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Thread: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

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    PubliusKhannus's Avatar Senator
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    Default [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Just a little story I wrote a while back to augment the character I was drafting for the TWC game KuE, thought I'd share it with everyone for fun.

    Sebästian sneered at the sight of pitch-forked bumpkins jeering at 70,000 of Prussia’s finest. Held in reserve for most of the battle, Sebästian’s platoon finally saw action when the fighting was bogged down on the right flank, his platoon was to move up to supplement the final push right to break the serfs' flank and cave in their position.

    Sebästian was addicted to the sharp, tang of cordite snapping in the air, breaching his nostrils with their acrid odor, giving him a rush unlike any opiate. In a sudden fit of passion, Sebästian drew his sword and charged at the Polish line. He sprinted for 100 yards clear of any one, friend or foe, all were too stunned to see this mad hatter of a mere boy charge half a million Poles. Then in a ripple of blue, his platoon followed, then, the entire Prussian flank charged, their roars accentuated by the devilish cry of Sebästian’s.

    With gusto he lit into the ill-trained Poles, slashing, feinting, thrusting, riposting and killing ever so efficiently, smiling ever so slightly as each Pole he faced fell, throat cut, hamstring torn, intestines gutted, thus earning him the nickname Bäst (ard). Effortlessly, the Prussians sliced through the Poles, crumpling their flank in a manner akin to parchment strewn by a frustrated writer. Waving his sword adorned with blood and gore, Sebästian howled his victory to the gleaming Prussian moon.

    Suddenly, a counter-attack! Russian mercenaries; aiding the foul Poles; galloped towards the cheering Prussians at full speed, hell-bent on instant retribution before they can flee towards Moscow in the dark. The Russians slammed into the Prussians like an iron fist, slaughtering dozens upon dozens men and boys who nigh on a minute earlier had been formulating their letters back to their family.

    With a howl of rage Sebästian flung himself upon the marauding Russians, hacking and cleaving at horses and men alike, attempting to vent his terrible rage and anguish alike at seeing his friends hewed down in front of his eyes. Then, a thunderous noise formed behind Sebästian. Hooves. A boorish, stubbled Russian face appeared before Sebästian as he turned, swinging his saber as he fled. The Russian in a stroke of cruel luck had caught Sebästian in the shoulder joint, cutting deep into the skin, leaving bone exposed. Sebästian collapsed as Prussian cavalry reinforcements charged past him, mowing down the fleeing Polish peasants.

    He was rushed to a field hospital where doctors attempted to staunch the bleeding, in that they succeeded. But they had used dirty, filthy bandages. Sebästian body revolted against the foreign germs. Gangrene flexed its poisonous claws upon Sebästian’s arm. There was no choice. Amputation was the only course. But they had no poppies left. Sebästian’s vision swam and his mind roamed. Time and time again, his memory was returned to echoing sound of the hooves and the tobacco stained teeth of that damned Russian.

    By the time the amputation was over, Sebästian was changed. He was severely damaged emotionally and his mental views had been seriously skewed. He was sent home immediately. When the king heard of his plight, he immediately gave him a position in the Royal Court itself, making him the Enlistment Marshall, for surely, a military mind as bright as his would be able to handle the responsibilities of a Marshall. Alas, as the saying goes, the best wenches do not always make the best wives, so it goes for soldiers and Marshalls.

    Additional Details in case you're interested-
    Childhood-
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Born to a middling Colonel of a father in the Landheer and a political shark of a mother, Sebästian learned of the honor in serving his country and the deceit to help serve him. As is customary with the heirs of officers, Sebästian entered the Prussian War Academy at 16, graduating with at the top of his class showing the potential to be one of the most innovative infantry commanders in Prussia’s glorious history. Sebästian was introduced to the Konig himself at his graduation and this helped sow the seeds of a bureaucratic future after his military career had come to an end. Sebästian commanded the local militia for 3 years, garnering experience in confidence and man-management, before the foolish Poles revolted against the motherland. Sebästian was reassigned to help put down the peasant uprising at the field of Gdansk; this was seen as a feathering the cap assignment, no one had the faintest idea the repercussions that would resound from the battle.

