A Renaissance Story

Subject: A Renaissance Story May 9th 2010, 8:47 pm

This is the story of my Renaissance character. It's more or less a "book" that will have updates atleast once a week. I don't mean to be rude, and I'm sorry if this makes me sound like an asshole, but please do not reply to any posts so that the story isn't broken up. I hope you enjoy Smile

Subject: Chapter one: Death in Spain May 9th 2010, 8:49 pm

It was the year 1564, Martin Luther had broken from the Catholic Church, Columbus had landed in the Americas, and the greatest super powers in the world wanted part of the “New World”. Leonardo de Vinci had established a new way of thinking in Italy along with a new way to wage war. The new age was full of innovations and reform, but it was full of war, hate, and persecution. In England, Queen Elizabeth the First had taken over after the death of her sister, Queen Mary of the Scotts. Elizabeth, unlike her sister, was Protestant and despised the Catholics of Ireland, Spain, and Italy. She had decreed that all Catholics under her reign convert, or face beheading. Her nobles complied and carried out her orders to the fullest extent. She had already crushed Catholicism in England, Scotland, and Wales, all that remained was Ireland. But the Irish were not so easily swayed, as they had held on to their pagan faith during the Irish Conversion of St. Patrick, so were they holding to the faith in the Church. Despite this, only a very small few took up actions against the Crown. This is the story of those few.

The moon was pale in the clear starry night sky over Spain. Through the quiet of the Spanish night a carriage rolled through an open meadow. Riders kept pace with the carriage. They wore a white tunic with a red cross, the symbol of the Kingdom of England. The English, French and Spanish were near war, a war England could not win. Queen Elizabeth had sent emissaries to attempt peace talks with the Spanish king. Within the forest a man rode on horse back, attempting to get ahead of the English emissaries. He was cloaked in green, as the moon shined down on his broach, a silver rose. He had the hood of his cloak up, hiding his face. After he was a mile or so ahead of the English he rode out of the forest and trotted towards them. Before he neared them the lone traveler lowered his hood and removed a sheathed dagger from behind his head. A long braid of brown hair fell down behind him as a result. The man pulled it over his shoulder, put the dagger in his belt and pulled the folds of his cloak back to show what was beneath it. He fashioned a rapier, pistols and daggers. His clothing was moderately simple, a tan shirt that was laced, but not tight, at a V neck. A he wore a vest over it that held his six pistols for easy drawing on his chest. Black bracers with silver roses gathered his sleeves and held a dagger in either one. A belt held pouches and his rapier, along with another dagger, and the last four of his ten pistols. Black leggings were barely visible, as they were tucked in to his thigh high boots. His boots each held a concealed dagger, and on the front of each was a silver rose.

“Halt” the man cried out in a Spanish accent. “What gives you the right to pass through here Englishmen?” He demanded as he trotted up to the stopped carriage.
“We are emissaries from Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth. We have been promised safe passage to and from Madrid.”
The rider moved his horse around them aggressively, they were poorly armed. They carried only swords, only one had a gun and that was a matchlock.
“That may be…” His accent had turned Irish. “But the King of Spain hath no hold over me.”
Suddenly there was a gunshot, the man holding the match lock fell off his horse, dead. Before the others could draw their swords two of the four remaining riders fell dead from shots to the heart. He quickly shot a third as he galloped towards him, however the fourth was quicker than the others. He swung at the Irishman’s head but he ducked and came up with his own sword drawn. As the Englishman made another swing the other blocked and jammed his dagger in the soldier’s leg. The soldier fell off his horse and staggered to his feet, but he was in too much pain to lift his blade, allowing the Irishman to flick his sword at the soldier’s throat, killing him quickly. The emissary within the carriage did his best to sneak out but the lone rider had honed his hearing, and easily heard the faint “click” of the door shutting. He turned his horse on a pivot and fired another pistol. The emissary fell to the ground, a wounded leg preventing him from running any further. The stranger rode up to the fallen English man.
“My name is Fintan dele Marin, I am an Irish Catholic driven from my country because of your queen.” He pulled another pistol, cocked it, and put it point blank at the mans head “You will not see Madrid, and may Spain crush the evils of London” The gunshot sent birds flying from their nesting places.
Fintan gathered anything of value from the fallen English, as well as gunpowder and balls from the musketeer. As the sun began to rise he was far from the site of the massacre. He was riding north, towards France.

Subject: Chapter Two, Parliment May 21st 2010, 12:57 pm

The sun rose over Western Europe just as Fintan made his way in to the French countryside. But across the Channel in England, in a small cottage a man and woman lay in a bed asleep. The woman was fair skinned with dark red brown hair, she was curled up next to the man who had his arm around her. He was slightly darker in tone as if he were someone that often spent time in the sun, with shoulder long brown hair. They awoke to the sound of a bird on the windowsill. The woman smiled softly, and placing a hand on the side of the man’s face kissed him softly.

“Good morning my love” She had a soft voice.

“Good morning darling” His was just as soft and kind.

