly over these long hard days of battle, mending wounds that left scars to the point that Lord Clarence's torso now resembled a patch-work quilt.

She had gained considerable experience working in the recent campaigns. Doniert's Rebellion in Cornwall, the uprising in Portugal, and now the Franco-Norman War offered her more field training than most receive in a lifetime. She also spent time studying at the Academy learning new treatments and remedies. All of them were employed for Clarence and all the brave Englishmen in his entourage. They were needed.

“What about the jaw? I don't recall being struck there.” Lord Clarence rubbed his sore face and winced in pain.

“I do not think it is a battle wound, m'lord. I believe it may be related to your first bout with Plague as a youth. The strain of turmoil so close to London, concern for the safety of the Londoners....this is no doubt the cause for this one.” Gisele applied a balm to the area.

She was wiser than the average servant. Clarence had fought in France for the idea of keeping London safe. If that war should spread, it would not have to spread far to reach the shores of Thames. “The children...” Clarence's thoughts always went to them—how such a thing might affect them.

Ever since The Great London Plague had made him the benefactor of many newly-made orphans in the city, their welfare was never far from his heart. Even in the midst of the instability and upheaval that rocked the region, he had managed to complete a reading primer to help the children of London become literate and also instruct them in the ways of Teos. For want of enough competent illustrators, Clarence had illuminated the entire manuscript with his own hand. Now the copies were in the hands of Father Mortimer and Adrahil Loudwater, and the children would grow to be learned, literate, and eventually lead England's next generation with far greater skill and intelligence than all the generations that came before....that is, if the war remains on the proper side of the Channel and allows these children the chance to have that opportunity.

They were on the way back to London. There was a slight chill in the evening air over the English Channel. The coolness of the breeze made the many aches from battle wounds feel a little better. Clarence looked around at the bandages. It was what little he could give to serve England. They'd be back soon, and the people of London were waiting for him. Clarence smiled at the thought of the peasants bustling about city attending to their business. No doubt in the time he'd been gone, the people of London would have a myriad of new needs for him to attend to. Clarence's honor was to have the privilege of giving his all in the service of these men and women of highest caliber. This was his view of a life well spent.
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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #11 on: 26 November, 2017, 07:39:30 AM »
No sooner had Clarence's foot left the deck of his ship in London harbor than the needs of the people he served came flooding up to him. King Michael's steward met him straightaway. “The King requests your presence in the palace forthwith. Make haste, good Clarence. Teos speed you on your way.”

Clarence made his way to the palace without delay. Along the way Londoner after Londoner assailed him with needs that had arisen since he'd been away. He ordered that any who would have their petitions heard that day must hustle in step with his hastened pace; any that could not keep up would have to have their petitions heard at a later time. The King had summoned, and so he had to go.

Upon entering the chamber where the King sat, Clarence noticed the King fiddling with his crown. “You know, I never asked for this thing in the first place. If it weren't for the Queen's sudden departure following whatever kept her away from her subjects in those final months of her life, I would likely have lived my life content to be a warrior in the service of my people, but the people's needs come first. It's heavy and uncomfortable, this crown. I'm not even certain it will even fit on your over-sized head.”

Clarence bowed in shock. King Michael stood, crown in hand, and in a gesture of coronation, placed the crown upon Clarence's over-sized head. He was right: it was heavy, it was uncomfortable, and it did not quite fit right. The goldsmiths would have to resize it. Clarence looked up, and in a sudden burst of awareness, he realized that King Michael was abdicating the throne of England, and this gesture meant that he would be the next ruler in the line of kings that began all the way back with Alfred and Aethelstan—Clarence's heroes.

“Unworthy,” that was Clarence's next thought, and then his mind turned to what King Michael had said, “the people's needs come first.” Come to think of it, he had heard three petitions of the people while making haste to this meeting. Perhaps serving their needs was something that Clarence already knew how to do. Perhaps this was what it truly meant to be a ruler of men. He had always made the claim that England's people were her true power, and that her officials were the servants of the people they served, therefore, the King of England is the servant of them all.

King Michael told him that his reign had been the highest of honors, and that he was now retiring to the countryside to write his memoirs. Clarence requested a copy and remarked that he expected them to be “a good read.”

After pausing a few days for a feast of thanksgiving throughout the nation, and to give the goldsmiths time to stretch out the crown of St. Edward the Confessor, the nation gathered in London for the coronation event. Father Mortimer Manta, a close personal friend of Clarence, had spent all those days in the cathedral with Clarence, praying from sunrise to sunset for Teos' blessing on the English people, and asking for wisdom and strength.

And then, with one fluid motion St. Edward's crown came down on Clarence's over-sized head, and the people of England shouted, “Long live, King Clarence!” Clarence arose, now a king, and as he turned to his people, he shouted back, “Long life to you all!”
Clarence Dannel
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Alain D' Arcy

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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #12 on: 26 November, 2017, 04:36:34 PM »
LONG LIVE KING CLARENCE!!!


