Carrickfergus - Earldom of Ulster

[Dirty Chai]

Carrickfergus Castle, Ulster

Current Earl of Ulster: Roger Mortimer, 6th Earl of Ulster (also 4th Earl of March)
Location: Carrickfergus is located in province #10 of Ulster

Here is the current residence of English and pro-Anglo control and presence in Ulster, and where the Earls of Ulster would currently be considered to stay.

Regional Bonuses

Irish Clans: Rebellious and divisive, the Irish will rebel against a foreign overlord should one infringe upon their local authorities.

Fishing Industry: With Ulster mainly being coastal, the inhabitants of this island turn to fishing as their major industry. Allows the owner to construct fisheries if this is their primary residence.

Provincial Bonuses

Carrickfergus Castle: The toehold of England in Ulster, this formidable castle surrounded mostly by water remains the centre of the Crown's administration of this province, though the Earldom itself collapsed half a century ago. Its strategic location allows it access to the sea, and its amphibious defences render it nearly impregnable. +5 siege rolls, -5 raid rolls in this province. If the outer defences fall, the keep can hold on for another half a year (3.5 days). As this is a coastal castle, access to the port must be cut off for the defenders to be starved out.

Lordships & Manors

Ulster 1. Kirkistown/Quintin/Portaferry/Strangford - Prosperous Income. 3. Downpatrick/Quoile/Jordan’s/Killyleagh - Prosperous Income. 4. Kilkeel/Clough - Prosperous Income. 10. Carrickfergus/Larne/Glenarm - Average Income. Meath 11. Kells - Average Income. 17. Trim - Average Income. 18. North Edenderry - Sparse Income. 19. Delvin - Average Income

Yearly Wealth

Poor (red): £200 per annum
Sparse (orange): £250 per annum
Average (yellow): £300 per annum
Prosperous (light green): £350 per annum
Rich (dark green): £400 per annum

Poor: 0 x £200 = £0
Sparse: 1 x £250 = £250
Average: 4 x £300 = £1,200
Prosperous: 3 x £350 = £1,050
Rich: 0 x £400 = £0

Total Yearly Income (unmodified): £2,500
Modifiers to apply: +10%
Total Modified: £2,750

With Earldom of March: £2,750 + £5,062 = £7,812

Infrastructure

I. Reinforced Gatehouse: +1 siege defence (primary residence only)
I. Peasant Patrols: -1 hostile raiding rolls across all provinces
I. Tenant Homesteads: +10% estate income

[The Mad Skylord]

A small ship had sailed into the tiny docks at Belfast, and from there a band of riders had ridden for Carrickfergus. The small band of five rode the small hobbies favoured by the Irish and the Scots, and were dressed in warm clothes.

Carrying only swords and bucklers, the band was lightly armed.

Upon arrival at Carrickfergus Castle, they demand that the man in charge should come forth.

[Dirty Chai]

"State your business," the guards at the gatehouse demanded back.

[The Mad Skylord]

The man at the head of the party dismounted. "I am Baron Maltravers, I am here to find Sir Thomas Mortimer. I have need of his talents."

[Dirty Chai]

"Mortimer? There's not been a Mortimer here in several years," one of the voices up in gatehouse said.
"What do you want with the earl's uncle? He's not been heard from in a long time,"

[The Mad Skylord]

"I need his help. I also have a keen interest in seeing him be able to return to England whenever he wishes. He has been a good friend to the FitzAlans, and I'd see the favour returned."

[Dirty Chai]

Some silence up on the ramparts was followed by "Well, he's not here and we don't know where he is, but you're welcome to stay inside the fortress for a time."

[General Brewster]

Delete.

[The Mad Skylord]

The early morning mist hung low and thick, and the sun made little headway in it's battle to burn the fog away. Vague whinnying could be heard, as a band of riders rode towards Carrickfergus, seat of the Earl of Ulster. The men in question were a strange sort, for though they wore English clothing - they also wore the leine and the brat, technically illegal under the Statutes of Kilkenny. Swords and targs hung from belts and saddles. To go anywhere without arms in Ireland was foolish - for though the tales of Irish savagery were untrue (the Goidelics were far form uncivilized killers), the Kerns were a vicious and unruly bunch.

As professional soldiers of the Gaelic Kings, the Kerns were provided food and board as their wages - just as all Irish standing armies were. They were allowed to roam around a lord's lands in peace time, and they generally spent their time cruelly exploiting the King's subjects. These common bandits made Ireland an immensely dangerous place to travel in - even lords had to be well armed, with plenty of guards.

