Post by Deleted on Feb 6, 2015 19:11:29 GMT
The Caroleans were groggy...
Weary eyed and with ash stains all over their usually pristine uniforms. The Orthodox churches of Dorpat were now cinders.
The Carolean leader, named Sön Röös Antoniussen, walked over to the incinerated remains of the Church. This had been the crowning moment of his career. 500 converts, even the priest of the Orthodox Church had taken vows to the Lutheran faith. It was only the deaf portly fellow that had initially refused before coming round.
He ordered the Caroleans to return to their Roots (5 farmers each supported 1 soldier). It was only in times of war that they ever assembled en masse. Sön Röös Antoniussen headed back to the centre... He suddenly halted his charger... there was something wrong with this image, he thought...
The muddied alleys and streets of Dorpat had seen rain last night, the ground was a filthy, sodden mess. However, his time tracking wolves in Lappland had taught him a thing or two about tracking. There were footprints, footprints everywhere. But only in one direction. South.
"Halt!!! Return to the Church!" he shouted.
The populace hadn't converted, least not properly. He traced the ground, looking for signs of a sudden escape. It was the mead, he figured... he and the Caroleans had broken with their usual ration of 2.5 liters of beer once the Orthodox priest offered a celebration of their new found peace.
He found a note on the ground, written, in Russian.
"Griigory!" he cried.
Griigory was a Russian convert to Lutheranism, he had fled Russia, fleeing from the primitive villagers from his fathers estate. He had converted to Lutheranism whilst studying abroad in Stockholm. He had since joined the Caroleans, and was Sön's second in command.
"Translate" Sön barked.
"They've been offered protection in Russia sire!" Griigory exlaimed.
"They can't have got far though, it's at least 2 days to the border."
...The chase was on
Weary eyed and with ash stains all over their usually pristine uniforms. The Orthodox churches of Dorpat were now cinders.
The Carolean leader, named Sön Röös Antoniussen, walked over to the incinerated remains of the Church. This had been the crowning moment of his career. 500 converts, even the priest of the Orthodox Church had taken vows to the Lutheran faith. It was only the deaf portly fellow that had initially refused before coming round.
He ordered the Caroleans to return to their Roots (5 farmers each supported 1 soldier). It was only in times of war that they ever assembled en masse. Sön Röös Antoniussen headed back to the centre... He suddenly halted his charger... there was something wrong with this image, he thought...
The muddied alleys and streets of Dorpat had seen rain last night, the ground was a filthy, sodden mess. However, his time tracking wolves in Lappland had taught him a thing or two about tracking. There were footprints, footprints everywhere. But only in one direction. South.
"Halt!!! Return to the Church!" he shouted.
The populace hadn't converted, least not properly. He traced the ground, looking for signs of a sudden escape. It was the mead, he figured... he and the Caroleans had broken with their usual ration of 2.5 liters of beer once the Orthodox priest offered a celebration of their new found peace.
He found a note on the ground, written, in Russian.
"Griigory!" he cried.
Griigory was a Russian convert to Lutheranism, he had fled Russia, fleeing from the primitive villagers from his fathers estate. He had converted to Lutheranism whilst studying abroad in Stockholm. He had since joined the Caroleans, and was Sön's second in command.
"Translate" Sön barked.
"They've been offered protection in Russia sire!" Griigory exlaimed.
"They can't have got far though, it's at least 2 days to the border."
...The chase was on