    Traits-
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    Sebästian is constantly haunted by the sound of hooves and has recently begun to believe that the Russians are plotting to assassinate him, to finish the job properly, thus rendering him extremely paranoid. All of Sebästian’s Enlistment decisions are based off where the Russians are located and the strength in which they are gathered. He has the tendency of making irrational decisions to help quell the fear of Russian assassination, often infuriating Klaus, the tactical chief, who has threatened on more than one occasion to slice off Sebästian’s other arm. No matter how inept he seems to his peers, the king is blindly infatuated by Sebästian’s honeyed words and cloying messages of reassurance, thus enabling him to retain his post.

    Appearance-
    Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 
    5’10, 170 pounds with a tall, erect posture and lean muscles honed from his years in the Landheer.
    Well-groomed on almost all occasions, except for the occasional bout of panic which causes him to look disheveled and terrified.
    Extremely self-conscious about his missing arm, Klaus often takes the time to needle Sebästian about his missing extremity, taking cruel pleasure in it.
    An abundance of restless energy, exacerbated by his paranoia.


    The next installment, The Arrival of the Enlistment Marshall-


    Sebästian urged his beleaguered mounts onward with an apoplectic furor that would have shamed a sadist. He could feel in his bones he was being pursued. Those bloody Russkis. They were coming after him to finish their half-arsed attempt at killing him, succeeding only in maiming Sebästian.
    Sebästian could smell the vodka-soaked breath of that Russian Cossack as it wafted over the nape of his neck; hear the rasp of metal as it scraped melodically out of the studded leather scabbard; sense all 38 inches of the gleaming sabre from gold adorned hilt to stainless steel tip slashing towards his exposed shoulder-blades. Sebästian was going to die, surely.

    Careening around another white-washed cobble-stoned street corner dangerously; Sebästian nearly flattens two urchins whom moments before had pilfered a scone from under the nose of an overwhelmed baker’s assistant. Try as he might, Sebästian could not escape the hellhole that was his own twisted imagination, seemingly caught in a cycle of semi-normalcy and panic-induced hallucinations. It was one such instance of the latter that Sebästian was now seeking desperately to free himself of.

    Darting a glance behind him, Sebästian sees he is being pursued only by quizzical looks and indignant shouts, as pedestrians narrowly escape being barreled over and thus slows down to gather his bearings. Finding himself merely a few blocks from the Royal Palace to which he is summoned, Sebästian canters along at a more sedate pace, granting his mounts some much needed respite.
    Sebästian's tension eases and his curious nature takes over. Casting a contemptuous glance at a few unsightly lepers along the way and shooing away several bold beggars, he arrives at the palace gates.

    Sebästian dismounts from his now distinctly wobbly carriage, flips a copper to a boy to find his horses some water and hay and presents himself to the guard. Sebästian fancies himself quite the dandy and is hence appropriately dressed in a double-breasted white waistcoat, covered slightly by a dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar. His tan riding breeches are tucked snugly into his dark brown boots. His hat possesses an ever so slight conical curve to it which Sebästian accentuates by tilting it across his head in quite a rakish manner. Sebästian thought he looked quite smashing, although this effect was quite diminished by his earlier tear through town. His previous gleaming white waistcoat is covered in dust, his boots mired with unspeakable grime and his hat is at an utterly disreputable angle.

    The guard knows Sebästian quite well now and is known for his rather unfortunate fondness for sarcasm.

    “Looking quite fashionable milord, is this the down-on-his luck French nobleman summer attire or perhaps the sinister Spanish salsa dancer winter get-up?” quips the guard, chuckling at his own wit.

    Sarcasm merely infuriates Sebästian and he repudiates menacingly.

    “Neither,” he snaps. “It’s the disgruntled Prussian Enlistment Marshall fashion of every goddamn day you’re lucky enough to be alive, although that will cease to be the case if I hear another imbecilic, foolish attempt at sycophancy ushering forth from your blasphemous lips. Now clean me up properly you bumbling oaf and announce me to Der Konig before my riding crop hits you where the damnable Spanish sun doesn’t shine!”