The woman stood up and proceeded to dress herself. She wore a red corset and dress, she put her hair up to keep if from her face. She seemed unable to look the man in the eye as she adjusted her wedding ring. He dressed as well, nothing more than a simple musketeer’s tunic and uniform, and a rapier.

“We must be going captain…” She said quietly.

The man placed a hand on her shoulder and stepped closer. “Boudicca …”
Boudicca placed her hand on his and tilted her head to the side where the two had their hands, her eyes closed.

“Fionoch….” she said quietly. Turning she put her arms around him and kissed him passionately and deeply. “I…I don’t know…”

“Shhh” he said softly holding her tightly to him. “Don’t worry about that my dear, he’ll never know.”

“It’s not him darling….Parliament meets today, we are to decide what is to become of the Irish if they continue to refuse conversion…”

Fionoch says nothing, he was a soldier of the Queen, but only because the resistance needed an inside man to tell them what the Queen was going to do and when. Boudicca was in the House of Lords, and also on the side of the resistance trying to get lesser penalties for the Catholics of Ireland. Boudicca said nothing else, she turned and walked out of the small cottage, Fionoch followed as he sighed.

The English noblewoman mounted her horse, although Fionoch, though he had a horse, remained on the ground and followed her. The journey back to London was quiet, only the birds made a sound as they traveled through the English Countryside. The countryside gave way to the city of London. Fionoch still remained silent as they neared the Parliament building. Boudicca dismounted and handed her reigns to Fionoch, who took them along with her hand. Boudicca looked tearfully in his eyes.

“Beidh tú mo ghrá go deo agus stór mo chroí.” He said softly knowing she would know what he said when the rest around him do not.

“And you will always be my love and heart, darling” She repeated softly. Fionoch walked to the stables with her horse.

Boudicca strode down the halls of the building to the main room. This was an informal meeting where only the lords would meet. She walked in to the room and took her seat. Only a few of the lords had already arrived.

“Lady Boudicca! Tis wonderful to see you again” A rather large lord stopped in front of Boudicca, who gave a half hearted, half disgusted smile.

“Lord Salisbury…nice to see you again as well” Though she didn’t sound like she meant it.

“I was wondering if…” He was cut off by a banging on the ground. The Lord Chancellor was calling the meeting to order. “We may finish this later Mi’lady” Lord Salisbury took her hand and kissed it, then sat down two rows ahead of her. Boudicca suppressed a gag and whipped the back of her hand on her dress.

The last few nobles took their seat. For hours they argued over affairs of state. The looming threat of war against Spain and France. The threat of Italy and the still extremely powerful Catholic Church backing Spain and France with arms and financing. Boudicca took no part in these discussions. At long last the subject of Ireland and the fate of her people surfaced.

“What of these traitorus Irish, they still resist conversion, and many have taken up arms against Her Majesty.” Stated one noble.

“Can you truly blame them Winsor? What has the Queen done to earn their loyalty to aovid armed conflict, taking their heads if they refuse to convert?” Boudicca yelled out as she stood up.

“We had no problem with them ten years ago, this sort of civil unrest is…”

“Is provoked by the Queen!” Boudicca yelled. “Ten years ago Mary was Queen, and was fair and just to them, but with her passing, may Christ and Mary keep her.” She deliberately crossed herself with a Rosary as she said this, causing the room to glare at her. “A tyrant took over.”

There was a murmuring of disapproval, but Boudicca ignored them as she spoke again. “If you want to stop the revolts, then stop forcing them to convert. It will do nothing more than continuously cause unrest. My ancestral grandmother saw the march of Rome on Briton’s shores, they were forced to convert from their pagan beliefs to the Christian belief. She rose up against them. This will happen if we continue to surpress the Irish. France and Spain know this, they will help the Irish. England can not face war against four countries, not if they are backed by the wealthiest being on God’s Earth!” With that she stormed out.

Subject: Vice and Virtue May 30th 2010, 8:17 pm

The following contians brief strong language as well as a conversation in a forine language and Religious conversation. Although no offence is intended if any of this offends you it is recomended that you not read further. English "subtitles" have been provided for reading comfort.
Back across the channel in France, Fintan had arrived in Bordeaux. He rode in to the bustling city, shops were barely opening. He kept to the road, looking for a public stable, if there was one in the town. His stomach growled as he passed a bakery where fresh bread was steaming up the windows. He just now realized that he had not eaten in two days, and that he didn’t have the money for food or drink.

“Monsieur, vous bloquant la route. Vous déplacer……Monsieur….MONSIEUR!”
Sir you are blocking the road, move yourself.....sir....SIR!

Fintan drew a pistol and aimed at the voice, he had been daydreaming as he stared at a shop’s window. He had his pistol on a French Royal Musketeer. Once he realized this he lowered it and placed it back on his chest holster. The musketeer laughed.

“So it iz true about zee English, zey ave no true fight to zem.”

“I’m Irish, Frenchmen. Not some cock-sucking Englishman”

“I don’t care what you are, moved zee damned orse or ar you too drunk?”

Fintan growled, and suddenly there was a gunshot. The musketeer fell dead as Fintan lowered a smoking flintlock. He dismounted and threw the man on his horse and quickly moved to an ally.