So it was that the Earl of Desmond arrived to Carrickfergus Castle, protected by his numerous bodyguards. Riding slowly up to the gates, the Earl requested entry and an audience with the Lord Mortimer, whom he knew to be campaigning against the various Clans occupying his lands. With a tanned, weathered face - complete with crow's feet and smile creases - the Earl was affable and friendly looking, though his eyes held a steel and resolve that spoke of decades of hardship and strife to protect what was his from his neighbors. The Lord of the Geraldines wore a belted tunic and hose, with supple riding boots and a cloak, fastened by a stunning piece of Gaelic goldsmithing - a broach in the shape of a crow. Wisely, the saffron leine and the brat - worn from shoulder to hip and fastened my broach in the fashion of a cloak - had been left in Shanid Castle, for not even so confident and easy going a man as FitzGerald was foolhardy enough to wear Irish clothes - a clear breach of the Statutes - in front of the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. His men, however, didn't seem to care.

[Dirty Chai]

As it turned out, the Earl of Ulster was not in Carrickfergus at the moment the Earl of Desmond came calling, but evidently he was in the vicinity for a man was sent galloping away on a palfrey in less than five minutes, likely out to find his lord. Meanwhile, the FitzGerald of Desmond were given stabling, some food, drink, and a roof over their heads out in the outer courtyard of the English fortress.

It was some hours later before another column of horsemen entered under the portcullis, small surcoats on the armored men carrying the gold and blue stripes of the Earl of March. Roger Mortimer then was clearly the unarmored fellow at the forefront of the small column, seen dismounting from his black warhorse almost instantly, letting a groom stand in as a step down from his saddle. FitzGerald could get a good look at the young viceroy before the latter could spot him (he was looking around the courtyard with squinting eyes until a steward pointed out Desmond), and he was a tall man - a giant by reputation, for he was the son of the only daughter and child of Lionel of Antwerp, the giant and handsome Duke of Clarence - with long, black hair which curled slightly at the edges and ends. His jaw and mouth was slowly being engulfed by a young man's beard. Strikingly emerald eyes stood out. A long bastard sword hung from his saddle, but he left it behind. A flag hung above him, carrying the black bull of his grandfather of Clarence, while the earl himself wore a badge on his left breast of a black dragon, inherited from the de Burghs of Ulster.

As soon as he identified his guest, the Earl of March and Ulster strode over to him, ignoring the mud splattering from his boots. He stopped just before him, some plated knights following him, and looked over Desmond's entourage with his arms akimbo.

"Be welcome to Ulster, Lord FitzGerald," Roger Mortimer greeted the peer.

[The Mad Skylord]

Having been made to wait for the vacant lordling in the outer courtyard of Carrickfergus Castle, the bodyguards of Desmond had willingly accepted the foot and drink - and the bosoms and buttocks of any half pretty maid who wandered too close. The Earl was sitting at the head of the table laid out for them, eating a little, but largely abstaining from anything but a few mouthfuls of small ale. Occasionally, he would offer quiet reprimand for particularly rowdy behavior but mostly he sat quietly, perhaps pondering what he was going to say.

Finally a band of surcoated horsemen trotted through the portcullis. Easily recognizable by his giant frame was the Earl of Ulster. Still sitting and silently munching on a slice of roast beef, the Earl of Desmond did not rise immediately, preferring to observe the Lord Mortimer as he dismounted from his steed. If the Patriarch of the Gerladines was embarrassed by the ragged and native look of his men, compared to Ulster's, he did not show it. Instead, he simply stood as the Steward pointed him out.

Desmond himself was the blood of a number of tall races. In his veins ran the blood of the massive Normans, as well as the Gaels - who were far from small - and yet the Earl stood considerably shorter than Mortimer, though he stood as tall or taller than many men present in the courtyard. As he came to stand before Mortimer, his eyes flickered to the two plated men standing by the Viceroy, and his eyes picked out the black dragon on his chest. Finally the calm, though piercing, blue eyes met with the blazing green of Ulster. Desmond suddenly smiled, finally revealing the affable nature he was known for. He executed a slight bow. "I am honoured by your hospitality, Lord Mortimer." His eyes flickered once again to the badge on Roger's chest. "Forgive me, my Lord of Ulster, but I was unaware that you were related to the de Burghs. I am woefully uninformed when it comes to parentage and pedigree, I am afraid."

[Oznerol]

Roger,

I have delivered a son, healthy as a bull. I baptised and named him Thomas, God preserve him. Alas, my father, noble Kent, died few days later and we're in mourning, I pray for his soul, every single day.

Stay well, shall God in his unlimited Grace illuminate and take care of you, my noble and very mighty husband,

Alienor Holland

(SIGNED AND SEALED)

[Dirty Chai]

Mortimer twitched his nose, wanting to scratch an itch. It was an odd way to start a coversation with a man he didn't know...