    The guard hastily obliges, not wishing to tempt the wrath of this clearly unstable individual. Sebästian Von KÜhn enters the King’s chambers with a slight smile playing about his lips, to make decisions that will resound across all of Mother Prussia…



    Next Installment-
    Sebästian saunters inside the opulent state-room, his noble lips curling into a slight sneer at the sight of the plump individual poring over the myriad strewn papers of state and military, indicating Der Illustrious König's mind was as scatterbrained as the lowest pissboy’s.

    The state-room was perfectly horrid, displaying all the excesses of wealth. Vivid tangerine fur once worn by the princely tigers of the jungle swindled from the Bengal cover the polished Connemara marble carved from the emerald hills of Ireland. Extravagant silks from the factories of Como adorn the murals of the walls, distastefully showing the royal family as the angels they masquerade as, and not the illiterate pigs they truly are. Sebästian absorbs all of these visual affronts to his eyes, and turns his attention back to the man fretting in the center of this explosion of contrast.


    The rotund man turns slightly and motions absentmindedly that Sebästian should take a seat in one of the plush chairs adjacent to the crackling fire, overflowing with the scribbles and ramblings of the deluded ruler. “Take a seat my son; I shall be with you shortly as soon as I sort out this tricky bit of figures.”


    Sebästian fumes inwardly at the colloquium, he detests familiarity, especially when it is issued forth from the inane lips of the incompetent moron whom Lady Luck had cursed Mother Prussia with when he tumbled forth from his father’s loins.


    Ignoring the instruction, he puts aside the pretense of his dandy appearance and nearly bowls over the flustered monarch in his attempt to see these “figures”. Sebästian sighs in a mixture of resignation and disgust as the glance he steals; reveals nothing more than simple addition a damn peasant could count off on their grimy fingers. How could he possibly give counsel to a man whose brain is so addled Sebästian could dress in an evening gown and pass himself off as the poor man’s own mother.


    Sebästian is spared the further protests his cynical mind procures as the double doors imbued with the hue of butterscotch slam open. In strides a man whose bloodshot eyes and corpulent nose suggest he had had a schnapps too many. Drunkenly, he loosens his belt and flings his sword into what had been a tottering stack of parchments, collapsing it, and causing a veritable avalanche of dust to coat Sebästian’s hat.


    “You damn fool, look what your liquor fire has done now!” Sebästian upbraids the drunk indignantly.


    The said drunk was no other than the Chief of Staff, Wolfgang Hohen.


    “You’ll pay for that insult you puffed up peacock von Kühn,” Hohen drunkenly slurs and retrieves his sword, now pointing the naked blade firmly towards Sebästian’s pulsating jugular…
    Last edited by PubliusKhannus; November 25, 2010 at 11:44 PM.



  2. #2
    Katsumoto's Avatar Quae est infernum es
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Well this was excellent, I must say. You're clearly a very talented writer - the text is fluent and exciting. You should definitely think about doing a proper, multi-part piece because I found this very entertaining (and I'm usually not that interested in European 17-18th Century warfare.)

    Good job.
    "I pray Heaven to bestow the best of blessings on this house and all that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but honest and wise men ever rule under this roof."
    - John Adams, on the White House, in a letter to Abigail Adams (2 November 1800)

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    PubliusKhannus's Avatar Senator
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Thank you very much Katsumoto for the kind words, I greatly appreciate them. Writers like you and Cpt.Jin are the whole reason I got into writing these little pieces, I'll definitely work on trying to flesh out Sebastian's story a bit more into something juicier.



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    LuckyLewis's Avatar Loutre
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    They enjoyable piece of writing - I like your style, easily read yet still very enjoyable. I do agree with Katsumoto though, I'd love to see a bigger piece from you, as you certainly are a gifted writer PubliusKhannus! +rep
    Muh signature is so out of date all muh pictures died.