:)





Clarence Dannel

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Re: Excerpts from the Annals of Dannel
« Reply #13 on: 08 December, 2017, 06:01:32 AM »
The Winter of 1317 was a tumultuous time in England. Clarence Dannel had risen to become King of England during the onset of a severe war. Clarence served England and her people with everything he had, until there was nothing left to give. The Battle at Hampshire had left him grievously wounded. Gisele, the medical maid, looked with horror at the injuries that racked Clarence's chest despite the blow landing on his arm. “I do not know if I can fix this...” She quickly grabbed all the Theological clerics she could find and put Clarence back together—just enough for the next battle. He hid this wound, but it was a poorly kept secret.

Following Oxford, Clarence returned to the palace in London and summoned Princess Aiiane Grey. He looked at her with eyes that aged beyond his three decades of life. “This time, Aiiane....this time they hit my heart.” He placed St. Edward's Crown down on the table. “Do you know why Edward the Confessor was venerated as a saint?” Clarence asked. Aiiane shook her head in silence. “Nor I. His folly destroyed England by giving foreigners the cassus belli to invade and oppress the people. I will leave this on the table for you. I do not know if you will wish to pick it up or not.” And then Clarence walked out of London and all the way into the deep countryside where he would make his home for the rest of his days.

Just before his final act as King of England, when he knew his reign was about to end, Clarence married the maid Gisele who had served him faithfully and became his confidant, adviser, and friend. He said she should be a queen, so he made her one—even if only for an hour.

Clarence and Gisele brought all the orphans Clarence had adopted in the wake of The Great London Plague with them to what is now known as Dannel Field. They set up a dairy farm there, adding many natural-born children over the years. Clarence loved them all the same, adopted and natural-born alike. Clarence was able, in time, to return to his first love of the arts. He completed one-hundred and forty-seven illuminated manuscripts in his lifetime, each averaging between thirty-six and seventy-two pages of full illustration, and every one of them written for the benefit of the young. Many of these manuscripts are preserved in museums and universities around the world.

Clarence's proclivities toward illustration and painting led to an art revival in England and Scotland during the late 14th and early 15th Centuries. Many modern scholars believe that the well-known portrait of King Clarence was in fact a self-portrait, and, since it is stylistically identical to the portrait of London priest Father Mortimer (Clarence's close friend and clergyman) we suspect that this particular style of painting was Clarence's own invention.

The orphans grew up in a loving home where no Plague nor foreign invader was ever to be found again. There was Isabelle, a baker's daughter. She grew up to marry a duke who was henceforth only known only as “the Fat.” Then there was Podfrey, whose excessively long curved nose made him the source of much ridicule....that is until Clarence told him to make the hawk his sigil and turn his unique feature into a source of strength. Podfrey squired for a baron, served with valor as a knight in many wars, and ended his career as Prime Minister of Parliament. Podfrey's descendants sailed to the New World in the 17th Century and later settled in Connecticut. All the orphans fared as well these, and the natural-born children of Clarence and Gisele could only be distinguished by their younger ages....and by the epic facial hair they were able to grow as adults.

Despite all the injuries and infirmities suffered during a difficult early adulthood and in service to the Crown, Clarence lived to a rife old age, full of days, and many joys. His wife, Gisele, later told Father Mortimer that she believed Clarence had been in pain every moment of his life from his 17th birthday to his final breath, but he rarely complained, favoring instead a more dignified disposition in all his affairs.

As the end drew nigh, they moved Clarence's bed outside so all his children—the orphans and natural-born alike (he made no distinction)—could be by his side. So many descendants were there on that day, they could not keep him indoors and all be by his side. Some say Clarence's life ended when he had given the whole measure of it for those he loved. Others claim that his heart never stopped, it merely transitioned from this world into the next.

Rumors throughout the centuries say Clarence's top prayer was for all his descendants, adopted and natural, for all generations to come. This prayer was that they know Teos as he did, and, if possible, live in a land that is free. History has shown that these posterity throughout the generations have done exactly what Clarence prayed for: Men and women of character and integrity, with faith in Teos to guide them...to knowledge, all accounted. In addition, many have achieved great successes beyond what Clarence prayed for. Furthermore, most of Clarence's descendants ended up in the New World—a land that is free.

Clarence Dannel, former King of England, former Vassal of London, was interned at Westminster Abbey. His sarcophagus was engraved with the Dannel family motto, “Vultes Deinceps Custodite” (Keep Looking Forward). This was the advice he gave to those he served and also to his children. Judging by what has happened to them, his descendants are still looking forward to this day.

And onward, into the future, the legacy of King Clarence lives on.

Vultus Deinceps Custodite.
Clarence Dannel
Vultus Deinceps Custodite