Wait - a memory flashed in the viceroy's mind, a blurry one of many years past. He had been nominal lord lieutenant before as a child - twice in fact, the first time in person in Ireland. He recalled sitting quietly before a parliament in Dublin full of nobles conversing with his uncle. Thomas de Mortimer probably knew this man well enough.

"My grandfather of Clarence married the heiress of the de Burgh." Mortimer was the ultimate product of the de Burgh heiress being whisked off to England to marry the king's second son. "I think most of us have a little Burgh blood, though, yourself included." The Earl of Ulster chuckled a little, glancing cautiously at the ragged Irishmen before him, clearly unsure of how to treat the situation.

[The Mad Skylord]

Desmond himself had a sudden flashback himself, remembering the tutor of his youth, describing the savage division of the Burke Civil War. The de Burgh's had decided to start butchering each other once Elizabeth de Burgh, the heiress, had been spirited away from the vicious land of Ireland. Of course, that made this man the rightful Earl of Clanicarde and the lord of the lands of Clan Williamburke.

With his warriors feasting behind him, FitzGerald looked at Ulster evenly for a moment, pondering the revelation. It had come as news to the Earl - In Ireland, breeding was less important than the strength of a man's sword and the cunning of his tongue. "I would imagine so, the de Burgh estates were impressive before they were squandered."

Cocking his head a little, and hooking a hand into his belt, it was several moments before Desmond spoke. "They could be so again...." His words trailed off, indicating that this was, perhaps, better said in private.

[Dirty Chai]

"Could. Maybe, maybe not." The marcher responded indifferently, in a definitively London accent to his Engleis. He had been made the heir apparent to King Richard, and his position here in Ireland was nothing less than a form of nepotism common in this day and age. Mortimer didn't pretend otherwise, but he had intentions to make something out of it all.

Roger Mortimer turned his head, glancing over at one of Desmond's more obnoxious retainers. A slight wince appeared on his face, having not such a high opinion of the warrior and his habits.

"Come, let us recuse ourselves to more suitable surroundings," he said, looking back to the other earl, pointing up at the looming, grey rectangular structure towering above them.

[The Mad Skylord]

The retainer in question, a half-Gael half-Norman by the name of Thomas ui Cogaioch, was in the process of having drink poured unto his mouth by another retainer, while he vigorously kneaded a servant's ample breasts. A short distance away, Desmond shifted uncomfortably."A fool, but an excellent warrior and gallowglass." he muttered uncertainly.

Regardless, Desmond followed Ulster up into his castle, to the Great Hall. There had been plenty of time to formulate his next sentence as he followed the young Viceroy, and Desmond calmly took the chance to talk. "What do you wish to accomplish as Lord Lieutenant, Lord Mortimer?"

[Dirty Chai]

"Some semblance of peace and order, perhaps," he answered, striding into the hall and over cobblestone flooring. "I've started in the north because my own lands need attending to before I can look elsewhere."

Mortimer stopped and turned. They now stood in the great hall, which was mostly empty at this time.

"Such is the reality of this place. I venture to Dublin periodically for parliament, but it's a meaningless affair when only a handful of knights and burghers attend."

He suppressed a yawn.

"In truth, I didn't want to come here, Lord FitzGerald. I initially refused the king's appointment."

------------------------------------

In July of 1397, the Earl of March and Ulster leaves Ireland for some weeks, sailing to Chester. He leaves his uncle Thomas de Mortimer, in charge as his representative in Carrickfergus - this is the first public mentioning of that man's name in several years.

[The Mad Skylord]

Desmond nodded slowly. Peace and order - in Ireland? Alas, t'was near a fantasy. "It is not much different in Munster, to be frank, the various landowners spend their time fighting among themselves. Such is the nature of Ireland."

An eye scanned the banners hanging in the hall, looked at the many tables and benches. "I could help in your quest. Give me free reign to consolidate my position in Munster - to unite it and to bring to it peace." A bold request perhaps, but you didn't get if you didn't ask. "I will bring Munster to heel, united, and return to you the lands that you rightfully own - the lands of Clan Williamburke. Allow me to extend my rule over the region and I can return to your house the Clanicarde."

[Dirty Chai]

"And how exactly are you going to achieve that?" Mortimer asked, skeptical. "Many of those barons and clans are vassals of the king."

[The Mad Skylord]

A low chuckle rumbled in Desmond's chest. "This is Ireland, Viceroy, Richard II may be the Lord of this Island, but steel is its King." A pause, in which Desmond chuckled again. "The King's authority scarcely stretches beyond the Pale, and the various Anglo-Norman lords are practically autonomous. That is where you come in, Lord Mortimer, you are supposed to stop us butchering each other - you are the only symbol of Royal authority. All you have to do is let me usurp territory in Munster, and turn a deaf ear to any pleas from the victims - other than you, there is no one to petition."