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    PubliusKhannus's Avatar Senator
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Thanks for the support luckylewis, now that I'm on my summer break time should open up for me to devote some quality effort into shaping Sebastian's story into more of a novella.



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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    The next installment, The Arrival of the Enlistment Marshall-


    Sebästian urged his beleaguered mounts onward with an apoplectic furor that would have shamed a sadist. He could feel in his bones he was being pursued. Those bloody Russkis. They were coming after him to finish their half-arsed attempt at killing him, succeeding only in maiming Sebästian.
    Sebästian could smell the vodka-soaked breath of that Russian Cossack as it wafted over the nape of his neck; hear the rasp of metal as it scraped melodically out of the studded leather scabbard; sense all 38 inches of the gleaming sabre from gold adorned hilt to stainless steel tip slashing towards his exposed shoulder-blades. Sebästian was going to die, surely.

    Careening around another white-washed cobble-stoned street corner dangerously; Sebästian nearly flattens two urchins whom moments before had pilfered a scone from under the nose of an overwhelmed baker’s assistant. Try as he might, Sebästian could not escape the hellhole that was his own twisted imagination, seemingly caught in a cycle of semi-normalcy and panic-induced hallucinations. It was one such instance of the latter that Sebästian was now seeking desperately to free himself of.

    Darting a glance behind him, Sebästian sees he is being pursued only by quizzical looks and indignant shouts, as pedestrians narrowly escape being barreled over and thus slows down to gather his bearings. Finding himself merely a few blocks from the Royal Palace to which he is summoned, Sebästian canters along at a more sedate pace, granting his mounts some much needed respite.
    Sebästian's tension eases and his curious nature takes over. Casting a contemptuous glance at a few unsightly lepers along the way and shooing away several bold beggars, he arrives at the palace gates.

    Sebästian dismounts from his now distinctly wobbly carriage, flips a copper to a boy to find his horses some water and hay and presents himself to the guard. Sebästian fancies himself quite the dandy and is hence appropriately dressed in a double-breasted white waistcoat, covered slightly by a dark blue overcoat with a velvet collar. His tan riding breeches are tucked snugly into his dark brown boots. His hat possesses an ever so slight conical curve to it which Sebästian accentuates by tilting it across his head in quite a rakish manner. Sebästian thought he looked quite smashing, although this effect was quite diminished by his earlier tear through town. His previous gleaming white waistcoat is covered in dust, his boots mired with unspeakable grime and his hat is at an utterly disreputable angle.

    The guard knows Sebästian quite well now and is known for his rather unfortunate fondness for sarcasm.

    “Looking quite fashionable milord, is this the down-on-his luck French nobleman summer attire or perhaps the sinister Spanish salsa dancer winter get-up?” quips the guard, chuckling at his own wit.

    Sarcasm merely infuriates Sebästian and he repudiates menacingly.

    “Neither,” he snaps. “It’s the disgruntled Prussian Enlistment Marshall fashion of every goddamn day you’re lucky enough to be alive, although that will cease to be the case if I hear another imbecilic, foolish attempt at sycophancy ushering forth from your blasphemous lips. Now clean me up properly you bumbling oaf and announce me to Der Konig before my riding crop hits you where the damnable Spanish sun doesn’t shine!”

    The guard hastily obliges, not wishing to tempt the wrath of this clearly unstable individual. Sebästian Von KÜhn enters the King’s chambers with a slight smile playing about his lips, to make decisions that will resound across all of Mother Prussia…



  7. #7
    Katsumoto's Avatar Quae est infernum es
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Very nice once more, this paragraph was absolutely fantastic, incredibly written:

    “Neither,” he snaps. “It’s the disgruntled Prussian Enlistment Marshall fashion of every goddamn day you’re lucky enough to be alive, although that will cease to be the case if I hear another imbecilic, foolish attempt at sycophancy ushering forth from your blasphemous lips. Now clean me up properly you bumbling oaf and announce me to Der Konig before my riding crop hits you where the damnable Spanish sun doesn’t shine!”
    "I pray Heaven to bestow the best of blessings on this house and all that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but honest and wise men ever rule under this roof."
    - John Adams, on the White House, in a letter to Abigail Adams (2 November 1800)

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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Nice, easy read, very descriptive, and your writing style is just over all wonderful

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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    double post sorry

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    Mugg's Avatar Semisalis
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    why can't we upload our own banners and not from Katsumoto only?

