The Hetzbukarn of 615

***Hetzbukarn of 615***

*(The Hetzbukarn of 615 is a key event in understanding the end of the first phase of the Joran war of succession. The diet took place in a time of immense turmoil among the higher echelons of Joran society, particularly the clergy [represented by the pious league, a group aiming to end the conflicts between werrans across Juhnvechteya during this period] and the nobles, who were still broken after the loss of the great houses from the aristocratic social order. At the diet, many issues were discussed extensively between the attendants, from heresy to laws, and from war plans to peace agreements. This lore piece serves as a dramatised version of two of the vital events within the time the diet was held; the beginning of the Arłberk and Welsien's proposal.)*

It was November, and the vast edifices of Hrad Pečka were filling with nobles dresses in ornamented attire. The Hetzbukarn of 615 had begun.

Albrecht sat at the head of a long table, arrayed with meat, wine and delicacies of various sorts. Dozens of minor lords sat on either side of it. At his left sat Honsa of Hôrak, and on his right sat a scribe. The room was loud with the bustle of feet and voices until finally a trumpet sounded, which silenced the room. The trumpeter spoke to the gathering of nobles.

“Here begins the Hetzbukarn of 615, Lords of Joraje, rise!”

The mass of nobles rose up as Albrecht began to speak.

Albrecht sat at the head of a long table, arrayed with meat, wine and delicacies of various sorts. Dozens of minor lords sat on either side of it. At his left sat Honsa of Hôrak, and on his right sat a scribe.

“Sit, my lords. I know the circumstances of this Diet are dubious. We have much to discuss. What is said here shall make the history of our country.”

There was a clatter of chairs, before a man dressed in a white cassock wearing a mitre began to speak with a thick lisp.

“My Lord Albrecht, the Archbishop of Nonrebaurk calls for the torgs. I suggest we pay them- it would be far beyond rude not to…”

“This shall be dealt with in time, Bishop Claudé.” Responded Albrecht

“My Lord I fail to understand why we have been called here but to answer our questions regarding your cousin.” Exclaimed a man from the back seats of the hall.

He wore a maroon cassock and had frizzy yet receding hair. The entire Hetzbukarn filled with an anxious tension as Albrecht seemed to stir from his chair.

“My Lord this war rages on and werrans die on the streets! Surely no victory is worth the cost of so many souls!”

Albrecht sat a while, carefully picking his words whilst the rest of Hetzbukarn stared on. But it was not Albrecht who spoke, but Honza of House Hôrak.

“And what do you propose, fair- what is your name?”

“Welsien, my Lord, Farar of Saint Mažislaus in the valley. I come as a representative of the pious league to convince your lordship to end this war forthwith! Werrandom is ablaze in fighting and death, and yet we sit here discussing taxes! Surely we must act! End this war, Albrecht, for the sake of all Werrans.”

Albrecht sat in silence for a moment, choosing his next words. Then, he spoke.

“Farar Welsien, you are a good man. I wish that I had the power and authority to simply end the war here and now, without any further fighting or unrest. I agree with you, that this war should be ended as soon as we possibly can. However, the reality of the situation is that war is slow, and costly. I wish to end this war, Farar, yet to put ourselves in a position where such is possible, we must first tackle the mundane issues of the realm. Taxes must be levied or lifted in order to finance campaigns, torgs must be made to satisfy the church. Agreements must be made with the lords of the realm to maintain what little stability Joraje has.“ he said, glancing across the assembled crowd of knights, lords and priests, before taking a sip of wine from the chalice before him. “Farar Welsien. I am in agreement with you. When I fought the Raven at Léceral Brod, I realized that war was the worst creation of humanity. I wish to see this war over as soon as possible, to prevent more suffering than absolutely necessary. However, to do that, all aspects of Joraje must be attended to; church, state, soldiers and serfs. It is only then, once we have discussed these seemingly mundane topics, that we can then discuss the war itself.”

Welsien sat, completely mute and sunk into his chair. Suddenly a gust of cold November air flooded the room and choked the attendants. 5 men strolled into the room, led by one prominent man with a thick beard and a tough, stone-like face. Albrecht, seeing the arms on the jupon of the first man, sighed. He had had disagreements with this man in the past, even before his ascendency to the Silver Seat. Now was surely to be another of those times.

“Greetings, Sir Filep, I can see you’re fashionably late, as usual. We began the Hetzbukarn already. If you would take your seat, we may resume.” Albrecht said, with no small hint of exasperation.

The gaggle of Lords took their seat at the back of the table, laughing obnoxiously all the while.

Before the clergyman dressed in white could muster the voice to speak, Filep spoke.

“Albrecht I have never understood… do Beldym bastards have no humour? My father laughs more than you and he’s dead!”

The group of lords once again burst out in a clamour of laughter.

Albrecht sighed. “Sir Filep-“ he said, emphasizing the little lord’s rank. “-if you’ve come to insult my supposed heritage, this is hardly the time or place. This is the Hetzbukarn, the first in years.”

“And I hope the last- your last.” Filep now turned his head to face the rest of the blank faced lords and knights. “And you! This man, this snake, he shall send you to the grave with a knife planted in your back.” He then turned to face the bishops and Farars. “And you! Your nothing but petty fools. Werry wants war not waffling clowns. You would happily shine dear Albrecht’s boot before picking up a sword.”

“You are testing my patience-“ Albrecht growled. “If you stop now, I will forgive and forget. If you continue…..”

“And you, dear Albie. My father once trusted you and your family. You could not spare a coin for his ransom? And he now he lies dead. Besides it’s hardly your family, I shall find them wasting around Beldymhof!”

“And so I suppose that this is where you declare open revolt against me, due to my suspected heritage and my actions toward my cowardly cousin?” Albrecht said, anger rising.

“Perhaps I do, your ‘Lordship’. If you wish to meet on the open field, then we shall. And you shall die. And my sword will be stained with your Beldym blood. And your head shall sit on a pike. If that is what you will, then I will it too.”

Albrecht rose, before taking a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Five minutes. You have five minutes to leave Pečka, before my men kill you. Once you are out of the fiefdom, I shall pursue you after a day. This is the most leniency I will offer. Get out.”

“Happily. The rest of you fools! Flee before he stabs you like he has done me! This Beldym fiend is not fit to rule Joraje. Come Čeniživ. We leave.”

With that the 5 lords rose and stormed from the room, leaving it desolate of sound.

Albrecht sat down, and put his hand on his forehead. “Lord Honsa, would you please send word to Grimmau, to divert the guns from Stribrny Yvranik, to Hrad Arłberk? It seems we have a lesson to teach an upjumped knight.”

“Now that incident is over with-“ Albrecht directs his attention to the assembled lords. “-Let us begin this Hetzbukarn in earnest”