Well I'm going to give this another go. This time there will not be as many pictures at the start but as the story progresses they will appear. We will see how it goes.
I will be playing 6.2 with BBB, additional portraits(personal change) and that's it.
England will be the main focus of this story but it might rotate to another faction as the story continues.




Shadow of the Mountain


Loyalties
All throughout my life I have been called, give and taken many different names. So many that it seems my old brain tires trying to recall them. The name I am called by for some years now is Kenward, Brayden Edmond Kenward. Kenward is the name which was given to me by the king after many scars and sacrifices for my adopted country. I am told by the poets that Kenward means, ‘Bold guardian and brave soldier.’ Both of these titles I am proud of and have earned. Bed is now my home but some days when my maids open the window and the sun shines its heavenly warmth on my face I go back to the time of youth, boldness, fear and foolishness.

Born around the year of 1212 to a land that was divided between two growing powers and one faltering power my life would be dictated to be by their actions. The Vikings now have a claim on the English main after Alfred the Great expelled them so many, many of years ago. They have returned now with a renewed zeal under new leaders for rule, not just wealth this time, of the English kingdom. The Welsh kings have long fallen in to disarray. No clear leader has been able to hold rule for more than a handful of years, instead the land is ruled by lawlessness and thieves. England to the south though is very ambitious and cruel. Ruled by the same family line for many years, they are only held at bay by a lack of soldiers and too many priests and merchants. The cauldron is hot and ready to boil. All that is needed is a stick to stoke the fire and make that cauldron erupt in a violent bubble…

Under the house hold of Griffithan my father was a crudely broad man with a fierce temper to match. His hair was losing a battle with his weathered forehead and white as the first snow of the season. A scar ran like a river from the bridge of his broken nose to the middle of his sunken cheek. “This is what good steel does to a man’s flesh” is what he use to boast. He was an old warrior whose sword arm was still young. Powerful and confident he owed allegiance to no king, for our settlement lay in the shadow of the Welsh mountains. We were in an area that sat in the middle of three kingdoms. With Norse to our east, England to the south and Wales to the west my father could have chosen which righteous king to pledge loyalty to. Instead the shrewd and greedy men around him, who were all his advisors or men who swore an oath under God, urged the Lord Mather Griffithan to wait for the kings to offer a higher price for loyalty.

‘M Lord, we have the land, resources and the soldiers which all three kings will find irresistible to add to their dominion. We should wait and let them bid against each other for our swords.’
The noble men of the council stirred with approval knowing that they would all gain wealth from the deal.

‘No.’ My father said with confident authority. ‘I will only serve a warrior king who is as honest and fair as he is pious. Any who do not agree will be allowed to break their oath to me and leave,’ he paused to look at each man in the room it seemed ‘without their holdings, in peace. For now, though, my land and all of us will be patiently neutral.’ Lord Mather turned to walk out but was interrupted.

‘Mather, what are we suppose to do while you wait?’ Scoffed Nyles Weldon, the newly appointed chief counselor, waving his skeletal hand at the rest of the counsel who looked amazed and the counselor’s reckless speech.

Turning to face the man’s complaint, my father’s jaw line erupted in teeth clenching anger. ‘You will address me, as Lord or Duke.’

‘Lord,’ Nyles said bowing deeply ‘I did not mean the offense but your plan is not in the best interest of this independent land.’ pausing to gather his thoughts a moment before continuing ‘ We should at once offer allegiances to the Viking Lord who rules the English land to our east. They are strong and my spies tell me that there are ships, dragon ships, coming from the Norse mainland. England will be vanquished within the next few years. If we act now th....’

‘Silence you whelp!’ my father bellowed slamming his fist into the table where the men still sat causing some to jump from their seats.

In an instant swords rasped and sang from their scabbards and most of the men in the room were standing. I gazed at the standoff; Nyles on one side with two of his household men and my father, backed by his bodyguard, facing him all with steel drawn ready to strike. Until now I had not moved from my hiding spot and now I dared not move out of fear. I was frozen and could only watch. At 6 years old I had yet to taste even my first real fist fight. Now I sat just feet away from blades that have tasted men’s blood and quivered for more. Both sides dared the other to move first but none did. They just stood blades poised and stared. All the advisors who were not involved backed away giving the two quarreling parties space. Nyles was the first to move. He, from what I remember, was a frail man with no stomach for a personal fight. Politics and manipulation was what he excelled at. Instead of fighting Nyles motioned for his guard to lower weapons and slowly sheathed his own thin blade.

‘M Lord.’ he said bowing mockingly as he brushed by my father’s men who were still half blocking the door. As soon as in began it was over and after Nyles had left my father stuffed his sword ‘Bar-Banan’ back to its home. The clang resonated and seemed to linger in the deathly silent hall. He shot one last harsh chilling stare at those still gazing at him and then left flanked by his house guard storming off into the cold winter night.