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    Katsumoto's Avatar Quae est infernum es
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Of course you can upload your own banners, who said you couldn't ? I just make banners for people who want them.
    "I pray Heaven to bestow the best of blessings on this house and all that shall hereafter inhabit it. May none but honest and wise men ever rule under this roof."
    - John Adams, on the White House, in a letter to Abigail Adams (2 November 1800)

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    Mugg's Avatar Semisalis
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Quote Originally Posted by Katsumoto View Post
    Of course you can upload your own banners, who said you couldn't ? I just make banners for people who want them.
    oh.. ok

    Wrath of the Norsemen Researcher and Historian and Second Age Total War 2D Helper


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    PubliusKhannus's Avatar Senator
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Sorry I haven't been updating this story as often as I would have liked, I am currently co-writing a script which is being considered and reviewed by the BBC. So my attentions are on that script hopefully being bought!



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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    Sebästian saunters inside the opulent state-room, his noble lips curling into a slight sneer at the sight of the plump individual poring over the myriad strewn papers of state and military, indicating Der Illustrious König's mind was as scatterbrained as the lowest pissboy’s.

    The state-room was perfectly horrid, displaying all the excesses of wealth. Vivid tangerine fur once worn by the princely tigers of the jungle swindled from the Bengal cover the polished Connemara marble carved from the emerald hills of Ireland. Extravagant silks from the factories of Como adorn the murals of the walls, distastefully showing the royal family as the angels they masquerade as, and not the illiterate pigs they truly are. Sebästian absorbs all of these visual affronts to his eyes, and turns his attention back to the man fretting in the center of this explosion of contrast.


    The rotund man turns slightly and motions absentmindedly that Sebästian should take a seat in one of the plush chairs adjacent to the crackling fire, overflowing with the scribbles and ramblings of the deluded ruler. “Take a seat my son; I shall be with you shortly as soon as I sort out this tricky bit of figures.”


    Sebästian fumes inwardly at the colloquium, he detests familiarity, especially when it is issued forth from the inane lips of the incompetent moron whom Lady Luck had cursed Mother Prussia with when he tumbled forth from his father’s loins.


    Ignoring the instruction, he puts aside the pretense of his dandy appearance and nearly bowls over the flustered monarch in his attempt to see these “figures”. Sebästian sighs in a mixture of resignation and disgust as the glance he steals; reveals nothing more than simple addition a damn peasant could count off on their grimy fingers. How could he possibly give counsel to a man whose brain is so addled Sebästian could dress in an evening gown and pass himself off as the poor man’s own mother.


    Sebästian is spared the further protests his cynical mind procures as the double doors imbued with the hue of butterscotch slam open. In strides a man whose bloodshot eyes and corpulent nose suggest he had had a schnapps too many. Drunkenly, he loosens his belt and flings his sword into what had been a tottering stack of parchments, collapsing it, and causing a veritable avalanche of dust to coat Sebästian’s hat.


    “You damn fool, look what your liquor fire has done now!” Sebästian upbraids the drunk indignantly.


    The said drunk was no other than the Chief of Staff, Wolfgang Hohen.


    “You’ll pay for that insult you puffed up peacock von Kühn,” Hohen drunkenly slurs and retrieves his sword, now pointing the naked blade firmly towards Sebästian’s pulsating jugular…



  15. #15
    PubliusKhannus's Avatar Senator
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    Default Re: [H.F.] Sebästian von KÜhn

    mini-bump, just edited the first post with all installments, been unfortunately busy with high school and college classes as well as family commitments, hope to have another two installments done during thanksgiving and Christmas break.



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