“Never call an Irishman a drunk, at least we know how to fuck when we’re drunk” He muttered as he looted the man of anything valuable. Fintan was able to take about fifteen Francs off of him. He walked out of the ally and headed to the bakery he had seen. When he arrived he had noticed that it was not yet open. Sighing he continued down the road, waiting for the shop to open. As he walked he passed a church with the doors open, saying that the Priest was holding Confession.

“Might as well…” He muttered softly as he walked in. Looking at the Confessional he noticed it was empty, except for the priest. He walked over and kneeled down at the side.
As he Crossed himself he spoke in perfect French. “Bénissez-moi mon Père car j'ai péché. Il a été trois jours que ma dernière confession à Notre-Seigneur.”
Bless me father for I have sinned. It has been three days since my last confession to Our Lord.

“Quels sont ces péchés, mon fils?” The priest asked.
What are these sins my son?

“J'ai tué, volé, menti, étant donné testiment faux de ma personne.”
I have lied, murdered, stolen, and given falst testiment to my person

“Vraiment péchés dangereux. Qu'est-ce qui vous a conduit sur cette voie?”
Such dangerous sins. What led you to comit such vices?

“Pour venger ma famille et le peuple de l'Irlande contre la Reine Elizabeth.”
For aveange my family and the people of Ireland against Queen Elizabeth.

“La vengeance est vice terrible.”
Vengance is a terrible vice.

“Ce n'est pas plus qu'elle ne mérite Père. Pas même le feu de l'enfer sont suffisants pour la punir“.
It is no more than she deserves Father. Not even the fires of Hell are enough to punish her.

“Comment puis-je vous absous de ces péchés, si ce n'est votre coeur?”
How can I absolve you of these sins if this is your heart?]

“Parce que je suis désolé de la mort que j'ai commis, les hommes qui sont tombés à ma lame ne faisaient que suivre les ordres. Je prie pour leurs âmes immortelles ont atteint les portes de notre Seigneur, mais je prie l'âme de leur reine ne verront jamais la Sainte Lumière du Ciel”

Because I am sorry for the deaths I have committed, the men who fell to my blade were only following orders. I pray their Immortal Souls have reached the Gates of Our Lord, but I pray the soul of their queen will never see the Holy Light of Heaven

“Avez-vous tuer si vous pouvez l'éviter?”
Do you kill if you can avoid it?

“J'essaie de ne pas tirer l'épée ou le pistolet, si elle n'est pas nécessaire”
I try not to draw sword or pistol if it is not needed

“Alors, je libère vos péchés au nom du Père, du Fils et du Saint-Esprit. Aller Foth dans la Paix et la Grâce de Notre Seigneur.”
Then I absolve you of your sins in the name of The Father, and of the Son, and of The Holy Ghost. Go forth in the Peace and Grace of Our Lord.

Fintan crossed himself as the priest spoke and walked out of the confessional, making his way back down the street he arrived a at tavern. Smiling he opened the door and walked in.

Subject: Tavern Brawl June 19th 2010, 2:08 pm

Fintan raised his hood as he walked in to the tavern. It was a small, dark room with a brick floor that had a large amount of dirt on it. Barrels were stacked up against the wall on one side. A few tables were scattered about. One in particular, that was right in front of the fire, had food on it with a man between the table and the fire. He seemed to be cutting up piece of meat, bread, and other foods for the four other customers.

“Zat seat iz takeen!” One of the customers shouted at Fintan as he sat down at a table near the door

“Oh…is it? Then when it’s owner comes back I’ll give it to him, until that time…” He placed a few coins on the table. The tavern keeper nodded and walked over with a wooden plate that had bread, a chunk of beef and a mug of ale, and placed it in front of the Irishman. The stranger that yelled at Fintan started to draw his sword, but stopped when one of the other men held out his hand.

“Forgive my associate…strangers…enrage him. There are thieves and cut-throats around every bend.”

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to keep it in mind.” The highwayman smirked.

“Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere in particular”

“What business brings you to Bordeaux?”

“My own”

“Escaping England…or are you here as an English spy since no Frenchman would expect an Irishman to help the English” The ruder stranger said laughing.

Fintan smirked under his behind his mug of ale. “Better a Irishman helping the English than a German Hessian unable to know the blade from the grip” he said gesturing to the man who was holding his dagger by the blade for no real apparent reason.
The room went quiet. After a long pause the apparent German said something very profane in German and slept at Fintan with his sword. The Irishman ducked under his table and came up with his sword drawn. The German lunged at Fintan, who parried the sword away, drew a pistol and shot the man in the heart, leaving him bleeding to death on the floor. Fintan sighed and sheathed his sword and “holstered” his pistol

“So much for that confession…” He muttered walking out of the tavern in to the streets.

Subject: PAUSE August 24th 2010, 11:03 am

This stoyr is on a pause until further notice. All of my notes for it are currently six states away and locked in a box that I had them in to keep prying eyes off. I will resume the story as soon as I retrieve those notes. Thank you for understanding Smile

~Chris

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